Title:  New Millennium:  The Jig is Up 
Authors:  Ten and Vickie Moseley
Spoilers:  not any that I could think of
Rating:  R for content of a sexual nature
Category:  M/S Married, Skinner Angst, H
Archives: yes
Disclaimer:  We won't infringe on anybody's anything, copyright or otherwise
Comments:  the rest of this series can be found at Ten's web site
http://tenxffic.iwarp.com
Click on the "New Millennium" banner
Unless a death threat is carried out, there will be more of these coming <G>

New Millennium:  The Jig is Up
By Ten and Vickie Moseley
kristena@ocean.com.au
vmoseley@fgi.net

xXx

Monday, January 10th 2000
FBI Headquarters


I am heading through the less-trafficked (let alone inhabited by
anything apart from storage) halls to the car park.  I take out my
phone and dial my home number.  When the answering machine takes
over and beeps in encouragement, I glance around to make sure that
I'm alone and say: "No need to screen the call.  It's just me,
lover."

Instantly the phone is picked up.  "Hey, beautiful," my husband
says.  I smile.  One of these days we will announce to the whole
world that we are married and sharing my apartment.  But not just
now.  So for the moment at least, Mulder will be maintaining his
apartment for 'cover'.  "How did it go?" he continues over the
line.

I consider as I walk.  "Well, this counseling session wasn't as
bad as most of my other mandatory 'how do you feel after firing
your gun on the job' ones have been."  Especially considering that
I had been attacked by a man who was already 'dead' and half
autopsied to boot...  And that's not even counting what happened
after that in that Maryland basement Mulder and Frank Black were
trapped in.  The hearing will be interesting: Mulder and Frank
with their theories and the testimony of the pathologist who took
the staples out of the deputy's mouth...

"That's good.  I'm glad it went okay."  Mulder's session is set
for Wednesday.

I exit into the car park and head for my vehicle.  Fortunately on
this level, you can still get decent cellular reception, otherwise
I would have gone into our office.  God knows who would have been
listening in there though.  At this time of day, the car park is
deserted.  I pitch my voice lower and husky.  "And the counsellor
could see that I wasn't sinking into depression.  I wonder why
that could be?  It could be the same reason why I left the
apartment grinning like a maniac this morning and then felt sorry
that I couldn't wear my rings."  Or at least wear them in the
conventional way.  When out on 'official business' I have my
engagement and wedding rings on a long chain that is hidden under
my blouse.  I don't want to be without them.

Mulder chuckles down the phone, sending pleasurable shivers down
my spine.  He says, "It'll be good to see you today.  You left
earlier than I thought this morning.  When I woke up, you were
gone."  I can hear the pout protrude.

"Didn't you see the note?  I went and saw Mom first, then went on
to HQ.  Thought I might as well, since you were sound asleep and
clearly good for nothing.  You're flagging, Mulder.  After all,
last night you got to lay there, I did all the work."

"Not for much longer, babe."

"I know.  Anyway, I'll come home and we'll grab lunch and then
have time to go see the doctor and get those pesky stitches out."

"Then we can rumba!"

"Providing he thinks that the lacerations are healing okay," I
remind him as I get into the car.

"It's been ten days!" he protests.  "Keep these stitches in any
longer and my skin will swallow them whole!  I've been a good boy
- no straining the arm -"

"I'm hanging up now, Mulder."

"I'll be waiting..."

As I pull out of the car park, I think about yesterday.  It was a
great day.  I got him 'up' in the morning and he asked if I was
going to confess THAT in church, then we drove to Sunday Mass, and
Mulder sat outside in the car with the newspaper.  After that we
went to Rock Creek Park and had a walk and ate out.  Just like a
normal couple.  Upon our return to Georgetown we curled up on the
sofa and watched TV, necked a bit and talked about a wide range of
things.

I'm grateful for our new physical relationship and wouldn't miss
it for the world, but I am even more grateful for the depth that
our marriage has given to our partnership.  We're opening up to
each other in feelings and thoughts, questions and memories.  I
treasure every second.

xXx

Before I get out of the car, I turn my phone off.  I want to
recharge it, and when we go out soon, we'll have Mulder's if
needed.  I enter my apartment while looking at my watch.  We're on
schedule.  Lunch and go. I push the door shut behind me and look
up.  And drop my keys.

Mulder has just appeared in the bedroom doorway.  All of him.
Completely and gloriously naked.

He lounges against the doorframe and turns slightly so that I can
get a better view of his...arm.  He's holding his right arm out
for inspection.  "Not a stitch left."

"Not a stitch..." I echo in stunned agreement, but my gaze is
distracted by another part of Mulder's anatomy that is also
noticeably raised.  I blink, then realize that he's serious.  It's
not just his clothes that are gone.  "Mulder, what...?"

"The doctor called just after you left here this morning.  He had
a cancellation, wanted to know if I was interested in an earlier
appointment.  So I went.  Wanted to surprise you."  My husband the
Liar walks closer to me, flexing his arm.  "Doc says it's in
perfect working order, fully functional, but you know how I am,
Scully.  I like my personal physician to verify things."  His eyes
are glittering.  They run up and down my body.  I can feel the
look as if it is a physical touch.  "Babe, you're overdressed for
this party."

I try to rescue my wit from the puddle of lust it is currently
drowning in.  My appetite for food has gone, but has been replaced
by another hunger.  "A party is it?  Not an examination?"

"Well, I certainly intend to celebrate.  Hope your phone's off,
babe, because I've taken care of the others."

He comes up close and raises his hands to cup my face.  To run
both sets of fingers over my cheeks and my lips.  "I finally get
to do this."  He envelops me in a hug.  "I can finally hold you
properly," he whispers in my ear, like a blind man who has been
granted sight.  I hug back, reveling in the feel of his arms
around me.  We have probably been overcautious with his arm in the
last nine days, especially in the last few, but what with the flu
and wanting him to heal completely and me enjoying 'the view' (and
the ride) from up top, well...  Anyway, his hands are now roaming,
and they pull my blouse out of my suit pants.

I raise my head.  "I can't wait to see what else you can do,
Mulder."  I pull his mouth down to mine.

It may be still winter outside, but summer is blazing inside me.
As we kiss, we end up with my back against the wall, just next to
the door - I have a vague impression of Mulder knocking the coat
stand out of the way and swearing when he steps on my discarded
keys - and his right hand is making up for lost time.  Mulder uses
both hands to get my jacket off me, then runs his fingers up over
my shirt from my waistline to my breasts.  His thumbs...  My head
whips back and forth against the wall.  God, we're not even skin
to skin yet.

But my husband is taking care of that.  He has stepped back
slightly and is deftly unbuttoning my shirt.  We share a grin,
remembering how he had trained himself to do it one-handed (or
when that failed, a 'rip and strip').  When my bra is also on the
floor, Mulder puts his mouth to work along with his hands.  Oh...
I love the magic of his hands, but has he got a mouth!  He's
trying to keep the hickeys below collar-line level though.

He momentarily stops to ask, "You like that, babe?"

"What's not to like?"  I push him back to his task.  God, just how
many hands does this man possess?

My own hands stroke and hold wherever on him they happen to land
or stray, but, for this time, Mulder is in the driver's seat, and
I'm more than willing to hand over the keys and let him adjust the
seat how he will.

His nose nuzzles my rings on the chain, then he murmurs, "No more
bread wrappers...  But the occasional sponge bath would be nice.
Very nice...  And we can share a shower and a bath without being
concerned -"  The rest of his words get lost in a moan, but I
can't tell from whose mouth it issues.

I step out of my suit pants and underwear and then we are holding,
feeling our naked selves pressed against each other.

Mulder scoops me up in his arms.  "Mulder - your arm!" I protest
as he strides towards the bedroom.  He halts and looks at me.  "I
don't think you should put too much weight on it right away."

"I wouldn't class you as too much weight."  But suddenly he kneels
down and lowers me onto one of the rugs that covers the hardwood
floor.  "If you insist.  The bedroom's too damn far anyway."

I grin and draw him to me.

xXx

We're making love on the floor halfway between the front door and
my bedroom doorway.  Not that I'm really caring at the moment
where the hell we are.  All I care about is what Mulder is doing
above me and in me and what I'm feeling as a result.  I rock with
his movements, encouraging the deep, steady pace.  Mulder's arms
are braced on either side of me, lifting himself up slightly so
he's not crushing me with his weight or size difference.  I hope
he's taking the strain okay, but he'd better not stop!

I'm liking this position.  Very much so.  It gives Mulder great
leeway to wield his 'sword'.  Sword and the stone.  Though I am
certainly not as dry as stone at this moment...

Floors work.  My back is probably going to kill me later, and God
knows what we're doing to Mulder's arm, but it works.

Due to our motions, I can feel the rug bunching up under my ass,
but that's fine, because that is lifting my lower body higher, on
an angle, a very good angle that does not neglect the 'touchstone'
as Mulder dubbed it on our wedding day.  At my increased noise and
garbled encouragements, Mulder puts his weight on his knees and
one hand, and hefts my legs up higher, maximizing that oh-so-good
angle, then sheathes his sword at a faster pace.

I think I'm about to become a screamer.

xXx

Sir Mulder, I dub thee fully functional indeed...  I'd give him a
round of applause, but I don't think I can move my arms that much
yet.  Yes, over our nine days of marriage I have made a lot of
noise during sex, but not quite to that decibel.  It's still
ringing in my ears.  A new record.

He is collapsed on top of me; his forehead is on the floor past my
right shoulder.  He makes a small movement, and I know he is
trying to roll us over so that he isn't crushing me, but I know
Mulder doesn't have the energy and I manage to still him with a
hand.  It's okay.  My face only comes up to his chest, but he's
trying to lie on me at an angle so he's not inadvertently trapping
my head.  We're both panting like wounded buffaloes.

I am drifting off into afterglow oblivion when something makes my
eyes fly open.

I meet the gaze of a man standing a few yards away.

And sunlight is glinting off his bald head.

xXx

Bureau Office of Walter S. Skinner
11:45 am

I like to consider myself a reasonable man.

It's not easy.  I was a field agent, a damned good one.  One who never
thought he'd end up 'flying' a desk.  And yet, here I sit, behind a desk
that's almost as big as the first car I owned.

I try to keep above the perception that I'm stuck in this office.  I get
out in the field.  I support my agents.  I don't just sit back and read
reports.  And I do have more than two agents under my charge.

Sometimes, I think, everyone forgets that.  The X Files Division is just
one of many under my direct supervision.  I have several divisions of
Violent Crimes under my control.  I am an Assistant Director.  I report to
the Deputy Director, the Director and the Attorney General.  I have a lot
on my plate and I keep all the balls in the air all the time.

So I can almost forgive myself for being blind to the situation.

Almost.

What I just said about my supervisory role is true, to an extent.  I do
have seven divisions under my direct watch.  Now, if you ask me how I
distribute my time among those seven divisions, that would be another
matter.  

The X Files Division takes up about 60 percent of my time.  All the other 6
divisions divvy up the remaining 40 percent.

Get one thing straight.  I'm not biased toward one division because I like
it that much.  The X Files Division is just high maintenance.  They always
have been.  Blevins discovered that first, although at the time, he had
some high maintenance issues of his own.  But it's hard to determine if the
Division was more or less high maintenance when the decision was made to
bring Dana Scully, MD on board.  My money's on less, most of the people
above and around me would put their money on more.

Blevins, may he rot in hell, had this brilliant idea.  Mulder was a male,
team him with a woman, he would naturally make a pass at her.  That's where
Dana Scully came into the picture.  Sure, she was a perfect fit, a medical
doctor with degrees in the 'hard' sciences.  A no nonsense person, you'd
have to be to cut up dead people all day.  But there was something only a
few people knew or even yet know about Dana Scully.  A mere five months
before her 'teaming' with Fox Mulder, she had been the corroborating
witness at a disciplinary hearing.  The then acting head of pathology had
been accused of sexually harassing a member of the support staff, his just
assigned administrative assistant.  Agent Dana Scully was corroborating the
plaintive, not the defendant.  And she made it quite clear what she would
do if she were ever placed in a compromising position with a co-worker.
Blevins knew that.  That's why he picked her over 3 other qualified
candidates.

Blevins was betting on a sexual harassment suit hitting his desk the day
after they returned from Oregon.

It didn't happen.

The first few months, Blevins held his breath.  Then, when it was apparent
that Mulder was not acting as expected, or worse yet, that Scully had found
compromising somehow more appealing with the right man, Blevins
unceremoniously dumped the two of them in my lap.

I had my suspicions.  I heard all the rumors.  When Mulder was injured in
the line of duty, Scully threatened to kill a man on death row.  Not much
of a threat, the guy was dead in three days, but it takes guts to make that
kind of a statement in front of guards.  Was it the kind of aggression born
of watching your partner being wheeled into surgery . . . or your lover
hovering at death's door?

I consider myself a keen judge of human nature.  If they were having sex, I
could find no evidence of it.  And eventually, in true form, the rumors
changed.  Mulder was gay.  Scully was an ice queen (a statement that
distressingly was later attributed to her former instructor at the Academy,
one Jack Willis).

But I could see them, when no one else could.  I could see the little looks
that even they missed.  Those times when I had them both on the hot seat,
reaming them new assholes.  He would glance over to her, guiltily.  Wishing
her out of the room, away from the embarrassment being heaped on her
shoulders.  And she would shoot a look at him, all worry and
protectiveness.  Sure, he let it roll off his back, all the slings and
arrows, but she could see the glancing blows, the direct hits.  Each one
was like a dagger straight to her heart.

So, I have watched.  And waited.  And watched.  And waited some more.  And
then, I came to a realization.  Sometimes, the most intelligent people have
the least amount of common sense.  And if that is the case, Mulder is their
king and Scully their queen.  These two people are just too damned smart to
realize they are hopelessly in love with one another and should damned well
do something about it before one or both of them gets killed!

I have thought, on rare occasions and with the considerable assistance of a
bottle of Crown Royal, that maybe I should take Mulder out, get him good
and drunk, and lay it on the line.  But then, at other times, I figure
Mulder isn't the stumbling block.  The man wears his heart on his sleeve.
Scully, now, that's the tough one.  That woman is a brick of cement when it
comes to seeing the love in her partner's eyes.   But taking her out and
getting her good and drunk did not seem like the best idea, especially when
I would more than likely be intoxicated at the same time, and I just do not
want to go there.

So, at this point in time, I'm at a standstill.  Don't want to rock the
boat, but at the same time, it's getting damned annoying watching the two
of them walk around so totally clueless to each other.  I try not to dwell
on it, and just do my work.  And hope, maybe someday . . .

I had hoped to catch Scully after her counseling session.  They usually
last 45 minutes to an hour and I went down at 11:35.  There were some
questions about some of the expenses for their last case.  Travel was
screaming about gas, all of a sudden, with prices over a buck fifty a
gallon.  Seems these two had used enough gas in the rental car to drive to
Florida and back, and that was pretty weird considering the whole
investigation took place in rural Maryland.  So, when I missed her, I just
tried to call her and let her know that I needed to see their gas receipts.

The weird thing is, I didn't get an answer on her phone.  Not even the
machine picked up.  It just rang and rang and rang.  Like it would do if it
had been pulled out of the wall or something.

Maybe paranoia is contagious, or maybe I've just been their superior for
long enough to know what to expect with either of these two, but I
immediately called Mulder's apartment.  He was still recuperating from the
. . . attack he'd sustained and getting over a nasty case of the flu, I'd
been advised.  So he should have been home, on his couch, watching the
latest Manchester United game on ESPN 2.  

At least his answering machine picked up.  But then it cut me off right
before I could speak, a certain indication that the tape is full.

He hasn't been listening to his messages.  Like he does when he's run off
on another wild goose chase.

I tried Scully's cell phone next.  It was turned off.  Or destroyed.  I
tried Mulder's cell.  Same result.

It took me less than five minutes to pull on my coat, tell Kim I'd be in
touch and get down to my car in the garage.

Mulder's apartment was empty, the landlord hadn't seen him in a week.  That
did not put my mind at ease.  And there was one of those 'weekly fish
feeder' plugs in the bottom of his fish tank.  He obviously knew he would
be away a while.  More evidence of the famous Mulder Ditch.

I found myself back in my car and headed over to Scully's apartment,
wondering how I was going to face her mother if she wasn't there.

I don't even remember running up the stairs, but now I'm standing at her
door and pounding for all I'm worth.  I heard scuffling as I came down the
hall, and now there's a scream and I'll be damned if I'm going to face her
mother  . . .

xXx

Dana Scully's Apartment
1:10 pm

This is right out of the dream I had in college after Phoebe told me her
father was a Member of Parliament.

At the time, we had just fallen asleep after some really terrific sex.
Phoebe liked to talk a lot during sex, mostly dirty stuff and mostly to
make me hotter.  I was hot enough, but when she told me I was 'rutting an
MP's daughter', as she so euphemistically put it, I, well, that was a
really good time.  Until later that night and I dreamt that the old man, in
full wig and black robes (I was na=EFve and thought all of them wore those
things), walked in on us while we were in the middle of having a similar
really good time and hauled my naked ass off to Leeds Prison for corrupting
a young girl of the realm.

I had no idea how prophetic that dream would be.

So I guess I was the first one to see the humor in the situation.  Not
immediately, but a little later.

I won't go into details, but suddenly, my wife was pushing me off, and I
didn't really want to get off.  I was tired, I'd played hard and really
wanted a nap, but noooo, I had to get up.  I couldn't understand the hurry,
until I heard a throat clear behind me.

I knew that sound anywhere.  Oh my God.  Skinner!

Well, that encouraged me to hurry.  And to grab the first thing I could
think of, which turned out to be the rug under my wife's very shapely
little butt.  I started to cover my own private parts, looked down,
realized I wasn't the only naked occupant of the room, and handed that rug
right over to my partner.  Er, wife.  Whatever.  Cover your back sometimes
becomes cover your front, apparently, when relationships change for the
better.

That left me with nothing but the air around me, which I noticed had
dropped in temperature due to the open door, hanging from one hinge, so I
grabbed the next closest thing I could find.  Scully's red satin panties.
Geez, I was certain I ripped them to shreds, but I guess they make them
stronger now than in the old days.  Even so, they still don't quite cover
all that I wanted them to at that precise moment.  But I'd be damned if I
was dropping them!

Now, this is where you have to admire my wife.  Dressed in a multi-colored
throw rug, which, though stylish, probably scratched her skin like my two
day beard, smiled, gave Skinner a 'Make yourself at home, sir' nod of the
head and grabbed my hand to drag me back to our bedroom.

At least I managed to close the door to our bedroom.  

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck a duck!" I proclaimed.

"Get your pants on," she ordered and tossed me my running sweats from the
chair.  She was angry?  What had I done?  I thought I'd performed
admirably.  If she was going to be mad at anybody, it should have been
Skinner.  Damned Jar Head just busted up our door!

"Scully, there's a window right there.  We could be in Jamaica before he
figures out we're gone," I said, rationally.

"Mulder, shut up, put your pants on or I'll shoot you again!" she replied
and this time, I didn't try to convince her further.  Her spare service
weapon was well within easy reach on the dresser.

I pulled on the pants, quickly.  Then I turn to face my fate.  I did stop
briefly at the door.  "You want me to go out there . . . alone?"

She glared at me.  "You want me to go out there in my bra and panties?"  I
think women wear more undergarments just for occasions like this.  It takes
them longer to dress for a reason.

"I could wait for you," I countered.  OK, so it sounded like whining even
to me.

"Mulder," she growled, and not the good growl like before in the hallway.
I took in as much air as I could, figuring it was the last I'd get, and
opened the door.

Our Assistant Director, a man of great stature in the Bureau, was
attempting to put our door back on its hinges.  I saw Scully's bra lying on
the floor near the sofa and kicked it under with my foot.  The rest of the
clothes were just going to have to fend for themselves.

"Let me help you with that, sir," I said.   OK, I could handle this.  We'd
put the door back up, all would be forgotten and we'd never mention this
whole embarrassing and possibly career destroying event ever, ever, ever
again.

The door leaned sadly to the right and I'd have to do some explaining to
Scully's landlord, probably add my name to the lease, too, but all that
could wait.  At least the draft was diminished.

"Coffee, sir?"

I've never seen Skinner look more grateful.  Not even after we saved his
life.

He followed me into the kitchen, rubbing his shoulder and looking around.
He pulled up a chair at the table.

"Scully can take a look at that shoulder, if you want, sir," I told him and
kicked myself when he blushed bright red.

"If it bothers me later, I'll give my doctor a call."

OK, that was fun.  Onto another topic.

"I think we're going to have to settle for decaf.  Scully's on an
anti-caffeine kick at the moment," I advised him and poured a cup from the
pot I'd made just before she'd come home.  "Cream, sugar?"

"Black."  Now why didn't that surprise me?  I handed him the cup, poured
one for myself and took my sweet time scooping in about two sugars.  If I
can't have caffeine, I'll damn well have sugar.

"Nice kitchen," Skinner remarked, checking the place out from his seat.  It
is a nice kitchen.  Scully has nice things.  I really hoped I wasn't
messing that up for her.  A nice job, a nice steady paycheck.  Well, at
least that one is partly my responsibility now, keeping a nice roof over
her head.

"Yeah, it is," I said when the room seemed to grow unbearably silent.

"Agent Mulder, about your expense report on this most recent case," he
started, and suddenly, our expense report was just the topic I wanted to
talk about.  More than anything, the bullish market, the relative quiet of
not seeing CGB Spender in several weeks, the fact that Washington wasn't
under a foot of snow - all of that was insignificant compared to our
expense report.  A nice, safe, normal ass reaming was about to take place,
and I was sure I could handle it.

"Yes sir.  It should have been self-explanatory.  We only had the rental,
no overnight stay.  We never bothered to get rooms, we spent the night in
the morgue or that basement, respectively," I pointed out.

I noticed Skinner turned a light shade of pink at the mention of 'rooms',
but tried to convince myself that was just the late winter sun coming in
through the window in Scully's kitchen. 

"Actually, Mulder, it's the rental that's in question.  Accounting is
trying to figure out why three tanks of gas were needed to drive from rural
Maryland to the Washington Metro area."  He paused for a moment, I think he
was trying for the right phrase.  "They are rather close in distance, are
they not?"

The gas?  Oh shit, the gas!  I put the gas on the Bureau's card, which is
what you're supposed to do on a case, but we weren't on a case, we were
driving to Connecticut to get married only Scully didn't know that because
she was asleep the whole time going up there.  And then, when I was asleep
coming home, she probably didn't think about it, either, because, quite
frankly, she had her mind on stopping at that motel and making me an honest
man, so her thought processes have to be excused as well.  Oh shit, the gas.=
 

Thank God, my wife arrived right then to save my ass again!

"Mulder, would you mind getting me a cup of coffee," she cooed, so cool and
collected.  Skinner rose up out of his seat, some left over show of
mannerly behavior that I'm sure was instinctual and an indication of just
how close to the edge he really was at that point.  

Scully looked . . . well, radiant doesn't do her justice.  She'd pulled on
a sweater that her Mom had given her for Christmas, a really pretty cream
number that was bulky, but showed all the right curves.  And my favorite
pair of jeans, the ones with little side pockets that hug her ass so very
nicely . . . But are still enough covering to be appropriate when speaking
to her boss in her own kitchen.  And she'd put on her houseslippers.

"Now, about what just happened," she said and I proceeded to spill boiling
hot coffee all over my hand.

"Fuck!" was the only word that seemed apply in the circumstance, so I used
it, and Scully was up and grabbing my hand and sticking it under cool water
and Skinner just sat there, looking like he was thinking about throwing up
but didn't know how to ask where the bathroom was.

When she was sure that I hadn't boiled the flesh on my hand, she pulled me
back to my chair and sat down across from me.  We formed this sort of odd
trinity, the three of us.  The Strong and Avenging Father figure, the Pure
and Innocent Daughter Figure and Mulder, the Usurper.

Pure and Innocent changed real fast.  "Sir, I'm afraid you must have
mistaken my screams earlier for a call of distress, and let me assure you
right now, they were anything but that."

I was getting as sick to my stomach as Skinner was right then.

"You see, Agent Mulder and I were, well, we were participating in an
activity that is common to most newly married couples."

This time, Skinner spit hot coffee all over the room.  It just missed the
lacy thing in the middle of the table that Scully's grandma had made before
my wife was even born.  Funny, how the little things capture your attention
in moments of deepest peril.

"Married?" he bellowed, and I'm positive the door rattled on its almost
hinges.

Scully proudly held up her hand, and grabbed my still tender hand to hold
it up as well.  I can only assume she slipped the ring on in the bedroom
while she was getting dressed because I was pretty sure my mouth got
tangled up in it a couple of times when we were, ah, on the floor.  She
knows I've been wearing mine while I've been home, but she got the wrong
one and dropped it on the table so she could reach over and grab the left
hand and proudly display my ring, too.

A deathly silence descended on the kitchen.

It lasted about five minutes.  Or an eternity.  I lost count.  And then
Scully's true nature took over.  See, I figured out a long time ago why
Scully loves to poke holes in my theories.  She's not a skeptic.  She's a
lawyer wannabe.  Yes, I know it sounds strange that a woman who fought all
the odds, became a scientist in a field usually reserved for the male of
the species, would not be in the career she wanted most, but Scully
probably figured only wimps became lawyers, and she was never a wimp.  That
fascination still creeps out, every once in a while.  She secretly watches
Ally McBeal in motel rooms all across America.

"Yes, sir, we are married.  Husband and wife.  On New Year's Day, as a
matter of fact.  After Mulder was almost, once again, killed in the line of
duty, he finally dragged both of us to our senses, and to a Justice of the
Peace, who happens to be his uncle and lives in Connecticut.  We came home,
told my mother, and we've been happily married for 9," she looked at her
watch, "and a half days.  Would you like to see the license?"  

Skinner stared, his mouth slight agape.  I think if anyone had bothered to
videotape the scene, the exact same expression was on my face, too.

"Married?" Skinner repeated, but this time, the bellow was gone, replaced
by a sad, bewildered tone that I don't think I've ever heard him use.  It
scared me.

"Yes, sir."  I felt I had to corroborate my partner's statement.  Of course
the problem with that is once I open my mouth, I find it rather hard to get
it to close properly again.  "We were married on New Year's Day, as Agent
Scully just told you.  Sir, we've been partners for seven years, and I've
loved Agent Scully for . . . well, I can't even remember when I started
loving her, I just feel like it's been forever.  And for some crazy reason,
regardless of what danger it might mean to her, what horrors she's seen,
what horrors have fallen both of us, she stays with me.  She loves me back.
 And I was under the impression that love was a primary ingredient for
marriage.  So I tricked her by driving her up to my Uncle's while she was
asleep and then I proposed in my Aunt's parlor and she said yes and that
was almost two weeks ago and you're just going to have to deal with it.
Oh, and I'll reimburse the Bureau for the gas, of course."

I was out of breath and this time, Scully had her mouth open, but Skinner
was looking at us blankly.  At least his mouth was closed.

"I see," he said.  "Married," he muttered under his breath.  "Married," I'm
positive he muttered the word a couple of times more but I couldn't hear
all of them.  Then he snapped his head up, all business.  "Who else is
aware of this development?"

I was about to launch into a defense of our actions, and to let him know in
no uncertain terms that I didn't consider the happiest moment of my life to
be a 'development' like another key event in a longstanding case, but
Scully put her hand on my burned fingers and I shut up.

"Five people, at this point, sir.  My mother, my older brother, Bill, his
wife Tara and of course, Mulder's Aunt and Uncle.  Oh, wait, the Gunmen.
Make that eight people, all trustworthy.  That's all."  She left her
expression blank, too and I was beginning to think I was the only one who
was confused in the room.

Skinner was nodding.  "Then the damage isn't too widespread," he said
evenly and I was ready to crawl over the table top and do some damage on
his face, but again, my wife stopped me.

"You want us to keep this a secret, sir," she said quietly.  I don't know
who she was whispering for, it was only us in the room.  Oh, yeah, us and
all the electronic listening devices, but those guys had been having their
jollies for well over a week already.

"I wouldn't go so far as keeping it 'secret', Agent Scully.  Just do us all
a favor and don't post your announcement in the society pages for a while.
If I don't 'know' about it, I can't be forced to make decisions about it,
now can I?"

"Don't ask, don't tell," Scully said with a nod.

"We should include 'don't bust down the door'," I commented and was
rewarded with a kick in the shin.

"So, we just go on about our business?" I asked, wanting some kind of
clarification of what had just transpired.

"You go to work next Monday, you maintain your professionalism, you still
take two rooms when on assignment and you keep your private lives out of
the Bureau.  In return, I'll do everything in my power to keep you working
together and on the X files.  Are we agreed?"

I looked at Scully, but I knew the answer already.  It was the best we
could hope for.  

"We agree," I said.

"Good.  Then we'll just explain away the side trip as another of your
'mysterious expenses' that will be deducted from your pay, Agent Mulder and
call it even," Skinner said with as cheerful an expression as he ever gets
on his face.  He rose to leave and Scully and I followed close behind.

Scully's eyes grew to saucers when she took in the mangled wood that had
once been the doorjab.  I shrugged and let her know with a look that I
considered it my job to clean up the mess.  She smiled and nodded.  She'd
had the same idea.  I moved the door aside so the Assistant Director could
exit.

He stopped just before he got fully into the hallway.  He turned to both of
us, shook my hand first and then Scully's.  "By the way, congratulations,"
he said with a nod of his head.  "It certainly took you long enough."

He was down the hall before either of us could find our voices to answer.

The end.

Vickie

"There's good news and bad news this week.
The good news is that you'll feel ready to 
take on the world.  The bad news is that you 
may have to.  But don't worry:  if you do so,
you stand a better than average chance of 
succeeding."

My TV GUIDE horoscope for the week of May 13-19