Category Archives: Holiday

Operation PS2

Title: Operation PS2

Date: November 9, 2005

Author: Kathy Foote

Summary: Who knew so much strategy went into planning a shopping trip

Category: Humor

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, these characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions,

and Twentieth Century Fox. I wish they were mine, but they aren’t.

Archive: Two weeks exclusive with VS12, then anywhere is fine by me

Authors’ note: This story was written for IMTP Virtual Season 13, Thanksgiving Day Special

Thanks: To Emmy, my number one fan; she writes the best feedback.

You can gain weight on her feedback; it is so rich. T

o Mom, for all her wonderful help. She is the best sounding board and a great proofreader.

And last, but definitely not least, to Vickie Moseley. She gave me the initial idea for the story.

She is an inspiration and the best damn beta.

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Operation PS2

Tara Scully’s House

Thanksgiving evening

“M-o-o-o-o-m! I’m thirsty!”

“Coming…” came the reply from the kitchen.

Mulder looked up from the football game and watched Tara ascend the steps for the third time

in the last half-hour, a glass of water in her hand. Poor Matthew was sick, but he was starting

to feel better, which just made him cranky. Mulder could relate. He hated to be sick and he hated

it more when he was getting better, but was not yet well. You felt like you could do things,

but everyone said you weren’t well enough to do anything but rest.

Rest…your body needs rest, they’d say. Oh, how he hated that stage.

Mulder emerged from his thoughts when Tara descended the stairs a short time later with an empty

glass in hand. He watched her as she returned to the kitchen. He could barely make out the “how is he?”

questions posed by Maggie and Scully, to which Tara responded with the usual “he’s fine”.

When the conversation returned to a steady murmur, Mulder returned his attention to the football game.

He wasn’t exactly interested in the game, but he sure enjoyed relaxing on the couch, following the fabulous

Thanksgiving dinner they had just feasted on. Scully had wanted to come to Tara’s this year for dinner,

instead of spending it at home together. He didn’t mind. They didn’t get to see Scully’s family very

often, even though they lived so close. Besides, she said it would be so much easier for their shopping

trip if they were already here. They could get a much earlier start than when Scully had to drive over

to Tara’s house or they had to meet somewhere in between.

That’s what they were doing in the kitchen, planning their shopping trip. Shopping trip? This was no

shopping trip. This was a battle plan; a major offensive. Patton would be proud. The one time he

ventured into the kitchen at the beginning of the game, the table was covered in sales ads, hand-written

notes, and something that looked like a floor plan. They seemed to be discussing the best strategy for

navigating through Wal-Mart. He quickly retrieved a beer from the refrigerator and returned to the

peace and quiet of the den.

It was the end of the third quarter and they were showing the same commercial they showed in the last

commercial break. He couldn’t believe how often they showed the same commercial over and over again

during a football game. Instead of watching the same Hummer commercial for the umpteenth time, he

took the opportunity to visit the kitchen, check on Scully, and perhaps grab another beer.

“How’s your game, Mulder?” Scully asked as he stepped into the kitchen. “Are _my_ Cowboys winning?”

He turned to answer her question and noticed she was wearing a big grin. She was always teasing him

about the Cowboys. He was a big Redskins fan and there was an intense rivalry between the two teams,

so she seemed to take pleasure in cheering on the Cowboys, even at the expense of his beloved Redskins.

“Yeah…they’re winning,” he answered her question dejectedly. He leaned down so he could whisper

in her ear, “but if they were playing _my_ team, that would be different. The Redskins already kicked

their ass once this year. Remember?” He placed a few small kisses on her neck, just below her ear.

She did remember the game vividly. They had a friendly bet going and Mulder had won. Not that she minded

much. She had thoroughly enjoyed paying off her bet. Just the thought brought a smile to her face and

she was momentarily lost in the memory. He moved away from her and continued on to the refrigerator,

intending to retrieve another beer and return to the couch.

“Dana? Earth to Dana,” Tara said he she gently shook Scully’s arm. “What are we going to do?”

Scully shook her head, as if waking from a dream. She looked at Tara and then suddenly Scully’s

expression changed. If this had been a cartoon, a bright yellow light bulb would have appeared over

her head. “I have an idea.”

“Mulder?” she called to him as he was walking out of the kitchen.

He turned back at the sound of his name, “Yeah, Scully?”

She put on her sad face, which she knew was unfair, but she needed his help and would do anything

to get it. “Mulder, we have a problem and we _really_ need your help.”

Mulder returned to the table and sat next to Scully with a definite worried look on his face.

“You know you can count on me. What is it?”

“Well…you know Matty’s sick and he can’t go to the sitter tomorrow, so…”

“You want _me_ to watch Matthew?”

“No, Mulder. Mom is staying here with the kids. What I need is for you to help us with our shopping.”

His jaw dropped as he gaped at her in stunned silence. “H-help you…” Suddenly, he became

extremely apprehensive. “How?”

“It won’t hurt. Honest. We need you to take one item on the list and get it. That’s it.

The doors open, we all go get one item on the list, and leave. Piece of cake. We’ll even let you

get the Playstation. Will you help?”

He looked at them with uncertainty. Both Tara and Scully, and even Maggie, were looking at him hopefully.

He couldn’t say no to one Scully woman, much less three. “Ok. I’ll do it. Exactly what do I have to do?”

A little wave went around the table, as each of the Scully women expressed their thanks.

With Mulder on board, Maggie excused herself to check on the kids.

First, Scully pulled out the Wal-Mart sales ad and placed it in front of Mulder.

Pointing to the picture, she began to explain. “This is your target, Mulder, the PS2.

They’ll be on sale tomorrow morning for $99.”

“Jeez, Scully, we could buy one of these almost anywhere. Hell, we could buy it off the Internet.

Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“Easy? You don’t understand the concept of Friday after-Thanksgiving shopping, do you, Mulder?

It’s not supposed to be easy. To get the great sales, you have to make sacrifices. You have to get

up early and fight large crowds. Are you willing to make those sacrifices? For me?”

Mulder could never say “no” to Scully. Of course he would help her, even though he really didn’t

want to go anywhere near the stores tomorrow. “Okay, okay, I’m with you. I go get the PS2. Then what?”

With Mulder’s willingness to help, Scully switched to commander mode. ‘Now listen closely, Mulder.

The PS2 will be the hardest item to get. It’s the most sought after item on the list. That’s why we’re

assigning it to you.”

“I’m honored,” he replied in a mocking tone.

“I’m serious, Mulder, it won’t be easy. Electronics is in the back of the store.

You’ll have to navigate through crowded aisles, past equally determined people to reach your objective.

There’ll be a limited number and you must get to them before they’re all gone.

We’re counting on you, Mulder.”

“So, while I’m fighting the hordes of motivated PS2 buyers, what will you and Tara be doing?”

“We have our own objectives. Tara has the Clothes department, while I have the Toys.”

“Gee, Scully, sounds like you guys have really planned this out.”

“Oh, we have. Here’s the plan. The doors open at 6:00 am. We plan to be in line by 5:15 am.”

“5:15?” Mulder shouted. “We’ll have to get up at 4:30.”

“4:00 am to be exact. I plan to have time for coffee and breakfast before we leave.

We’re going to need all the energy we can get.”

Mulder rolled his eyes, mumbling something about “so much for sleeping in “.

Scully ignored his grumbling and continued. “Anyway, the doors open at 6:00 am.” She pulled out

what looked like a crude floor plan of the store. “Mulder. You have to avoid the main aisles

at all costs. _Everyone_ will use the main aisle to get to the back of the store.

You have to use your speed and agility to cut through the side aisles this way, toward the

back of the store.” She moved her finger across the page showing him the desired path.

“After we retrieve our assigned items, we rendezvous back at the snack bar. Got it?”

“Got it,” Tara confirmed enthusiastically.

“Mulder?” she looked at him for acknowledgement.

“Yeah, I got it,” he confirmed, less than enthusiastically.

“Great! Let’s hit the sack. We’ve got an early roll call tomorrow,” she said, as she

picked up her papers from the table and left the kitchen. Tara followed Scully and

Mulder brought up the rear.

Outside Wal-Mart

Day after Thanksgiving – 5:15 am

There were already 50 or more people lined up outside the doors at Wal-Mart. The trio took

their place at the end. Within minutes, another 15 people had joined them in line.

Mulder couldn’t believe how many people would get up this early in the morning to go shopping.

He thought Scully and Tara were crazy, but he realized, they weren’t alone.

There were a lot of crazy people out here.

They stood there making small talk, while they waited for the doors to open.

Scully had wanted to go over their plan again, but they had already gone over it

four times since they got up. He had it memorized. Hell, he had it memorized after the first time.

The couple standing behind them was discussing their plan. The man was being sent to get a PS2 game.

He was much larger than Mulder. His plan was to barrel down the main aisle straight to

the back of the store and snag one of the prized PS2 games.

Mulder leaned toward Scully, so only she could hear him talk. “Scully? See the couple

behind us? Don’t look! Anyway, the big guy is going for the PS2 also. He plans on taking

the main aisle and pushing straight through the crowd.”

Scully nonchalantly gazed around Mulder and saw the man he was talking about. He was huge.

He could easily be a linebacker for a football team. She looked back at Mulder and noticed

he looked nervous.

“Look, Mulder, stick to the plan. Avoid the main aisle. You’re a runner and you’re fast.

Speed through the side aisles where there is no crowd and you will beat him. Trust me.”

“Always,” he replied and gave her a quick kiss. She gave him a slight bewildered look.

He shrugged and said, “Kiss for luck.”

At that moment, the doors opened and the crowd surged forward. It was like Disneyworld when

the front gates opened; everyone entered the store and ran to their various assignments.

As soon as the big guy that was behind Mulder cleared the door, he pushed everyone out

of the way, heading down the center aisle. Remembering what Scully said, Mulder cut down

the first aisle on the right and broke into a run. He zigzagged through the aisles,

making his way to the Electronics section at the back of the store. All he could think o

f was how much Scully and Tara were counting on him and how disappointed they would be i

f he failed to accomplish his mission.

He was running full out, when a Wal-Mart employee, pushing a cart, entered the aisle

from the left, virtually cutting him off. Unable to slow down at this point, he had

three options; run into him, leap over him, or cut up the aisle he just came out of.

In his mind, he weighed each option in less than a second. He couldn’t hit the guy;

that would just slow him down and probably get them both hurt. He couldn’t leap over him;

who did he think he was, OJ Simpson running through the airport? If he cut up the aisle,

it would take him away from his target, adding precious seconds to his journey.

He quickly decided on option D; he slowed down and let the guy pass. As soon as the

employee was clear, he resumed his mad dash for the back of the store.

He could finally see the back aisle. One turn to the left and he would be there.

As he turned the corner, he spotted his competition approaching from the opposite direction,

his sights set on the Electronics section. Mulder could already see a crowd of people around

what looked like a stack of PS2 games and the stack was getting smaller by the second.

Mulder put on a final burst of speed and got there mere seconds ahead of the larger man.

He snatched the last PS2 game from the shelf, just as his opposition made a grab for it.

Mulder practically hugged the box to his chest, so proud to have achieved his goal, until

he looked into the glaring eyes of a very pissed off man.

“Hey, buddy, that game is mine,” he said angrily to Mulder.

“Look, fair’s fair. I got here first.” Mulder retorted.

“Like hell! You _stole_ it from me just as I was reaching for it,” he yelled back.

Mulder couldn’t believe how angry the guy was. It was just a game. He almost

considered giving him the box, but then he thought about Scully and there was no

way he was giving up this game. “Possession is 9/10ths of the law, so that makes it mine,” he explained.

The man figured he needed to take possession of the precious item, so he reached out,

grasped the box, and pulled. Mulder wasn’t about to let go of the prized possession, so he held tight.

A crowd of shoppers formed a circle around the pair as they wrestled over the box.

Finally, the man released his hold on the box. He was angry and red-faced.

Mulder could picture a cartoon version of him with steam pouring out of his ears.

Mulder started to say something, but before he could open his mouth, he saw a huge fist

coming straight for him. Unable to block the hit, it landed like a ton of bricks on his left cheek.

The force of the blow caused Mulder to stagger backwards and lose his footing.

He lost his grip on the box, which crashed to the ground. The man thought about grabbing the game,

but when someone shouted for Security, he decided to cut his losses and ran away.

Mulder sat there, massaging the left side of this face, staring at the damaged object.

Just moments before, he had held it in his hands and now it was broken. He couldn’t believe

how defeated he felt. He told himself that it was a stupid game. He could buy one next week at

any other store, but he had wanted to succeed in what he felt was his mission.

There was a tap on his shoulder and he looked up into the eyes of a caring saleslady.

“Are you all right young man? Do you want me to call the police?”

“No thanks, I’m fine…but the game isn’t. I’m afraid it’s broken. I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll be right back,” she told him and quickly

disappeared through a set of double doors.

She came back a few minutes later carrying a brand new PS2 game.

“Here, take this one,” she said, handing him the undamaged box.

“There’s a whole pallet of them in the back. The guys were about to bring them out

when that man started the trouble.”

He couldn’t believe his eyes. He was thrilled. “Thank you, ma’am. You just saved

me a whole lot of heartache.”

“You’re welcome. Now you better get some ice on that eye, before it swells up.”

She was right. He could feel his eye and cheek beginning to swell. He had almost

forgot about it in his excitement. He thanked her again and made his way to the rendezvous point.

Mulder slowly approached the front of the store carrying his package. As he neared

the snack bar, he could see Scully and Tara sitting there, wearing frowns on their faces.

As he got closer, he realized they didn’t have any packages; they hadn’t gotten anything.

When they saw him, the first thing they noticed was the PS2 game in his arms.

They both smiled, but then Scully’s smile turned into a frown, when she spotted his swollen eye.

“Mulder, what the hell happened to you?”

“Well, Scully, my mission was not without casualties, but I was victorious.

What happened to you guys? Where are your packages?”

“Oh my god,” Scully exclaimed, “It was a madhouse in there. By the time I made my

way to the toy aisles, they were stripped clean.”

“I actually got a hold of one pair of sweat pants,” Tara retold, “but some woman

grabbed the other end and pulled until they ripped in two. It was just horrible.”

“At least Mulder got the PS2 game,” Scully said. “Let’s go pay for it and head to

the mall. They have some great door-opening specials that start at 7:00.”

Mulder raised his hand like a traffic cop. “No way, Scully. I would rather be

sitting at home with two sick kids; hell, I would rather be sick _myself_ than go

through that again.” He lowered his hand and gave her his poor puppy face.

“Besides, I need to put some ice on my eye.”

She realized he was right. He did need to get something on his blackening eye.

They agreed to drop him off at the house on the way to the mall.

On the way home, Scully and Tara discussed where their plan had failed.

“Maybe we got there too late,” Tara offered.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Scully concurred. “We have to get there earlier.

That’s the key; position in line. What do you think, Mulder? Maybe next year,

we should get there before 5:00″

“I don’t care what you two do. There’s no way I’m going through that again.

I’ve done my tour of duty in shopping hell and I’m retiring with a perfect record; one for one.”

The End

The Guests

the guests poster

The Guests

By Martin Ross

Category: Holiday, historical

Rating: PG-13 for violence

Summary: Christmas 1957: Cold War waged on, Hollywood’s Master of Suspense was riding on a tide of box office success, and a pair of unlikely conspirators were about to experience a key shift in the battle for Man’s survival.

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and their colleagues in skullduggery were created by Chris Carter. Alfred Hitchcock, Cary Grant, and their colleagues in good-natured deception are portrayed here in fictional (?) form.

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Los Angeles

1957

“Do you enjoy a good riddle?” Hitchcock asked Cary Grant.

“Not after three of these,” the actor mused, swirling his ebbing gin martini. “But I’ll bite.”

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Grant was one of the few actors the famed director had ever loved or respected, and amid this pack of narcissistic method actors and Hollywooden artistes and beatniks, Hitch had clung to the former Archibald Leach like the lifeboat of his 1944 melodrama.

The pair had conspired on the flagstone patio of the Southern California bungalow Hitch and Alma had rented for the winter. For his own part, the graying matinee idol had played a Hitchcockian game of cat-and-mouse all evening to avoid Ian Fleming, a middle-aged writer of exotic potboilers who’d been after Grant to play his womanizing, martini-swilling spyboy – a character for whom he reportedly had been the model.

Grant had been hip-deep in Hitchcock’s latest, North by Northwest, and was beginning to tire of contrived cloak-and-dagger hokum – even the refined hokum Hitchcock so effortlessly turned out. Of late, he’d entertained retiring from the film scene, though he hadn’t yet dropped that one on Sir Alfred. Hitchcock. His friend was only beginning to rally from the loss of Grace Kelly, who’d two years before surrendered the mantle of Hitchcock Blonde for a seat at the throne of Monaco.

“The two gentlemen by the bandstand, to the left of Mr. Welles,” Hitchcock intoned, staring into the brightly lit bungalow as if it were the sprawling screen of Graumann’s Chinese. “What would you make of them?”

Grant blinked away the effects of his third martini and considered the two tuxedoed men. The shorter, plump gentleman immediately caught the eye: The left side of his deeply-lined face was horribly disfigured, a long bone-white trench extending from his jowl across his sagging eye into his receding hairline. The scarred man was somber despite the Yuletide revelry of the occasion; he murmured out of the side of his mouth to the taller, distinguished, mustachioed man beside him.

“I’d assume those are wartime injuries,” Grant ventured. “From his age, I’d guess they were sustained during the last great war, and from the way he holds his cigarette – a Gauloise, by the way – I’d surmise the gentleman is of French extraction.”

Hitchcock smiled approvingly.

“The cut of that tux tells me he’s a man of some means and impeccable taste. He could easily have those scars erased, but he chooses not to. He wears them with pride, as a badge of honor. French Resistance, perhaps? What was that short you did for the Information Ministry during the War? Aventure Malgache? I assume that’s how you met this curious man, and how he comes to be spending Christmas Eve with the Master of Suspense.”

Hitchcock winced slightly at the tired PR moniker. “Or you’ve been chatting up Alma, with whom I spotted you earlier this evening. Indeed, Monsieur Belmonde is a guest of honor, a man of great fortitude.”

Grant grinned. “The Great Detective exposed. And the other gentleman?”

“Ah, and there lies our riddle,” Hitchcock murmured. “Allegedly, our new friend is Lucien Cuenot, cousin to our intrepid Monsieur Belmonde. A Parisian importer, as the story goes.”

“Of course, you don’t find that story plausible.”

“Actually, I find it quite tantalizing — the type of gambit for which a writer or director of the darker arts hungers.”

Grant reconsidered the pair huddling in Orson Welles’ not inconsiderable shadow. “I have to admit, my fascination is not piqued.”

Hitchcock smiled. “I conversed briefly with Monsieur Cuenot over hors d’oevres. A charming, fiercely intelligent man who is a complete and utter imposter. A highly competent one, I must acknowledge. However, the study of drama and character tune one’s ear to even the slightest nuance of dialect and accent. He is as French as you are a wheat farmer from the Nebraska plains. Specifically, he is as French as a Stuttgart swine farmer.

“Further, his choice of pseudonym is both audacious and telling. His ‘namesake,’ Lucien Cuenot, was a frequently neglected French scientist in the field of genetics. He helped demonstrated that the principle of Mendelism — a concept of which I have not the slightest knowledge nor interest — applied to animals as well as to plants. A middle-aged German masquerading as a brilliant but obscure French geneticist — obviously, a man of ferocious ego and a bent toward science. And where have we seen that before?”

Grant was into the game now. “And who would we cast? Walter Slezak? George Sanders? The inimitable Mr. Welles?”

“The audience would spot him within the first five minutes and flee for the exits. Louis Jourdan or Jacques Tati, perhaps. But that is quite beside the point. It’s an irresistible riddle. Why would a man of Monsieur Belmonde’s ironclad convictions, bearing the marks of Gestapo torture, traffic with a Nazi?”

Washington

2012

Scully surveyed the trio sprawled before her, hypnotized by the electronic images dancing in the darkness of the Lone Gunmen’s offices. Underneath a loop of green tinsel – Frohike’s sole concession to the yuletide season – Jimmy Stewart was disheveled and distraught.

“Cool Ranch me,” Melvin Frohike mumbled.

Mulder fired the foil bag at the conspiracy buff. “Trade you the Tacos at Midnight.”

“Shhh,” Byers scolded.

Scully sighed. “When you asked me if I liked Jimmy Stewart on Christmas Eve, I simply assumed…”

“Shhh,” Mulder and the Gunmen hissed in unison. Her partner turned lazily. “Vertigo’s Hitchcock’s greatest film, and this is a studio master. A studio master. Well, a copy, anyway.”

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Scully proclaimed. “Not to mention a breach of intellectual property law and several federal statutes. Wait, Byers – I don’t want to know. Plausible deniability.”

“Kim Novak,” Frohike murmured dreamily. “What a dame.”

“I thought you guys had some earthshaking discovery for us. Mulder and I are heading out for my mom’s in, oh, about nine hours.”

“Langly’s still working on the images,” Byers noted, pausing Kim Novak in mid-air. We’re talking about a video transfer from a badly deteriorated reel of Super 8 film that sat in some no-name actor’s basement for nearly 50 years.”

“Lucky thing that guy in Fresno found the footage at an estate sale, and put it on eBay before some Hollywood collector caught on,” Frohike said, sweeping ranch powder from his stained Stephen Hawking tee. “Langley’s a closet Orson Welles freak. Has every piece of film the big man made, including Citizen Kane in five languages. The fact the film was taken at Alfred Hitchcock’s 1957 Christmas party is icing on the cake. And that put us in the mood to revisit Hitch’s Technicolor period.”

“We’re going to revisit some of my worst periods if we don’t skip to the main feature pretty quickly,” Scully warned.

Byers and Frohike looked to Mulder. Mulder shrugged, glanced imploringly at his partner, and finished his last Dorito.

**

“He is watching us again,” Conrad Strughold, AKA Lucien Cuenot, murmured, pretending to admire Marilyn Monroe’s admirable attributes.

Belmonde accepted a fresh snifter of brandy from Santa — one of a crew of Hitchcock-hired actor/waiters — with a gracious nod. “You assumed none of this vapid Hollywood mob would ever have heard of Cuenot,” he murmured in his native tongue. “Your Nietzschean sense of hubris will prove your undoing, my ‘cousin.’”

“Ah,” Strughold grunted with a nearly flawless Gallic accent. “These preening fools are absorbed in a world of romantic fantasy. We are men of science, Man’s greatest hope of salvation. We are of no consequence or interest to these professional imposters. If they had any idea of the real drama unfolding about them. Forgive me if I enjoy a small joke at their expense.”

The Scarred Man smiled grimly. “A small joke. Had Cuenot but known what he would help unleash on the world. At the hands of your monstrous Mengele.”

“Mengele was short-sighted. So concerned with elevating his ‘master race’ to superhumanity that he couldn’t be bothered with the future of our species.”

“And you, mon frère, were his top student, eh?”

“Indeed. And please do not forget that you’ve thrown in with the devil.” Strughold patted his colleague’s shoulder. “But there is no value in exhuming past grievances. I am concerned about the Englishman, however.”

“He is a storyteller, a fantasist,” Belmonde dismissed. “Why did you insist on such a public meeting?”

“Where better to discuss the salvation of the planet than in the bowels of Man’s foolish vanity? Herr Hitchcock – pardon, Monsieur Hitchcock – would appreciate the irony, no?”

**

“You know, Orson Welles died the same day as Yul Brynner,” Langley observed as the huge .mp4 file processed. “They were both in The Battle of Neretva, a 1969 Yugoslavian flick about Slavic partisans in World War II. Supposedly it was a heart attack, but Welles was cremated against his wishes. I always wondered if, somehow, the Yugoslav secret police…”

“On your own time, Geek Squad,” Scully snapped, peering at the monitor. “Let’s see what couldn’t wait until after the last egg nog.”

“95, 96, 98 percent,” Byers counted anxiously. He sighed in relief as the file finished rendering.

“Houston, the Eagle has landed,” Langley announced. The Gunmen cackled. “Like THAT really happened. OK, and here we are…”

A Quicktime window popped onto the screen, and within seconds, a grainy video began to unreel. It was, indeed, the graying Orson Welles, destined a year later for renewed acclaim in A Touch of Evil and eventually for jug wine commercials and voiceovers for the Muppets and Bugs Bunny. He grinned briefly for the camera, raising his cocktail and moving out of frame.

“I am blown away,” Scully breathed.

“Critics,” Langly muttered. “Welles is but a supporting player in this featurette. Look to the left – no, not Santa. The two distinctly non-Hollywood types – they guy with the Zorro scar and his BFF.”

Four heads nearly touched, then Mulder pulled sharply back.

“What the f—” Scully whispered.

**

“Katsuhiru is up to something,” Strughold informed the Scarred Man as they moved into the lavishly paneled den of Sir Alfred’s rental. “Something beyond the syndicate’s agenda. Hirohito has visited the family’s offices repeatedly, and one of Japan’s leading entomologists, Matsui Yonishi, also a frequent visitor to the Katsuhiru offices, committed a particularly gruesome act of hari-kari, leaving behind his wife, three children, and four grandchildren. Our contact informs me Matsui had become depressed, occupied in the past few months, for no apparent reason. We suspect this may have been related to Katsuhiru’s ‘project.’”

“The Japanese, they have always been somewhat ‘independent,’ no?” Belmonde rumbled, concerned. “You don’t believe they have developed a liaison with—”

“I do not know what to believe,” Strughold shrugged, absently touching the now-divided Motherland on a huge marble globe. “I know that we must uncover whatever it is they are up to. If it is a threat, we must neutralize it. If they are operating on their own agenda, we must bring them back into the fold.”

“Good evening.”

Strughold and Belmonde turned abruptly. The pudgy little man smiled angelically and moved toward the shelves.

“A thousand apologies, gentlemen,” Hitchcock murmured, stretching to retrieve a faded volume. “The enchanting Miss Hepburn inquired about a first edition Tolstoy I acquired in my travels. I trust you are enjoying our holiday gala.”

“Oui,” Strughold smiled, closing the six feet between them and pulling War and Peace from the shelf. He towered above the director. “Here you are.”

“Thank you,” Hitchcock beamed. “I shall dispatch one of our jolly elves to deliver some liquid refreshment.”

“Please do not worry yourself,” the Scarred Man bowed graciously. “My cousin and I were merely discussing a family matter. We shall rejoin the festivities momentarily.”

“Family love is messy, clinging, and of an annoying and repetitive pattern, like bad wallpaper,” the portly director nodded.

Strughold smiled. “Well stated, my friend. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Hitchcock bowed and disappeared into the corridor.

The Scarred Man frowned. “The quotation is familiar, but I cannot place the originator.”

“Friedrich Nietzsche,” Strughold murmured, still smiling. “He is a man of playful wiles.”

“As you said, he is a man of romantic fantasy,” Belmonde responded emphatically. “Whatever suspicion he may entertain is the product of a fertile imagination, and soon he will tire of this matter. We have issues of far graver significance to ponder.”

**

“Strughold,” Mulder whispered.

Conrad Strughold was an odd piece of the mounting puzzle Mulder and Scully had been assembling for more than a decade, all jagged edges and subtle curves that appeared to fit nowhere. What was known – at least to global police and intelligence agencies and more fanatical History Channel devotees – was that Strughold was an apprentice, quite possibly a favored protégé, of Josef Mengele, the SS’ notorious “Angel of Death.”

However, while Mengele earned his place in the annals of atrocity through crude and sadistically calloused human experimentation and voodoo genetic theory, his charge reportedly was more intrigued by the subtleties of heredity and the chromosomal structure. And, according to the few available historical accounts, far less infected with the rabid bloodlust of his “mentor.” Though scientists wouldn’t identify the double helix of DNA until 1953, opening the way for use of genetic markers and biotechnology, some suggested that in a different world, Stughold might have helped father modern genetic engineering.

As it was, Conrad Strughold vanished about a year before Mengele had fled for South America, leaving behind nary a scrap of research or speculation. Over the next several decades, a few blurred and suspect photos emerged, a few mysterious deaths, an isolated strand of scientific data that suggested Strughold’s theories, but the former Nazi “doctor” successfully evaded detection or apprehension.

Langly, lenses opaque in the monitor’s glow, nodded gleefully. “I ran facial recognition on old photos of Mengele’s merry gang of Nazi psychos and those video files from your informant. It’s definitely the scary old bastard. What was he doing at Hitch’s crib?”

“How about the other man, the Phantom of the Opera?” Byers queried.

“Dude, that’s where it really gets freaky-deaky,” Langly exalted. “Adrian Belmonde was one of the heroes of the French Resistance back in WW 2.0, wasted more Nazis than Captain America and Indiana Jones combined. Until the Gestapo captured Belmonde and gave him that permanent dimple you see there. I googled up our little Christmas rave, and I found out on a Hitchcock-centric blog that Belmonde was one of the guests of honor. Hitch had wrapped Vertigo and was working with MGM on North by Northwest, and Belmonde happened to be in L.A. meeting with Paramount about a movie about his Resistance years. Never got made. Question is, what’s a righteous dude like Belmonde doing with a Nazi scumbag like Strughold?”

Scully had fallen silent and contemplative. “It opens three major possibilities,” she now murmured. “One, Strughold was not entirely the ‘scumbag’ history recounts. At some point, the enormity of his deeds weighing unbearably upon him, he fell into league with Belmonde and the French Resistance. I find that theory implausible – even if Belmonde could accept Strughold’s penitence out of convenience, I can’t imagine our scarred friend could stomach a long-term friendship with a fascist mass murderer.”

“Two. Belmonde was not quite the ‘righteous dude’ history purports him to be. He was, what, a Nazi sympathizer? A double agent? What was his agenda? Even if Belmonde’s repeated heroism and pain at the hands of the Nazis were all part of some elaborate ruse, again, why would a man remembered as a virtual saint risk associating with an infamously evil fugitive. It doesn’t wash.

“That brings us to a third hypothesis,” Scully sighed, peering at the grainy, festive, perplexing image on Langly’s monitor. “Strughold, a scientist in good standing with one of the most unspeakably monstrous cabals in history, was allied with Belmonde, a man who had devoted his life to destroying that evil. What brings two such men together, and sustains such an unholy alliance?”

Frohike’s gnomish face darkened even in the dual glow of the computer screen and Christmas lights. “Shit.”

“A common enemy,” Mulder finally supplied.

“And a pretty fucking scary one,” Langly suggested.

**

Between a few snifters of Sir Alfred’s finest Armagnac brandy and a carol-fueled atmosphere of holiday festivity, Belmonde finally was able to enjoy the party, though he continued to track his “cousin’s” movements around the huge living room. Strughold seemed to have given up on his obsession with Hitchcock, and the former Nazi was now basking in his deception.

Indeed, worthy of the Master of Suspense, the Scarred Man mused as Strughold charmed the charming Doris Day by the buffet. If the wholesome actress but knew she was nibbling hors d’oevres with a monster who’d once assisted that monster Mengele in the “surgical” theater. If the pretty blonde had been privy to Strughold’s periodic postwar “housecleaning” – the quiet acts of homicidal expediency Belmonde had been forced to tolerate in the interest of the species. Their interest, he shuddered.

The murder of a Hollywood giant, a popular figure like Hitchcock would rouse a firestorm of attention. It could destroy the little they’d managed to accomplish over the past nearly 15 years. It could mean the death of them all. All over the death of a whimsical, foolish old man no doubt conjuring his next box office smash.

Belmonde chuckled at his use of the American vernacular. He might have enjoyed his travels in America – the people in general were warm and appreciative of their liberty, the scenery breathtaking, the food delightful if a bit heavy — if not for the grave nature of his life’s business. And, of course, his constant travel companion.

The Scarred Man politely gestured for another Armagnac.

**

“In fact, some in the Catholic Church continue to argue Hitler was possessed by the devil,” Prof. Henry Jones Jr. grinned crookedly. “I think they underestimate what mankind can do all on his own, without any demonic help.”

“Indeed. Madmen all.” ‘Monsieur Cuenot’ winced, secretly delighted he’d managed to pull the wool over the renowned archaeologist. Strughold had recognized the celebrated relic hunter/adventurer from an item in the L.A. paper – Dr. Jones recently had helped foil a Soviet plot to appropriate hidden Vatican treasures for the glory of Mother Russia. Jones was just the type of challenge Strughold relished, and Belmonde’s earlier chidings had only emboldened him to toy with Hitchcock’s guests.

It didn’t hurt that he agreed wholeheartedly with Dr. Jones’ assessment of his former colleagues in the Reich. Madmen all. The very idea that these grandiose, cerebrally bankrupt fools were superior, that the human species could be segregated and ranked by race, ethnology, and belief system. Mass homicide and goose-stepping jingoism.

Not that Strughold by any means could be called a humanist. Jews, Christians, Nazis, communists – all part of the same parade of greed, neuroses, sadism, and superstition. Men like Alan Desper, the jackal Mengele, were ripe as they say for the picking. Strughold had accumulated knowledge and power through their scientific fumblings. If he were a spiritual man, he might have seen the hand of cosmic fate or God preparing him for that night in 1943, the battle he now waged with Belmonde and the others.

Belmonde, now, was quite another story. He believed. In the better nature of humanity. In the essential justice of the universe. In the common good. Belmonde was not weak – Strughold recognized and grudgingly admired the ferocity with which the Frenchman fought for his fellow Man. He was merely misguided, misdirected, a romantic.

“Supposedly, Hitler hired Erik Jan Hanussen, a quack clairvoyant, to help him hone his ‘special skills,’” Jones barked derisively. “Mind control, crowd domination. The little hyena never realized that when people have no hope and a head full of rage, they’ll listen to any maniac holding out what looks like a life vest.”

“I understand Der Fuhrer was obsessed with finding the Holy Grail.”

“I, ah, I think I read that somewhere, too,” Jones murmured cautiously. “He thought, somehow, that tapping into the essence of everything holy would empower his unholy ambitions.”

“Holy?” Strughold chuckled despite himself. “You are a man of science. You believe in such concepts? Holiness, moral evil?”

The archaeological grinned. “I’ve looked them both in the face, including Der Fuhrer. He was actually a lot runtier than they said. No, good and evil are as real as the periodic table and the cells that make you and I what we are. You don’t believe that, even after what your cousin and yourself went through in the War?”

Strughold shrugged sheepishly. Time to pull back. “You see such horrors, it can shake your confidence in humanity, in the basic precepts of good and evil, in God. Please forgive me — on this, of all nights…”

Jones shook his head. “Maybe we both could use a little more Christmas ‘spirit.’ Let me buy you one of Sir Alfred’s fine cognacs.”

“Professor Jones?” The lanky man wobbled behind the archaeologist; Strughold could smell the distillery fumes. “Orson says you can help settle something.”

Jones grinned back at Strughold. “Sure, pal.”

“He says that War of the Worlds thing he did on the radio wasn’t any show – that the Martians were for real, and the Army made him cover it up. Thatsh horseshit, you should pardon my language.”

“And you don’t believe him?” Jones played along, winking at the “Frenchman.”

“He says,” the lush leaned in. “He says they’re still here.”

Jones forced his face into an expression of grave anxiety. “Just how much did Mr. Welles tell you?”

The drunk back-pedaled. Gene Kelly deftly danced out of his orbit. “Whaddya mean?”

“How much did Mr. Welles reveal about the Martian invasion of Grovers Mills?”

“Hey, whoa, Jones. We was just horsin’ around, and you knowin’ all about kinda ghosts and goblins and the like, I thought you might…”

Jones leaned in; Strughold suppressed a grin. “Listen, friend. It would be in the interest of your continued health to forget anything Orson Welles said tonight. I’m going to have a little chat with our talented friend right now and remind him of his federal confidentiality oath.”

“Jeez, buddy, jeez.” The tall man had gone pale, his reddened cheeks the only chromatic counterpoint. Jones cackled and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Relax, friend,” the scientist assured him. “Orson’s up to his old tricks, and I couldn’t resist the temptation to play along. We all know there’s no such thing as Martians, right? Right, M’sieur Cuenot?”

“Of course not,” Strughold smiled.

“I better get my friend a fresh Scotch,” Jones said, patting the drunk’s arm. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Cuenot.”

“Yes, yes,” Strughold bowed as Jones and his “friend” retreated toward the bar. And that’s when he spotted Santa Claus.

Santa’s eyes locked directly on Strughold’s, and the faux Frenchman realized St. Nick had been studying him. Strughold’s brow arched. Santa nodded abruptly, the ball on his velvet cap bobbing.

Strughold felt a sudden sense of anxiety and something else – an old feeling, like sonar or the kind of sixth sense that little madman Hitler had claimed to possess. They were here, and trying to find the door into his mind.

He jumped unconsciously as Santa appeared at his elbow.

“Dr. Strughold?” the jolly elf rumbled. “Let’s talk.”

**

“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch,” Thurl Ravenscroft scolded the bogus Santa as he plotted the theft of Whoville’s accumulated gifts.

“I thought we were done,” Scully muttered, glaring as Mulder and Frohike glanced reluctantly up from the screen. Jimmy Stewart had had his spiritual epiphany, Charlie Brown and Linus had saved a tree, and the boys had moved on to the Seussian classic as Byers and Langly plugged away a few yards away.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Mulder whined. “We’re onto something huge, Scully – I can feel it. Strughold was in league with Belmonde. One of the good guys. Because of the Desper connection, the way he’s constantly sabotaged whatever progress we’ve made, my assumption had been Strughold was working with the others. Now, I don’t know. What if, somehow, he’s actually fighting the invading force?”

“The invading force?” Scully said. “Mulder, maybe you better ease up on the eggnog.”

“Sorry – Frohike made me watch Santa vs. The Martians. That Pia Isadora was always one the cinema’s great forgotten treasures. My point, Scully, is that maybe Strughold has an agenda beyond our comprehension. Maybe one not even Belmonde realized.” Mulder rose, loosing a snowfall of Cheetos dust. “Hey, Langly, whattaya got there?”

“Chill, bro,” the Gunmen grumbled. “Only that I can’t find any record of Belmonde’s death. I’ve hacked every major world database, and the last thing I found was some 1967 Look piece on old resistance fighters with a photo of the old dude.”

“In ’67, Belmonde would have been, oh, 49,” Frohike calculated. “He’d be pushing the century mark by now. He’s got to have cacked.”

“Not everybody subsists on a diet of cheese puffs and Red Bull,” Scully chided. “Look, let’s pack it up for tonight and start fresh on the weekend. I’ve got two dishes to prepare and Mulder’s gifts to rewrap.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Mulder offered.

“Oh, there was a thought involved?”

Mulder nodded toward the furtive green ghoul on the screen. “Guy was an amateur,” he told Frohike, who expelled Dew through his nostrils.

“Humbug,” Scully growled.

**

Santa and Strughold found a quiet spot under a palm in the sprawling backyard. The mythical elf was an absurd figure, festive in appearance, sardonically grim in demeanor.

“My friend,” Strughold began. “You somehow have mistaken me for this doctor, this Strughold. Lucien Cuenot. And you would be?”

“Don’t you recognize me?” Santa asked calmly. Strughold continued to resist the force nudging at his thoughts. “Dr. Strughold? Let’s not play games.”

The former Nazi was silent. Then Strughold nodded. “Why are we here?”

“Curiosity, let us say. You’ve been up to something, haven’t you? You and your friends. You know you cannot win – that’s why I’m here. You cannot win.”

A smile formed on Strughold’s somber face. “Then why don’t you simply finish me now?”

Santa shook his head. His eyes were deeply rimmed pools. “I am not you. You and your kind murdered with ease, wiped out entire families with the wave of a hand. The story of mankind – death and horror. I am not you. Your fate will be far worse.”

Strughold again nodded. His fingers had been submerged in his jacket, wrapped around a cool cylindrical object, one he’d appropriated from one of Them in a South American jungle eight years ago. It was the only sure way of killing Them, short of a rocket attack.

Now, his hand emerged in a single smooth arc; he raised the weapon and buried the pick-like blade in Santa’s chest. Velvet and padding melted away at the force of Strughold’s blow, and “Santa’s” costume darkened. The elf dropped to his knees, a look of mingled astonishment and terror sparking in his eyes above the beard.

“Bóg pomaga mnie,” Santa whispered.

Strughold froze, ice forming in his chest. He had mastered a dozen languages over the years in his quest for knowledge. Polish, as it happened, was not one of them, but he’d heard the phrase often enough, in the camps, in the labs.

God help me.

“I knew it was you the minute I saw you,” Santa rasped with a ghastly smile. “It was fate, taking this job, winding up in the same room with you. The chance to avenge my Sofia, the others you butchered. Well. At least I’ll see her soon enough.”

Blood leaked from his lips – red blood – and the man fell forward into the grass. Strughold scrabbled to his feet, considering his options. The Hollywood Hills were less than a quarter-mile away – would a drop from the heights obscure the deep stab wound? Better yet – Los Angeles was known for its criminal violence, for its young toughs. A common street robbery, Santa Claus found exsanguinated by dawn’s light. The slavering California press would love it.

Getting the body to the car would be the challenge. The rental coupe had been valet-parked, and he’d first have to locate it. Then drag the cumbersome corpse past all these people. This gaudy red suit would not help.

Yes, first order of business was to disguise the body by removing its disguise. Strughold dragged Santa into a nearby thicket and tugged at the bloodstained jacket. The waiter/elf had worn a T-shirt under his costume; Strughold glanced briefly at the tattoo with which his mad colleagues had branded the unfortunate man.

“It would appear you have a curious predicament.”

Strughold looked up, reaching instinctively for the Mauser he’d kept in his cumberbund. A short, portly bald man stepped carefully through the foliage.

Hitchcock smiled. “Good evening.”

**

Laughter and libidinous murmurs erupted near the house, and Strughold was forced to shelve his immediate plan. He nonetheless pulled the weapon from its makeshift holster.

“I assume this gentleman is deceased?” Hitchcock inquired, examining the corpse from a respectful distance. “This is going to play havoc with the caterers.” Strughold did not speak. “You must pardon me. Gallows humor is my weakness. Yours, apparently, is an inclination toward homicide.

“I didn’t mean to intrude, but you present a fascinating conundrum. First, Monsieur Belmonde appears on my doorstep with an unannounced German posing as his Gallic cousin. Then you abruptly leave the celebration in the company of one of my waiters. I must confess, I’ve been monitoring your movements throughout the evening. Oh, and by the way, you just missed an absolutely smashing rendition of ‘Silver Bells’ by Miss Doris Day.”

“You are quite insane,” Strughold marveled.

“No, I am not,” Hitchcock concluded after a moment’s reflection. “I am reasonably confident you won’t discharge that horrid weapon within earshot of my guests. Though I suppose you might possess a stray garrote on your person. But let us temporarily abandon the unpleasant topic of my violent death. As a man who has made a career of the macabre, I find this all quite tantalizing. How did you intend on disposing of our unfortunate S. Claus?”

Strughold shrugged. This absurdist discussion would give him time to consider how best to murder the little director. “A staged robbery in an alleyway or on the docks. I was reasonably certain you and your celebrated friends would not miss one waiter within a troupe of anonymous Santas. I would guess the service you hired is not unaccustomed to the help simply, how do your gangster films put it? Taking a powder?”

“Yes,” Hitchcock beamed. “Delightful. But how in the world did plan to you remove St. Nick from the premises without attracting unwelcome attention?”

“I suppose a distraction of some sort would have been required.”

“And your companion, Monsieur Belmonde. Is he aware of your rather un-Christmaslike conduct this evening?”

“He will not be pleased by this development, though he was concerned I was instead inclined toward eliminating you.”

Hitchcock grimaced. “I’m afraid my surveillance technique leaves much to be desired. Oh. I nearly forgot. Motive.”

“What?”

“Your motive. Why would you impale this seemingly benign icon of the yuletide season, Mr.…?”

“Strughold.” It hardly mattered. Hitchcock would not leave here alive. “I suppose fear would best describe my motive. As it would turn out, somewhat displaced fear.”

“Displaced? I assume your fear was of exposure. Yes, I spotted the markings on your friend’s arm. They are unfortunately too familiar. He recognized you, and threatened to divulge your past political affiliations. In your place, I would find that prospect utterly bone-chilling. But you now believe your fear to have been displaced?”

Strughold was growing tired of this eccentric little man. “I pray this won’t offend you, but you know nothing of real fear.”

“You might be surprised. By the way, as you’ve been kind enough to reveal yourself to me, I should reciprocate, Dr. Strughold. Allow me to show you my true face.”

Strughold brought the mauser up, but “Hitchcock” was faster. The little man wrenched the weapon from the Nazi’s grasp even as his features melted and he grew to tower over Strughold.

“No,” Strughold choked.

“This is the real fear you spoke of?” “Hitchcock” asked. Except he now spoke in a guttural Germanic accent…

**

“Where were you?” the Scarred Man demanded as his “cousin” reappeared at his side. “I was afraid you had foolishly decided to follow through…”

Strughold sighed. “You were right. There is no use in losing our heads, eh? He is a foolish old man who will likely forget the both of us by morning tea. But I must take my leave. Tell them those ‘pigs in the blanket’ hors d’oevres made me nauseous.”

Belmonde nodded, appearing somewhat relieved. “I will remain. Somehow, I am in need of some holiday cheer and human comfort.”

“Of course,” “Monsieur Cuenot” nodded curtly.

**

“You guys leaving already?” Langly whined, peering from around his monitor.

Scully nodded as she shrugged into her coat. “I persuaded Mulder to celebrate Christmas while it’s still Christmas. He’ll be back to play after he unwraps his toys and awakens from his turkey-induced coma.”

The gangly geek leapt up. “Hold up, dudes.” He disappeared briefly into the darkness beyond the Gunmen’s bank of technology and emerged with a pair of parcels brightly wrapped as if by a drunken lemur with a jumbo roll of tape.

Frohike and Byers beamed as their partner made the presentation. “Me and the guys wanted to get you something special. You’re like our best buds, and we appreciate you guys keeping us looped.”

“I’m going to burst into girlish tears,” Mulder suggested, nonetheless ripping greedily into his gift. Seconds later, paper covered the floor and Mulder stared mutely at the object in his hands. “Oh. My. God.”

“Just came in — full-spectrum, 10-megapixel camcorder,” Frohike grinned. “High-def, 1080p, tricked out with UV and IR sensitivity. For the ghost hunter who has everything. Scully?”

Scully smiled, sighing, and more carefully worked her parcel open. It was flat, an inch thick, roughly 8 by 11. She nudged the wrappings aside and gasped.

“Mulder,” she whispered, staring into the grainy, smiling face of Captain William Scully, who was accepting a respectful embrace from President John Fitzgerald Kennedy on what appeared to be the deck of a naval carrier. The framed image blurred before Scully’s eyes. “I have no words–”

“It was after the Cuban Blockade in ’62,” Byers related gently. “An archivist at the Naval Academy owed us a big one. We thought you’d like it–”

Scully wrapped the Gunmen in a fierce and prolonged embrace before he could complete the sentiment.

**

“It appears your notorious guest is taking flight,” Grant smirked, turning from the patio doors. “Shall I give chase?”

Hitchcock had been staring off into the Hollywood Hills. Now he returned to his friend. “Oh, Monsieur Belmonde’s cousin. I had quite forgotten about him.”

“This insidious war criminal simply slipped your mind?”

“As you so obviously have surmised, I was having a bit of sport with you.” Hitchcock paused. “You must admit, it was an intriguing concept. At least, it might have been a few years ago. I fear today’s jaded audience requires something a bit more, ah, visceral than sinister Germans and cocktail parties and wisecracking, square-jawed heroes. Oh, I beg your pardon.”

“Not at all, old man,” Cary Grant grinned, absently rubbing his own cleft chin. “I find myself gradually being replaced by gargantuan tarantulas and teenage werewolves and Elvis Presley’s pelvic region. Perhaps I should sprout an extra few appendages or some new facial hair.”

“Alfred.”

The reproving tone shook the pair from their whimsical reverie. Alma Hitchcock was a tiny woman, shoulder-high to her creative and marital collaborator, but the party’s backlighting cast a formidable shadow across the patio stones.

“Yes, dear heart,” Hitchcock murmured with merely a hint of irony.

“We have a houseful of guests, and you two have been huddling out here all evening like a pair of conspiratorial schoolboys. It’s extremely rude.”

Hitchcock looked to Grant, who shrugged. The little director sighed.

“Besides,” Lady Hitchcock continued. “You need to ride herd on your disreputable chums — I believe Orson’s a bit full to the gills with Christmas cheer. He swears he spotted you cavorting about in the wood behind the house.”

“Come along, then,” Grant urged genially. “Best fetch him a black coffee or the next thing you know, the old boy will start seeing Martians in the bougainvillea.”

*end

It Was Only Luck

It Was Only Luck

Author: Kathy Foote

Summary: There are two kinds of luck; good and bad

Category: Humor, light ST

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, these characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013

Productions, and Twentieth Century Fox. I wish they were mine, but they aren’t.

Archive: Two weeks exclusive with VS12, then anywhere is fine by me

Authors’ note: This story was written for IMTP Virtual Season 12, St. Patrick’s Day

Special

Thanks: To Emmy for her encouragement, my Mom for all her wonderful help, and to

Vickie Moseley, my phenomenal beta.

It Was Only Luck

Starbuck’s

March 17th – 8:00am

“I cannot believe you wore that tie today. What’s Skinner going to say?”

“What?” he asks, as he looks down at the bright yellow tie covered in small green four- leaf clovers. “What’s wrong with it? It’s perfect for today.”

“Mulder, it’s hideous.”

“That’ll be $9.87,” said the girl behind the counter at Starbuck’s. “I like your tie.”

He smiled as he handed the girl a ten-dollar bill and then turned to Scully. “See, _some_ people have taste.” He got his change, took the bag of goodies, and turned toward the front door.

Scully walked behind him mumbling under her breath, “Yeah, _bad_ taste.”

He held the door open for her and then followed her out onto the sidewalk. He stood there a moment, looking up into the sky. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day. The sun was shining; the temperature was only slightly cool; spring was definitely around the corner.

“Come on, Mulder, we better get to the office.”

He stopped his appraisal of the sun lit sky and noticed a small man dressed in a green suit, holding a bucket. The man couldn’t be more than three feet tall. He thought it was strange that he hadn’t noticed the little guy when they entered the coffee shop. He must have just arrived. He was staring at him, when the little man looked up and they made eye contact. He winked at Mulder and beckoned him forward with a wave of his hand.

Mulder was drawn by the twinkle in the man’s eyes and walked over to him.

“Good morning, good sir. Timothy Fagan, at your service,” he said in a heavy Irish brogue and bowed at the waist.

“Good morning, Mr. Fagan. What…”

“Tim, please,” he interrupted shaking his finger.

“Very well, _Tim_, what’s in the bucket?”

He looked from side to side and then gestured Mulder to lean down for a private conversation. “They’re lucky shamrocks and _you_ need to buy one. In fact, you need to buy two.”

“Two?” he asked warily, suddenly having the feeling that he was being taken.

“One for you and one for the lassie.”

At the mention of Scully, he looked around and found her standing fifteen feet away. She had a look on her face that, coupled with her hands on her hips, said he had better hurry up. He held up his hand and gave her a ‘wait just a second’ gesture. Of course, she wouldn’t wait there and began to walk back toward him.

He turned back the Tim. “How much are they?”

“Five dollars a piece. A bargain, I dare say.”

Scully arrived back at his side just in time to hear the price. “Five dollars! That’s outrageous. Come on, Mulder. We need to get going.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

“Wait a minute, Scully. I could use some extra good luck…so could you. Besides it’s Saint Patrick’s Day.” He dug a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet. He turned back to Tim and handed him the bill. “I’ll take two.”

“Ah, very good sir. You won’t regret this. I guarantee it.”

Mulder ran to catch up with Scully and showed her what he had bought. He slid one of the 4-leaf clovers into his lapel and handed the other one to her.

“I don’t want that.”

“Oh, come on, Scully. The little fellow said they were lucky. In fact, he guaranteed it.”

She just stood there with her arms crossed across her chest, making no move to take it from him. “Mulder, you’re a sucker. The man saw you coming from a mile away.”

“Fine,” he said as he slid the second 4-leaf clover into his lapel. “I don’t know I just have a feeling about this.” He turned to look back at the place where he had confronted the little man and he was gone…vanished. “Hey, Scully, the little guy is gone.”

“He probably ran off before we arrested him for fraud.” She again began walking toward the Hoover building. He stared at the empty spot another few seconds, then turned to walk with her.

As they walked, Scully stepped onto a grate in the sidewalk and the heel of her left shoe got stuck in it. Mulder was walking and talking with Scully, when all of a sudden he realized she was not there anymore. He turned to see her trying to wiggle her heel out of the grate. Finally, she stepped out of the shoe to retrieve it, but being a gentleman, Mulder reached down and freed the shoe from its snare. As he was bent over, he noticed a ten-dollar bill lying on the ground next to the grate and he snatched it up.

“Hey, Scully, look what I found.” He held up the bill for her to see. “Ten bucks! How lucky is that. It must be the 4-leaf clovers; the _free_ 4-leaf clovers now.”

She just rolled her eyes and held out her hand for her shoe, which he gave her. She examined the shoe and found a large cut in the leather on the heel. “Great! These were brand new.” She slipped the shoe onto her foot.

“I don’t know why you wear shoes like that anyway.” He knew he had nothing to do with it, but he felt he should apologize anyway. “Sorry about your shoes. You know if you were wearing your shamrock that might not have happened. You want it now?”

She glared at him for a moment, then spun on her heels and headed for the Hoover building. He walked with her in silence.

When they got back to their basement office, Mulder removed the items from the sack and placed them on Scully’s desk. He pulled the lid off the first cup and inhaled the aroma. “Smells like heaven.” He looked into the first wrapper and spotted his favorite cheese Danish. He grabbed his items and went to his own desk. He took a big bite out of his Danish and a sip of his cappuccino. “Mmmmm. White Chocolate Mocha and Cheese Danish. Breakfast of Champions.”

She almost choked on his last statement. “Breakfast? That looks more like dessert.”

“Jealous?” he mumbled as he took another bite.

“Not in the least,” she said smiling, as she pulled the lid off the remaining cup. Instead of her typical low-fat latte, she was in possession of another White Chocolate Mocha Cappuccino. Her smile quickly vanished. Opening the wrapper expecting to find her banana nut muffin, she spied another Cheese Danish. Her former smile had now been replaced with a frown. They had doubled Mulder’s order.

He noticed her sitting there wearing a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Mulder, they left my stuff out and doubled _your_ order. I can’t drink this. You want another White Chocolate Mocha Cappuccino?”

“Really?” he said with a big grin forming on his face. He jumped up and practically skipped over to her desk. “Man, I am so lucky today. First, I find ten dollars and now I get a free cappuccino. Must be the shamrock.”

“Give it a rest, Mulder,” she threw back over her shoulder as she went to fire up their coffee maker. She stood there disgusted, watching the coffee brew, thinking how good that latte would have tasted. Now she would be stuck with regular coffee. It just wasn’t fair.

Armed with a fresh cup of coffee, she returned to her desk to finally eat her breakfast.

She removed the sticky Danish and took a big bite. She had to admit it was good. She looked around her desk for napkin, but Mulder must have taken them all. She pulled open her lower drawer to get one from her stash and rammed the desk drawer into her shin. “Oww!” she yelped.

“What’s happened?”

“I hit my leg with the desk drawer.” She leaned over to examine the spot and noticed a run in her hose. “Dammit!” she exclaimed.

“What’s wrong now?” he asked sounding a bit exasperated.

“It’s nothing. I just got a run in my hose.”

“Gee, Scully, you sure are having a run of bad luck. Perhaps you should reconsider taking this 4-leaf clover.” He held out the shamrock toward her. She gave him a smirk and made no move to accept his offer. “Fine,” he said as he put it back in his lapel.

They spent an uneventful hour reading through files when suddenly he broke the silence.

“We’ve got a meeting with Skinner in fifteen minutes. What do you say we gather our reports together and head on up?” He put on his jacket, picked up the folder that contained his report, and headed for the door.

He was at the door; ready to leave, when he noticed Scully wasn’t with him. He saw her searching for something at her desk. “What’re you looking for?”

“My report!” she said a little too loudly. “Sorry. I can’t find my report. I could’ve sworn I put it in my briefcase this morning, but now it’s not there. Do you have it?”

“No. You must’ve left it at home. Look, there’s nothing we can do about it now. You can explain it to Skinner and tell him you’ll bring it in tomorrow.”

“I guess you’re right. Damn. I hate going up there without my report.”

“We better get a move on. He’ll be even madder if we’re late.”

Ten minutes later, they were directed into Skinner’s office and Scully took her usual seat.

Mulder placed his report on Skinner’s desk and then sat down. Skinner looked at the report and then at Scully. “Did you forget something, Agent Scully?”

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry, but I seem to have left my report at home. I didn’t have time to go back home to get it before the meeting.”

He actually looked shocked by her statement. She had never been unprepared for a meeting…ever, but he couldn’t let it slide. “I expect to see you…and your report…in my office…tomorrow morning…at 7:00am sharp.”

7:00am? She usually didn’t even get to work until 8:00 or 8:30. She figured this was punishment for being late with her report. “Yes, sir.”

“Agent Mulder, thank you for the timely submission of your report.” Scully flushed with embarrassment at his statement. They sat in silence as Skinner reviewed the report.

Finally, he closed the folder and leaned back in his chair. “This is an excellent report, Agent. Your conclusions are sound and well thought out. Your corroborating evidence is properly catalogued and attached. This is one of your best reports; I’m very pleased.”

Mulder simply looked at him for a second. He was not accustomed to such praise.

“Why…Thank you, sir.”

“By the way, Mulder, I _love_ that tie. It’s perfect for today. Where’d you get it?”

Mulder looked at him as if he had grown a second head. He was shocked that he liked his tie. He had actually expected Skinner to hate it. “I…I actually got it at Spencer’s, sir.”

“Well, I love it!” he said with a chuckle; an honest to goodness chuckle. “And the shamrocks, Mulder…where’d you get them? Are they really 4-leaf clovers?”

“Yes, sir, they are. I bought them this morning from a man in front of the coffee shop. He said they were lucky.”

“I wish I’d seen him. One can always use some extra luck.” Mulder gave Scully a side- wards glance at his last comment. She did not return his look. “I guess that’s about it, Agents. You’re dismissed.” They were at the door when he added, “And Agent Scully…

I look forward to seeing your report first thing tomorrow morning.” She gave him a nod and rushed out the door ahead of Mulder.

Mulder was practically glowing all the way back to the basement and Scully was fuming.

She punched the button to call the elevator and they waited. When the elevator didn’t arrive, she punched the button again.

“Here, let me try,” Mulder said. As soon as he punched the button, the doors opened. He gave her a sheepish grin and got in the car. “I guess I just got lu…”

“_Don’t_ say lucky!” she yelled as she turned to take the stairs instead.

He stepped out of the elevator car and followed her into the stairwell. “Come on, Scully, don’t be mad at me.”

She didn’t acknowledge him and continued down the stairs. Half way down the last flight of stairs, the heel on her shoe broke and she tumbled down the remaining steps. The hose were now a total loss, as were the heels. She had a large bruise forming on her shin.

Mulder rushed to her side, a look of concern on his face. “Scully! Scully, are you all right? Do you think you broke anything?”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she said sharply. Seeing the hurt look on his face, she tried again.

“Nothing is broken, except for my heels. Nothing is hurt, except for my pride.” She placed her hand on his cheek and said in gentle tone, “I’m okay. Really. How about helping me up?” He smiled and gave her a hand up.

As soon as they entered the office, he whirled on her. “This is ridiculous, Scully! If you would just take the damn shamrock, this would all end.”

“I will _not_ give credence to your ludicrous theory about lucky shamrocks by wearing that stupid thing. Just.Drop.It.”

“_Fine_,” he said. “I won’t mention it again.”

The second half of the day was about the same as the first half. Bad things kept happening to Scully and Mulder seemed to be having remarkably good luck. By the end of the day, she had a huge coffee stain on her skirt, ink on her new blouse, and had lost two buttons on her jacket. Mulder had retrieved her overnight bag from the car, so she could change shoes, but refused to change clothes, because she couldn’t afford to ruin anymore. She had to change shoes, since she couldn’t walk around in her bare feet. He hadn’t brought up the subject of the shamrocks again, even though it was eating him up inside not to do so.

Finally, the day from hell was over. Mulder suggested they go straight home and order in Chinese food. She agreed that that was a good idea and further suggested that they stop and pick up a nice bottle of wine on the way. She could sure use a drink after this day.

They stopped at a liquor store not far from their place. As soon as they walked in, they immediately realized they were in trouble. There was a young couple cowering in the corner by the refrigerated cases amidst a bunch of broken bottles and spilt liquids. There was a man pointing an automatic rifle at the terrified couple.

Before they could do anything, they were face to face with a second armed man. This one was armed with a 9mm handgun.

“For God’s sake, could this day get any worse,” Scully said, clearly tired of her string of bad luck today.

“Shut up!” he demanded and pointed his gun directly in her face. “Don’t you try anything.”

“Calm down…it’s okay,” soothed Mulder, as he and Scully slowly raised their hands in submission.

“Dammit! I thought I told you to lock that door!” he screamed at the trembling manager.

“Get over and lock it. NOW!” He turned back to his two new hostages. “You two, get over there with the others.” He motioned toward the other couple with his gun. “Jake! You watch these two.”

Jake turned as he heard his name and pointed his rifle at Mulder and Scully, as they slowly made their way across the store.

“Hurry up!” urged Jake, “I ain’t got all night.”

They took a position next to the other couple. Mulder quickly assessed the situation.

Two men, both armed with automatic weapons, obviously not professionals, which made them even more dangerous. Jake, the one armed with the rifle, looked ready to explode.

The other man, his name unknown, had returned to badgering the storeowner into opening his safe, which the owner seemed to be having trouble with.

The two men seemed unstable and were clearly agitated. Mulder had a very bad feeling about the whole situation. He couldn’t go for his own weapon, while Jake had his rifle pointed at them. The gun wouldn’t even clear the holster before he would be shot. He realized that this might not end well and considering Scully’s luck today, it might go worse for her.

“Psst…Scully…take the shamrock,” he whispered.

She turned to him and gave him a look that clearly said she thought he was crazy.

“What? I can’t believe you thinking about that at a time like this.” she whispered back.

“Take the shamrock, please!”

“Hey! You two shut up!” Jake yelled at them.

“Scully, please.”

“Mulder,” she whispered low and menacingly, “you’re going to get us shot.”

“Please…I’m begging you.”

“Fine…give it to me,” she agreed, just to shut him up. He was obviously not going to drop it.

He removed one of the four-leaf clovers from his lapel and held it out to Scully, who snatched it from his hand.

The first gunman noticed the exchange. “Hey! What’re you two doing?” he yelled as he rushed toward them with his gun aimed in their direction. Jake turned his rifle on them also.

Mulder debated with himself whether or not to pull his gun; this might be their last chance. Before he could decide, the first gunman hit the spilt liquid, lost his footing, fell onto his back, hit his head on the hard floor, and was out cold. As he hit the ground, his finger tightened on the trigger, firing the gun. The bullet hit his partner in the chest and he too went down, his weapon falling from his slack arms.

Mulder, Scully, and the other couple were completely stunned. They couldn’t believe what had just happened. They finally broke from their stupor. Mulder pulled out his cell phone to call 911 while he secured the weapons. Scully checked out the condition of the two gunmen. The one seemed to be unconscious, while the other was dead from a gunshot to the chest. She cuffed the unconscious prisoner and then they all waited for the police to arrive.

Later, Mulder and Scully were standing on the sidewalk in the front of the liquor store.

They had already given their statements and were waiting to be released.

“I’m so glad you finally decided to take that shamrock, Scully,” he said, “It probably saved your life.”

“Oh, please! I only took it to shut you up, Mulder, before you got us both shot. It was just a coincidence that that man slipped and shot his partner.”

Mulder snorted and stared at her unbelievingly. “I cannot believe you said that. That little man this morning sold me those shamrocks on purpose.”

Now it was her turn to stare at him in disbelief. “I cannot believe _you_ said that. There is no way that man could have known we would walk into that robbery…it was just luck, Mulder.”

Mulder rolled his eyes and turned away. He couldn’t understand why Scully always found it impossible to believe. He looked up the street and spied the little man from this morning standing on the corner not thirty feet away. Mulder and Tim made eye contact and stared at one another for several moments. The little fellow smiled, gave Mulder a wink, and then disappeared. Mulder continued to stare at the empty space, once occupied by Timothy Fagan and then finally turned back to Scully.

“You know, Scully, you’re right…it was only luck.”

The End

An Dullahan

An Dullahan

Author: Skinfull

Rated: PG 13

Categorization: M/S RST Spoilers: None.

Summary: An Irish castle has been transported to Chicago where the haunting still continues.

Feedback: skinfull@undergroundtales.com Love all feedback. Thanks in

Advance!

Authors Notes: An Dullahan is an old Irish folklore, messenger of death.

http://www.dullahan.com/ (Can you believe he has his own site! LOL)

Irish Ghosts and Castles: http://www.nzghosts.co.nz/

irish_ghosts.htm

Irish Names I used:

Eoghan Darby – Owen Darby

Aodh Ó Duibhdíorma – Ay (Meaning Fire) Darby

Óisin Ó Cearbhaill – Oisin (Meaning Deer) O Carroll

Eabha Ní Tuama – Eva Toomy

Thanks Lisa for all your help. (Dr Lisa Comma Transplant Specialist.)

An Dullahan

O’Hare International Airport

Wednesday March 16th

10.15AM

“Just because it’s folklore doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” Mulder hefted both of their cases off the luggage rack and followed her through the bustling airport crowd to the car rental desk. Her silence was beginning to rattle him and he knew she was storing a big

reply, waiting till they were alone before she would offload on him completely.

Scully signed for the car and took the keys with a smile. She still offered no reply and simply preceded him out to the carpark and quickly found the car. As she sat into the passenger seat, Mulder placed the cases into the trunk and finally claimed the seat

next to her. The keys jangled off his knee as he reached for his seatbelt, but he didnt turn the ignition yet.

“Say it. Please just say it now, you’re driving me crazy with the anticipation!” he muttered between gritted teeth after too much silence, and turned to face her after slipping his belt lock in.

“Mulder, this is a legitimate case, three murders last year, including one federal officer. What do you want me to say?” She opened the brown manila folder that rested on her lap and flicked through the pages.

“But…” he urged her to continue.

“But nothing.”

“Tomorrow is St Patrick’s Day Scully…aren’t you even a little bit excited?” he gunned the engine and slowly made his way through the traffic.

“Is there going to be a parade?” she joked and he smiled in return.

“Don’t you believe in the stories Scully?” he asked lightly as he pulled out into the traffic and accelerated with it.

“Mulder, do I ever believe in these stories?”

“This could be a first Scully. There are numerous eye witnesses corroborating the”stories” this time,” he smirked, making air quotes to humor her.

“Eye Witnesses?” she scoffed flicking through the file to the back page where the witness accounts were. “Michael Reilly, Groundskeeper. And Eileen Murphy, hotel receptionist.”

“Who better to see the haunting?”

“Never the less,” she continued. “There are three unexplained murders, three unsolved crimes.”

“They were all found dead at midnight on St Patrick’s Day. So we have…” he checked his watch. “Just under 38 hours?”

***

Leap Castle

Wednesday March 16th

12.20 PM

Mulder pulled off the main road and was immediately gratified by the sounds of crunching gravel under the wheels of the car. Slowly he drove up towards the main entrance and pulled the car up outside the sweeping steps that led to the front door.

Stepping out into the cool spring sun, they looked up at the formidable building before them.

A soft wind blew in from the north rustling the ivy that clung to the castle walls, adding its foreboding ambience. The bricks were grey and showed signs of battle damage in parts beneath the old cannon slots at the top of the castle turrets.

“Hello, and welcome to Leap Castle.” Mulder and Scully turned to the stairs where a small man was approaching them eagerly, his smile wide with pride as he noticed their eyes traverse the walls of his castle in awe.

“Mr Eoghan Darby?” Scully extended her hand and he shook it vigorously.

“Yes, yes, that’s me!” he turned to Mulder and shook his hand with just as much gusto before ushering them up towards the castle door. “Come now, you are just in time for lunch!”

“Our bags-” Scully protested but Eoghan shuffled on, a hand pressed to each of their backs.

“Never mind them! Patrick will collect them and bring them to your rooms.”

They entered the castle door and moved through the brightly lit hall. Scully was surprised to feel the heat, expecting it to be cold or draughty, not brightly painted and carpeted with a wide screen TV and several couches lining the walls.

“It’s for the guests,” Darby explained as he spotted her looking at the television. “I’d prefer to keep it draughty, with stone floors, tapestries and huge open fireplaces but my paying guests do expect the comforts of home during these Irish winters.”

“Irish winters?” Mulder queried, exchanging a quick glance with Scully.

“We like to think that when we brought this castle over we imported a small piece of Ireland with us.”

“The castle was brought over from Ireland?” Scully looked around at the walls with new ardor. “Not just the materials?”

“No not at all. We brought the complete castle over eight years ago, lock, stock and barrel; every single brick and even a lot of the surrounding land. The Peat Bog and Turf were part and parcel of this restoration. It took four years to get it restored here in Chicago and we’ve been open for business ever since.”

“Until the murders?” Mulder said as they were led into a large banquet hall.

“The murders seemed to have heightened our guest list.” He pulled out two chairs near the end of the large table that was laden down with food and urged them to sit.

“As you will see when they join us for lunch.”

Their host grabbed a plate of turkey and helped himself to a few slices before passing it to Scully. She placed a small piece on her plate and passed it on to Mulder.

Suddenly the double doors at the end of the room opened to let in a small group of people that greeted Eoghan cheerfully. They pulled up seats at the table and soon plates were being filled and wine was being poured.

“No thanks,” Scully said covering her glass before it could be filled.

“Sure you’ll have a drop,” the stranger persisted with the large bottle of white wine.

“No, I’m fine thanks.” With relief she watched the server pass on to the next glass and pour out more wine and she turned to Eoghan. “How did you manage to acquire the castle Mr Darby?”

“Call me Eoghan, please.” He dropped his hand onto hers and patted it gently. “My great grandfather, Aodh Ó Duibhdíorma, grew up here. He married on these very grounds to the love of his life, Eabha Ní Tuama.” He paused to take a sip of his wine and Scully suddenly had the feeling she was speaking to a true storyteller.

Eoghan looked around the table and glanced at all his guests who slowly took notice of the story they were about to hear.

“But it wasn’t to be happy ever after. Shortly after the wedding he found his bride murdered on the doorsteps, the very doorsteps outside right now. She had been stabbed through the heart by a scorned lover.” The rapt audience stopped eating as the story curled around them and Scully had to admit he was good at this. “The killer

was a man named Óisin Ó Cearnhaill. When Aodh found this out he went mad and plotted to get revenge.”

Pausing again for affect, Eoghan smiled enigmatically and Scully glanced around the table at the guests hanging on his every word. Even Mulder seemed more then a little interested.

“Every night Óisin used to ride through the forest on his black steed to tend the livestock. One night Aodh waited for him. As Óisin rode past Aodh took a mighty swing of his axe,” Eoghan slammed his fist down unexpectedly onto the table making several diners jump. As a trickle of nervous laughter circled the room and Eoghan waited for silence before he continued.

“He took his head clean off and burned on a spike it in the centre of town as symbol of his lost love. The fire burned for seven days and seven nights. No water could extinguish the flame until eventually a local butcher emptied a bucket of blood over it.”

Scully couldn’t help the smile on her face and she nodded slowly at him as a job well done. The story had it’s desired effect as the conversations around the table started again with vigour.

“Good story Mr Darby,” she said but he shook his head with a smile.

“Not a word of a lie Agent Scully.” He sipped his wine again. “Needless to say my uncle was incarcerated for his crimes and the castle was lost to the family. A series of unfortunate and extreme accidents made sure the occupants didn’t stay for long.”

“It’s haunted?” Her eyebrow arched quizzically and Mulder sat forward with his elbows on the table.

“By the murdered bride?” he guessed.

“No. By Óisin.” Eoghan let his words linger and turned back to his lunch.

The rest of the meal finished without a mention of the story. Gentle conversation about the festivities that would be on for St Patrick’s Day circled the room. After all the food had been eaten and the bottles of wine drank the crowd dispersed in different directions, leaving only Mulder and Scully standing in the main foyer.

“What do you make of that?” Mulder asked, nodding his head over his shoulder towards the lunch table.

“The story? It was a good one. And he has the routine down pat. But I’ve heard better from my father.”

“You father was partial to the ghost stories?”

“Yes. Loved to scare us with them.”

“The story I wasn’t too interested in, but the details. The bucket of blood, the horse.”

“The headless horseman?”

“At the second murder, the amount of blood on the victim didn’t correspond to the blood loss. There was nearly seven litres of blood in the surrounding area.

Depressions from horse shoes were found in the soil surrounding the body.”

“What about fairy rings? Pots of gold?” She crossed her arms and sighed. “C’mon Mulder.”

“Well as usual we’ll have to agree to disagree, but lets take a look at the facts-” he began, angry at her blatant dismissal but before he could count off his points Eoghan arrived from a door beneath the staircase.

“Agents, let me show you to your rooms.”

They followed him up the wide curved staircase and through the darkened halls that were lined with maple wood panelling and old oil paintings of various figures. One painting caught Scully’s eye; a beautiful lady dressed in a white dress. A blue shawl

barely covered her shoulders and deep red locks of hair partially covered her face. Her eyes were a piercing green colour that drew Scully in, even though the painting was old and faded.

“Beautiful isn’t she?” The voice of Eoghan right behind her startled her out of her reverie.

“Yes.”

“That’s her, that’s Eabha.”

Scully stared at the picture for a moment longer then slowly took a step back and waited for Eoghan to show them to their rooms. With large ornate keys he turned each of the locks and pushed open each of the oak doors.

“Dinner will be served at 7pm. I understand you are just here for the investigation and will not be partaking in the activities we do have planned, but please feel free to join us.”

“We will need to speak to you about the murders and the crime scenes,” Mulder mentioned before Eoghan could walk away.

“Of course. I will be downstairs in my office when ever you need to speak to me.”

“Thank you.”

Once he had left them, they entered their separate rooms and found their bags had been left on the beds awaiting their attention. Mulder walked around the large poster bed and patted the soft mattress. The open fireplace held logs ready to be lit, and the old style votive candles on the lockers added to the atmosphere.

He pulled loose his tie and slipped out of his jacket. Dropping it on the chair beside the dressing table, Mulder located the adjoining door and pushed it open to find Scully staring out the window at the lawns below. He took a moment to notice her room was almost a mirror opposite of his own

“Scully?”

“It’s amazing what people can do nowadays,” she muttered without turning around.

“To take each brick from Ireland and bring it over to Chicago of all places and rebuild it.”

“They did it with the statue of liberty in 1885.”

“The statue of liberty was designed to be dismantled and shipped across the Atlantic Ocean. I don’t think this castle was.” She turned in time to see Mulder lifting one of the paintings off the wall. “What are you doing?”

“Old castle, old paintings, moving eyes…”

“It’s not a “Scooby Doo” movie Mulder!” she exclaimed indulgently smiling as he replaced the picture.

“Okay, I’m off to get showered and freshened up.”

“I’ll meet you down stairs in 20 minutes.”

***

Leap Castle

Wednesday March 16th

7.30 PM

Dana Scully released an audible sigh and sank back into the soft cushions of the chair.

Mulder looked up from his end of the desk and smiled. Her red hair was hanging loosely around her face and her cheeks were reddened from the heat in the room.

“Scully the longer we stay in this castle the more your Irish heritage comes to the forefront.”

“Irish heritage?” She pulled off her glasses and raked her fingers through her hair, causing the locks to bounce onto her shoulders.

“Red hair, the cute freckles, the rosy cheeks!” he joked dropping his pen onto the table and leaning back into his own chair.

“Shut up Mulder!” she laughed touching her warm cheek with the back of her fingers.

Looking down at the list of notes they had made she couldn’t help but sigh again.

“This is getting us nowhere.”

“The trail is cold,” he admitted with a sigh as he stood up from the table and walked over to the window. A light rain had started to fall against the glass and he rested his palm against it, enjoying the cold sensation on his skin. “Lets go over it once more.”

“Mulder it’s the same as it was last time and the time before that. It’s not going to change…” she said even as she was shuffling through her notes to the first victim.

“Indulge me.”

“Shawn Pearson. Found dead in his bed, decapitated, with a hot blade; a single blow and with both his eyes missing.” Scully scanned through the rest of the page but flipped it over instead of reading more.

“Witness report said that a horse could be heard racing across the grounds that night but there was no sighting,” Mulder added.

“Margaret Gorman was discovered in the bath, decapitated in the same manor with her eyes missing.”

“Again horses were heard the night of the murder.”

“Why the horses Mulder?”

“The horse prints found at the site of the third murder have a significance. There are no horses kept at this hotel or near it’s grounds. In fact the closest stable lodgings are 120 miles away.”

“Ok so the murderer is arriving on horseback, with a sword of some sort, then chopping the heads off?” even as she said it aloud she was shaking her head from side to side, realising all of a sudden where he was going with it.

“Headless Horseman,” Mulder said in a low comically sinister voice as he walked slowly around the room towards the back of her chair and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Seeking revenge on any who dare to stand before him.”

“An Dullahan!”

They both spun to the doorway face the where Eoghan was standing with a tray of drinks. He set down the drinks onto the table between them and smiled broadly at them.

“Dullahan?” Scully asked.

“It’s an Irish word. There is no direct translation but it means the without a head.”

“Headless horseman,” Mulder completed with a gratified smile in Scully’s direction.

“His head has a large mouth and huge eyes that dart around like flies. He holds his head firmly tucked beneath his arm. The head of the black horse has flaming eyes and short-cropped ears. The horse’s head is longer than the body by six yards or more.”

“Sounds like a poem,” Scully said her lips curving slightly, until she noted the serious look on Eoghan’s face.

“In fear of the headless rider;” Eoghan continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “men alone in the fields at night cower behind the bushes because of his reputation with a whip.

With his whip he can accurately remove the eyes of all mortals foolish enough to spy on his ventures.”

“Sounds like our guy Scully.” She rolled her eyes at him in response.

“Don’t be fooled by his existence in folklore.” Eoghan said as he walked away from the table and towards the heavy oak door, “Clichés and stories have to begin somewhere.”

Leap Castle

Thursday March 17th

3.20 AM

Mulder leapt out of his bed and charged towards the adjoining door where Scully’s insistent banging was emanating from. In his haste his feet tangled in his bed sheet and he fell to the floor with a loud crunching thud, trapping his arm across his ribs and knocking his head on the corner of his suitcase.

“Mulder!” he heard her yelling. “Mulder! Hurry!”

With a groan and a dizzy spell he manage to scramble to his feet and grab the door handle. Unsure of why it had been locked he fumbled with the old style circular lock, his head still smarting from the encounter with the case.

“Mulder!”

“Scully!” He yelled back, his ears ringing in pain and his eyes wide with the shock of his rude awakening. Eventually he heard the lock click and he pushed the door open.

Scully stood at the end of her bed, her hands covering her ears as if there were speakers blaring out music next to her head.

“Scully?” he croaked out, rushing over to her and grabbing her arms. But she wrapped them steadfastly around her ears, her eyes screwed tightly shut and her teeth clenched together. “Scully!” Shaking her a little, she managed to open her eyes to slits and he saw the pain behind the bloodshot organs.

Then as if she were waking from a dream her features relaxed and he felt the muscles in her arms go limp. She blinked a few times and looked at him wonderingly.

“Mulder? What are you doing in my room?” she queried with a crooked smile as she noticed he was wearing only a pair of flimsy boxer shorts.

“What am I doing here?” he replied, frustratedly. “You were yelling out my name, banging on the door.”

“Was I?”

“Yeah, I fell out of the bed, bashed my head off my case then couldn’t get the door unlocked,” he grumbled, rubbing his head where it had connected with the metal corner of his case.

“I don’t remember…” she looked around the room confused for a moment before taking a closer look at his injury. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes it bloody hurts!” he moaned as her fingers pressed on the small bump that was already forming behind his hairline.

“I don’t know what happened…maybe I was sleepwalking,” she muttered.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” he asked.

“Horses…loads of horses…” Her voice was low and she closed her eyes as the remains of her thoughts faded beneath her scrutiny. “They were charging all around me, circling me…”

“Scully,” Mulder said softly touching her arm to take her back to the room and out of her head.

“It was the strangest dream.”

“Dream?” he queried. “That dream had you banging on that door, and yelling out my name like a banshee. That dream had you standing in the middle of this room holding your head like it was about to explode.”

“Powerful stuff eh!” she said lightly but he caught the quiver behind her voice and pulled her into a tight embrace. But she wouldn’t let him hold her for very long. After a few shaky breaths she extracted herself from his arms and backed away.

He let her move without protest and watched as she walked to the bathroom to splash some cold water over her face. When she returned to the bedroom she was looking fresher and her questioning frown was back in place.

“Why did you lock the adjoining door?” she asked suddenly.

“I didnt, I thought you did.”

As Scully shook her head Mulder went immediately to the adjoining door and examined the lock.

“Has it been tampered with?”

“No…But there is something else.” He stood away form the door to let her have a better look.

“What?”

“There is no lock. It’s just a simple door knob.”

***

Leap Castle

Thursday March 17th

9.45 AM

“Sure we thought you had died up there!” Eoghan roared at them delightedly as they sauntered into the dinning room where breakfast was being served. Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance before sitting down to the large banquet table. “Help yourself to whatever it is you want.”

Mulder piled his plate with each of the choices the table had to offer but Scully settle for a bowl of flavoured porridge and half a grapefruit. Eoghan who was sitting across from them sipped on his cup of tea and basked in the morning sun that was streaming through the wide windows.

“How did you sleep last night?” he asked stretching his legs out before him and crossing them at his ankles.

“Not too bad. Woke up at around 4 though,” Scully ventured carefully, watching his face for a reaction. “I heard a noise and it must have woken me.”

“What did you hear?” Scully looked over to the man who was sitting a few seats away from her. His eyes were bleary and tired as if he too had trouble sleeping.

“Horses,” she replied bluntly.

Mulder noticed as Eoghan’s tea seemed to go down the wrong way and he coughed to regain control of his airways.

“I heard them too.”

“You heard the horses outside?” Mulder asked leaning forward to get a better view of the man.

“Well,” he scoffed. “They sounded like they were in my room. I woke up my wife with all the trashing I did…the weird thing is…she didnt hear a thing.”

12.10 PM

“Okay guys, I see it, now how can it be activated?”

Scully walked into her bedroom and dropped her notepad onto the desk. She spotted Mulder crouching by the adjoining door and was about to speak to him when she noticed he was on the phone. Instead she slipped out of her shoes and sat on the bed.

“Yeah, I see that…yeah…yeah…where?” He stood up and pinned the phone to his shoulder with his ear as he twisted the screwdriver on the handle to loosen it from the wood.

“Mulder, you can’t do that!” She protested when he dismantled the doorknob.

“Okay I have it out, now what.” He listened to the voice at the other end as he spread out the bits of the door onto the floor. “Yes there it is…thanks Frohike.”

Mulder switched the phone off and dropped it to the floor before rummaging through the small bits to pick up the black piece.

“What is that?” Scully asked

“An RF receiver.”

“And what does it do?”

“Receives RF signals!” He said smartly smiling broadly at her frown.

“Okay…what did Frohike think it was doing in the door lock?”

“When you were off talking to the other guests I had a closer look at the door, and noticed the lock was a bit heavier than normal and longer too.” He picked up the piece he meant and showed it to her. “I called Frohike and explained about the door last night and he said it may have been locked remotely. So he asked me to look for a

receiver in the lock.”

“So someone locked this door on purpose last night?”

“The same someone who was transmitting the horse sounds into your room last night.”

“Sounds? The horses?” Confused she looked around the room, half expecting to see a large concert speaker in the corner. “Why didn’t you hear them though?”

“I don’t know Scully. Everyone has his or her own bandwidth. Maybe the sound was transmitting on a frequency that I couldn’t register.”

“Oh c’mon Mulder. Like a dog whistle?”

“Exactly like that.”

“You can’t turn this case from one unexplainable paranormal theory to another at the drop of a hat.”

“There is nothing paranormal about this door Scully. These electronics were placed by

someone in this hotel.”

“In every room?” She reached for the pad and flipped through the pages to find what she was looking for. “I interviewed 8 of the guests and only two of them heard noises last night. Two of them recognised them as horses and the third couldn’t pin it down to a specific recognisable sound. And they all admit to having quite a bit to drink the night before.”

“You weren’t drinking last night.”

“No but I was dreaming, and after all the talk of the headless horseman is it inconceivable that I would have a nightmare involving horses?” she argued walking away and pouring a glass of water from the decanter.

“No not inconceivable. But we didn’t mention the horseman to the other guests and it’s highly unlikely you all just happened to have nightmares involving horses.”

“Maybe there were horses outside last night!”

“I checked the grounds after breakfast and there is no evidence of that.” He dropped all the bits to the door lock onto the table and walked over to her. “Admit it Scully, you were spooked last night.”

“Of course I was spooked Mulder, but that’s not the point. Just because I was, doesn’t make it real.”

Mulder opened his mouth to argue when a spine-chilling scream rattled through the halls. Without hesitation they grabbed their weapons and raced through the corridor to the source of the sound.

Mulder held his gun rigidly by his side as he turned the corner and spotted the slightly open door. He gestured for Scully to take the other side and waited till she was ready before pushing the door carefully open.

Crouching low Mulder aimed his gun out before him and walked into the room slowly. Behind him Scully followed but they both stopped short at the body that lay before them. The remains were splayed out as if dropped from a height, the limbs bent and twisted unnaturally and the head was missing. Mulder pulled a face.

As Scully stepped closer she recognised the clothes belonged to one of the guests she had spoken to earlier about the horses.

“I spoke to him earlier.” She said softly crouching down to examine the body closer as she slipped her gun back into its holster.

“About the noises last night?”

“Yeah. He said he heard them too.” She stood abruptly away from the body and crossed her arms over her chest. “I need examine him closer.”

“Scully?”

“I’ll call the hospital and arrange a lab.” She was bustling out of the room but he quickly followed her and stopped her march by grabbing her elbow and forcing her to turn back to him.

“Scully…three murders…three victims…three witnesses to the sounds last night.”

“Oh Mulder please. Don’t start with the wild conjecture yet,” she blurted tersely.

“Sometimes a coincidence is just a coincidence?” he said, stealing the words from her mouth.

“Coincidence, Mulder, is just a layman’s term for conspiracy.”

Shaking her arm loose she turned on her heel and walked briskly through the hall without waiting for him to follow.

6.40 PM

Tired, frustrated and still with no clues Scully pulled the car up outside Leap castle and killed the engine. The outside lights were casting eerie shadows on the old stonewalls and she knew if she were here under different circumstances she would be enjoying the atmosphere, but not tonight, she admitted with a wry smile.

After spending the whole day at the morgue examining the body, the cauterised wound across the head and neck where they had been severed, the gaping and bloody sockets where his eyes had been, she wasn’t sure she could appreciate any of the scenery surrounding her. Or dinner tonight.

She basked in the silence that surrounded her for a moment before she could face the party that she knew was happening in the castle. St Patrick’s Day at an authentic old Irish Castle. She smiled at the idea and was reaching for the handle when she heard it.

At first it was faint, as if it was far away but it was definitely getting closer. Horses, running, galloping or sprinting towards her. She twisted and turned in her seat as she checked outside all the car windows but there was nothing to see.

The noises were getting louder, the horses nearer. She pushed the door open and pulled her gun from the holster that nestled at the small of her back. Crouching low by the front wheel she held her breath in an effort to hear better but there was no need.

The noises were so loud that she was sure there would be a team of horses passing by on the front lawn any second. Peering over the top of the hood she saw only the other parked cars, the trees blowing in the cool night air and the cold unwelcoming darkness. The sounds exploded into the night before the silence was restored.

Baffled even more Scully slowly stood up and backed away from the car towards the castle door. Stumbling over the steps she hurried up and barged through the door, eager to find Mulder.

Everyone turned to see her panting in the doorway, her eyes wide, her breaths shallow and her mouth slightly open.

“Scully?”

Her head whipped around to see Mulder walking towards her, his arm outstretched to grasp her shoulder, a worried look across his face. She closed her mouth with a pop and took a steadying breath as she turned to him.

“Are you okay?” Mulder asked, his hand on her shoulder as he turned her away from the on looking crowd.

“Yeah. Yes, I’m fine.”

“You look a little shaken,” he noticed, stepping back a bit from her frosty response. What had gotten into her this trip?

“I just…” she shrugged and reached up to tuck her hair behind her ears. “I just thought I heard something outside.” She looked away from his inquiring face and only then noticed the decorations in the room, the food laid out on the buffet table near the fire and the traditional Irish music that was playing in the background.

“What did you hear?”

“Horses, I heard horses as I was walking in.” She caught his eye and saw no derision in them. With relief she let out a sigh and stepped closer when suddenly the door burst open and one of the guests came barging in. She stumbled over a floor rug and fell to the ground. As she rolled over onto her back everyone saw clearly the blood covered

clothes and the look of horror on her face.

“Oh my god!” Scully exclaimed as she rushed over and began checking the guest for injury.

“Is she okay?” Mulder asked stooping by the head.

“I can’t find anything…I can’t find any injuries…”

“It’s not mine!” the lady on the floor screamed fighting away from Scully’s touch, but the agent held her down by pinning her shoulders to the ground. “It’s not my blood. It’s Ronan’s! It’s Ronan’s blood!”

“Ronan?” Mulder queried.

“Her husband.” Eoghan was standing in the kitchen doorway. His face was deathly pale and a film of sweat marred his brow. Shakily he walked forward and left the tray of drinks on the table. The glasses clattered against each other as his hands trembled and he shoved them into his pockets to keep them steady.

“Eoghan?” Mulder asked stepped forward and touching the smaller mans elbow. “Are you alright?”

“I thought they were just stories…I thought…it couldn’t be true…could it?”

“What? What did you hear?” Mulder persisted ignoring the glare of blue eyes he could feel burning into his head.

“When we bought the castle back into the family there were so many rumors.” He wiped his brow with the hankie he pulled from his shirt pocket. “The previous owners came to an untimely demise…and it seems they weren’t the only ones. But I didn’t think anything of it.”

With a shaky hand he reached out to the back of the chair and lowered himself into it.

“When we decided to bring the castle over to Chicago, I thought the rumours would die, the haunting stories could only enhance my business.” He scoffed a little, wiping his brow again. “And they did. Better than I could have imagined.”

“Until the murder,” Scully said softly.

“When the police could find no forced entry, no clues, nothing except for the reports of the noise of horses rampaging, I thought the worst but even then I didn’t really believe it.”

“We don’t know what happened here yet Mr Darby,” Scully began as she turned her attention back to the lady who was weeping on the rug beside her.

“It’s him! You heard them yourself!” Eoghan yelled angrily his fear swiftly turning into rage.

“What I heard and what is happening to these people may not have anything in common.”

“Oh c’mon!” Eoghan stepped towards her, “You know it does!”

“Calm down!” Mulder said holding Eoghan back and pushing him into a chair. “I’m going to call the coroner again and get some back up out here.”

“Mulder, Can I have a word?” Scully said softly before he could make the call. She grabbed a cushion off the chair behind her and placed it beneath the lady’s head and draped a blanket over her. After asking one of the other guests to sit with her she followed Mulder into the hallway.

“What?” he said after a moment of silence where she just looked at him deploringly.

“Why do you insist on encouraging him?”

“Encouraging him to admit the truth.”

“Listen Mulder I did hear horses outside, I heard them getting nearer and nearer and I thought…” she hesitate, ducking beneath his gaze and leaning back against the wall. “I thought…for a moment…I thought they were coming for me.”

Sensing the fear in her voice he waited for her to continue. Waited for her to regain control of her breathing and face him fully again.

“It was terrifying.”

“Last year there were three murders. Then this morning Jack Smith was found dead in his room, the very man who heard the horses last night.”

“I know where you are going with this Mulder,” she said trying to interrupt him but he wasn’t going to let his train of thought be dispersed.

“Right now we have another body, to look for.” He paused and watched her eyes close over slowly. “He was the other person who heard them last night wasn’t he?”

She simply nodded, her eyes still closed.

“So that leaves…”

“Me.” She completed his sentence when he couldn’t.

“I’m calling for back up.”

11.30PM

The ambulance arrived shortly after Mulder’s call and hot in its wake was the back up from the nearest FBI Field office. Several swat members had scouted various locations throughout the castle to offer the maximum protection and the remaining agents were camped out at the front reception hallway.

After Ronan’s body had been located and transported to the morgue, Sarah, his wife who had stumbled bloodied and shocked through the door earlier, was taken to the hospital for shock treatment. Mulder spoke to the remaining guests about what had happened and Scully was glad he refrained from explaining the full extent of his theory. He asked if everyone would mind staying in the lobby for the rest of the night and offered them transportation to a different hotel if they preferred, after they had all given statements and alibis.

Much to his surprise they all declined the offer of transportation and rallied together to get the fire lit. Through the entire organisation, Eoghan Darby sat still in his seat by the kitchen door, where Mulder had placed him earlier. His eyes glazed over and his mouth was agape as the bustling moved around him.

Scully claimed a seat by the fire and still felt a chill. She was about to reach for a blanket when a thick woollen one was draped over her shoulders. Looking up she saw Mulder standing over her and she scooted up to let him sit down.

“You looked like you needed it.”

“Thanks.”

“You okay?”

“Spooked.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you Scully,” he said as he pulled her closer and kissed her temple. “I won’t let it.”

“Do you believe it Mulder?” she asked faintly and he felt her body tense against his as she waited for his reply.

“You know me Scully. I believe in everything,” he said flippantly.

“Seriously Mulder.”

“Whatever is out there, who ever is doing this, it was a man who put that electronic lock on the bedroom door last night. I checked the other doors today and found the same locks on two other rooms too.”

“Whose rooms?” she asked but he didnt need to voice it, she already knew.

“Tá sé ag teacht! Thogh sé tusa!” Eoghan jumped up out of his chair and stared at Scully. In his hand he was holding a knife, the blade short but sharp, held out in front of him as he pointed across the room at her.

The agents behind the door heard the screaming and barged in, their weapons trained on the threat immediately.

“Put down the knife.”

“Get on the floor.”

“Hold up your hands!” They shouted commands at him but he was staring fixedly at Scully and heard none of it.

“Níl me bheith fiáin gan rud ar bith,” he yelled taking a step closer and wielding the knife higher.

“Eoghan…we can’t understand a word you are saying.” Mulder said back as calmly as he could but the foreign words were instilling more fear then any English rambling ever did.

“He said…he said “he is coming and he has selected you” The man standing near the fire translated for them, pointing at Scully. “he said he isn’t prepared to die for no reason.”

“No one is going to die Eoghan.” Mulder said and looked to the stranger for help.

“Níl aon duine chun bás Eoghan.”

“Calm down.”

“Ciúnaigh!”

“Mulder!” Scully said suddenly gripping his arm tighter and looking towards the front door.

“What is it?” he immediately turned his attention back to his partner. “Scully?”

“Can’t you hear it?” In the tense silence of the room her voice boomed out. But as he knees started to buckle and he hands instinctively reached for her ears she crouched as low as her body would let her and tried to block out the sounds of the hooves pounding over her head. “The noise? The horses?” she shouted over the sound only

she could hear.

Mulder looked up at Eoghan who was staring at her his concentration focused so completely that he was unaware of his surroundings. His eyes had closed to mere slits as he took another step closer.

“Stop him!” Mulder yelled bending down to Scully and trying to pull her arms away from her ears. “Scully, listen to my voice…Scully.”

The agents stormed over to where Eoghan was standing and brought him down to the ground. They were trying to cuff him when all of a sudden the doors of the castle shook with an almighty bang that nearly took the door off its hinges. Scully jumped up and stared at the door.

“Tell me you can hear that!”

“I heard that alright.” Mulder turned to see Eoghan still staring at Scully. He was lying on his chest with Agent Denny holding him in place with a knee in his back.

“Stop him!” Mulder yelled.

But before the agents could react Eoghan rolled over knocking the agent off balance and managing to scramble to his feet. The knife was still in his hand as he charged across the room towards them with murderous intent. The banging on the door became louder and more persistent.

Mulder held up his arm to protect himself as his other hand fumbled to get his gun out of his holster. Scully cowered beneath him the unbearably loud sound of the hooves trampled across her mind leaving her bounded in pain.

The sharp sting of the blade cutting his skin wasn’t enough to deter Mulder as he pushed Eoghan away and managed to get his gun out. He held it in place and aimed at Eoghan as he found his footing.

“Agent Stringer, get Scully, take her out of here!” Mulder yelled over the ruckus at the door, and never took his eyes off Eoghan who was still staring menacingly at Scully. As Agent Stringer walked around Mulder to help Scully off the floor, Eoghan yelled out as if in pain and lurched towards them.

The banging on the door was constant now, mixed with Eoghan’s feral scream as he raced across the room. Then the crack of Mulders gun was followed by silence, broken only by the sound of Eoghan’s body hitting the floor.

Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath waiting for the door to be broken in. Slowly Scully sat up, her eyes red rimmed and sore. It was then she noticed the blood running down her partner’s arm.

She uttered as if coming to from a trance. “Mulder, you’re bleeding!”

“Oh, don’t worry, its nothing. I’m worried about you.” He lifted her chin up so he could smile at her and then swiped at the bloody mark his fingers made against her pale cheek. She smiled back and let him pull her into his arms. He bent to kiss her. Whatever odd mood she had been in all this weekend seemed to have vanished with

death of the castle owner. Like she had been under a weird influence.

“This place…it’s really gotton under my skin,” she admitted looking up to him and seeing him as if for the first time all weekend.

He held her tighter. “It’s okay Scully, but just let me say this. I never want to so spend a night without you again, even on a case. deal?”

“Deal! ” She pulled him close for a long kiss. ” Do you think this was a hoax Mulder, that man seemed…possessed? He had been drinking but…”

“He may have been, How knows. I think he used the stories from this castle to help business. Placing those devices to scare his guests, perpetrating the story further, lending further credence to the tales.”

Mulder glanced over to where Eoghan’s body lay motionless. “Maybe he gave it power by believing in it, by telling the stories and creating the fear. Whatever secret he had or reason for doing this, be it his complicity and exposure in or something paranormals was at work died with him.” He stood up and stretched a hand out to help

her up and pull her against his chest. “I think it will just come under another tale of St. Patrick’s Day lore and remain…. unsolved.”

“Here’s something for the shock.”

They both turned to see one of the other guests passing them pints of gren Guinness.

“Guinness?” Scully said sceptically.

“What else on St Patrick’s Day!” Mulder smiled as he took his pint and tasted a mouthful.

They finished their drinks and Scully took the glasses and left them onto the small table beside the fire. Already the room was emptying as people filled out and went to their rooms.

“C’mon Mulder, time to start making up lost time.” Taking his hand she led him towards the stairs.

“Really Scully?”

“Oh yeah. In the spirit of my ancestor’s saint’s day, I brought something skimpy and green and I would like to see if you approve. You know what they say…Guinness Give you strength. What do you say we grab a few bottles and escape upstairs?”

“Ohhh I’d love to agent Scully,” he said snatching the bottles from an ice bucket as they passed. “I feel lucky already and I have no need of a shamrock.”

The end.

Skinfull

A Kiss for Luck

A Kiss For Luck

Author: Erin M. Blair

FEEDBACK: Yes, please.

DISTRIBUTION: This story belongs to Virtual Season 12 for two weeks. After that, it will be OK for archival at Gossamer, Ephemeral, and the like.

RATING: PG.

CATEGORIES: SR — Story, Romance.

KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance.

SPOILERS: Up to Je Souhaite. There’s a spoiler for VS11x23, “Displacement.”

DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and the FOX network. “PG” is trademarked by the MPAA. I’m not making any money from using the above.

SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully discover that they are truly lucky to be together.

NOTES: I would like to thank Devin and Lisa for their lightning fast beta while my regular beta was busy thoughout this week. I would like to thank them as well as Jen for their support of my writing.

A Kiss For Luck

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + +

There was not a cloud in sight on this gorgeous summer-like day during the third week of March. After the recent rains, the ground was finally beginning to dry out, leaving the grass looking greener than usual.

Scully was outside, breathing in the fragrance of the blooming flowers in the planter. She looked over at the man, who returned her love a thousandth fold, was sitting on the plastic, white chair. “Mulder, I didn’t know you were out here.”

“I’m just enjoying this shamrock that I found today.”

She smiled. “It’s convenient that you found it just in time for St. Patrick’s Day.”

“I discovered it when I was walking home from running the track this morning,” he said smiling.

“You’re lucky, Mulder.”

“No, Scully, I think you have it wrong.”

“I do?”

He nodded. “We’re both lucky.”

“And how do you figure that, G-Man?” she asked teasingly.

She gave him an adoring smile and looked deeply into his eyes.

“When I came close to losing you, I felt as though I was going to lose the half of my soul,” he said as he was gazing into her eyes. “You have always completed me whether or not you knew it at the time.”

Her eyes became misty as his words sunk into her soul. She leaned down towards him and she kissed him. This time, she didn’t let him be the one to initiate this special moment.

She wanted to show him just how much his words meant to her. She murmured into his hair, “Mulder, I’ve always known. I remember what you said to me in the hallway before the bee stung me. You told me that I keep you honest, that I made you a whole person. What I didn’t tell you at the time was that you completed me in more ways than one. We’re connected like two sides of the same coin. I know I never believed in soul mates before, but you’re mine.”

His face brightened up with his smile. His lips tenderly grazed hers for a few seconds, and then he finally returned a more passionate kiss. “We believe the same thing.”

~~~ The End ~~~

Puppy Love

Title: Puppy Love

Author: Vickie Moseley

Artwork: MerciMulder

Summary: Not your usual Valentine’s Day story. Here be werewolves.

Written for Virtual Season 12’s Valentine’s Day Special.

Category: X, MA

Disclaimer: Rights to all characters save Sheriff Hardy and the deputy are the property of 20th Century Fox and 1013 Productions. No copyright infringement intended.

Additional Disclaimer: No real animals (or mythical creatures) were harmed in the production of this story. There is a disturbing death, but it was a righteous shoot, I swear.

Archives: VS 12 two week exclusive, then all others as requested. Tamra, you know it’s

yours, sweets.

Thanks to Lisa and Sally for once overs.

Feedback: Better than conversation hearts! vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

clip_image001

Puppy Love

Burkesville, Kentucky

February 13, 2005

Dana Scully held the cell phone to one ear and tapped her foot impatiently. “So you’re telling me it’s impossible,” she said flatly, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Yes, I know what day tomorrow is. It just never occurred to me that Valentine’s

Day would be a major holiday for airport travel.” She dug at the worn shag carpet of her motel room with her shoe. “Yes, I imagine a lot of businessmen need to get home on that day, but you’re telling me every single flight to DC is booked through Tuesday. Now,

surely, there are two seats, somewhere?” The answer made her cringe. “Yes, well, thanks for your help.” She clicked off the phone, not looking at all grateful.

“No go on changing our flight?” Mulder asked from the other side of the room. He was sitting at the lopsided desk, scribbling on a yellow legal pad. When he heard her heavy sigh, he looked up. “Hey, Scully, no harm, no foul. We can celebrate Valentine’s Day here.”

“Here?” she asked, waving one dainty manicured index finger to encompass their surroundings. “Mulder, this place makes some of the flea bags, or rather, some of the _other_ flea bags you’ve put us in look like the Ritz!”

“Hey, it’s not that bad,” he countered, immediately regretting his unconscious need to defend a choice that was not his in the making. “The sheets are clean,” he pointed toward the bed.

“It’s a double bed. Your feet hang off the end. When you aren’t lying at a diagonal, so that I have to curl up in a ball to keep from falling off,” she volleyed back. “And what about our reservations for dinner tomorrow night?”

He had no answer to that one. For once in his sorry existence he had actually remembered a major holiday in advance and had made reservations at the trendy new restaurant down from the Hill that Scully had been dying to try. Not to mention the diamond and emerald earrings he’d purchased for the big day were safely hidden in the

back of their bedroom closet at home.

“We may just have to postpone Valentine’s Day this year, Scully. It won’t be that bad. I’m sure the dinner special over at the diner will be, um, romantic?”

“Provided your wolfman doesn’t make another appearance,” Scully replied dryly, crossing her arms. “Werewolves, Mulder. Really?”

“You saw the body of that bartender, Scully. You were the one to tell me that the deep lacerations on the torso of Mr. Billy Bob Cravens had to have been made by a creature at least 6 feet tall with long claws. What do you think it was? And don’t mention that ‘b’ word again, because as the state Department of Natural Resources told us, they are all still hibernating.”

“Mulder, a bear that happened to wake up early is far more believable than a man who takes on the form of a wild animal just because the moon is full.”

“Dwight Millford is still missing, Scully. And seventeen witnesses at the Du Drop Inn are willing to testify to the threats he made against Cravins.”

“Dwight Millford might have been eaten by the same bear, Mulder,” she exclaimed as she smacked her arms to her sides in exasperation.

“Then we should be finding Dwight Millford’s remains _somewhere_,” he countered and stood up, almost knocking the desk chair over in the process. He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of the chair and slipped into it, then checked his gun. “The Sheriff is coming

by to take me back to where they found Cravins’ body. Apparently Millford has a hunting cabin in the woods near there, we’ll check it out. Any chance we’ll get the results back from the lab on the DNA samples from the body?”

“I asked them to rush it, Mulder, but I wouldn’t hold my breath,” she said with a sad shake of her head. “Maybe I should go out to the drop site with you,” she added, chewing on her lower lip.

“It’s muddier than all hell out there, Scully and they’re predicting more rain and possibly snow this afternoon. Besides, I’ll have the Sheriff with me. Stay here, wait for the lab. If they send you anything — damn it, there’s no cell phone reception out there,” he

remembered angrily. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, then thought of something. “If the lab does email something, call the sheriff’s dispatcher and have them radio us. If the saliva found in the wounds matches Millford, I want to know about it as soon as possible.”

She looked more nervous as he reached for the door. “Mulder . . . please — ”

He smiled at her, and then took her in his arms. After kissing her lightly, he ran one fingertip across her lips. “I’ll be careful. I promise. Cross my heart and hope — ”

She stopped him with her own index finger touching his lips. “Don’t say it. Not even the part about needles in eyes,” she warned, giving him a faint smile. She hugged him fiercely. “Don’t forget your hat,” she said, scooping the watch cap up from its resting place near the window heat/air conditioning unit. She glared at him until he pulled it

over his ears.

“Gonna put on my mittens for me, too,” he growled, but she wasn’t concerned. She continued to glare until he put on his overcoat and buttoned it up to the neck.

“When you get back, we’ll go find something to eat,” she told him. With a last longing glance, he turned at the sound of the sheriff’s car horn.

“Love you,” he whispered quickly before running over to the squad car.

“You too,” she said to his back as she closed the door, trapping the little heat the room held.

Woods near Burkesville

4:45 pm

In true Weather Channel fashion, it had rained steadily all afternoon until a bitter north wind turned the raindrops in sharp little points of ice. Mulder turned his collar up against the wind and wished he had remembered his mittens. His leather gloves were more for

driving than for tramping through the Kentucky backwoods. He glanced down at his boots. At least he’d had the presence of mind to pack suitable footwear, something he knew his partner had not. “If combat boots make a comeback on the fashion scene, she

might get with the program,” he muttered to himself as he followed Sheriff Hardy through the snagging underbrush and tall pine and oak trees.

“Millford’s cabin’s right up there on that knob,” Hardy assured Mulder. Mulder squinted into the distance, wondering not for the first time what the difference was between the top of a hill and a ‘knob’. He had only a general idea of where they were headed and relied

on the Sheriff to lead the way.

After huffing and chuffing up the side of the hill, a small wooden cabin came into view. Mulder had to stop his automatic reaction — the place was a dead ringer for the down and out cabin that featured prominently in the movie ‘Deliverance’. The only things missing

were the hound dog and the toothless kid with the banjo. Sheriff Hardy didn’t put him at ease as they came within fifty feet of the porch. “Hold up a minute, Agent,” Hardy said, raising one hand and unholstering his weapon with the other. “Might wanta arm

yourself,” he cautioned as he waited for Mulder to unclip his holster and ready his Smith and Wesson.

Hardy took two steps and stood with his gun extended. “Millford — it’s Sheriff Hardy from Burkesville. C’mon out with your hands up!”

The silence of the woods was punctuated by the sound of the sleet hitting tree limbs and the coats of the two men.

“Dwight Millford. This is your last chance. Come out with your hands up!”

Again, only the sleet and the howling wind answered.

Hardy looked over toward Mulder and motioned toward the back of the cabin. Mulder nodded once in understanding and carefully moved to the left side of the structure and around back. He could hear Hardy’s heavy boots on the small front porch. Mulder found

a door in the back and with gun at the ready, reached out to take the handle.

All of a sudden the agent was bowled over by a highly charged force of brown fur. Finding himself flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him, Mulder looked up into the rimy eyes of a large dog. The dog’s teeth were bared and standing on Mulder’s chest it would be an easy movement for the animal to lean forward and take a bite out of his

neck.

Dog and man regarded each other silently over several heartbeats. Mulder fought to get his breath back, but the dog was perched directly on his diaphragm and ribs. The dog was huge. The beast weighed at least 100 lbs, or so Mulder surmised from his precarious

position on the ground. The dog seemed to have enough of the silence because the lips pulled back more than Mulder thought possible and the animal let out a low, deep- throated growl. The agent was trying to figure out how to bring his gun hand up under

the dog without having it attack when the decision was taken from him. The dog lunged forward, teeth clamping on Mulder’s neck at the same moment a loud explosion resounded through the air.

With his eyes clamped closed in anticipation of having his throat ripped out, Mulder felt the large animal crumple to his chest and then roll off his body. The teeth had managed to scrape the skin on his neck, but not take hold. When Mulder was able to pry his eyes

open, he saw the dog laying still, a bullet wound to the head. It was everything he could do not to lose his lunch.

“You awright there, Agent Mulder?” Hardy asked anxiously, dragging the dog more completely off the fallen man and offering a hand up. Slowly, still watching the dead animal for possible signs of life, Mulder made it to a standing position.

“Thanks, Sheriff. I think he mistook me for a chew toy,” Mulder quipped, but it was only to deflect the tremor he felt in his hands and heard in his own voice.

Hardy cocked his head toward the back of the house and then walked over in that direction. “‘Pears he weren’t a he,” the Sheriff said cryptically until he reached a hand under the steps to the back door and withdrew a puppy by the nap of the neck. “Was just

protectin’ her pup.”

“Damn it,” Mulder cursed with a grimace. “Are there others?”

Hardy traded his gun for a pocket maglite and investigated the crawlspace under the cabin. “Nope. Jus’ the one. Musta lost the others or maybe this was just a single. Happens sometimes with dogs been whelped a lot.”

The puppy squirmed and Hardy put it down on the ground. It bounded, stumbled and leaped its way over to the mother. Nosing at the fur, the pup attempted to wake the mother up, whimpering for attention. Instinctively, Mulder scooped the puppy into his

arms. “Sorry, little guy. You have no idea how sorry I am,” he soothed to the inconsolable handful of fur.

While Mulder tried to console the pup, Hardy checked the cabin. He came back out with a towel and a coffee can. “No sign of Millford. Doesn’t look like he’s been here for a while, either. Sure didn’t see no dog food. The momma was probably makin’ do with what she could find in the woods.” He dipped the end of the towel in the coffee can,

twisted the cloth loosely and brought it to the pup’s mouth. Hungrily the little furball latched onto the cloth and sucked freely. “Sugar water,” Hardy answered Mulder’s questioning look. “It’ll keep him for a bit.”

Mulder took the towel, dipping it again in the can while Hardy took a look at his neck.

“You got some scratches there. We’ll have to have the vet take a look at the body. We got rabies in these woods.”

“But it’s just a scratch.”

“Germs are in the saliva, Agent Mulder. Even a scratch can transmit the disease. We’d best get the dog’s body tested.”

Mulder sighed but nodded in agreement. “What’s going to happen to this one?” he motioned to the puppy in his arms.

“Want a huntin’ dog?” Hardy asked with a grin.

“Sheriff, I live in a duplex in the city. If this one grows up to the be size of the mother . . .”

Hardy nodded. “I understand. I’ll turn it over to animal control in town. Maybe someone will adopt it.”

Before Mulder could answer, the two men heard an earsplitting howl. Mulder shifted the pup to his other hand and produced his gun. Hardy switched out the maglite for his weapon and stood silent, listening to the woods.

“Do you think that was Millford?” Mulder asked.

“I know it t’weren’t no bear,” Hardy replied. Another howl caused both men to jump and the puppy to burrow into the crook of Mulder’s arm. The next howl was much closer.

“He’s comin’. Get in the cabin, at least we’d have a little protection.”

With the puppy firmly in his arms, Mulder ran up the three steps to the back door of the cabin, right on Hardy’s heels. While Mulder slammed and bolted the back door, Hardy did the same to the front. Hardy took up a position at one of the front windows, Mulder

at a small window in the back.

“Should we radio for back up?” Mulder was asking, just as something large and dark hurled itself against the back door.

Hardy smashed the walkie talkie against his palm. “I’d like to, but the battery’s dead,” Hardy shouted back. “I dropped it when I saw you about to get mauled. That might happen again if we don’t get these doors secured.”

Mulder put the puppy down and grabbed anything that moved to prop against the door. A table, a chair and a load of wood were soon stacked as obstacles to any intruder. Hardy had been similarly busy at the other door, moving a wooden box and some remaining

chairs to block the path. There was another crash at the back door and Mulder’s furniture tower shook with the force of the blow.

“Damn it, Scully keeps reminding me we need to attend that teambuilding conference,” he said to the puppy that cowered at his leg. “It’s OK, fella. Just your kindly owner turned into a vicious beast out there. Nothing to worry about.”

“Too dark to see anythin’ out there,” Hardy shouted. “I think — ” The beast threw itself at the front door. “Never mind. I was thinkin’ we could get out this way while he’s occupied out back.”

“I think he can smell us, Sheriff,” Mulder said. Hardy snorted and checked the clip in his gun, a Glock 9 mm. “Unless you happen to have some silver bullets in that clip, it’s not going to do us any good.”

“You been watchin’ too many creature features, Agent Mulder. This baby’ll blow his head plum off.”

“Not if we can’t see well enough to aim,” Mulder said pointedly. Outside the window, night had fallen. It was pitch black.

“Damn. Guess I shoulda called for back up earlier,” Hardy mused.

The being outside had given up trying to crash through the door. It now scratched and sniffed at the windows, once pressing a wet snout to the glass. Hardy took aim but the creature moved out of the way before he could get a bead.

“Damnit all. We’re stuck here.”

“Scully is gonna be so pissed,” Mulder moaned as he slid down the wall to the floor. The puppy scrambled over and started to chew on the agent’s shoelace. “And I bet you’re getting hungry,” he told the pup.

“I know I am,” replied Hardy.

“It’s getting pretty cold in here, too,” Mulder answered. “Maybe we should start a fire.”

Hardy reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. “Go ‘head. I’ll keep watch,” he promised. Soon Mulder had a small fire going, enough to take the edge off the cold in the room. He didn’t want to make a large fire because they needed the wood to pile against the doors.

It was pretty unnerving, as they sat in the darkness. The beast outside would slam itself against one door and then the other, but never figured out that it could break the glass.

Maybe it feared the fire it could see from the window, but not enough to turn it away from the cabin. Just when they thought it might have gone, it hurled its body against the wood door and the hinges would groan with the stress.

A few hours later, the puppy had curled up between Mulder’s legs and fallen fast asleep. Absently, Mulder rubbed the baby fine fur on its head and ears. From what he could see of the mother before they’d run into the cabin, it was at least part German Shepherd.

“You’ll make somebody a great watch dog, I bet,” he murmured softly. Picking up one tiny leg, he squinted at the toes. “And with feet this big, you’re sure to be a brut. Nobody’s gonna mess with you.”

“Agent Mulder,” Hardy called from his place against the far wall. “No sense in both of us being awake. Why don’t you try and get some sleep while I take watch. I’ll wake you up in a few hours.”

“I don’t think I can fall asleep, not with that — ” Mulder admitted, jerking his thumb toward the sound of the latest impact between wolfman and cabin.

“Still, stretch out, get a little rest,” Hardy advised.

Mulder had just lain down when the fire collapsed and left only the embers. The room was plunged into darkness. Apparently, it was just what the monster was waiting for. With a shattering of glass and broken timbers, the wolf creature came through the window.

Hardy took aim and fired his clip but the creature flinched and yet managed to stay on his feet. Slowly he looked around and with glowing red eyes, he found his target. He headed straight for Mulder. One long arm slashed through the air, Mulder could feel the

sharp claws come within a hair’s breath of his skin. He jumped back, pulling his weapon.

Although he knew it was useless, he fired four rounds in succession. They were all direct hits, but it didn’t faze the creature at all.

From the floor, Mulder caught sight of the puppy. Suddenly awakened, he expected the pup to scurry closer to him, seeking protection. Instead, something amazing happened.

The little dog bared its teeth and with a tiny imitation growl, flung itself at the ankle of the creature. The wolf being howled in pain when the needle-like milk teeth of the pup sank into its flesh. It kicked the leg with the puppy attached and swatted at the dog. The

pup went flying a few yards away. The pup rolled like a little fur covered ball, scrambled to its feet and tore right after the creature again. Mulder watched in awe as the puppy attacked the beast, distracting it enough for him to find one of the logs from the pile

behind him. He brought the two-foot of tree limb crashing down on the monster’s head.

The impact was enough to stun the creature. It fell to its knees, almost landing on the puppy. The pup scrambled out of the way, but went back in for the ‘kill’. The wolf gained its senses slowly and made a swipe at the pup just as a gunshot came through the window. A second round followed and unlike previously, the monster’s eyes glazed and he crumpled to the floor, right on top of the puppy.

Mulder raced over and rolled the beast off the puppy. The little scrap of fur lay motionless. He picked it up gently, tears forming in his eyes. As he cradled the little dog close, he half heard the Sheriff taking down the barricade and admitting his deputy and Scully.

Mulder was stroking the tiny back when Scully made her way over to him. “Mulder, are you all right?” she asked, side stepping the creature at their feet.

“It was protecting me,” he said in a hoarse voice. “It went after that thing. Scully, why in the world would it do that?” he asked her, looking into her eyes, showing plainly the anguish in his own.

“Mulder, it’s an instinct. Protection is bred into dogs and . . .” As she spoke, the little legs moved and the tiny head gave a shake. Mulder’s agonized expression turned to one of pure joy as he held the puppy up close to his face and the little spotted tongue came out to lick wildly at his nose.

“You’re OK! You made it! You’re some fighter, for a light weight!” Mulder crowed as he held the puppy close to his face and showered it with kisses. Scully couldn’t help but laugh at him, but it was a joy-filled laugh.

the next evening

“So tell me again, how did you get the silver bullets. Or better yet, _why_ did you bring silver bullets?” Mulder asked his partner as he put down his wine glass and took her hand across the candle lit table.

“Elementary, my dear Mulder,” she said with a cheshire cat grin. “You’d be surprised what you’d find in the tool shed of your typical Kentucky boy. The deputy didn’t even blink when I asked him where I could find silver bullets to fit my gun. He just told me he’d pick me up in a squad car and when he arrived at our door, he handed me the clip already loaded.”

“But Scully, earlier you were convinced we dealing with a, dare I say it, bear.”

“Right up until I got the lab reports, yes, I did think we were likely dealing with a bear. A brown bear, to be exact. But when I opened the email and found that there was human saliva in the wounds . . .”

“You realized we were going after ‘the wolfman’,” he finished.

“And when you didn’t come back and it was getting late, I called the Deputy, who knew exactly how to find Dwight Millford’s cabin — ”

“In the dark, during a sleet storm,” Mulder interjected.

“And he didn’t argue at all when I asked for the silver bullets. Seems it’s been a legend around these parts for some time.”

“Well, I am certainly relieved,” Mulder sighed. He took her hand and kissed it lightly.

“And see, we still get to celebrate Valentine’s Day.”

Scully looked around the darkened room, lit only by four or five votive candles. “Yeah, with take out pizza and a bottle of red wine of indeterminate vintage,” she said with a smirk.

“Ah, but it’s who you celebrate with that matters,” he told her, dishing up a piece of the pizza from the box and putting it on a paper plate in front of her.

“Speaking of which,” she said with a grimace. Leaning down, she picked up a small bundle of fur with a long tongue. “The motel is going to charge us extra for the little puddles this one has been leaving behind,” she noted.

“Let ’em. I don’t care.”

“Mulder, what are we going to do with a dog? As you so rightly pointed out when I acquired Queequeg, we’re on the road a lot, we have no way to care for a dog — ”

“Scully, I have an idea. Just wait till we get home.”

Tara Scully’s residence

Fairland, MD

Tara stood at the top of the stairs, watching her son roll on the floor, playing with his new pet.

“I haven’t seen Matty this excited — well, since . . .” she let her voice trail off. It had been no secret that Bill’s death had almost crushed his son. “But really, Mulder, from what you told me, are you sure you want to give him up?”

“We don’t have room at the duplex, Tara. I gotta warn you, he’s gonna be a bruiser. But he’ll be a great watchdog. And he’s very protective. I really think he’d be better off with you.”

The slim blond leaned over and gave Mulder a hug around the waist. “I just wish Billy had given you a chance,” she said with a sad smile.

“He wasn’t completely wrong, Tara. I’ve done things — ”

“Shhh, none of that,” she said, a finger to his lips. She dropped her hands and combed her fingers through her now short hair. “We wanted to get Matty a dog. We just wanted to wait until we had a bigger yard than we had in base housing.”

At that moment, Matty came flying up the stairs, the puppy hopping and leaping to follow. “What’s his name, Mr. Mulder?” he asked.

Mulder winced, he really hoped one day the boy would drop the Mr. part. “We’ve been calling him ‘wolf’ but he doesn’t really come to it yet. I guess it’s up to you to name him, Sport.”

The boy thought for a moment, and then reached down and picked up the puppy, looking it in the face. “Wolf. Wolf. Wolfy.” He looked up at Mulder. “I kinda like that name, Mr. Mulder.”

“Then Wolf it is,” Mulder said with a grin.

“C’mon Wolf, I’ll show you my room.” Matty carried the puppy up the other flight of stairs toward the bedrooms.

“Keep him off the bed,” Tara warned. “At least until we get him housebroken.”

“Mulder, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Scully said with a wink. After kissing baby Claire and giving Tara a hug, they walked out to the car together.

When they reached the passenger side door, Scully pulled her partner down and gave him a sizzling kiss. He returned the favor, but eventually, the need for oxygen won out. When he reluctantly pulled back, he gave her a curious look. “What was that for?” he asked.

“The best Valentine’s present I ever got,” she said and kissed him once again.

Mulder smiled all the way around the car and was still smiling as he eased himself into the driver’s seat. “Does this mean I can take back the earrings?”

“Not on your life, Mister,” she replied.

His grin got even broader. “Didn’t think so.”

the end.

Enchanted Shores

Title: Enchanted Shores

Author: Truthwebothknow1 dragonrider1@ntlworld.com

Rating: PG. One or two naughty words and lascivious thoughts. In the romantic sense.

Category: MSR, FLUFF, MILD MT A, X

Spoilers: None really, various stories from the Virtual season. IMTP

Feedback: Yes, love it but after two exclusive weeks on the VS Circuit.

Disclaimer: CC and FOX owns the whole kit and caboodle. I’m just having fun with them for my own amusement and no profit. I send them home clean to Chris. LOL

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Enchanted Shores

Blue anchor Bay Shore. Early morning.

White horses lapped the shore as the stiff early breeze hurried it along, licking foamily over rocks and at exposed timbers of the old quay. Bringing with it a delightful spray of salt breeze and ozone. Scully inhaled it all in as she watched Mulder pick up rocks and tried to hit the red and white buoy, bobbing just a few yards out in the shallows. Even though it was cold, she felt a sudden warmth flood her soul.

She smiled at the ever-present kid that hovered just below the surface of the man she loved. He liked to take her away from the bustle of D.C. as much as he could and Valentines Day was no exception. They had both needed to get right away this year with all the bad things that had plagued their lives; the revelations in his mother’s journals, their own brushes with death, Charlie’s dark complicity within the consortium and the untimely death of her only other sibling she felt she still loved, Bill.

So this was what Mulder had been planning for more than a month, his secretive behaviour worrying at times, but when she found out that his treat this year was a weekend in an old colonial lighthouse in Maine, she almost jumped for joy. Just the two of them away from crowds, endless sea and sky, great food, a real log fire and just each other’s company. He called this The Enchanted coast and it certainly was. Just natural beauty that made her feel fresh and alive and whole again. Miles from anywhere and filled with all the peace and solitude they could handle. Together. A celebration of what they had become to each other.

She adored the sea of course, but as he had been raised in small towns in various old money places all up and down the New England coast she knew it pounded calming surf through his heart too.

The soft crunch of feet through wet sand broke her out of her reverie as her partner approached her, grinning like a little boy bringing her a natural sea treasure.

The man with the child in his eyes.

“Look Scully, a horseshoe crab. Must be a really early spring this year.” He hefted up the cumbersome creature so she could have a better look.

She smiled at him broadly, wiping her wind blown hair from her eyes and running slim fingers over the smooth rounded shell of the crab.

“Mulder I love your impromptu show and tell but he really looks like he might pee on you or snap off your finger. ”

Mulder laughed, “Nah, he’s reaaaal laid back, kinda smooth like Skin man’s head…sorta looks like one of those German soldier helmets from “Hogan’s heroes”, don’t it?”

“Umm Nazi helmet with attitude…” She giggled as the predicted crab pee suddenly cascaded all down his best Levis.”

“Aw shit Scullee!” Mulder yelped jumping back in alarm and falling on his ass with a soft thud in the sand.

” That could be his encore. Best let the angry little fellow go back to the sea.” She did try to curb her giggles but he looked so funny hopping up and down with wet sand encrusted denims and the errant crab scuttling to get out of his grip, it was near impossible.

To his horror she produced her digital camera from her coat pocket and snapped his misfortune while he struggled to stand on the uneven sand, the odd little crab’s legs flailing about with him.

“Hey not fair,.. What the f…Ow!!” he yelled as it suddenly latched onto his little finger with extreme gusto. “Damn thing”, he cried dropping the crab like a hot potato and stuffing his abused finger in his mouth and sucking hard. Eyes looking watery and childlike.

“Oh Mulder, you dropped the poor thing, look there he goes, back to the sea.” Mulder scowled still nursing his finger as they both watched the newly liberated crustacean scurry down the sand in readiness for the next waves to take him away from his abuser.

“Poor thing my ass, look what it did to my finger.” He stuck it under her nose so she couldn’t miss it, or the pout that had taken form on his bottom lip.” Look”.

“It’s a good job we are not on an actual case. Just love to see you fill in a medical insurance form that says, ” Finger snacked on and lacerated by an angry Limulus polyphemus.”

” Ha, ha. Clever clogs, Bob Ballard. They’re not supposed to bite!!” he whined, cringing as she poked at it.”

“Well this one certainly did. Be glad it’s too cold for sporting your Speedos. A nasty nip elsewhere might have ruined our romantic weekend plans. ”

“Hmmph!….ouch!”

“Sorry, now hold still.”

Scully attempted to pull her face into doctor mode as she carefully inspected the now swelling pinkie. It did look painful. She stifled another giggle as she chanced another look up at his face. Yes the pout was still there. So irresistible and sexy. At least it was only his finger and pride that was hurt. She had plans for him later with certain un-abused extremities. Her tongue flicked over salty lips with some unbidden erotic images. At the same time she heard Mulder take a deep breath but that could have been due to her ministration of his finger.

“There, there, G-man, be brave. I have some ointment I can put on this once were back at the lighthouse. You did piss it off you know. Teach you to put your fingers where they shouldn’t go.”

His face broke into a smile at that, humor and innuendo warring within his hazel depths. Scully snorted. “Don’t even go there.”

“What? What did I do? ”

“It’s not what you did, its what is going on in that unscrupulous mind of yours. ” He was about to make a suitably solicitous retort when the sun suddenly blazed through Scully’s hair and lit her eyes a riot of blue fire that almost stopped his heart. She looked like a sea siren and he felt a magical lure to disappear into her and never come out again.

His feral grin melted into one of awe and he suddenly leaned over, took her head in both his large hands and pressed his lips to hers. First her lips, which she opened to accommodate his questing full mouth and then peppered tiny kisses all down her neck along the curve of her jaw. She tasted like heaven and salt and he loved every inch of her. For a second his eyes levelled with hers as she opened them again, making his catch fire almost with the love they seared into his own.

They stayed like that for a long time, letting the rising sun warm them and breathing in the tangy air, arms entwined around each other like two last limpets clinging to the shore. The bells and mournful horns of fishing boats farther out at sea still touched by a fog shroud resonated through them both. They were a world away from their normal lives but Mulder had found his safe harbour, it was always Scully; his best friend his, lover and his whole life. He would never again put to sea without her.

As if approving of their union, a crescendo of small waves came in to lap at their naked feet, two successive ones suddenly fuelled by the changing tide breaking against the sandy promontory with force enough to soak them up to their knees.

“Oh god, Mulder… that water’s cold.” He laughed, pulling her further up the beach, his big arms around her shoulders and shielding her face from the worsening wind. The air tasted gritty and he got the distinct impression it was brewing for a storm.

“Put your head on my chest Scully, I’ll keep you warm.”

“I love you so much Mulder, do you know that?” He gave her an Eskimo kiss, and grinned at her nodding. She tucked her head against his warmth just he leaned in to claim her deliciously salty mouth again.

A lone gull cried out above them somewhere and the wind whipped up like a sudden wraith appearing,, blowing a swirl of sand right over them.

Startled, Scully broke the kiss but Mulder kept his arms encircling her, smiling, unwilling to break the spell and let go. Scully held onto him tightly, laying her head against his pounding heart, which seemed to be in sync with waves and in that moment, wished she could dive into his fathomless depths and stay there for all time, away from the constant nemesis of harm, death, sorrow and frustration that had moulded and shaped their existence for longer than she could fathom.

Mulder always knew there was something magical about this coastline, steeped in mystery and lore. Of Ghostly sightings, strange lights and unnatural shipwrecks. A few years ago he might have been tempted to explore its hidden phenomena but this weekend was about them, not any X file and more importantly, it was about pampering Scully. Loving, quality time, with no phones, no TV, no work to interrupt their valentine celebration. Just soft light, sea air, candles and a lot of time just spent exploring each other, finding new facets of their love, experiencing the joy of life for a change, and giving them both back that faith that they could as a couple enjoy the normal things other lovers took for granted.

This last year they had almost forgotten how to laugh and the overwhelming weight of tears and personal loss had almost crushed their spirit. The X files were a world away and Scully’s smile and loving caress was the only magic he needed to experience this romantic long weekend.

“Time to get out of these wet clothes Mulder.. And though I hate to say it, you smell….” Mulder gave her bemused look as she sniffed at him and wrinkled her nose up. “…Fishy.”

Mulder scooped her up all of a sudden, making her shriek and giggle, her voice all but stolen away by the wind. “I’ll give you fishy my little Scully sea nymph,” Mulder laughed in his best Charles Laughton voice. ” Lets get back, get naked and have some seafood and wine while I tell you fishy tales of Poseidon and you can quote the naughtier tales of Ahab.”

“You nut, there are no naughty tales, just the Moby Dick innuendos stored in your lascivious Muldermind.”

“Yeah?”

And he took off with her, big feet pounding up and over the sand dune with ease while she clung on and giggled for all she was worth. Her laughter gave him a strength he didn’t know he had and he felt almost like he was walking on air.

“Yeah!”

“Riight!”

He squeezed her ass as he ran faster, eager to get out of the rain that was pelting their faces. He loved how her laughter was all juddery as he pounded up the sand that led to the little lighthouse garden gate.

“Okay you win, Mulder, but only if you draw me a bubble bath and you know, arrange some candles and wine. ”

” I’ll do better than that,” he waggled his eyebrows in a parody of Groucho Marx. “I’ll even scrub your back and show you my sea serpent.”

“Can’t wait.” She swiped at his ass as he put her down finally and then raced, still laughing up to the white washed clapboarded lighthouse.

XXXXX

The mid February storm raged on into the morning, the beach deserted now, all but for the cry of gulls huddled in the dunes to escape the worst of the wind among the sparse patches of sea grass.

A small metallic box lay damp, and speckled with sand in the footprints of two lovers. Two violet eyes shifted like the wink of a butterfly, curious, wanting to touch this little shiny object. Questions, a thousand questions sifted through an ever-questing intelligence. Eyes darting, sniffing at the ozone heavy air, curiosity won over apprehension and 6 tiny pointed green fingers moved tentatively, tracing the sandy footprints still warm from their makers feet and closed over it’s prize, slowly, slowly…until it snatched it away as the wind snatches a thought.

Blue Anchor Lighthouse. Sunrise.

Two bodies glowed in the full moon’s gossamer blanket; an unearthly, almost ethereal atmosphere fell over the lighthouse and surrounding beachhead. No one saw the strange mists, the color of the shifting sea, glittering with gimlet diamonds gifted by the moon that rose and waned around the promontory and up across the windows of the lighthouse.

The tides caressed the beaches as Mulder hands caressed his lover and partner of 12 years with as much reverence as the first time. Sighing breaths drawing in and out with the waves that crashed on the beach a few yards from their window, while small inquisitive eyes looked on at the two figures nestled in the old bed, tiny fingers and breath making silver condensation trails on the trembling glass. Like the physical prescience behind those eyes by morning all traces of silver would fade away.

Scully slept curled against Mulder’s heart and dreamed on in his protective embrace, despite the window being open just enough to let in the healthy sea air, warmed by the vision of her partner sprawled over the sofa in just his skin and a those tatty thin yellow pyjamas he loved and she never had the heart to throw out. He just looked so …at home in them like a second skin and they left nothing to the imagination.

The day before when rain had sent them laughing towards shelter from the storm, they hadn’t been in the door more than five minutes after getting back from the beach before divesting themselves of their wet sandy clothing and tumbling to the floor in a wave of touches and kissing and sensations that left them both gasping from helpless giggles. Giggles gave way to real passion as they gave in to everything they had desired and wanted, what they had come here to this deserted haven to enjoy. They fell into an easy sleep staring at patterns in the flames of the open fire.

Later they had eaten lobster and salad, feeding each other and enjoying the good food and wine, sheltered from the worsening storm. Mulder told tales of his and Samantha’s adventures on New England beaches, memories of careless days and sand all through his mother’s house. A simpler happier time. Scully worried a little that he would get all melancholy but she tried to steer him on to happier subjects. Stories about her father, his life on an open sea and the way her mother handled four feisty and very different children while Ahab was away. And they laughed into the night at each other’s anecdotes and jokes.

After Mulder had drawn her a hot bath and lit what looked like a hundred candles all around the beautiful period bathroom, the heat and the scented aroma mingling to make the room look like a fairytale setting. Naked and gorgeous looking, he’d brought with him a bottle of claret, two crystal glasses and a small box of hand made chocolates. Then he surprised her by climbing in with her and pulling her up against his strong soapy chest. She had sighed and leaned back. This was heaven. Who needed anything else but this.

“Well did you like that special agent Dana Scully?” Mulder purred against her ear with his lips just feather brushing, ticking the sensitive skin there.

“Oh yeah Mulder, brings a whole new meaning to the term, “Free Willy,” she giggled as they’d both got tipsy from the wine and the tranquillity of their surroundings.

“Better believe it. I only perform my repertoire of tricks for you.”

“I’m a very lucky g-woman. Could I have some more wine please kind sir? ”

“Don’t you mean sex slave? Scully, and yes, you can certainly have some more wine. I brought a whole case. ” He nuzzled her hair and stroked it with one hand, haphazardly pouring wine into the glass dangling from her fingers with the other, getting more over her fingers and in the bathwater than he actually did in the glass.

She gave him her fingers to lick clean and smiled at him as he obliged with a leer. He’d looked younger in the last few hours than she had seen him in a long time. He looked…achingly beautiful; her whole life was here in this room. For a few seconds they just studied each other’s faces, caught in the amber of the moment in mutual appreciation and love.

This was what it was all about. The universe dissolved down to just the two of them. The way it should be. “Thank you for this Mulder. Words can’t express how much it means to me to be here with you like this. Makes me remember just for a while how much life there is out here, and how we can just do normal for a while.”

His hand found hers in the water and squeezed her fingers gently.

“I love you Scully. This is nothing less than you deserve for putting up with me all these years. A small expression of my love for you. I did good huh?” The child was back in his eyes, ever seeking approval. Approval that she wanted him to have in spades.

“You did good Mulder, ” she stroked the six o’clock shadow with pad of her thumb, “you did real good. You always do…. even when you fall on your ass in the sand. You even wrestled that poor crab for me,” She laughed, lightening the moment.

“Always looking to impress you agent Scully. ”

” Everything you do impresses me Mulder. Didn’t you realize that by now.”

“Really? Even when I expound weird untenable theories?” He had the sweetest smile on his face, one he got when he thought people were teasing him, a look she had seen too often out on cases when some of the other agents or cops were making fun. It made her a little sad and she tried not to let him see it on her face. After all this time could he not cast off the doubt of her love and devotion?

“Especially then.” And she’d tilted her head back a touch so she could kiss him.”

Lets take this to the bedroom agent Scully; I want to try out that four-poster.” He’d waggled his eyebrows at her and as fast as it had shifted like a cloud across his eyes, the rueful resignation she’d seen there a moment ago had disappeared behind the twinkle now in his eye. “It looks seriously sensuous and besides, we’re going to wrinkle like prunes if we don’t get out of this tub soon. After you.”

He’d pulled her out of the water and immediately transmuted that into a kiss as he melded her against his bath fresh skin.

“Speaking of impressing me Mulder, I want to look at that photo I took of you.”

“Oh, the one of me making an ass of myself with the terror of Davie Jones locker. The one you’re going to have blown up and put on the bureau notice board?”

“Well I wouldn’t go that far Mulder, as tempting as it may be. But I’m sure my mother would get a good laugh out of it. Besides, I bet that poor creature was more afraid of you, ya big bully.” She giggled smacking at his bare ass as he held her.

“You…”

With that Mulder had grabbed her legs and had thrown her wet body over his shoulder while she screamed for mercy between hiccupping and laughing. He’d deposited her still laughing on the bed. Some joyful fumbling around the sheets for a few moments wore them both out and they gave in to the sleepiness of just having shared a warm bath filled with aromatherapy oils. Her photographic handiwork had been forgotten as they’d curled up together like two perfectly interlocking jigsaw pieces.

Next Morning.

“Mulder, did you see my camera anywhere? ” Scully asked next morning as she fixed them OJ and muffins for breakfast. Mulder was padding around in his PJ bottoms, looking more edible than the food. Scully stared on appreciatively. Funny how being by the sea made you think of nautical euphemisms for everything, even when it came to her partner’s finest features.

Must stop that, Scully thought to herself as she picked up their discarded sandy clothes from the day before, rifling in the pockets of her coat for the compact metallic gadget. It had been a present from her mother after she and Mulder moved into the duplex together.

Coming up empty she frowned just as Mulder caught the look of consternation on her face. He came over and draped his arms over her smaller form like a boa constrictor.

“Huh?”

“My camera, its not here. Damn, ”

Mulder smirked, coming at last out of his sleepy bubble. “Divine retribution for filming me in all my misfortune. My finger still smarts like a muth…”

“Mulder!”

“Sorry. Still does hurt too. See, kiss it better.” She did and then looked him in the eye, her gaze growing steely.”

“Mulder, did you hide it?”

“Moi? You wound me Scully, I’m soo crushed.” He clutched at his chest in mock offence. “Not me, Indian guides honor.”

“Umm…..if you didn’t then where could it be?”

“The Beach!” they both said in unison. And Scully’s heart sank.

“Oh Mulder, there was a storm last night.”

“It was in its silver case wasn’t it?”

“Yeah but…….”

He grabbed hold of her hand and they went for the door. “Come on.”

“Mulder, hey, wait up, it’s not that warm out there. Don’t you want to change.”

“Ahhh….” And he looked down at his flimsy PJ bottoms.

Scully threw him a sweater and they opened the door. They never got further than the step. They both stopped dead in their tracks, Mulder half in and out of his sweater. Both of them stared open mouthed.

“Oh my god!! Mulder?” he blinked and opened his mouth to say something but for a second or so felt his mouth paralysed in shock.

“What the…..”

Suddenly finding their senses they crept through the dawn air down to the lawn, white swirls of breath coming out as fast pants as they tried to assimilate what they were seeing.

“Scully what’s that? Is that your camera?”

“Yeah, Yeah it is.”

Scully bent down to retrieve her camera, looking none the worse for its night left out in the elements. But the most startling thing was that whoever had been good enough to return it had left them another gift. Sometime during the night someone had been busy on their lawn.

There in the middle of the grass was a perfect outline of a heart made entirely from shells…..and in the middle was an outline of them…as they had stood in relief on the beach like a silhouette against the rising sun.

“Scully,….its….”

“Us. ” She finished for him. ” Its beautiful. Exquisite.”

“Yeah.”

And then they both scrambled to look at the display on the camera, almost dropping it again in their haste to check the pictures stored on the smart card.

The digital viewer on the back flickered to life and she saw firstly the humorus shot of Mulder from the day before. As they clicked next they both held their breath. A face like nothing they had ever seen winked into place and smiled at them. It was so beautiful like an elfin child, white translucent skin with a hint of blue and green. Six tiny little fingers held up in entreaty or greeting…..until it faded from view like a passing thought seconds later.

“What the hell was that?” Scully turned to look at her partner whose face bore all the excitement of getting new X file case, his brain already racing along on the tide possibilities despite the shake of his head. He looked back at the camera and tried to get the picture back, but to no avail. It was wiped clean, the only one that had been on it to vanish. Mulder stared down at the beachhead seeking…whatever had done this but the beach was empty.

“I don’t know what that was Scully, that’s no child like I have ever seen the like of before. Looks like an extra from a ‘Midsummer night’s dream’. Perhaps we can put some candies out in case he comes back to thank him for bringing your camera back…and this little gift of romantic shell art.”

“What,.. You mean like the kids in ET who left a trail of M&Ms for the little grey guy?” Mulder closed his eyes on a smile and opened them again, giving her a lopsided grin.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Scully gave a nervous smile, still unsure of what had really happened here. Like the coastline itself it was strange wonderful and magical, and yet it made her nervous to think they had been observed in this way, by all intents and purposes, a child.

“Well I guess it’s a trip into town to pick up some goodies for our honest little friend.”

“And some for us.”

“Yeah.” Mulder took her hand in his warm one and held her close. “I dunno about you Scully, but I think we have been given a very special valentines gift.”

“Yeah. Its an X file Mulder, but a nice one.”

She took one last look out onto the beach. The waves rolled in, and the sun was just cresting up over the surf. The storm was over and they could explore later. Maybe eat out at one of the many seafood places Mulder had raved about.

Just under two days left here; what other magic could this place reveal to them? As if reading her mind Mulder leaned down to kiss her and she melted into his warmth.

“Come on my sweet valentine, we have a candy trail to organise. Call it a spooky hunch but I don’t think we have seen the last of our enigmatic little friend.”

“No, me neither.”

And she returned the kiss.

The End.

Because…I Love You?

TITLE: ‘Because…I Love You?’

AUTHOR: XSketch

Art by Mercimulder

EMAIL: XSketch@hotmail.com

WEBSITE: http://

thesketchfiles.bravehost.com/ SPOILERS: Up to Je Souhaite and then AU. There’s a brief allusion to my VS11 ‘Love’s A Beach’, and Waddles52’s VS10 ‘A Night To Remember’ Valentine’s Specials

RATING: PG-13, I guess

CATEGORY: X, S, MSR, MT, A

SUMMARY:

FEEDBACK: FEED ME! Make a sick, lowly gal happy 🙂

DISCLAIMER: CC, 1013, Fox etc own ’em 0 I just like to play with ’em…and maybe torture them a little bit <EG>

ARCHIVE: Exclusive to IMTP’s VS12 for two week’s, and then the kid can be yours for adoption as long as you drop me a line to let me know where 🙂

DEDICATION: To all the lovely folks at Mulder’s Refuge, who I’m missing greatly at the mo while I’m still ill 😦 Praying to be back ASAP! HAPPY 2nd BIRTHDAY, MR!!!

clip_image001

Because… I Love You?

The roses had been a sweet surprise – the large, poorly scrawled on card even more so – and yet the surroundings she had literally been forced to ensconce herself in on this cold but beautifully sunny Valentine’s Day came as no surprise at all – far from…

Yep, they were back at D.C General Hospital, and just as

unsurprisingly she was sat at the bedside of her injured, sleeping partner…

“Only you, Mulder…Why is it always only you?” she sighed

solemnly, outstretching a hand to rest on his arm.

“B-b–…Because…y-you l-lo-ve me?” came the dry, drug-addled voice from the bed.

Dana Scully’s head snapped up to lock eyes with him, and – despite how tired and angry she was – a small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “It’s not funny, Mulder!”

“Made y-you smi–…smile, though, d-d-didn’t it?”

Fair play.

After swallowing hard several times to try clear his throat did

very little – if anything at all – Mulder uneasily turned his head a fraction to glance at the glass of water on the nightstand… which was too far out of reach. “Scu–”

She saved his voice by quickly picking up the glass and holding it to his lips so that he could sip from it. “You shouldn’t– *we* shouldn’t be here – we were supposed to be going out for a meal!

Skinner could’ve gotten the situation under control without any–”

A hand raised to indicate he’d finished with the water, and she took a quick, deep breath as she put the glass down. “There would have been no casualties!” Cue raised eyebrow and pointed glances at the bandage round his head, and his strapped right shoulder.

“Instead, you had to put your big feet in and now another

Valentine’s Day has been laid to waste.”

“You didn’t l-like the f-flow-ers?”

Silence.

“And, hey, we had a good time last y-year at that beach c-c-club, didn’t we? I-I know I’d ditched you earlier that mor-ning, but I made up f-for it, just as I will this time – I promise.” He made a painful attempt to reach for her, but the movement of his right arm was a little too restricted for his liking, and outstretching his left any further only threatened to disconnect the IV and monitor lines.

“The year before we were – surprise, surprise – in a hospital with you incapacitated…I thought it’d be different this time…”

Scully trailed off and shook her head. She knew he didn’t get

injured on purpose, and that he had been desperate to make everything special for this day (praying hard that it would work out, considering it never did when he tried every normal day), but, God, she was angry at him for his anal-retentive need to keep his nose in where it was hardly ever needed, let alone wanted…

Basically: stepping blindly into a situation that would, without a doubt, always result in his being badly hurt. Yesterday’s stupidity had almost claimed his life, and she was too tired and emotional to joke about any of it. “With the house…I just dreamt it would be different…I-I know I shouldn’t, but…I dreamt about us going out for the candle-lit dinner at the restaurant, and then coming home, sitting in front of the fire and sharing a glass or two or three of champagne, and then…Well, retiring to the bedroom…”

Mulder watched her for a moment and then let his eyes slip shut as he pictured the things she was describing in his head (thankfully the pain meds still swimming around in his body stopped him becoming too aroused, though only just). He understood that her anger matched his frustration at the whole injustice, but he’d had to do what he’d done – he’d just had to; for the little girl, for Scully…for the safety of them all…

XxXxXxXxX

24 HOURS EARLIER

FBI HEADQUARTERS

WASHINGTON, D.C

Scully was preparing their reports for the meeting with Skinner when Mulder hung up the phone and moved to snag his coat from the stand by the basement office’s exit.

“Where are you going?” she frowned, resting back in her seat and folding both arms across her chest.

This ought to be good.

“That was Kim,” he mumbled rather distractedly and not meeting her eyes as one arm waved dismissively in the general direction of the phone on his desk, whilst the other fumbled through the pockets of his coat til he found his car keys. She waited patiently for him to continue, but he looked as if he was working something out in his over-active mind.

“Mulder?”

“Hmm? Oh, uh, she said our meeting with Skinner’s cancelled…The case he’s been involved with has hit a head, and he’s had to go out…”

“Mulder?” The cautionary tone worked, and he finally stared at her. “Is this the kidnapping case you’ve been using the computer to hack into and take a look at Skinner’s files on?” She’d had a stern word with him about it two weeks ago when she’d realised he was reading reports by Skinner, not them, over the network, but had said nothing more – at least he’d kept his distance, and that was always for the better when it came to child abductions – if he wasn’t reading about it, he’d have only been hounding the A.D to let him in on the investigation. “The Orlowski case?”

The story was that six-year-old Sarah Orlowski had been snatched from her mother’s grasp whilst they were out on a shopping trip in downtown D.C. A couple of notes had been sent to the parents, warning them that a high ransom would be wanted in exchange for their daughter back, but there’d been nothing else – no amount, no date of exchange – and the local law had no clues to work with.

Skinner had only been called in because the family were friends of the Director’s wife. And so the hunt had begun, with a lot of frustrated waiting involved. Three days ago, Forensics had managed to finally lift some of the kidnapper’s DNA from the second letter, and a match had been found in the shape of escaped mental patient Matt Gout…

…who’d been untraceable, until now.

“Yeah. Somebody reported seeing suspicious activity at a derelict, burnt out building…turns out it was Gout. Don’t know anything else, except that the situation became hostile, and Skinner’s gone to help.”

Still frowning, Scully continued to stare at her partner as he

relayed the facts Kimberly had passed on to him, and then

realisation dawned – no wonder he hadn’t wanted to make eye contact with her…

“Oh, no you don’t!” she exclaimed, quickly raising to her feet and moving to stand in front of the open doorway with hands firmly on hips. “You’re not going down there, Mulder – for a start it’s not anything to do with us, and secondly we have plans for tomorrow, remember? Special plans? Plans you promised wouldn’t be jeopardised this year?”

“I know, I know! Valentine’s Day…” He paused and smiled.

They’d been ‘lovers’ (Jeez, he hated that word) for several years now, but this year was very different due to the simple fact they were properly living together, in *their* own home. The thought of returning to that after a beautiful meal to continue the romance by the open fire made him warm inside – he couldn’t believe how far they’d come…or even how far *he’d* come along since those first days of their being partnered together.

There was a job to be done, though – a little girl was in danger – and although he knew it wasn’t his to do, he couldn’t let it go.

“I promised, and I’m gonna keep that,” he swore, cupping her chin in the hand he’d used to point at the desk. “How can I pass up on the opportunity to share a tub of ice cream with you by firelight?” Both of them smiled, but too quickly the seriousness returned to his face and voice. “But I gotta do this. Something just tells me I gotta be there…if not for the girl, then Skinner.”

She couldn’t believe she was actually listening to his excuse, and that tub of ice cream suddenly looked as if it was rolling away, further and further.

“You better not get injured, Mulder, because if you do I guarantee I’ll hurt you twice as much when you’re recovered,” she growled, snatching up her own coat. A placated Mulder was much easier to deal with than one that disappeared against her will, so the best answer was for her to go with him.

The opportunity to make a leery innuendo had stepped forward, but he let it slip as she turned away and he rested a hand against the small of her back. Pushing his luck was not a good idea, especially considering she hadn’t put up an argument.

XxXxXxXxX

H STREET

FEBRUARY 13th, 2005

2:13 PM

“GET AWAY FROM HERE, OR I WILL – I’LL KILL HER!”

Walter Skinner pinched his temples between thumb and forefinger.

The negotiator they’d sent in had only infuriated Gout even further and forced him to a higher floor in the unstable building. On the positive side, they knew the girl was still alive, but for how much lon–

He saw movement through the corner of his eye and turned to see Agents Mulder and Scully approaching.

“What the hell are you–” He frowned and glared at Scully –

silently reprimanding her for letting Mulder anywhere near here. “What is he doing here?!

“Playing a hunch,” Dana shrugged. Their boss knew as well as her about Mulder’s obsession with these kind of scenarios, so no further explanation was really necessary.

Mulder wiped a sweaty hand down his face as he looked up at the building surrounded by the local PD and SWAT teams.

“I GOT A GUN, SO JUST GIVE ME THE MONEY AND LET ME ALONE AND SHE’LL BE OKAY!”

There were gasps from the crowd that had congregated at the road block, and a few more officers quickly ran over to help the couple already guarding it.

“We have a visual on the suspect,” a voice crackled over the radio in a nearby police car. “Need– Wait! No, that’s a negative – repeat, *negative*…The suspect has moved and we have no clear shot.”

The annoyance began to bubble inside Mulder.

“What are his demands?” Scully queried the assistant director as she shot a concerned glance at her partner’s back.

“There’s been nothing definitive – he just keeps rambling on about getting money,” the police chief cut in from behind her. “Must have watched too many movies before they carted him off to the nuthouse.”

Mulder listened to it all until he couldn’t take it anymore and

decided he had to do something. He gave one quick glance at the two familiar figures behind him and then – drawing his weapon – ran toward the building’s entrance.

“At any rate, we’ve got snipers strategically placed, and they’ll move in as soon as the slightest opportunity arises.”

Scully nodded, and turned back to stare at Mulder…

…only to just catch a glimpse of his back before the tall, dark

looming tower swallowed him into its depths.

“*Mulder*!”

Skinner sharply turned in the direction she was facing and then stared at her. “You knew he’d do it – why did you let him come?

There was a reason I didn’t want him knowing anything abou this, Agent Scully!” He paused and a look of puzzlement creased his features. “For that matter, how *did* he know?”

Well, she couldn’t exactly say ‘he’s been reading your private

files’…could she? “Uh…” She continued to stare at the

entrance to the burnt out structure – her mind working to worry more about her partner’s safety than why they were here. “We got a call from your assistant to cancel the meeting we were supposed to have with you earlier.”

Technically, that didn’t really answer the question at all, and yet the assistant director pushed no further.

She let out a sigh and weighed up the options of following Mulder in or waiting.

*I promise nothing’s gonna get in our way this year – it’s just

gonna be me and you.*

She had thought it better to wait until there was a sign or

something to say she should do otherwise, but with his words still echoing in her head the reality struck that he would be injured for tomorrow unless she intervened, and so quickly moved to follow.

~~~~~

Mulder carefully climbed the flight of stairs – being sure not to

step on any of the ones that looked ready to collapse and perhaps take the rest with them. He could hear Gout’s voice from somewhere above him, broken once by the sound of Scully calling from below, so onward he went, until he reached the top, fourth floor.

“Mulder?”

The familiar, hushed voice made him pause and turn briefly. Surely she hadn’t followed…

“Mulder?”

Yep, she had, and when her small figure came into view, he wasn’t sure if he should jump for joy or have a panic attack.

“You promised!” she whispered sharply, approaching quickly with her own drawn weapon held low.

He only had chance to reply with a shrug before Gout yelled out again from down the hall.

“COME ON! WHERE IS IT?”

The two agents glanced at each other and then slowly stalked toward possibly the only room still with four walls standing – as destroyed as they were.

They found him huddled in the corner in his asylum-issued pyjamas with one hand holding onto the small girl, and the other gripping onto a revolver as if it were a lifeline. He raised his head to stare at them as they entered, and sharply raised the gun.

“It’s okay, Matt, we’re here to help,” Mulder started, gently.

“I just want my money,” the other man whined like a ten-year old – the gun beginning to waver. “But they won’t give it to me!”

Scully nodded and took a step forward, hoping to help calm the crying child. But the floorboard creaked under her weight, Gout panicked, the revolver fired, Orlowski screamed, and with an “Oh, crap,” Mulder collapsed.

~~~~~

The sound of gunfire set everybody into action down on the street, and a woman bystander fainted. Skinner immediately pulled out his cell phone to dial 911, whilst the SWAT team ran into the building.

“Those your agents?” the police chief sniped, grabbing Skinner’s arm. At the assistant director’s nod, the other man finished, “You better pray that ain’t the little girl that’s been hit, otherwise your head’ll be had.”

~~~~~

As chaos assembled downstairs, Scully quickly knelt beside her partner to examine the wound to his shoulder.

“I…I’m sorry,” he choked through grit teeth, staring up at her with pleading eyes. “I prom–…promised…”

Lifting him slightly to search for an exit wound that it turned out wasn’t there, she shook her head. “You never keep them, Mulder Dammit, the bullet’s still in you…”

“Sculleeeee…”

“It’s gonna be okay. Relax and stay still – I’m sure an ambulance is on the way.”

“I’m sorr–”

“Shh…Just stay with me. That’s all I ask.” Feeling a tear roll

down her cheek, she reached out to brush a few errant strands of hair away from his face. “I need you with me every day, not only tomorrow.”

Gout watched with his head cocked slightly to the side – the girl sliding out of his grasp. She immediately ran toward Scully, who gathered her up in her arms, but then the pyjama-clad man realised what had happened and lunged for them both.

“Scu–”

Before she had chance to raise her gun, it was knocked from Dana’s grasp and she was being held against the kidnapper by a large arm.

“I got me two now!” Gout giggled, keeping a tight hold on the two struggling females as he turned to look out the window at the figures below. “YOU BETTER GIVE IT TO ME NOW!”

The sharp pain tearing through his shoulder, the nausea and light- headedness were all forgotten as Mulder lifted his head slightly to stare at the back of the man keeping his partner and the girl captive. Getting himself injured due to his own stupidity was one thing, but he couldn’t let anything happen to her – anybody but Scully… Shakily, he struggled to his feet – hissing at the pain that threatened to send him hurtling into darkness – and then moved toward Gout.

“Hey!” he started. When Gout turned, he struck out and hit him directly on the jaw. Scully and Sarah broke free and quickly moved out of arm’s reach. Mulder wavered on his feet – completely drained and unable to fight anymore. But it didn’t take long for Gout to regain his senses, and once again made for the two women.

*How can I pass up on the opportunity to share a tub of ice cream with you by firelight?*

Drawing on the power of his emotions, Mulder dived for Gout – not registering the loud creaking floorboards under his weight.

“*Mulder!* No!”

As the SWAT team burst into the room and Mulder’s arm wrapped around the madman, the floor finally gave way and the two men dropped down.

“Everybody out!” one of the uniformed men ordered, waving to his colleagues and moving to carefully guide Scully and the little girl out. Scully stood frozen on the spot, though, staring with horrified, wide eyes at the hole her partner had fallen through.

“Ma’am, we need to get out of here before the whole thing

collapses!” He grabbed her arm in one of his hands, but she

abruptly shook it off.

“That’s my partner!” she finally snapped, taking a tentative step forward to look into the hole and see how far he’d dropped.

There, on the second floor, she could see the two bodies lying motionless. She didn’t care about the injuries Gout had sustained, but the blood pouring from Mulder’s gunshot wound and what looked like an injury to his head was enough to make her fear the worst.

“Oh, my God….no…”

The team leader looked down also and shook his head. “We need immediate EMT help on the second floor,” he barked into his headset, reaching for her arm once again and succeeding this time in pulling her out of the room. “We have two men down.”

She refused to go any further than the second floor, though,

despite the warnings, and stayed by the unconscious-but-alive Mulder’s side until he was wheeled into the operating room at the hospital.

XxXxXxXxX

D.C GENERAL HOSPITAL

FEBRUARY 14th, 2005

4:22 PM

Mulder woke up and weakly looked round til he noticed his partner napping in the seat beside his bed – the memory of yesterday’s events continuing to haunt him. He’d asked for flowers to be delivered for her when he’d first regained consciousness early this morning, and had struggled to sign a Valentine’s card the Gunmen had brought in at his request, but he wished he could make it up properly. So much had been lost and destroyed this past year, he marvelled at her resolve whilst worrying how much more of a beating

it could take.

“Scully?” he whispered.

Immediately, she snapped awake and leaned forward to rest the back of her hand on his forehead. “Mulder, are you okay?”

He chuckled, coughed, and then smiled. “I feel like I lost my

happy thought and fe-ell quite a way, but you’re helping to b-bring it back. How about y-you?”

“I’m fine.” At his frown, she quickly added, “really. Not a

scratch on me. Sarah Orlowski was checked, cleared and returned to her parents, and Matt Gout was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. Meanwhile, Skinner’s not sure if he should congratulate you or wring your neck.” Uneasy pause. “But you had me so worried, Mulder… I thought…I really thought–…Dammit, Mulder, you shouldn’t have done it! Why? You knew the risk…You knew the

cops would move in as soon as they heard the gunshot – why couldn’t you have waited those few more seconds?”

He stared into her eyes, hoping that she would see the answer reflected in his, but when the well-exercised eyebrow raised higher, he tenderly replied, “Because….I love you? Because I didn’t….I didn’t want to see a-anything happen to you? I screwed up and broke my promise, and I-I’m p-p-paying for that, but…” He paused to reach up and pull her hand away from his forehead so that he could place it over his heart. “I won’t ever let anything happen to you as long as there’s a single b-breath in my body – that I s-swear.”

The tears broke free and trickled down her cheeks as she stared at him a moment longer and then bent to place a kiss on his lips.

“The same vice versa,” she whispered, lingering there. “But I

don’t know how much more I can take of this, Mulder. I don’t know if I can take almost losing you again…I love you too much to–”

“Shhh.” The hand covering hers lifted to cup her cheek, and

somehow – using their silent communication – it was agreed nothing else needed to be said.

She nodded and lowered her head to lay on his chest. It didn’t take long for the sound of his steady heartbeat to help her drift back off to sleep.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, S-Scully. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I get out of here…and then we’ll see about your punishing me for g-getting in-jured,” he whispered with a smile, kissing the top of her head before he too gave into the exhaustion and medication.

“Mm.”

XXXXXXXXXX

THE END

Seems to me, seems to be

you’re the reason

Why I live, try to give

all I can.

Can’t you see, that for me,

life’s worth living.

When you’re near, I know you’ll

understand.’

~’You’re The Reason’ by Gene Pitney

AUTHOR’S NOTES: So, what’d’ya think? Not very romantic, I know, but this has to have been the fastest fic I’ve ever written LOL I saw Vickie Moseley’s request for VS stories by Wednesday on Monday, dismissed it, then got an idea in my head the following day and spent the next 24 hours writing to get it done on time! Whew *thud* Whatever you think, though, please drop me a line at XSketch@hotmail.com 🙂

Slim Dickens

Slim Dickens

TITLE: Slim Dickens

AUTHOR Martin Ross

ARTWORK: Martin Ross Summary: You better watch out, you better not cry, Fox Mulder is about to debunk one of the world’s most beloved works of holiday literature.

Rating: PG for Yuletide reference to pity sex and snide sexual comment to anti-social law enforcement officer.

Spoilers: A Christmas Carol. Contains references that give away key plot points unknown to those who never took junior high English or watched any of the three dozen movie or TV Christmas Carol remakes (including the absolutely phenomenal Six Million Dollar Man homage with Ray Walston as Scrooge and Lee Majors portraying all three ghosts in a

magnificent tour de force).

Disclaimer: Chris “Kringle” Carter owns these people, except for the ones Charles Dickens created.

Archive: Two weeks exclusive with VS12.

J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building

Washington, D.C.

5:12 p.m.

Dec. 24

The irony of a Marley turning up in Mulder’s caseload on the day before Christmas was too great for the special agent to resist, especially as said Pierre Marley was a Jamaican

drug dealer who had apparently dropped from a planeless, chopperless New York sky, his back scored with yet-un-identified talon marks.

Skinner was no Dickensian slavemaster, and Mulder’s Christmas Eve presence in the basement of the J. Edgar Hoover was purely a labor of academic love.

Mulder thus was vexed by the unannounced arrival of Willis Dorritt, just as his own theory – involving pterodactyls and global warming – was taking shape and his Yuletide Bacon Cheese Double Patty beckoned on the desk blotter. Ordinarily, Dorritt’s fantastic tale might have been the plum in Mulder’s Christmas pudding, but his nails drummed impatiently on the Marley folder as the pudgy middle-aged man meandered, side-barred, and detoured.

“So basically, you believe you’ve been scrooged,” the agent deadpanned.

Dorritt sighed. “I realize how crazy this must sound. I really do. That’s why I called you.”

Mulder paused to consider the quality of this compliment. “You also must realize there is no practical legal recourse you could take even if I could prove it was true.”

“I haven’t thought it through that far. But I’ve read a few things about you and your work on the web. You know how many hits I came up with when I googled ‘Fox Mulder’?”

It was too easy a set-up. Mulder shifted in his chair and consulted the wall clock. “OK, I got an hour before my roommate takes the figgy pudding out of the oven. You believe Charles Dickens was part of an elaborate conspiracy to cheat your family out of its fortune.”

“Our potential fortune. And I don’t think Dickens was involved, beyond reporting the crime.”

“Uh huh. I know Dickens was a journalist in London for a time, before he started cranking out bestsellers. What got you going on this – some 19th Century newspaper piece?”

“No, it was in one of his novels. A novelette, actually. You’ve read A Christmas Carol?”

“Well, sure.” Actually, Mulder had seen the George C. Scott version twice and the Bill Murray adaptation a round half-dozen times.

“You’re trying to tell me Ebenezer Scrooge was a real person?”

“Not by that name, of course. As you noted, Dickens was a journalist, but before that, he was a clerk with a London law firm. Well, one of the firm’s clients was a businessman named Aloysius Dodge.”

“Ebenezer Scrooge,” Mulder murmured. “Same syllabic rhythm. Sorry, go on.”

“Well, although Dickens and Dodge traveled in different circles and Dodge was reputed to be a ruthless tyrant with his own employees, he took a shine to the young Dickens. Dodge was too big a cheapskate to be Dickens’ true patron, but they kept touch as Dickens evolved into a writer and then a popular author. And then, in 1843, Dodge and Dickens had a parting of the ways, reportedly on bad terms.”

“Same year A Christmas Carol was published.”

Dorritt nodded, then reached into the large manila envelope that rested intriguingly beside his left shoe. He displayed a small, silk- covered book with brittle yellow pages.

“Aloysius Dodge’s journal. In it, he relates how Dickens betrayed his confidence. In print.”

Mulder leaned back, an incredulous grin forming. “Get out.”

Dorritt carefully leafed through the diary.

“This is from 1854, shortly before Dodge died.

‘With reckless disregard for my standing in the London business community, Dickens exploited my preternatural experience for his own gain. I would have sought the services of his former colleagues at law to take him before the Queen’s bench, but I fear I would be judged to have been of questionable sanity or, worse, to have been under the influence of absinthe or opium. The damage to my reputation would be inestimable. It would appear I have no remedy against this scurrilous opportunist.’ He goes on like this for three pages, then starts ranting about Parliament, taxes, and meat pies.”

“Are you trying to tell me Dodge actually encountered the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future? That A Christmas Carol was actually a factual account of a genuine

supernatural visitation. God save us, every one.”

“I’m sure Dickens took considerable license with the story. But my research shows Dodge went through a very Scroogelike change in 1842.

He became one of London’s most prominent philanthropists – gave big lumps to the local hospital and orphanage every year, endowed a scholarship at Dartmouth. And get this: His

chief bookkeeper’s daughter had been crippled in a coach accident when she was six, and after his Christmas ‘visits,’ Dodge paid for her to get an operation from one of Europe’s top surgeons.”

“Holy Tiny Tim,” Mulder murmured. “Well, I guess it’s reasonable to assume Dickens would have real-life models for his characters. But my question remains, why the FBI? We don’t have the geographical jurisdiction, I’m reasonably

sure neither ectoplasmic housebreaking nor Dickensian defamation are criminal matters, and even if they were, I’m even more certain the statute of limitations would have passed.”

Dorritt frowned and fidgeted. “You still don’t get it, Agent Mulder. See, Aloysius Dodge was my great-great-grand uncle on my mother’s side, and I recently came across this journal in a bunch of boxes Grandma sent Mom 30 or 40 years ago. Since then, I’ve been trying to find evidence of my theory.”

“Which is?” Mulder coaxed, glancing not so covertly at the office clock. Scully’s temper would reach Orange Alert in roughly another half-hour.

Dorritt leaned forward. “That Aloysius Dodge’s Christmas Eve ‘visitation’ was no supernatural occurrence, but rather a carefully calculated, cleverly orchestrated plot to cheat our family out of its future financial legacy.”

“O-kay,” Mulder nodded, formulating an excuse for Scully.

Fox Mulder/Dana Scully apartment

Washington, D.C.

7:41 p.m.

“So this is why you couldn’t stop off at the market for yams or drop off Cousin Elena’s present for me,” Scully concluded, hands on hips, in a lethally neutral tone. Mulder’s coat

stopped halfway to the closet rod.

“How could I know the guy would just show up on Christmas Eve?” he squeaked. “I was just wrapping up the Marley case when the idiot security guard sent him down.”

“And just how did the Marley case come out?” his partner posed, cocking a brow.

“That,” Mulder began, “That’s beside the point, Scully. Dorritt’s a taxpayer, a citizen. I had to hear him out.”

“Of course. So what’s our plan? You take the Ghost of Christmas Past and I get Christmas Future? Let’s see, big black cloak, no distinguishing facial features. Or face, for

that matter.”

“All right, jeez. So he thought I might be intellectually intrigued by his whacko theory.”

“And why would he assume that?” Scully breathed.

Mulder gave her an extended withering look. She finally sighed.

“So, give already with the whacko theory.”

“Goes something like this,” Mulder said, plopping onto the couch. “At the time of his yuletide revelation, Aloysius Dodge had been working on developing lubricants for locomotive

and factory equipment. He was something of a mechanical whiz for his time – a virtual 19th Century Ron Popeil.”

“I have yams to peel. Quit playing Pocket Fisherman and cut to the chase.”

Mulder exhaled. “Dodge’s entrepreneurial spirit disappeared with his spiritual rebirth. He sold one of his laboratories to help shelter unwed mothers, and even after the afterglow wore off, he never really got his capitalist groove back.

“But a few years after Dodge liquidated his lubricant lab, his head chemist – get this – Robert Thatchett…”

“No way.”

“Yes, way. Bob Thatchett. Thatchett came to New York and promptly patented a series of mechanical innovations that provided the capital he needed to start his own company. In

America, mind you – out of the reach of the British courts. With the Industrial Revolution, Thatchett made a pile, and he became as rich, if not as famous, as the Rockefellers and

Carnegies.”

“And 150 years or so later…”

“Hold on, hold on. Do you want to know the name of his company?”

“Actually…”

“Thatchett named it after his late wife – Regina Works and Mechanical Ltd. Over the years, it was modified and streamlined. Today, you know it as…”

Scully’s jaw dropped open. “Shut up.”

“Yup. Reginex. Last year’s Fortune 50 Playmate of the Year. Makes everything from CPUs and airline engines to microwaveable meals. Owns three major cable networks and has a basketball stadium named for it. Ruport Murdoch wets his Armani suit at the mere mention of the company.”

His partner plopped onto the sofa. “And this Dorritt, he thinks somehow his great-great- great-granduncle would own Reginex today if he hadn’t had the dickens scared out of him.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But the potential was there.”

“And how, Mulder, did this Thatchett devise, much less carry off, a scam of such elaborate proportions?”

“Well, we know cocaine, laudanum, and other controlled substances were commonly used back in Dickens’ London. Maybe Thatchett slipped Aloysius the queen mother of all hallucinogenic cocktails. He was a chemist. If we’re to assume Dickens stuck closely to Dodge’s story, there may be evidence he was drugged. Remember, Scrooge suggested his ghostly visitors might have been no more than ‘a bit of undigested beef’? What if Dodge suffered gastric distress

as a side effect of the hallucinogen?”

Scully’s cheeks puffed. “Yeah, I’m gonna get power of attorney one of these days. Mulder, do you honestly believe Thatchett and his cronies could have created a series of hallucinations so convincing and yet coherent that they could

influence him to give up the bulk of his worldly goods? And that, as a result, Thatchett could steal Dodge’s invention, run off to the Big Apple, and become the Victorian Donald

Trump? That would require some pretty powerful foresight, Mulder.”

Mulder began to retort (though his retort had not yet been fully formed), then clamped his mouth shut and slapped his forehead.

“Rebooting, Mulder?” Scully inquired, dryly.

Mulder grinned. “My partner in cohabitation. I think I’ll keep her. You’re a freaking genius, Scully.”

“To have determined the true depths of your dementia?’

“No,” Mulder said flatly. “Scully, don’t you see? It couldn’t have been foresight.”

“Mulder, what the-” Scully’s profanity was interrupted by the warble of Mulder’s cell phone.

“Mulder,” her partner snapped.

“Yeah, Special Agent Mulder?” The voice was two pack-a-day gravelly, the tone cautiously brusque. “This’s Sgt. Micawber with the DCPD. You know a guy named Dorritt?”

Mulder stumbled to a chair. “Yeah, he visited me today. Something happen?”

“The big something,” the cop supplied. “Maid here at the Capitol Holiday Inn heard a ruckus coming from his room, called management, and they found him.”

Mulder jumped up. “Be right down.”

Micawber was suddenly solicitous. “Aw, jeez, Agent, no. We got it under control. It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Nothing’s going on. I’ll be right down.”

“Nothing’s going on?” Scully squeaked. Mulder swatted at her. “Where are you going?”

“No, seriously. I don’t wanna interfere with your holiday. Really.”

“It’s OK. Sgt. Micawber, right?”

“I just wanna know why Dorritt came to see you. He’s got your card, even though it looks like an old one.”

Mulder’s brow creased. Printing had just delivered new cards two days before. “I’m coming down.”

“No,” Micawber blurted. “I mean, you should be celebrating in the, um, the bosom of your family.”

“The only bosom here won’t let me anywhere near it. Be right there.”

The detective sighed loudly, aggrieved. “OK. What if I said I didn’t want some effing fed tromping all over my homicide? What would you say to that, huh?”

“Bah, humbug,” Mulder countered, disconnecting

Capitol Holiday Inn

Washington, D.C.

8:23 p.m.

“Where’s his head?” Mulder demanded upon inspecting the body, which was sitting up at the base of the bed in a spreading pool of blood.

“I dunno,” Sgt. Micawber sulked. “Guess he musta misplaced it. Look, how you figure this is a federal case?”

“Remember the Tulley case, Scully?”

Scully, kneeling by the oddly positioned corpse, looked up. “Tulley shot him in the skull, switched clothes, removed the head like the series of serial decapitations they’d had in the area. He was trying to confuse the vic’s identity, eliminate the ballistics evidence, and fake his suicide in one stroke.”

“More like about 15 strokes, unless he was stronger than he looked. You think this could be the same thing?”

Micawber dug his foot angrily at the hotel carpet. “Oughtta be able to get a DNA match. If there’s something to match it to, that is. Besides, door was bolted from the inside. How’d

the perp get out, especially with a head?”

Mulder grinned. “You think he cut himself shaving?”

Micawber muttered something obscene and anatomically impossible.

“He couldn’t have cut himself, Sarge,” a lanky patrolman called from the bathroom. “No bathroom kit. Not even any luggage.”

“Treese, you freakin’ idiot, wait outside,” Micawber growled.

“Wait,” Mulder murmured. He peered around the room. “No bags, no change of clothes, no bathroom stuff. Door’s locked from the inside.”

The agent perched on the edge of the bed.

“Sergeant, could you check the tub drain, please.”

“Ah, geez, you’re the boss,” Micawber groused, stalking out of the room.

“What do you think he’ll find?” Scully asked as Mulder dropped to the floor beside the body.

“Mulder, what in hell are you doing? You’re robbing the victim? Mulder!”

“Shut it, Scully,” Mulder whispered, pocketing a money clip full of bills.

“Dry as a bone,” Micawber reported as Mulder quickly stood. “Neither the sink nor the crapper look like they been used, and all the cups and soap and shit are still wrapped.”

Mulder nodded as Scully gaped. “Well, all right then. Looks like you’ve got everything in hand. We’ll just say adios.”

The bags beneath Micawber’s eyes darkened.

“What? Just like that?”

“Your jurisdiction, your case,” Mulder chirped.

“You’ll clear it — all you need are a few good leads and a little head.”

**

“Mulder, I’ve seen some real surprises from you, and not only at Christmas,” Scully finally commented, calmly, after 10 minutes of silence.

“Stealing money from a corpse on Christmas Eve and then ditching a case?”

“There is a Dickensian precedent for robbing the dead, Scully, and that boxed set of Crossing Jordan: Season One you wanted was pretty pricey,” Mulder murmured, turning on K Street. “But I wasn’t looking for pocket change on the unfortunate Mr. Dorritt. I was trying to prove a theory – one the good Sgt. Micawber wasn’t likely to buy.”

Scully shook her head, hopelessly. “All right. Give.”

“You said it before, Scully,” he began without further prompting. “A scheme like Dorritt proposed would have required superhuman foresight – to be able to predict Aloysius Dodge’s reaction to his ‘supernatural’ experience would have been impossible. Doris Day was right – que sera, sera. The future’s not ours to see.”

“We have to have some Tylenol left.”

“And even if Dodge was drugged, look at the incredible staging and special effects the Christmas ‘ghosts’ would have had to bring off.

No, it wasn’t foresight behind this. It was hindsight.”

Scully stopped rubbing her temple, and she looked at her partner, bathed in a strobe of passing streetlights. “You’re not suggesting…?”

“Time travel, Scully. The ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future were conmen from the future. Only they’d have the technology to create Aloysius Dodge’s elaborate and vivid ‘vision.’ Only people from the future would know the ultimate consequences of Dodge’s actions and their impact on Bob Thatchett and his heirs. I believe they were his heirs. In an alternate timeline, I suspect Aloysius Dodge marketed his little innovations and raked in a buttload of money, while the Thatchett clan lived on in relative obscurity and poverty.”

“Mulder,” Scully sighed, “I was going to offer you pity sex when we got home, but I think instead we’ll devote the time to a crash course on quantum physics. I suppose you’re going to suggest next that these time-traveling ghosts

found out Dorritt had come to you and were afraid the great Fox Mulder would thwart their scheme to rule the consumer electronics market.”

“Nobody likes a bitchy Scully, girly-girl. No, I’m not conceited enough to believe I could somehow prevent a 160-year-old crime committed by futuristic bunco artists. Even if somehow, I could build a case for fraud, what could he do? Hire Johnny Cochran and go on Larry King? No, there’s only one way Dorritt could do anything to regain his family fortune.

“Besides, you saw the crime scene, Scully. Locked room, head missing, no easy means of removing the head from the premises. Once again, wrong premise. It isn’t a question of

where Dorritt’s head is – it’s a question of when. He didn’t bring any bags or personal effects to the hotel because he didn’t need them. Toilets are probably cleaner in the future, and I know I prefer to use the john at home.”

Scully’s fingers instinctually went for her temples again. “So what are you saying, Mulder? That the ghosts found out Dorritt was onto them, and they whacked him, taking along the head to hide, what, raygun marks?”

“No. Suspend your disbelief for a moment, Scully, and go back to the Tulley case. Remember how many whacks it took to sever the victim’s head? Well, you saw Dorritt’s body.

How many strokes would you say that took?”

Scully’s eyes opened, and her fingers quit massaging. “Well, I suppose it looked pretty clean, almost surgical.” She sat up. “In fact, if it wasn’t impossible, it looked almost like

what I’ve seen in auto accidents where someone’s stuck their head out the window and had it sheared off by a passing truck or utility pole.”

Mulder smiled. “Or maybe if someone were interrupted while attempting to make a time leap, stuck their head out of the time machine, and had their head sheared off by a time

anomaly.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scully said, eyes widening, bolting up straight. “That just has to be it. You call Skinner, I’ll put out an APB on Scott Bakula.”

“Sure, fine, whatever,” Mulder grumbled.

Fox Mulder/Dana Scully apartment

12:01 a.m.

Dec. 25

Mulder awoke with a dry mouth, his undigested burger and theories still rolling in his gut.

Scully was snoring softly but regularly beside him. Neither pity sex nor quantum physics nor any combination thereof had followed their return home, and Mulder had ended Christmas Eve with the Cartoon Network.

He padded into the darkened living room in search of leftover Domino’s, stumbling on the ottoman. As Mulder uttered a curse to all superfluous furnishings, the lights blazed on.

“Thanks,” he muttered before jumping back. The tall figure by the switch was cloaked entirely in black, its face shrouded in shadow. One long hand gestured toward Mulder, beckoning.

“Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, right?” Mulder finally yawned. “Want a brewski?”

The specter’s fingers froze, then resumed beckoning.

“Diet Sprite, then,” Mulder nodded, jerking his head toward the kitchen. The phantom paused, then followed the agent.

Mulder popped the top on the can, and turned.

“You like a lot of ice? I don’t. C’mon, the jig’s up. Speak, boy.”

“I-” the cloaked figure stammered. “Oh, shit.”

“Want a little ‘za?” Mulder inquired, pulling a flat box from the fridge.

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come sighed and slumped into a chair. “My God, no. I mean, it’s in cardboard. Cardboard. You know how many organisms are crawling on that mozzarella Petri dish?”

Mulder ripped off a huge bite. “I gargled earlier. Sho, how are da kidsh?””I want the money.” It wasn’t so much of a

demand as it was a whine. The “spirit” flipped his hood down. “Just give me the money, and I’ll get out of here.”

“Was it an accident?” Mulder asked, wiping tomato sauce from the corner of his mouth.

“What? Yes. Of course. We surprised him as he was about to come back, and the morph turned around as the temporal drive engaged. The quark field lopped his head right off.”

“It happens.”

“Look, you’re messing with time here,” the ghost protested. “You have no idea what you could do to the space-time continuum…”

Mulder grinned. “I watch the Sci-Fi Network, too. Just because I’m a primitive entity doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Besides, what have you and Larry and Curly think you’ve been doing to the space-time continuum?”

“Larry? Curly?” The G.O.C.Y.T.C. tapped the earpiece of his thick glasses, appeared to scan something on the inside of his lens, and frowned. “Hey. Look, we only undid Dodge’s

fuckup.”

“Dodge’s?” Mulder sat up.

“Yeah,” the tall stranger said emphatically.

“He called himself Dorritt. Guess he had his great-great-great-great-…oh, shit — Aloysius Dodge’s ingenuity. He was Regina’s top technology development manager, and he started screwing around with the submolecular fields.

He’d found Dodge’s journal – the one from our original timeline – and realized how Robert Thatchett had pirated his inventions while he was recovering from a minor case of consumption.

Dodge went back and planted enough evidence for

Aloysius to uncover Thatchett’s plans. Well, he underestimated his great-great-you know’s temper:

Aloysius confronted Thatchett and shot him, then keeled over dead from cardiac failure.

You know the crap they ate back then? His heart must’ve looked like a nuclear test site.”

“Glad to see carb-counting isn’t just a fad.”

“He managed to erase Thatchett’s family line, and without Dodge’s charitable contributions – he wasn’t quite the tyrant that hack Dickens made him out to be – thousands of orphans, widows, unwed mothers, and sick children died,

turned to crime, failed to reach the potential for which history had destined them.”

“And what happened?” Mulder asked.

“Hey, I’m sure you’re smart enough to know I can’t tell you that. Just suffice it to say it was pretty effed up.”

“So how’d you guys get back here?”

“The chronotech lab’s superaccelerated boson membrane produced a temporal tesseract that — you wouldn’t understand,” he said simply. “But we knew that somehow, we had to shift the continuum back into line.”

“And that’s what you came up with,” Mulder observed.

“Hey, we were dealing with virtual cavemen here,” the ghost pointed out, witheringly.

“Aloysius didn’t even maintain basic oral hygiene – his breath could cause a temporal rift. We preyed on his 19th Century sense of superstition and pre-Victorian guilt. It worked, didn’t it? And now, everything’s pretty much right again – pretty much. And when I get back, we’re going to take Dodge’s machine apart and recycle the parts into proton ovens. That is, if you’ll just give me the money and leave

things alone.”

“Look, I’d like to oblige, but how do I know what you guys may have in mind next? Maybe you’re bent on world domination, maybe you think a Fourth Reich’d kind of spice things up.

You seem to have some pretty fanatical views on nutrition – maybe you arrange a little accident for Harlan Sanders or Ray Kroc, wipe the Thickburger completely from man’s memory.”

The time traveler’s jaw tightened. “OK. I understand. We studied up on you – we knew you were the only person who might be, ah, open- minded enough to help Dodge figure out how to readjust the continuum. Would it convince you of our goodwill if we could help you put your career back on track? Maybe if you had a second chance to investigate your sister’s disappearance with a little more discretion, you could rise to a position of authority where you could command the resources necessary to find out what happened to her.”

Mulder merely smiled.

“Or better yet,” the visitor persisted, “what if you could go back to 1973, go back to when Samantha disappeared? What if you could have been there to protect her? To remove her from harm’s way?”

Mulder’s smile froze. Then he remembered to breathe. The agent stood up, walked out into the hall, and opened the front door closet. Mulder returned a moment later and flipped Dodge’s small roll of bills across the table.

The ghost riffled through the currency, sighing loudly, then pocketed it and looked back at Mulder.

“And that’s it?” he asked, suspiciously.

Mulder smiled again, leaning back. “You guys are all scientists, right? You and the ghosts of Christmas past and present?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, then, you ought to understand. I’ve got what I need here. Answers. The Truth. I don’t need to alter the truth, tweak it, head it off at the pass. I just want it to show itself.”

For the first time, The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come smiled, as if the two had transcended some temporal boundary.

“I hope you mean it,” Mulder added. “That you’ll destroy the time machine. Doris Day was right.”

“Que sera, sera.”

Mulder grinned. “Geez, maybe there is hope.”

The time traveler tipped his head and folded into nothing. Mulder stared at the vacant space for a moment, then picked up a slice and chewed. He pulled a rectangle of paper from his T-shirt pocket and smoothed it on the table.

“Santa’s gonna open a big can of whoopass, he finds you up this late,” said Scully, yawning and rubbing against the kitchen doorjam. ”

‘Case’ still bugging you?”

Mulder shook his head. “It’s Christmas morning, Scully. The past and the future don’t matter. Mankind should be our business.”

“Jacob Marley,” Scully nodded, impressed.

“John Forsythe, Scrooged.”

“Ah huh. Look, Mulder, you still want that pity sex?”

Mulder’s chair squeaked back. “God bless us everyone.”

Scully pursed her lips. “Shut up, Mulder. You had me at John Forsythe.” She glanced at the bill on the table, picked it up, squinted, and let it float back onto the formica, smirking.

“Cute – Frohike give you this? Treasury might not think it was so funny, you accidentally spend it.”

Mulder smiled, watching her disappear back into the bedroom. He took one last look at the square-jawed visage engraved onto the U.S. tender – the one he’d withheld from his midnight visitor — before sliding it back into his T-shirt.

He could have sworn President Schwarzenegger smiled back.

end

Ebay Wars

TITLE: eBay Wars

Author: Kathy Foote

Summary: Mulder and Scully are unknowingly bidding on the same auction item

Rating: PG

Category: MSR, Humor

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, these characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Twentieth Century Fox. I wish they were mine, but they aren’t.

Archive: Two weeks exclusive with VS12, then anywhere is

fine by me

CHRISTMAS MORNING

Mulder and Scully were opening gifts on Christmas morning.

Boxes and ripped wrapping paper were strewn all over the floor.

They had had a wonderful morning together opening gifts. She was in her satin pajamas and robe wearing her new white socks embossed with little green alien heads. He was wearing sweat pants and his new t-shirt with “Area 51 Travel Agency” printed on it.

There was one last gift under the tree and it was for Mulder.

Scully retrieved the small box and, with a huge smile on her

face, gave it to him. He opened the box and found that it

contained a baseball. The baseball he had told Scully about last month. It was an autographed baseball from the 2000 world champion Yankees. He stared at the baseball in total shock. He had showed the ball to Scully on eBay and asked her to get it for his Christmas present, but she had scoffed at the idea, saying absolutely not. Obviously, she had been kidding. Mulder remembered the moment clearly as he continued to stare at the ball. He had wanted the ball very badly and since she wasn’t going to get it for him, he had tried to buy it himself, but someone kept outbidding him…

ONE MONTH EARLIER, SATURDAY AFTERNOON

Mulder was in the upstairs office using his computer, while

Scully had set up her laptop downstairs. You had to love that

wireless router the guys put in. She could get on the Internet using her laptop from any room in the duplex, even the bathroom. However, Scully assured him she would never need to use it in there. The wireless router allowed them to use their own computers to gain access to the Internet and their email at the same time…no waiting.

Mulder was bored and had been surfing around the Internet,

checking out some of his usual UFO related haunts; MUFON,

UFO Research Center, and the center for UFO studies. There

were no big sightings to report. He did find a site called the

UFO Store where he found a great pair of socks for Scully’s

Christmas present with alien heads on them. She would only

wear them around the house, but he liked them.

He tired of the UFO sites and decided to make a stop at eBay. He liked to check the site every now and then to see what kind of stuff was up for sale. The Gunmen were always raving about the great deals they had gotten on electronics there. Mulder had bought a few things, but never elec-tronics; mostly books and movies. There were a few select topics that he liked to search.

‘Elvis’ was his favorite. He had always been a huge fan and he loved seeing what kind of stuff people would try to sell on

eBay.

ELVIS PRESLEY’S 1st PERSONALLY WORN

OWNED TCB’ NECKLACE – $1,000,000.00

Wow! He would have to tell Scully to buy him that for

Christmas. Oh wait…he could also get the matching TCB ring

for $152,000. Would anyone actually bid on that? he

contemplated, laughing to himself.

Next, he searched for ‘Knicks’. Hey, he wondered if Scully

would like tickets to a Knicks game for Christmas. Well,

maybe not for Christmas, but for the heck of it. Scully would

like a trip to New York for just the 2 of them; nice hotel,

shopping, eating, AND a Knicks game. Someone was selling 2 tickets to the Knicks vs Lakers on 2/28. He quickly checked his calendar and found that February 28th was a Monday night.

That could work. They could make a long weekend of it,

driving up Saturday and returning on Tuesday. He would have to think about it.

Next, he searched for ‘Yankees’.

1928 New York Yankees Baseball Team Panoramic

Photo – $100,000.00

He judged that item was too rich for his blood. As he paged

through the items, he found something that caught his eye. A baseball from the 2000 world series that had been signed by some of the players, including Derek Jeter and Roger Clemens.

It was only $99. He had to have it. He ran down the stairs,

shouting ‘Scully’ the whole way.

She could hear Mulder frantically calling her name. Concerned, she went to see what the commotion was about and practically ran into him. He could barely speak.

“Scully! Scully! I know what I really want for Christmas!” he

enthusiastically told her.

“Mulder…that’s what you said about the Playstation 2, the new video games, the Outer Limits on DVD, and about a dozen other things”, she replied exasperated.

“No…this is different. I just saw it on eBay. It’s a baseball

autographed by the 2000 world champion New York Yankees. I’ll show you.”

He snatched up her laptop and brought up the auction item.

Handing the laptop back to her, he pointed to the screen.

“Look!”

She studied the display, unable to believe that he really wanted an autographed baseball. As she looked up at his expectant face, she could tell that he really did want it. He had always been a big Yankees fan and it was only $99. She came to the conclusion that she would try and buy it; she didn’t want him to know. It would be a big surprise when she gave it to him on Christmas morning.

“I am _not_ going to buy you that baseball. Besides, I have

already bought your present.” She lied, hoping to throw him

off.

“But…Scully…”

“No way!” She switched the screen back to her report and

resumed her work.

Dejected, Mulder left and returned upstairs.

When she was sure he was gone, she switched back to eBay and put in a bid of $99. Now she would have to wait 1 day for the auction to end.

Mulder was sulking upstairs. He had really wanted that ball and it was only $99. After much contemplation, he decided, if she wouldn’t buy it for him, he would buy it himself. It would be his Christmas present to himself. With the decision made, he returned to eBay to bid on the ball. Someone had placed a bid on the ball. He wanted to see who had placed the bid, but it was a private auction, so he was unable to see the ID of his competition. He really didn’t want to lose the opportunity to possess that ball, so he placed a bid of $105. Satisfied when the screen showed his bid as the current high bid, he resumed surfing the net. Maybe he would check out hotels in the New York area for February.

Scully was in the middle of editing her report, when she got an email notification. When she accessed her mail, she found an outbid notice from eBay. Someone had already outbid her for the baseball. She knew it would happen, but not so soon. She navigated to the item and found a current high bid of $105. The bidding history was hidden, so she had no idea who had outbid her for the ball. She would fix that guy and entered a bid of $125. When the screen refreshed, she saw her bid was the current high bid. That ought to do it. Scully went back to work on her report.

Mulder was reviewing the latest UFO reports for November at the MUFON National UFO Reporting Center, when he got an email notification. He had already been outbid for the baseball.

Damn. Another person or persons wanted his ball, although not as much as he did. He accessed the eBay item. The bid was now up to $110. He entered a new bid of $115, but was

immediately outbid. What? He re-entered his bid at $120 and again was immediately outbid. Shit! He’d fix that. He entered a bid $150 and finally got the message that he was the highest bid at $130.

Scully saw the “You Got New Mail” message popup on her

screen. She got another outbid notice from eBay. Whoever was bidding on this item must be online right now. She went to eBay and found the current bid was $130. She tried several higher bids, never managing to get the high bid. She was trying to decide whether or not to keep bidding. Mulder better really love this ball, she thought, as she entered a bid of $200. That had been the amount that outbid her op-ponent, because now she was the highest bidder. Noticing that it was getting late, she logged off her laptop, so that she could get dinner started. She would check it out again later.

Mulder got another email notification. Outbid again? Dammit!

He was not going to lose that ball. The bid was now up to

$155. He first entered $175 and then jumped to $200, each time being outbid. He sat back and contemplated his situation. He really wanted that ball, but the bid was already at $200. Should he bid more or give up? He paced the room considering what to do. How bad did he want that ball? He deliberated a moment and decided…really bad. He moved back to the computer and entered a bid of $300. Finally, he got the notice that he was the highest bid at $205. Whew! He wondered how high that other guy was going to go? He still thought $300 was a great price for that ball, but of course, for Mulder, the ball was priceless.

Soon Scully called him to come help with dinner, so he logged off.

Before turning in, Scully wanted to check the eBay auction one more time. She told Mulder she was going to check her email once more before bed, while he was in the bathroom getting ready for bed. After logging on, the first thing she saw was…you got mail! She was outbid again. “Dammit!” she shouted into the empty room.

Hearing her swear from inside the bathroom, Mulder asked if

she was OK.

“I’m fine…I just…hit my foot…on …_something_”, she

replied. She was totally focused on the auction and could not be distracted. She had to finish this before Mulder came out of the bathroom. The current bid was listed at $205. She placed a bid of $250 and was notified that she was outbid. She tried $300 and was again outbid. How high was too high of a price for that ball? Scully didn’t know, but she knew he really wanted it and she determined to get it for him. She finally decided $400 was her limit, and placed the bid. Whew! She figured the other guy must not have bid higher than $300, because the current bid jumped to $305.00. Satisfied, for now, she logged off and waited for Mulder to get out of the bathroom.

When he finished, Scully got in the bathroom to get ready for

bed. He hurried to the other room to log back onto the

computer and check out the auction. He didn’t even bother

checking his email, but went directly to the eBay item. He had been outbid again. He debated on outbidding the person again or waiting until the auction was closer to the end, since it was not over until 12:00pm the next day. If he kept outbidding this person for the next 14 hours, the price could easily be $1000.00.

He concluded that it would be best to wait until the auction was almost over before placing a new bid. He shutdown the

computer and hurried back to the bed before Scully came out

The next day, after cleaning up from breakfast, Mulder said he had some work to do and disappeared into the upstairs office.

Scully was glad, saying she had work too. They both logged

onto their respective computers and went straight to eBay.

Scully was pleased to see that she was still the top bidder.

There was still 2 hours left in the auction, so she would have to keep checking back. She passed the time by continuing to work on the report she had started the previous day.

Mulder was pleased to see that his plan had worked. He hadn’t outbid the other guy, so the price had not gone up. It was still sitting at $305. Now, he had to time this just right. His plan was to wait until 2 or 3 minutes before the end and then raise the bid.

At 11:57am, he made his move. He entered a bid of $350.

When he pressed the submit button, the message “you have been outbid” was his response. No!! He quickly entered another bid…this time $400. Again he was outbid. SHIT! This can’t be happening! Running out of time, he went all out and entered a bid of $500. Finally, he was high bidder at $405.

Scully was going to kill him when she found out how much he

had spent. He couldn’t think about the ramifications right now; he had to win it first. He just sat there hitting the refresh key every second, waiting to see if he was going to be outbid. He would need to know immediately so he could enter a new bid before the end of the auction, which was ending in 1 minute and 45 seconds.

Scully had been monitoring the item at eBay for the last 10

minutes. She was still the highest bidder. She was getting

excited about the prospect of winning. She thought $305 was a lot to pay for a baseball, but not compared to how much Mulder would love the ball. Refreshing the screen every few seconds, she finally saw the price change to $405. Damn! Sneaky bastard had outbid her and with only 1 minute 45 seconds left. She had to hurry. She immediately entered a bid of $450.00 and was outbid. Oh my God, she could not lose it now…not after all this time. She quickly entered $500.00 and submitted the bid. Outbid again!!! The time was down to 1 minute.

This was getting ridiculous. Could she really pay over 500.00

for a stupid baseball? It was just a ball with some signatures on it. She pictured Mulder’s face when he opened the item on Christmas and came to the conclusion that she could. She

entered $1000 and prepared to hit submit. She was going to

wait until the last possible second to submit the bid. That way she couldn’t be outbid.

Mulder was impatiently hitting the refresh key, watching the

countdown to the auction ending…30 seconds. The bid had

gone up, but stopped at $500.00. Maybe the other guy decided to quit at $500. The sound of his finger hitting the key sounded like a ticking time bomb. A time bomb set to explode in 30 seconds.

Suddenly the phone rang and Mulder almost jumped out of his skin. There was no way he was leaving his computer to answer that phone. “Sculleeee! Can you get that phone? I’m…busy!”

She heard him yell down from upstairs about the phone. There was no way she was leaving her computer to answer that phone.

“No…I’m busy too. It’s probably for you anyway.”

“Fine”, they said in unison, the answering machine would get it.

Scully waited patiently until she figured there were about 10

seconds left in the auction and pressed the submit button. The screen changed to show that she was the highest bidder at $505.00. The auction ended 5 seconds later with her being the winner. “Yes!!!” she shouted in triumph. She felt like she had won a war. She wanted to celebrate but she couldn’t tell Mulder why, obviously. She logged off her computer and went to get her and Mulder a victory beer.

Mulder pressed the refresh key again and the screen changed to show that the auction had ended. He practically crumpled when he saw the winning bid of $505.00. After all his work and planning, he had lost. He had really wanted that ball, but obviously so did someone else. Disgusted, he shut down his computer and sat there pouting…

CHRISTMAS MORNING

Mulder was holding the ball reverently, turning it in his hands

so he could see all the signatures. He was in a world of his

own.

“Mulder? Earth to Mulder…”

“Huh? Oh…uh…sorry Scully. I…I have something to confess.”

“Oh?”

“Well, you know I really wanted this ball…and you said you

wouldn’t buy it…and…I believed you, so I…I tried to buy it

myself.” Scully raised her eyebrows upon hearing his

confession. She had an idea of what coming. He explained

how he had tried to buy the ball but was constantly being outbid by some unknown person.

“You were the other guy?” Scully finally asked.

“Well…yeah, I guess so…sorry about that,” he answered

sheepishly lowering his eyes to look at the ball. After a few

ments, he raised his face to look at Scully, breaking out into

a wide grin. “But…I really, really, _really_ love this ball.

It means so much more to me to know that you went to so much trouble to get it.” He embraced her in both arms. “Thanks, Scully.”

“Merry Christmas, Mulder.” Scully said as she hugged back.

She was so glad she had managed to get it for him. It was

obvious that he really liked it, but in the back of her mind she

thought, “For the price I paid, you had better like it.”

The End