Um, okay. I've never done this before, so here goes: All of these
characters belong to Chris Carter and Ten-thirteen Productions. Skippy is
just borrowing them and I'm sure she feels deep appreciation in the bottom
of her little black *blink*ing soul to have been given the honor of their
use sans lawsuit.


The following work is for the distribution and entertainment of EMXC
members only. Any further distribution of this work without the author's
consent is in violation of federal law.


This is a parody of the "Chances" series by AJ and E, and most recently by
AJ and E and me (I would be Lisby). Skippy is a nom-de-Net and I can say
nothing...Ooooo, I'd best say nothing. AJ and E got a chuckle out of this
and okayed its posting. It's not part of their timeline; it's just a joke,
so everybody go "eheh eheh."


Warning! Warning! This piece features B&D between two males. If this makes
you go "ewwwwww," then stop reading right now or don't say I didn't tell
you so. No one else will have any sympathy for you either. This is a
definite NC-17.


All feedback for Skippy can be sent to Lisby@earthlink.net, the zealous
protector of her anonymity and full-time small, gray lap kitten.





Chance Encounters

By Skippy

Finished 4/22/96



Walter Skinner signed off on the last of the over-run expense vouchers and
sat back, staring at his desk. Nice and clean, the way a marine should like
it. Except that now he didn't have anything to distract him from the
unpleasant contemplation of his lover's latest fit of pique.

No way around it; Fox Mulder was being a real sonofabitch.

There were a lot of advantages to having Mulder as a lover. He was
brilliant, perceptive, sensitive, discreet, fascinating, and he had a
swimmer's ass that felt like silk and gripped a man's cock like steel. Just
the memory of it had Walter good and hard and craving the sweet feel of
warm flesh parting under the head of his hard-on. And a memory was ALL he'd
had for the last week and a half. Mulder was on a tear and nothing and no
one was safe.

Especially not the poor bald bastard who had to sign off on his fucking
302! Fox's request for assignment had come in almost two weeks ago. Skinner
cringed just thinking about it. He really should have known. A blown
solenoid in his new Lexus should have alerted him--those sorts of things
were always harbingers of bad news--but he'd still been in the Monday
morning afterglow of a weekend's delectable company with the Foxling and
hadn't been thinking past plans for the next Friday. Optimist.

The brief report on his desk had sent a small, shrill klaxon of alarm
through the warm fuzz of satisfaction. A meteor shower in Arizona had
presaged the fall of an object--large and showing on radar. That wasn't
unheard of. The western states had more than their share of meteor craters.
Getting squashed by space-junk was more likely than skin cancer out there.
That and gila monsters and geriatric golfers were just the risks one took.

Except that this meteor hadn't left a calling card. Oh, it had hit. Grainy
satellite photos clipped to the report showed a big, crawling military
infestation around a blackened and unidentifiable shape, but attached to
that was an FBI lab report that some johnny-on-the-spot must have thought
would earn him a grade jump. Skinner wanted to see him jump, all right.
Right off the Washington Monument! The report, with its squiggly-lined
seismographic attachment, showed the impossible. At the time that the
object had to have hit, instruments in California showed no anomalies.
None. Zip. Zilch. That was when Skinner began to feel the hair crawl on his
body. It was a warning flag to him.

To Mulder, it was a siren song.

Who knew how Mulder got hold of it. Maybe that little Pekinese of a lab
rat, Pendrell, had used the report as an excuse to go make goo-goo eyes at
Scully again. BY whatever route, Fox's 302 had hit Skinner's desk within
the hour, and by half-past the crinkled, old, tar-stained prune had settled
his butt into one of Skinner's leather chairs and smiled at the AD.

"I see you've got the morning mail."

"Get to the point. Small talk with you is like the idea of necking with
Janet Reno."

"I'll have to tell her you said she was lovely, as always. Let's see if I
have a touch of clairvoyance. Somewhere in your mail you'll have a 302 from
the ever-inquisitive Agent Mulder, wanting to look into...hmm...possible
'terrorist activity' in nuclear waste sites in Arizona or some such. How am
I doing so far?"

Skinner didn't have to glance down. The form was face down, but he
remembered almost admiring Mulder's creativity in coming up with that
excuse.  Nicotine-stained teeth gleamed in a smile as his visitor read the
direct hit in the AD's silence.

"Good. Good. I'm glad we don't have to waste time." The old spider sucked
in long and hard, ostentatiously blowing the smoke out before leaning
forward to grind the cigarette to death in the ash tray by the sign on
Skinner's desk. "I really do hate to see a valuable and talented agent like
Mulder waste his time on a trivial matter that others are already taking
care of.  Tell him so when you deny that 302 on your desk."

Skinner frowned, considering Mulder's likely response. Flipped the form
over and wrote a note across the bottom, looking up to regretfully find his
visitor still sitting across from him. He supposed a spontaneous heart
attack was too much to hope for.  The smile that greeted him had all the
charm of a moray eel.

"Thank you, Walter. But I'm aware that Agent Mulder does have a
rather--well--annoying habit of circumventing orders. Let me help you with
this. There's a rather high-profile rape-murder of a Congressional aide
that will be reported today. Assign Agent Scully to the autopsy, Agent
Mulder to the case. You will express to them both how important this case
is for the FBI's image in the wake of the Wagner trial. Do make certain
that Agent Mulder gets all the assistance he needs. I think at least one
more agent working with them should anchor him nicely. You also won't be
able to approve any of his vacation requests until this is concluded.

Skinner stared, feeling his back get stiffer and stiffer. "Agent Mulder is
not necessarily that easy to dissuade."

"Do your best, Walter. DC is so dangerous, with all the illiterate drivers
we have. I would be dismayed were Agent Mulder to have a mild traffic
incident or some other mishap. I know you'll manage." The old monster
smiled and took his cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one slowly and
deliberately. The AD sat, hands locked in front of him, fighting the urge
to snap his neck until the shabby creature was gone and the door gently
clicked shut behind him. Then he had looked down at Mulder's 302. And
cringed at the idea of what Fox was going to say.

Almost two weeks later, his ears still stung at the memory of Fox's blow
up. Thank God he'd told him after hours, or half the FBI would have heard
Fox Mulder's opinion of "that tumorous sonofabitch and his whipped
lap-dog." He'd hoped that Fox would have reconsidered and called to
apologize, but the only exchanges they'd had since were occasional,
nuclear-melt-down glares in the hall. The reports Mulder had filed on the
Congressional Killer had been painful to read. Elegantly structured,
logical, well-reasoned, and informative, but between the lines Skinner saw
loaded phrases and a cold anger that left him feeling both furious at
Mulder's selfish drive and frustrated that he had to keep blocking the
agent.

In fact, he was feeling frustrated all around. Skinner's lover had a lot
of wonderful, lovable qualities, but Fox Mulder in a full-blown hissy-fit
was enough to make Skinner wonder why Scully didn't shoot the man more
often. Whatever the case, there was one thing he'd learned about Mulder.
The longer he let things simmer, the worse they'd be. Sighing, he steeled
himself and reached for the phone, finger punching out the first three
numbers of Mulder's extension. He hesitated, then punched the fourth, too.

"Mulder." The curt greeting put a thrill of dread and sexual desire up
Skinner's back, as he pictured his lover in that comfortably beat-up
leather chair, sleeves rolled up, light glinting off the reading glasses
that always gave his eyes that wonderfully vulnerable look. Skinner licked
his lips and tried to ignore the warm throb in his groin.

"Agent Mulder. Please report to my office in a half hour. I want to review
your findings from the Demmings case and see how they relate to another
case coming up."

There was dead silence for a five count. Skinner was almost surprised the
phone didn't simply cut off. When he heard Mulder's voice he half wished it
had. "With all due respect, sir, I don't have anything to say that's not in
the report." (respect, my ass, thought Walter), "There's also that
environmental pollution assignment I'm supposed to look into. I think the
Post is calling him the Dismal Dumper," the words were ground out and the
phone clicked off sharply. Skinner winced. Ohhh, yes. Fox was in a snit,
all right.

Skinner threw himself back into his chair, arms crossed, brooding. Hard
experience had taught him that Mulder wasn't likely to come out of this
mood on his own. Let him go too long and Walter was going to be seeing
another of those petulant little resignation notices left on his desk. The
AD simmered, fuming. Mulder was being an ass. He was smart enough to know
that Walter didn't have any choice in these matters, smart enough to know
that Walter would be putting both their lives at risk to turn a blind eye.
But Fox wasn't using his brain, he was thinking with his emotions and he
always got screwed up when he did that. Mulder wasn't going to come to him,
and Mulder wasn't going to calm down on his own.

That meant Skinner would have to go to Mulder.

Not that he hadn't already tried that. Saturday, with blue balls from a
day of hard-ons every time he'd tried to call his lover and make up, Walter
had finally driven over to Mulder's apartment and stood there, ringing the
bell. When there'd been no answer, he'd fallen back on the same trick most
of Mulder's visitors used, and picked the lock. The apartment wasn't
ransacked. It also wasn't occupied. Phone calls hadn't found his wayward
Foxling, but the rumor Monday morning had been that Fox had spent the
weekend at the office, snapping at any intrusions. Skinner recalled an
impressive pile of paperwork finished in impeccable handwriting, with pen
strokes that almost dug through the paper. Not hard to picture Fox's state
of mind.

And now it looked like the AD had another weekend of fantasies and cold
sheets ahead of him. Another weekend of waiting for Fox to calm down and
come to his senses. Skinner heard his teeth grind at the idea. Another
weekend of waiting for Mulder to realize that the AD was stuck in the
middle again, keeping the younger man from putting his cute little ass in
the line of fire. If Fox wasn't over his snit by now, that wasn't likely to
happen any time soon. Skinner scowled at the phone, replaying his stubborn
lover's words and tone.

Stubborn. Understatement of the decade. Skinner might love the capricious
little bastard, but when Mulder acted like a spoiled brat he just wanted to
put the X-Files supervisor over his knee and spank him. He snorted at the
idea. In parenting they'd call it discipline. In the marines, they'd call
it being a sergeant. Skinner grinned ruefully. He hadn't been a sergeant,
but as a lieutenant he'd learned a lot about how sergeants operated. And
Mulder liked bondage, so maybe it was time to try a good old-fashioned
spanking.

Now there was an image. Skinner felt his cock harden again at the
scrumptious image of himself, sitting there, Mulder's hard abs flat over
his knees and that delicious bottom pinked under his hand. God, and he had
another lonely weekend ahead of him. He half-wished he'd never had that
River Valley weekend. Fox had been a delight, but the weeks when they
fought were hell. Damn it, and hell, he was NOT going to spend another
weekend rattling around his big, empty house, wishing he heard another
person there. Skinner shoved himself onto his feet so fast his chair hit
the window frame behind him and glared at the phone. "Fox Mulder, if you
won't come to me, I'll come for you."

______________________

Mulder scowled at the pictures on his desk. Dead gas station attendants,
each one found in the remaining scraps of the Dismal Swamp, each body
well-doused with fuel oil and set on fire. It might have looked more like
environmental terrorism if the gas station tills hadn't been cleaned out
and all the junk food removed at the same time. Mulder knew he could be
wrong, but he was putting his money on a robbery gone bad, followed by a
string of murders. He sighed and turned to his computer. Another dull,
ordinary case out of the way. Before long he'd be investigating car theft
rings while they tried to keep him away from the stuff that counted. It had
to be one hell of a site out there in Arizona if they still needed to keep
him pinned down after two weeks.

His fingers flew over the keyboard as his mind totally ignored what he was
typing and tried to figure out how to get out to the great southwest.
Family leave was out, since his mother was doing nicely, recuperating with
friends in Connecticut. Mulder had no illusions that the instant he tried
to pull that one THEY'D be following him, and he didn't have enough
relatives left to divide their attention and let him slip the trap. And
Walter'd never forgive him.

Hell, he wasn't sure he cared if Walter forgave him. The man claimed to
love him, but obviously had no idea what these things meant to Mulder. Had
no idea how much he needed to be out there, needed to see this thing.
Another chance gone. Another chance to find Sam, to prove that the others
were there--the invaders. Another chance to understand why his own family
had been destroyed. Mulder needed that, and he'd thought Walter understood.
Obviously, he was wrong.

The keyboard was rattling under his hands he was hitting it so hard.
Loneliness and loss ached in his throat. He'd been so close, thought he'd
finally found someone who really did care, really did love him, would
understand. Would help. And now he was sitting in the basement of the FBI
pounding out another report, telling idiots something they should have been
able to see for themselves if they weren't too lazy or overworked or busy
stuffing their heads with the latest sports statistics to look at the
evidence in front of them. Mulder growled low in his throat, suddenly
balling his fists and simply pounding on the edge of his desk. The pain
blotted out the grief and loneliness that were choking him, and the dull
sense that, once again, he'd had his trust betrayed.

He was breathing hard, staring blankly at the keyboard and its load of
meaningless figures when he finally registered the sound of the elevator.
Scully, coming back with dinner. He grimaced, feeling a twinge of guilt at
how he'd treated her this last week. She'd been consistently cheerful and
gentle with him, as though she really did understand what he was feeling.
Once or twice, he'd almost wanted to tell her about Walter, tell her how
much it hurt that the man who claimed to be his lover stopped him cold and
yanked his leash. How much it hurt that Skinner--Walter--couldn't
understand that Mulder didn't want this, Mulder needed this.

But he couldn't. He couldn't betray Skinner like that, and he couldn't
stand how Scully might look at him. Oh, she'd be gentle and understanding,
but....He shivered. He loved Scully. And thought she might love him. Walter
certainly thought so. Somehow, telling her he was seeing someone else and
it was their boss....Mulder shook his head and buried his face in his
hands, throat tight as he thought of another weekend alone. He wouldn't go
home. That was all. He'd rather work than go home, to his empty apartment,
knowing that the man who claimed to be his lover would gladly fuck him, but
wouldn't accept this one, painful, essential part of him. Mulder's head
ached with the thought.

The elevator ground to a halt, and he sniffed and straightened up, shoving
his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. With the fluorescents
reflecting off them, she'd never see if his eyes were puffy. He sighed and
turned back to his computer, erasing several paragraphs of nonsense as he
heard the knob rattle. She must have changed out of her high heels, her
feet had been so quiet in the hall. He glanced up as the door opened,
summoning a faint imitation of a smile.

"Look, Scully, why don't you just go ho--" he trailed, staring. It wasn't
Scully.

"Agent Mulder, I don't generally go to my agents, but in your case I can
see I'll have to make an exception." Walter Skinner stepped into the
office, pushing the door shut behind him.

Mulder scowled, leaning back in his chair. "I'd hate for you to have to
put yourself out." He crossed his arms and glared.

"Mulder...Fox--"

"Don't even try, Walter!" Mulder found himself on his feet, leaning over
his desk, glasses sliding down his nose. "I am trying to do my job and
you're stopping me!"

"You are out of line, Agent Mulder." Skinner's voice had that
marine-officer rap to it. "I was doing my job, too. And part of my job is
managing what your office investigates."

"My office is investigating junk right now. I've been so careful not to
use us to get what I want but god damn it, Walter! Isn't that exactly what
you're doing to me? Using your job to yank my leash so I can't get hurt?
What the HELL is that about?"

"Is that what you think is happening?" Skinner leaned back over Mulder's
desk, so close Mulder could smell the coffee on his breath. He wanted to
kiss Walter, wanted to apologize and feel this man's arms around him, be
safe, be loved. But he needed the distance, needed that site in Arizona.
Needed to make Skinner understand.

"Walter," he had to fight to keep his voice low, "you've told me over and
over, how much I scare you. How you don't want me to take chances. But this
isn't a chance, this is something I need to do."

"I can't. I have my orders and I can't."

"God DAMN IT!" Mulder lunged back, flipping papers and pens everywhere. A
coffee cup tipped and spilled as Skinner backed away, face grimly angry.
"Damn it, Walter. You and your fucking orders! You need to be in control of
me, and they're in control of you. I don't take their orders!" He spun and
glared. "I can't take this."

Skinner was watching him, face flushed and jaw set. As Mulder shoved past
him one big, square hand flashed out and wrapped itself around the younger
man's arm. "Where are you going, Fox?"

"Sick leave. I'm sick of this place. I'll be back when I'm feeling
better." He tried to yank his arm away, glaring the inch or two up into his
lover's face. "Let go!"

"Damn it, Fox." The hand tightened, held him still. Skinner kept his voice
low, pulling Mulder back when he tried to reach for the knob.

"Let go!" Mulder suddenly shifted his weight, free foot sweeping to take
Skinner's in a Quantico maneuver that would have made his teachers proud.
Or should have, if it had ever been completed. Two seconds after he thought
he had Walter down, Fox Mulder found his cheek pressed against the wall and
the AD's arm locked under his jaw. He'd have to talk with the self-defense
instructors about the flaws in their program.

"Agent Mulder, you are going to listen to me quietly and respectfully. Nod
your head if you understand." Mulder knew that tone and knew he'd crossed a
line. He nodded carefully. Skinner's voice was no longer calm and
controlled. It simmered with an anger that Mulder had only begun to see in
the months that Skinner had learned to trust him. "I'm only going to tell
you this once, Fox. Don't ever accuse me of using my position that way
again. There are a lot of things I'll do to protect you, but keeping you
sidelined is not one of them."

Skinner spun him around, dizzyingly fast, holding him pinned to the wall
by his upper arms.  Mulder found himself looking up into sad, angry brown
eyes. "I hate seeing you go into dangerous situations, but I'm damned if
I'll let you accuse me of using my position against you. But I won't use it
for you, either. I did exactly what I would have done before, and if you'd
taken an instant to think about it you'd have realized that."

"With all due respect, Walter, that is bullshit! You denied my vacation
and my leave and--"

"And I may have saved your life! All due respect, like hell! You, Agent
Mulder, are a brat." Mulder found himself suddenly on the tips of his toes,
half-dragged around his desk. He wasn't sure just how it happened, but an
instant later Walter Skinner was sitting in his chair and Fox Mulder found
himself face down over Skinner's legs, wind just about knocked out of him.
An instant later he gasped as Walter's hand reached under his stomach,
pulling his belt loose with practiced skill.

"What the hell are you doing!?!" Mulder squirmed, abs braced over the AD's
big, muscular thighs, and tried to shove himself upright again. The grip on
the back of his neck let go and two big hands wrapped around his wrists to
twist them up behind him. The click of cold metal sent him thrashing
wildly, hissing curses, until Walter's hand between his shoulder blades
pinned him back down and the hand went back to pulling his belt off and
unzipping his suit pants.

"What am I doing, Fox? You've been behaving like a brat, so I'm going to
treat you like one."

"No!" The hand on the back of his pants didn't hesitate and Mulder bit his
lip as his buttocks were suddenly bare, pants and boxers yanked down around
his knees. "Walter, let me up."

"You've been a real SOB for just about two weeks, Fox." The voice was
grimly satisfied. Mulder squirmed again as one square hand stroked his
bottom and played with the balls hanging between his legs. "If you're going
to be the enfant terrible of the FBI, then that's how I'll treat you. Maybe
you'll feel more like listening when I've warmed you up."

"What are you--OW!" The big hand slapped down on his right buttock hard
enough to leave a warm patch behind. It slapped down on his left and Mulder
jumped again, teeth clenched against the yell this time. The hand slapped
rhythmically, alternating sides.

"Fox," Walter's voice was conversational, if a little breathless. Mulder
flinched as the hand slapped the skin right over his thigh, "you already
know that there are...interests that don't want you investigating." There
was a pause and Mulder heard a drawer pulled open. Swallowed hard.

"You call one of them Cancerman," the slap hit hard and narrow this time
and Mulder jumped and squeaked. A hot band stung across both buttocks.
"Hmm. The ruler really leaves a handsome mark, Agent Mulder. You've got one
fine ass."

"Oh, god," Mulder moaned softly. The ruler slapped across his buttocks
again, a little higher. He writhed at the warm, tingling sensation in his
buttocks. Walter's cock was hard, poking into his side, and his own penis
was rigid and pushing almost painfully into the AD's leg.

!SLAP! "You've always known my office took orders to stop your
investigations," !SLAP! "and you've known it would have to happen sooner or
later once we became involved." !SLAP! Mulder's ass was hot and, he was
sure, bright red. !SLAP! He wriggled, feeling his anus puckering as he
tried to pull away from the next !SLAP! "If we're going to keep seeing each
other," !SLAP! Walter's voice was broken now, Mulder could hear him
breathing hard, !SLAP! "then you'll have to accept that sometimes I'm going
to have to stop you."

"Stop, please!" !SLAP! Mulder pulled his hips in and his cock jabbed
against Walter's leg. The bound man groaned and squirmed, feeling his
lover's hard-on probing into his ribs. "Stop it, Walter!"

"Are you going to act like," !SLAP! "an adult or--" He stopped. Mulder,
breathless across his lap, lay still. A cool hand rested on one of his
buttocks, squeezing gently and the big erection that had been poking into
his side wilted. Then he heard a splashing thud and the smell of kung pao
chicken wafted through the office. Oh god, oh no, oh lord, it was--

"Agent Scully?" He'd never quite heard Walter Skinner's voice squeak up
the scale like that before. He knew just how his lover felt.

"Er, Sir?" Oh lordohlordohlord he could just SEE the look on her face. Mulder cringed, face as red as his bottom had to be.

"Um," the sound of the door slamming shut, and then high heels clicked as
he lay there, face down over Assistant Director Walter Skinner's lap,
bottom red and bare, and wondered what his lover thought he could say to
get them out of this particular situation. A neat pair of Pappagallo
heels--he knew they were Pappagallos because Scully had been bragging about
getting them on sale--stopped on the floor. A pair of nyloned knees peeked
out below a hemline right in front of his face and Mulder gulped.

"Uh," Walter didn't sound any more articulate, and Mulder wondered how
they'd feel when the shock wore off. He wasn't looking forward to finding
out. Right now he wished he knew what to say. Somehow, 'hi Scully, this
isn't what it looks like' didn't have a lot to recommend it.

The left toe was tapping. He watched Scully's calf flex in front of his
face. Skinner's hand on his butt felt huge. A small, cool finger suddenly
touched him. "You missed a spot."

"What?" Mulder tried to crane up to see her face, winced as his neck
pinched. Skinner's hand tightened convulsively on his buttock.

"Agent Scully, I don't believe I followed that."

"Well," she cleared her throat and Mulder thought he heard a smothered
giggle. "Sir, I mean, look. You missed a spot. Right there. Here--"

!SLAP!

"OW! Goddamnit Scully!"

"Ooooh, I've wanted to do that for ages!" !SLAP!

"OW!"

"Agent Scully, I think that's enough!" Skinner sounded aghast.

"You haven't had to share an office with him for two weeks of this shit!"
!SLAP!

"Agent Scully!" Mulder twisted, hearing the sudden laughter in Skinner's
voice, "while I sympathize, the OPR might not agree."

"If you've been sleeping with him, sir, I should be able to spank him once
in a while!" !SLAP! She was laughing too hard to really get him with that
one but Mulder simply lay there, gasping like a fish while Skinner and
Scully talked over his head.

"Agent Scully, that's a highly improper suggestion." The sober tone of
Walter's voice was matched by the queasy feeling in the pit of Mulder's
stomach.

"Oh, sir, of course you're sleeping together. I don't know for how long,
but at least since you were shot."

"Scully?" Mulder tried to see her face, then she crouched down and
suddenly he was looking into his partner's big, blue eyes. Perfectly calm,
amused eyes.

"You didn't really think I couldn't tell you had a lover, did you Mulder?
I know you better than that."

"How...why...?" He floundered for a moment, staring back into her eyes.
Wishing his pants weren't around his knees and his hands weren't cuffed
behind his back.

"Oh, Mulder," she reached out and ran the back of one finger down his
cheek. "I want you to be happy. And," she giggled, "if getting spanked by
the boss makes you happy, I'll watch the door. But this time, Ace, you owe
me one too!" She grinned up at Skinner.

He felt Walter fumbling at his hands, and the cuffs released and fell off
of him. His lover's hands were pulling his trousers back up, too, as Scully
walked back to clean up some of the spilled food. Mulder straightened up,
cheeks flaming red, to fasten his belt. She glanced up.

"Sorry I interrupted, Mulder. Sir. It looked like you were having quite a
good time, sir." Mulder looked up, startled. Scully sounded wistful.

"Well, um," If Scully sounded wistful, Walter sounded mortified. "This
really doesn't happen Agent Scully, I mean, I haven't, we haven't...ah..."

"We," Mulder hesitated, glanced at his lover. "We've been involved for a
while, Scully. But not at work. Never in the office."

"I know." She sounded calm. "You've been very careful. It's amazing,
really, that I didn't pick up on it before. I mean, I know you so well
Mulder. I knew you had someone, but I didn't know it was the AD until I saw
you at the hospital." She smiled up at him. "And, given the circumstances,
I figure it made sense. Don't worry, I'm pretty sure no one else even has a
clue. You're not the most obvious couple in the FBI." She grinned. "In fact,
the rumor mill right now has the AD trying to keep you from quitting by
getting you more on the social circuit. What are all those nights out with
the VCU while I'm out of town, Mulder?"

"Oh, god. I knew I'd regret that." Mulder moaned, head tilting back.

Walter shook him gently by the scruff of the neck. "You work with a team,
you go out with that team. Maybe the good habits will rub off on them,
Fox."

"Long as that's all that rubs off."

"Scully," Walter had turned to the redhead and his face was suddenly
serious. "It's obvious now that you've known for a while that we
we're...involved. I know I don't really need to ask you, but...."

"Sir, I'll be discreet." She stood, face sober and concerned. "I know how
this would affect you both, and I...." The wistful look was back. "Well, I
care about you both. I really want you to be happy. I hate seeing the two
of you as miserable as you've been. And you did deserve that spanking,
Mulder." The Irish impishness in her eyes told him a lot about where
leprechauns came from. "I just. . . I want to see Mulder happy, sir. And
you make him happy."

Mulder's stomach was doing flip-flops at the look on her face. He wanted
to wrap his arms around her and kiss her and see her smile over her whole
face. He swallowed and fidgeted, feeling Walter looking back and forth
between the two of them.

"I know just exactly how you feel, Agent Scully. More than I think you
realize. Look, there's something I want you to do for me, all right?"
Mulder watched him study the redhead, watched her puzzled look back.

"All right." She nodded.

"Tomorrow's Friday, Scully. I want you to come to dinner. And bring a
change of clothes."

"Fri...din--...change?" She looked at Mulder, and he saw the puzzlement
clear on her face as he felt it clear on his own. Her lips and his, at the
same time, shaped the sound, "Oh...oh?...OH!"

Walter Skinner looked between the two of them and a warm glow swelled in
his chest. And his cock. It was gonna be one GREAT weekend!


Finis