From: juliettt@aol.com (Juliettt) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New Story: "Getting Even" (Juliettt's authorized sequel to Sheryl Martin's "Stakeout") Date: 21 Jun 1995 19:48:35 -0400 Okay, folks. Here is my second short fanfic. I will have some longer stuff ready to post soon -- I promise! This story is intended to be a sequel to Sheryl Martin's short story "Stakeout." If you haven't read it, you should, because even though this one can stand alone, "Stakeout" sets up the scenario for "Getting Even," plus Sheryl Martin's stuff is funny and very good and you should read it. You just should. Disclaimer: Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, and the premise behind "The X-Files" are all Chris Carter's babies and he and Ten-Thirteen Productions and FOX or some amalgamation of the three own all the rights therein. No treading on creative tootsies is intended and I'm using these wonderful characters lovingly but without permission. Jackie St. George and Martin Nantus are property of Sheryl Martin and are borrowed lovingly with her permission! The premise for this story, as aforementioned, is taken from Sheryl's story "Stakeout" and is also used by permission. I don't really know who owns the copyrights to the songs quoted here, but it is not I. The little that is left in this story that I did not borrow belongs to me. You can use it, just ask *my* permission first. Whew! Okay, here goes. . . . ========================================================== "Getting Even" (a sequel to Sheryl Martin's "Stakeout") by Juliettt@aol.com It was another late Friday-night stakeout and once again Mulder and Scully had drawn the 8-2 shift. It was one-thirty in the morning and they had already worked their way through the latest installment in their ongoing Scrabble tournament, the Patriots' chances for next season, the latest in the O.J. Simpson trial, and the pro and con arguments of a new study that suggested mental telepathy was actually an alien language. Not to mention the grape stems and sunflower seed shells and Hershey's kisses wrappers that dotted the floor of the Ford Tempo. Late-night stakeouts always gave them the munchies. Scully was just thinking that they might be getting ready to move into the last topic she wanted to discuss right now -- their personal lives, or rather, the lack thereof. She had already had to explain to her sister and mother that week why she didn't have plans for the weekend. Thank goodness for this stakeout. At least she hadn't had to tell her mother that she had planned to stay home and sit on the sofa in flannel pajamas drinking a glass of wine by herself and watching television. She wondered if she had set the VCR properly. . . . Well, sometimes being in the FBI had its advantages. Like giving you a rational explanation for why you didn't have a date all weekend (a stakeout Friday night; too tired Saturday . . .). And giving you assignments where you got to sit in a car with your best friend for hours on end. No, stakeouts were not Dana Scully's favorite assignments in the world. She would rather be out in the field, and she knew Mulder would, too. But this really wasn't all that bad -- sitting in a dark car with the windows down at 1:40 in the morning, listening to the sounds of the night and watching the stars. Under other circumstances this would definitely qualify as a date. Of course, the "other circumstances" would of necessity include a different companion. Fox Mulder was her partner and as such was strictly off-limits. She snuck another look at him and thought again that there was nobody in the world quite like him. . . . Mulder saw Scully watching him and almost choked on his coffee. He wished she wouldn't do that . . . but then she had no way of knowing what the silver moonlight did to the curve of her cheek and the hollow of her throat. . . . And her hair was like flames with sparks of incandescence at the ends. Her face was in shadow, so he could not see her expression, but he was certain she could see his. He turned away and sighed. But then there was the fact that that other agent had eyes that were twin wells of deep blue and milky skin that gleamed like a pearl in the moonlight and lips that drove him wild just thinking about them. . . . He took another gulp of coffee and winced as it scalded his mouth and throat. She sighed. Another stakeout at an end. Wimsatt and Beardsley would be here any minute to relieve them. She laughed silently. Her sister would think she was nuts if she told her the truth -- that she would rather sit in a car for six hours with "that Fox guy" than be out on a hot date with anyone. . . . Well, almost anyone, she admitted. She wondered what he would be like on a date. Funny? Definitely. Romantic? No -- probably not, she thought. He wasn't a flowers and candy kind of guy. But then that was okay. He was Fox Mulder -- her partner and her best friend and *WHY* was she noticing things like the warm scent of his skin and the way the moonlight cast the shadow of his lashes against his right cheek. . . . she admonished herself, then reached for the radio. A distraction. Hmm -- a pop/rock station. Amy Grant was singing about love bringing us back from the edges, talking us down from the ledges, giving us strength to try once more, 'cause, baby, that's what love is for. Of course, friendship was like that, too. Their friendship. . . . Wimsatt and Beardsley drove up with the headlights off and waved. Mulder waved back and started the engine, easing away from the curb. He did not turn on the headlights until they had reached the end of the street. Scully sipped at her tea. "And now we have a dedication. This one goes out from Fox to Dana. . . ." Now it was her turn to choke. She sputtered and coughed for a moment and then stared over at Mulder. His mouth hung open. she reminded herself. They had reached an open area and he pulled over. He set the parking brake and turned off the ignition. The chorus for the song seemed loud inside the car although the radio was low. So I'll be your friend And I'll be your lover 'Cause you know in our hearts we agree We don't have to be one or the other. . . . A flood of warmth rushed to her face and she was grateful for the darkness. "Scully. . . ." He didn't know what to say. "I didn't. . . ." Suddenly they both knew. "Jackie!" they yelped in unison. And then they couldn't help it. They laughed. "I guess she's getting us back for last time," Mulder gasped between peals of laughter, remembering when, last time they had been on a stakeout, he had called Jackie in the wee sma's and had evidently -- disturbed -- Martin Nantus and her. Scully was laughing, too. Then she groaned. "I just hope Skinner doesn't hear this somehow." "Are you kidding? I bet that man doesn't even stay awake through David Letterman's monologue." "Hah. *I* can barely stay awake through Letterman's monologue." "Oh, he's not that bad. . . ." He reached for the phone. "What are you doing?" "What do you think I'm doing, Scully? I'm waking her up to *thank* her for the dedication!" She shook her head and took the phone out of his hand, laying it on the seat. "I've got a better idea." 'What?" "Pretend we didn't hear it. Make her think she didn't get us this time. Plan our revenge carefully and strike when she least expects it." He grinned at her, admiration in his eyes. "Devious, Scully. I love it. But I've got an even better idea." "What?" "Just come with me." He turned up the radio and got out of the car, leaving the windows down. She got out too, puzzled. He walked around to her side of the car and took her wrist. She hoped he didn't notice her pulse jump. "Dance with me, Scully," he said softly. She gaped at him. He was smiling down at her, his eyes dark. "Come on. After all, I went to all the trouble to request a song for you -- the least you can do is dance with me," he wheedled. She looked down. He was *too* good at this, she thought. And she really did want to dance with him. He held out his arms and she stepped into them. He closed his eyes and held her, moving slowly as they danced under the stars. She was warm and soft in his arms. She smelled sweet. He felt the air thicken and warm, flowing over him with the music. Time slowed as they danced. She buried her face in the curve of his shoulder and sighed. Wonderful. This was wonderful. Almost forbidden, not quite over the edge. Of course, her thoughts were way over the edge, careening off the cliff and down into the abyss that separated professionalism from misconduct. . . . His were, too. They swayed gently, listening to the words of the song. So I'll be your friend And I'll be your lover 'Cause you know in our hearts we agree We don't have to be one or the other. We can be both to each other. . . . They wondered. . . . The song wound to an end and the deejay announced the next request. "And ironically enough, we have this one for Fox from Dana. . . ." When I'm feeling blue All I have to do Is take a look at you Then I'm not so blue. When you're close to me I can hear your heartbeat I can feel you breathing in my ear. Wouldn't you agree Baby, you and me Got a groovy kind of love. . . ? She smiled into his shoulder. They held each other under a blanket of stars, lost in thoughts separated only by the space between their two minds. . . . *END* Songology: "That's What Love is For," "Friends and Lovers," "Groovy Kind of Love" 30-30-30 Juliettt@mail.aol.com