"Faux Mulder" (1/1)
by
NojoRojo@aol.com

DISCLAIMER:
I'm sorry to say that none of the characters presented in this 
work belong to me (with the exception of the unnamed 
police investigator, but I don't really want him anyway); 
they are the property of 1013 Productions, Twentieth 
Century-Fox, Chris Carter, and yes, David Duchovny, 
Gillian Anderson, Vince Gilligan, and Darin Morgan. 
Thanks for giving me such great material to work with!

SPOILERS: US4; specifically, "Small Potatoes."

SUMMARY: Just a short, 
fill-in-the-blanks-of-Small-Potatoes piece. MSR alert! 
(Come on, after this episode, how could it not be?)

RATING: I'd give it about a PG-13 for language. That's 
about it.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: All righty, folks, this is my first 
completed fanfic. I welcome all constructive feedback at 
NojoRojo@aol.com, so let me have it with both barrels. I 
would like to thank, first and foremost, the ever-wonderful 
Cafe UST for all their unconditional love and support (one 
year and still going strong!), particularly Dianora2, Adu2, 
HeySammy, and MonanaMaru for their never-ending 
encouragement about many things. Thanks to all the 
fabulous Cafe Writers, past and present, for the inspiration. 
Credit goes to Schlampe for Scully's last line. And Mon, 
sorry I bruised your hand during the watching of this ep! 
Now you have a Relationshipper's Purple Heart too!

*********

"Damn it!"

Mulder slammed the steering wheel in frustration. The 
traffic was bottlenecked ahead of him; ridiculously 
bottlenecked for so late on a Friday night, in his opinion. 
But then, he was in a bit of a rush.

His hand throbbed, reproaching him for the abuse it had 
taken today. It had taken several hours of pounding and 
yelling before someone at the hospital had finally heard 
him and released him from his makeshift prison. At least 
Eddie Van Silent-Fucking-H-Blundht had left him a little 
snack to make up for the whack on the head and stealing 
his identity. Actually, Mulder had kind of liked Eddie at 
first. Hell, all he wanted was to get laid; you can't blame a 
guy for trying. But Mulder had had several hours to mull 
over just what Eddie could accomplish posing as Fox 
Mulder. His worst fears had been realized when he had 
returned breathless to his apartment and found his address 
book opened to Scully's name. His stomach lurched again 
at the memory.

"Fuck this shit." He veered down the nearest side street, 
heading like a blind homing pigeon toward Scully's 
neighborhood. He wondered vaguely if his sense of urgency 
was a little misplaced, under the circumstances. It wasn't as 
though Scully were in any physical danger; none of the 
women had been forced or even coerced into having sex. 
He didn't think Eddie had it in him to be a conventional 
rapist. But God, if he hurt her...Mulder's gut twisted at the 
thought. It wrenched even more a second later when he 
realized that she would think *he* was the attacker. As if 
their relationship wasn't riddled with enough land mines as 
it was...

But no. He felt confident in his profile. Eddie was not a 
violent man. So the only difficulty would come if Scully 
could somehow be seduced by this faux-Mulder. He smiled 
somewhat grimly at the pun as he whipped around a car 
with out-of-state plates. So, it all hinged on Scully's sense 
of professional ethics, and what it took to turn her on. He 
knew an awful lot about the former but, sadly, virtually 
nothing about the latter. He was well aware of the heat 
between them, but she had worked very hard to maintain a 
professional demeanor, and he had always been too 
intimidated by her to do anything but make the occasional 
double-entendre. Surely she would know it wasn't him. 
Hell, she was probably reading Eddie his rights even now. 
Maybe he had nothing to worry about after all. Mulder's 
tension diminished just a shade.

After an eternity, he screeched to a halt in front of Scully's 
building, checking for a light in her window even as he ran 
for the front door. There was a dim glow, as well as a soft 
blues song, emanating from the slightly opened panes.

Fuck. FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK!!!!!

He sprinted up the stairs three at a time, took a deep breath, 
and burst through her front door.

In spite of all his earlier musing, he was totally unprepared 
for the reality of the scene before him.

Scully, half-reclined on her couch, stared at him mutely, 
her lovely mouth hanging open, an empty wine glass by her 
hand. Her face was flushed--from embarrassment or 
passion, he couldn't tell. *He* was leaning over her still, 
his mouth mere inches from hers, looking guilty as hell. 
Mulder was unable to gather enough oxygen to form words. 
All he could do was stare accusingly at Scully as she 
realized what was going on and pushed Eddie away with a 
little cry. Emotions washed over her face: confusion, 
horror, disappointment, shame. As they watched, Eddie 
morphed back into his natural state with a sheepish shrug.

The click of the CD changer finally broke the tense silence 
and jostled Mulder back to reality. Grabbing his cuffs, he 
yanked Eddie to his feet. Scully, her eyes downcast and 
face burning, went to the kitchen and began tidying up 
mindlessly. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back 
fiercely, gritting her teeth. She turned a moment later to 
find Mulder standing by the counter, watching her intently, 
an emotion in his eyes she was hard-pressed to identify. 
Unfortunately, she was unable to meet his gaze long 
enough to determine whether it was anger, longing, or 
amusement, and she turned away to rinse the wine glasses.

"Scully." Spoken so softly.

"What?" She tried for a casual tone but failed miserably, 
her voice sounding brittle in her ears. Still she would not 
face him.

Mulder paused for a long moment and she stole a glance at 
him. He cleared his throat and suddenly was all business.

"I just called the police. They're on their way to pick him 
up."

"Good." It was barely more than a whisper.

He lingered a moment more, as though waiting for 
something. When Scully persisted in avoiding his gaze, he 
turned away with a small grunt of frustration.

*********

The moment Scully had been dreading had finally arrived. 
She and Mulder had filled in the local authorities on the 
background of the case, strange as it was, and the time had 
come for her to give her statement. She felt Mulder's eyes 
on her as she began, hesitantly.

"I suppose I should have been suspicious in Skinner's 
office...he was acting so strangely. I guess I was just tired 
and preoccupied with the tests I wanted to run. Then, when 
we went downstairs, he asked me what I was doing for the 
weekend, so..."

The investigating officer taking her statement paused in his 
note-taking. "That was unusual?"

She shrugged. "A little." She glanced up to see Mulder 
watching her, his brow furrowed slightly.  "But it didn't 
register, because I was reading the case file. The whole 
thing was just so fascinating, I...I guess I wasn't paying 
much attention.

"Then, that night, I was going over some reports at home 
and Mulder--*Eddie*--showed up. He had a bottle of wine. 
I knew something was on his mind, and that he'd tell me 
when he felt ready, so I poured the wine and sat down with 
him. I figured it had something to do with the case."

She stole another glance at Mulder, then returned her gaze 
to the scarred tabletop before her. "He asked me why we 
didn't ever talk, really *talk*. I didn't have a good answer to 
that. He started asking me things about my childhood, my 
high school sweetheart, college, things like that. Personal 
things. My favorite flower. Favorite book. I don't know."

The investigator shifted in his chair. "Did he say anything 
about himself that didn't correspond with what you already 
know about Agent Mulder?"

"No. He just seemed to want to talk about me."

"Did he ever slip? Ask you something that Mulder would've 
already known?"

She pondered, her brow creased in concentration. "No. I 
don't recall Mulder and I ever really having a discussion 
like that, so I didn't notice; it did seem to be kind of strange 
to be talking about it now."

"Didn't that make you suspicious?"

She flushed a little, paused. "I...um, no. I suppose it should 
have." Mulder sighed, leaned forward on his elbows, and 
rested his forehead against his folded hands. She glanced at 
him again before adding softly, "It was kind of nice, 
actually. I guess that's why I didn't think to question it."

"I see. Please continue."

She cleared her throat. "We were down to the last of the 
wine, and I was telling him a funny story about my senior 
prom. He...ahhh...he asked me if I wished things were 
different. If I could do things over, would I do them 
differently. I wasn't sure how to answer that, so I asked, 
'Would you?' That's when..." Her cheeks were burning like 
a three-alarm fire and she knew she was blushing furiously. 
She paused a long moment, and prayed for a natural 
disaster so she wouldn't have to continue.

"When what? What happened then?"

She chose her words carefully, tiptoeing across them like 
rocks in a stream bed. "Well, he was...he had this look, you 
know...he was looking at me so, so *tenderly* I guess is 
how I would describe it..." Mulder sat up abruptly, leaning 
back once more and folding his arms. His jaw was tight and 
she could see a muscle bunching there before she looked 
down at her hands once more. "Then he moved a little 
closer and started leaning toward me, and then he...and I 
remember thinking, 'What is he doing? He's not going to 
kiss me...he can't be.' It was just so...strange."

"Did you pull away?"

"No," Mulder stated flatly. Scully started and turned to him, 
a question in her eyes. "That was where *I* came in," he 
offered by way of explanation. As if he would ever forget 
the split-second sight of Scully, reclined against the 
cushions of the couch, her eyes half-closed and her lips 
parted, prepared to receive his kiss. Only it wasn't *his.* 
Damn it, it should have been. It fucking *could* have been. 
He tried with all his might to convey this to Scully 
telepathically, but she had turned away from him. Again.

"And that was when this guy, Eddie, 'morphed' or whatever, 
back into his regular self, and you apprehended him? And 
called us?"

Scully nodded.

The investigator sighed, stretched, and turned off the 
recorder. "OK then. I guess that's it. We'll call you if we 
have any further questions." With that, the session was 
over. Scully pushed her chair back and slipped out of the 
room almost before Mulder could catch her.

"Scully, wait--"

She turned reluctantly and waited for him to catch up.

"Scully, help me understand this! You were on to this guy, 
you agreed with me that he could impersonate anyone. 
Why did you fall for it?" 

He sounded angry, she thought. Almost...almost jealous. 
Her lips parted; she seemed on the verge of an answer. But 
then her body seemed to slump, her eyes dropped, and she 
turned away, saying nothing at all.

"Damn it, Scully!"

She turned. "Mulder, I'm really tired and I just want to go 
home. I'll see you on Monday, OK?"

*********

She did see him on Monday. And every day after that, just 
as usual. But she wouldn't, *couldn't* look at him and 
pretend nothing had happened. At first, she was afraid he 
would want to talk about it, and she avoided being alone 
with him as much as possible. When it was unavoidable, 
she kept up a near-constant stream of shop talk. Any time 
the conversation was in danger of turning personal, she 
would suddenly find something that demanded her 
immediate attention elsewhere. He seemed angry with her 
somehow, anyway. She missed their friendship, the banter. 
She missed the daily challenge of trying not to laugh at his 
deadpan, off-color jokes. But she couldn't take the risk that 
the subject would come up. She knew that he would probe 
until he had the truth. He wouldn't rest until he had ferreted 
out her guilty little secret that was neither little, nor really 
secret anymore. She hadn't resisted Eddie/Mulder because 
she thought her long-cherished fantasy was finally coming 
true. She wanted to believe. Mulder wouldn't give up until 
he had gotten to the heart of the matter; that's why they put 
the "I" in FBI, after all. So she avoided him.

A month later, Mulder received word that Eddie Van 
Blundht wanted to see him. Scully came along, but opted to 
wait outside. She could still hear and see everything that 
was going on inside, but she needed the distance that the 
grainy surveillance camera afforded her. The guard tried to 
make small talk, but she was short with him as she tried to 
hear Mulder's conversation with Eddie. She fiddled with 
some lint in her coat pocket as she listened to Eddie tell 
Mulder that he was a "loser" and that he should "treat 
himself." There was no doubt in her mind as to what he 
was implying. For the millionth time, she blushed. Why 
couldn't they get past this? It was bad enough she had been 
humiliated in front of her partner. Bad enough that he now 
knew she had the hots for him. Now she had this 
shape-shifting low-life acting as her yenta. Great. She 
wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

When Mulder exited the interview room, his expression 
moved her. Sad, bitter, resigned. He signed out and they 
walked down the corridor, side by side, arms brushing as 
they had countless times in the past. Finally, she could bear 
it no longer.

"I don't imagine you need to be told this, Mulder, but you're 
not a loser."

He fidgeted with his hands, pondering. "Yeah, well, I'm no 
Eddie Van Blundht either." She could feel his eyes on her. 
"Am I?"

This was it. She could let the moment pass, or she could 
face it. Do or die, Starbuck.

"You could be," she said softly.

They reached the door at the end of the corridor. Mulder 
held it open for her, but lingered a moment before 
following her through.

"Scully?"

She turned, her eyes finding his.

"What *is* your favorite flower?"

*********

Scully walked into the office the next morning to find a 
new case file awaiting her. It was propped against a potted 
violet, in full bloom.


THE END.