Disclaimer:  All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES
belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX
network, DD, GA, etc... The characters of Kelvin Thacker and
Preston Powell Jr. belong to me, and if I had as much money
as Preston does, somebody might want to sue me for
this...but since I don't...
  
PLEASE COME TO BOSTON, by Kenny Loggins (I think) is used
very briefly and without permission.  But it always makes
me cry, so I thought it fit.   
                               
This is part 3 of a 12 part series, a sequel to TWELVE RITES 
OF PASSAGE.  If you haven't read that story, you may want to read
it first.

   
TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION
No. 3:  November
Please Come to Boston
By Anne Haynes
 


  
Dana Scully took pains to make a quiet approach to the
last office in the FBI Boston Field Office suite.  A 
secretary had pointed her in the right direction, not hiding
her interest.  Apparently Fox Mulder's reputation had not
only preceded him but made him something of a sex symbol
among some of the female staff.  Scully tried not to let
herself think about it.  After his one apparently disastrous
date with the psych professor, he'd never mentioned another
woman, on the phone or in writing. That didn't mean he was
still playing the monk, of course.  But at least Scully had
room to believe what she found comfortable to believe.

She found him in the end office as she'd been told.  It was
a tiny room, more cramped even than their basement hovel
back at the J. Edgar Hoover building.  But here there was
light and warmth.  Afternoon sunshine streamed through the
window, and Mulder and another agent were making use of the
illumination to study some slides Mulder held up to the 
light.
         
"Look at the eyes," the unknown agent said.
       
"Do I have to?" Mulder had his back to her, but Scully could
tell by the sound of his voice that he was grimacing.  She
had a feeling she knew why, considering how she'd just spent
the last four hours.
       
"Looks like some kind of weird allergic reaction."  The
other agent took the slide from Mulder and held it closer to
his eyes.  "Swelling and redness around the eyes and nose."
       
Mulder nodded.  "It's a reaction to a retrovirus caused by a
toxin not native to this particular part of the solar
system."
       
Scully smiled and took a step into the office.  "Do you
believe in the existence of extraterrestrials, Agent
Mulder?"
       
He whirled around, eyes widening.  A big, boyish grin 
spread across his face, and she realized just how seldom  
she'd seen him smile that way in all the time she'd known
him.  "Kinda hard not to when they're always kicking your
ass."  He crossed the room and gave her a swift hug.  "What
are you doing here?  And please tell me you aren't about to
get back on a plane to D.C."
       
"I'm here on a consult, and I don't have to be back in   
D.C. until Monday morning."
       
"Great!"  He looked over his shoulder, waving the other
agent over.  "Scully, this is Kelvin Thacker.  I'm trying
him out as my partner this week." He lowered his voice to a
stage whisper. "We're still working on the the skirt thing." 
                           
Thacker held out his hand.  "And you must be the enigmatic
Dr. Scully Mulder can't stop talking about."
       
"Nice to meet you."  Scully cut her eyes at Mulder as she
shook Thacker's hand.  "We'll talk later," she murmured to   
her former partner.
         
He smiled.
       
"So, how many bizarre, obscure or insane theories has he
dropped on you so far, Thacker?" she asked.  
         
"One or two."  Thacker smiled.
       
Scully decided she liked this man. He was a handsome black
man about Mulder's age, seemingly witty and good-natured. 
Of course, he'd have to be to put up with Mulder, she
thought with affection.  She squelched a moment of jealousy.
       
"So what's your consult?" Mulder asked, his arm still 
draped over Scully's shoulders.  The heavy warmth felt good, 
Scully thought.
         
"This."  She tapped the slide in his hand. 

"Think the mighty morphin bounty hunter is back?"
       
"God, I hope not."  She still shuddered when she thought of
that---that thing, clothing himself in Mulder's shape while
he brutally attacked her in a Germantown, Maryland,
motel room. Mulder tightened his arm around her, no doubt
remembering his own nightmare encounter with the bounty
hunter.  He'd almost died.  She realized belatedly that
Thacker was staring at them.  
         
"Mighty morphin what?" he asked.

Scully looked up at Mulder.  Don't ask me to try to explain
this one, she thought.
       
"I'll tell you about it later, Thacker."  Mulder released  
her, robbing her of his warmth.  "So, are you through here,  
Scully?"
       
"Yes.  I finished the autopsy about a half hour ago. It's   
definitely the retrovirus."
       
Mulder nodded, as if he was sure all along. Which he
probably was. "There were reports of an altercation taking
place in the alley where the body was found.  My bet is, the
deceased tried to mug somebody he should've steered clear
of.  Maybe not our particular bounty hunter, but one like
him."  
       
She tried not to shiver.  "Well, my part's done.  I'm about
to hop in my rental car and look for a hotel for the
weekend.  I'm trusting you to come up with a properly shabby
motor court that'll make me feel right at home."
       
He flashed a lop-sided grin.  "I know just the place.   
Chateau Mulder."
       
"Unh-unh."  She shook her head, trying to ignore the way her
heart jerked into higher gear at the mere thought.  "You
don't even own a bed anymore, and I'm not sharing that   
couch with you."
       
"I own a bed now.  I had to buy one when Mom came for a
visit last month.  It's all yours."
         
"Because you still sleep on the couch?"
         
His sheepish grin was her answer.
       
She sighed.  He could always beat her with those little boy
expressions of his.  "Oh, all right.  Head me in the right   
direction."
       
He jotted down a quick set of directions.  "Thacker and I  
have to finish up here, but I'll be there before seven."
         
"Is there anything to cook at your place?"
         
He looked suitably insulted.  "One or two things."
       
She couldn't wait to see what that meant.  "I'll whip up
something for dinner."  She turned to Thacker and smiled.    
"Nice to meet you, Agent Thacker."
         
"Believe me, Agent Scully, it's my pleasure."
       
Scully gave Mulder's hand a quick squeeze.  "See you at your
place."  She headed for the door. 
       
Behind her, she heard Thacker murmur,  "Wow, Mulder-- 
sharp-shooter, great legs and she cooks, too?"

I'll take that as a compliment, Scully thought.
         
                                                             
*   *   *   *   *                          
       

Mulder had always taken great pride in his self-control,
for he was at heart a man of deep emotions and fierce
desires to be constantly kept in check.  Despite most
people's assumption to the contrary, he was no loose cannon,
living from one reaction to another.  He made calm,
calculated choices, albeit based on his unorthodox view of
the world.  He set priorities, made sacrifices, put aside
his more primal impulses to accomplish a greater good.
       
But today, he just couldn't get his mind of the fact that 
Scully was waiting at his apartment for him to get home.  
Not even the prospect of tracking down an alien life form 
could lure his mind back to the job at hand.
       
At five-fifteen that afternoon, Thacker threw up his hands. 
"For God's sake, Mulder, just go home and see her.  You're
not concentrating, and besides, sixty hours a week is  
enough for anybody.  The weekend guys can analyze these 
statements and have the reports ready for you on Monday   
morning.  Go.  See your friend."
       
Mulder didn't argue.  He grabbed his coat and jogged down to
the parking lot to pick up his Taurus.  A dried out air 
freshener dangled from the rear view mirror, reminding him
of stakeouts past.  The past three months had been hell,
trying to break in a partner.  Thacker made number four. 
Mulder knew his ASAC was getting a little impatient with
Mulder's inability to "work well with others."  It wasn't
like he didn't try.  But his partners didn't know when to
talk and when to shut up.  They asked him inane questions
about the X-Files that Scully, even in the very first
tenuous days of their partnership, had been way too smart to
ask.
       
They didn't smell like fresh soap and sunshine, the way
Scully did.                                                  
                     
Okay, that was probably asking too much.  He could admit
that.
       
He thought Thacker might be working out.  He was quiet,
smart, and minded his own business.  He didn't blow a  
gasket when Mulder proposed one of his "out there" theories, 
but he didn't let Mulder walk over his own rational take on
the case, either.  He wasn't Scully, but he was going to be
all right.
       
Mulder thought he was going to be all right, too--on the 
job, at least.  He was past those first horrible nights when
he'd skated on the edge of sheer panic, wondering how he was
going to handle the complete and utter upheaval of his life.
Ever since he'd met Scully, whenever his professional and
personal life had been ground up and churned out (which had
happened more times than he could count), he made it through
the torture and escaped more or less intact.  That was
Scully's doing, anchoring him, keeping him from hurtling
wildly into the stratosphere of madness.
       
Now, suddenly, his professional and personal lives were
chugging along smoothly enough, but his anchor was far away. 
Still within reach, thank God, e-mail and cellular phones. 
But too damned far away.  Until now.  
       
He turned into the parking lot of his brownstone apartment
building.  A shiny new rental car was parked three slots
down, and he knew it was hers.  He raced up the stairs to
his third floor apartment and pushed open the door.          
                  
Scully lay stretched out on his couch, talking on the phone. 
She waggled her fingers at him as he closed the door behind
him.  "Yeah, he's here now.  Just walked in."
       
Mulder shrugged off his overcoat and tossed it toward the
wooden coat tree by the door.  It hooked on the first try.   
"Who's on the phone?" he asked softly.
       
Samantha, she mouthed silently, then spoke into the phone. 
"Yeah, don't worry. I have ways of making him bend to my
will."                                                       
  
He arched his eyebrows, and she gave him one of her 
patented Scully smiles.  His stomach curled up in a hot
little knot at the familiar sight.  God, he'd missed her.
       
"We'll see you in about an hour.  Bye."  She hung up the
phone and sat up.  "You're home earlier than I expected."

"Time off for good behavior."  He loosened his tie and 
looked down at her.  Gone was the tailored pearl-gray suit
and sensible black pumps.  Scully had changed clothes,
donning a pair of faded denim jeans and a body-hugging long-
sleeved black t-shirt.  Her face was scrubbed and free of
make-up, her copper-fire hair was mussed, and her small
white feet were bare.  In six years of knowing Scully, he
could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times
he'd seen her look this relaxed.  That fact probably saved
their partnership, because this Dana Scully was
T-R-O-U-B-L-E.
       
He looked down at his tie, where his faltering fingers
were taking way too long to unravel the Windsor knot.  "Hmm,
no unrecognizable smells wafting in from the kitchen.  What,
you couldn't find the Spaghetti-O's?"
       
"We're meeting Samantha and Preston for dinner. At
a pool hall on Bennett Street.  She said you'd know it."

He did.  Samantha was almost obsessed with playing pool. 
She loved the challenge to her mathematical mind, gauging
all the elements of space, time, gravity and trigonometry to
create the perfect bank shot.  He grinned at the thought. 
He bet Scully, with her undergraduate degree in physics, was
hell on wheels in a pool hall, too.  "So you're finally
going to meet Thurston Howell the Third."
       
"Preston Powell, Jr.," she corrected with a chuckle.
"Mulder, you're worse than my brothers, and I didn't think
that was possible."
       
"I don't believe you have brothers, Scully. I've never seen
them, except in photos.  And those can be faked." 
       
She looked down her nose at him, bringing back a hundred
warm memories with that one little expression.  "Must be an
X-File."
       
"Get your shoes on, Scully.  The pool hall's within walking
distance.  I'm going to change and we'll go."
       
She knelt on the couch and leaned toward him, sea-blue eyes
teasing, as he walked past.  "Don't change too much,
Mulder."
       
Yep.  Trouble with a capital "T" he thought, escaping to   
the bedroom.
  
*  *  *  *  *  
       

The pool hall was little more than a hole in the wall, 
decorated in garish colors and filled with people and noise. 
Coming in from the November cold, Scully felt as if she were 
walking into a wall of sheer heat.  She unzipped the brown 
bomber jacket her brother Bill had sent her for her birthday
last February and flapped the edges to let in some air. 
"Whoo!  Turn down the heat!" she muttered.
       
Mulder glanced at her.  "The sweaty atmosphere is part of
the charm."
       
"Are we early?"  Scully glanced around, looking for Mulder's
dark-haired younger sister.  It took a double take to
recognize her.  "My God, Mulder, is that Samantha?"
         
Mulder nodded.  "She looks great, doesn't she?"
       
Scully shook her head in disbelief.  Though she and Mulder's
sister talked often on the phone or over the Internet, she'd met 
Samantha face to face only briefly, just over eight months ago.  
Samantha had emerged from a burning warehouse in Baltimore 
with no memory of how she'd gotten there or or what had 
happened during the six weeks she'd been missing from her 
life as another woman.  She knew only that her real name was 
Samantha Mulder, she had a brother named Fox, that she had 
lived in Chilmark, Massachusetts.  She remembered small 
snatches of events from the night she disappeared over twenty 
five years earlier, then nothing for three years until she awoke 
in a South Carolina hospital with full amnesia at the age of
eleven. 
Her adoptive parents had given her the name Sarah Chandler.  
                                                    
Once she'd recovered from the smoke inhalation after the
Baltimore fire back in late February, Mulder had taken her and
their mother back to Massachusetts for a period of
readjustment.  Scully hadn't seen Samantha since, but she
still remembered how she'd looked, lying in a narrow bed at
Johns Hopkins Medical Center.  That woman had been pale,
haunted, thin.  
       
The woman bent over the pool table in the corner absolutely
sparkled with health and happiness.  Scully felt a little
niggle of envy.  After all Samantha had been through, after
all the lost time--
         
Maybe I can find that kind of peace, too--
       
Samantha glanced up and grinned, looking for all the world
just like her big brother Fox.  Scully's breath caught in    
her throat.
       
Mulder waved and pressed his hand against Scully's back,
urging her forward.  Samantha propped her pool cue against
the table and murmured something to a tall, handsome man
with dark hair and laughing green eyes.  Preston Powell,   
Jr., Scully guessed.
       
"Dana!"  Samantha launched herself at Scully, catching her
by surprise.  But Scully recovered quickly, hugging Mulder's
sister with a surge of affection.  She was a female version
of Mulder, Scully thought, all puppy-dog eyes and a winsome
smile.
       
"Fox, how are you?"  The green-eyed man held out his hand.
       
Scully glanced up to see how Mulder would react to his
sister's boyfriend calling him by his first name.  Mulder
cut his eyes back at her, flashing her a look that told her
he was grimacing inside, but he shook Preston's hand and
made a polite reply.  "Preston, this is my part--"  He
stopped, glancing at Scully again, a pained expression in
his eyes.  Her heart squeezed in her chest.
       
She took a deep breath and held out her hand.  "Dana Scully. 
Mulder and I used to work together in D.C." 
         
"I've heard all about you, Dr. Scully."
         
"Please, call me Dana." 
       
"Let's grab a booth," Samantha suggested.  "I'm starving!"
       
As Scully and Mulder followed Samantha and Preston toward a
corner booth, Mulder bent his head close to Scully's.    
"'Please, call me Dana,'" he mimicked.
         
She rolled her eyes at him, and his mouth twitched.  

The booth was small and tucked away from the pool hall
crowd.  Mulder took the seat by the window. Scully scooted
in next to him. 
       
"So, Dana, Samantha and Fox tell me you're a forensic    
pathologist?"
       
She smiled at Preston, a little disconcerted that he wanted
to talk about her line of work while they were thinking
about ordering dinner.  "Yeah. That's what I do."
       
Mulder leaned forward slightly.  "They don't call her the   
enigmatic Dr. Scully for nothing."
       
She nudged his ribs with her elbow, then looked up 
at Preston.  "Samantha tells me you're an tax law 
professor at Harvard?  One of my best friends is in 
tax law."  She glanced at Mulder, a faint smile curving 
her lips.  "You remember Lorna, don't you?"

Mulder made a little face.  "Uh huh."

"Tax law must be pretty boring compared to what you
and Fox do all day,"  Preston commented.
       
"Oh, I don't know.  I've seen some tax forms that could   
qualify as federal crimes," Mulder murmured.
       
Preston laughed.  "Might even classify them as X-Files,  
eh, Fox?"
       
Scully stiffened, waiting for Mulder to bristle as usual.  
But her ex-partner merely smiled.  "If the X-Files were
still open."
         
Samantha lifted her water glass.  "To the X-Files."
       
"Gone but not forgotten," Mulder intoned, clinking his   
glass against his sister's.
       
Scully looked down at her hands, suddenly feeling like an
outsider.  Mulder could treat the X-Files lightly now.  He'd 
found what he'd always been looking for--his sister.  She'd 
always known that was his driving force, after all.  In his
motel room in Oregon, on their very first case, Mulder had
told her all about what kept him searching for the truth
against all odds.  About the bright light and the presence
in the room.
       
No big secret, Scully, she thought, rubbing her finger 
against a little nick in the wooden booth table.  You always
knew that the X-Files were about Samantha.  Not about you,
not about your partnership and friendship, not even really   
about the truth.
         
"Scully?"
         
She looked up at the sound of his voice.  "Hmm?"
         
"You didn't toast the X-Files with us."
         
She looked away.  "No, I didn't."
       
A thick silence hovered around the booth.  Great, Scully 
thought.  Way to go, Dana.  Make everybody miserable, why   
don't you?    

"Looks like somebody's about to claim your table, Sam."  
Mulder interrupted the silence, nodding toward the pool
table in the corner.                                         
                              
Samantha's hazel eyes widened and she shoved Preston out of
the booth.  "Order us a couple of burgers and fries.  Labatt
for Preston, I.C.B. Rootbeer for me."  They hurried over to
the pool table before the couple who were eying their pool
cues could make a move.
       
Scully felt even worse.  Mulder had just given his sister   
a signal to get lost so he could talk to Scully.  "I'm
sorry."  
       
It took a second for her to realize that he'd just said the
same thing.
       
"It's my fault," she assured him.  "I just--there are so 
many questions we never got to answer.  But I'm glad for
you, Mulder.  Samantha's back, and I can see you finally
have a sense of peace--"
       
"You still have the nightmares, don't you, Scully?"  His 
hazel eyes were too intense for comfort.  She looked away.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.
       
"What difference would it make?  You can't hold my hand for
the rest of my life."  She took a sip of water.
         
He closed his hand over hers.  "I could try."
       
Mulder like this made her want to cry.  So sweet and 
hesitant, like a little boy.  She could imagine him with 
Samantha as a child, half the irritating, know-it-all big
brother she knew he must have been, half the gentle,
sensitive soul she knew he would always be.  She squeezed
his hand.  "Your arms are long, Mulder, but they're not 400
miles long."
       
"I wish they were." He slipped his arm around her and held
her close for a moment. 
       
She rested her head against his shoulder.  "That's what   
phones are for, Mulder."  She moved away from his touch
and flapped her coat again.  "Whew, it's really hot in here."
         
"Take off your jacket."
       
She scooted out of the booth and shrugged off the bomber
jacket, then slid in the other side of the booth, so she   
could face him.  He leaned forward, and so did she.
       
"Where are you hiding your gun, Scully?"  He gestured
toward her tight-fitting t-shirt.          

She smiled.  "Purse, Mulder.  Where's yours?"
       
"If there were just a dance floor in this place, I'd let you 
take a guess for yourself."  He flashed her his harmless
leer, one she'd grown rather fond of over the years.  What
would he do if she took him up on it?  God knows the 
temptation was almost more than she could bear.
       
She forced herself to change the subject.  "I really liked 
Kelvin Thacker.
       
Mulder nodded.  "Yeah, I think he's going to work out.   
Knows when to keep his mouth shut."
       
She arched one eyebrow.  "So that's what made me a good
partner?"
       
He shook his head.  "No.  The secret to your success, 
Scully, was that you knew when to let me fly and when to
haul me back down to earth."  He reached across the table
and squeezed her hands.  "I don't think I'm ever going to
find a partner like that again."
       
She knew the feeling.  She herself had lost much of her 
passion for her work, now that Mulder wasn't there to keep 
things fresh and turned upside down.  He'd learned quickly
when it was right to push her toward the fantastic and when
it was safer to back away.  And she knew she'd never find
that kind of partner again.
       
He released her hands and sat back.  "I'm going to 
reapply for assignment to D.C. next month.  I figure it'll 
take another six months to process my application.  
Maybe if I'm a very good boy and eat all my peas, 
they'll let me come back."  He flashed her the lazy
grin she missed so badly.
       
She was afraid to hope for that.  Despite the recent 
elections of several sympathetic Congressmen and the fact 
that Richard Matheson had now been President for two years, 
she knew there were higher powers than the president and  
Congress--powers that had separated them and wouldn't gladly 
allow them back together again any time soon.  A transfer 
back to D.C. wouldn't make them partners again, but anyone 
who knew them at all would know they would find a way to work 
with each other.  Mulder had found ways to include her in his
investigations the first time they were separated.  The
flukeman case, the sleep eradication case, the sniper in the 
college bell tower...
         
Duane Barry...
         
She sighed softly.
         
"What is it?" Mulder asked.
       
She shook her head.  "Just thinking about how much we went
through to find out what was going on, and there's still so  
much out there we don't know."
         
He nodded.  "I still keep looking, you know."
         
"So do I."
       
"We don't have to have the Bureau's support to seek the  
truth, Scully.  It's not the property of the government."
         
"Maybe you should let it go, Mulder."
         
He seemed thrown by her statement.  "Let it go?"
         
"You've found Samantha.  You can let go."
         
"It wasn't all about Samantha, Scully.  You know that."
      
"Samantha's what started it, Mulder. So for you, it can   
finally be over."
         
"But not for you."
         
She wouldn't lie to him.  "No.  Not for me."
         
"Sometimes I wonder if I'd done things differently--"      

She squeezed his hands.  "No, Mulder, don't think that way.
When I saw Samantha coming out of that warehouse--when I saw
in your eyes that it really was her--"  She took a deep
breath.  "It was worth all of it.  All of it except--"  Her  
voice faltered. 
         
"Melissa."
       
She nodded.  "And your father.  My biggest regret is that we
never caught Krycek."
         
"I haven't stopped looking for him, either."
         
Her smile was grim.  "Neither have I."  
         
"I talked to your mom yesterday, did she tell you?"
       
Scully shook her head.  "Mom's protective of your private
times."
         
"You're lucky to have her, you know."
         
"I know."
       
"We got to talking about the old times, back when you were
gone.  We haven't done much of that, you know.  I don't
think either of us has been very anxious to relive all of
that." 
       
She covered his hands with hers.  He turned his hands palm
up to return the pressure and continued.  "Your mom and I
were sharing memories about the time you were in the
hospital in a coma, and we didn't think you were going to
make it.  You know, I never told you, and I don't know if
Melissa did, but your sister helped me make it through a
really dark time."
       
Scully tensed, suddenly wondering what else she might have
missed while she was in a coma.  The way he talked about
Melissa--the affection in his voice--
       
"She reminded me that I'd never really told you how
important you were to me.  To the work I was doing and what
we were trying to accomplish.  And there are other things
I've never told you about Melissa and me.  About the night
she came to my apartment, the night before you regained
consciousness."
       
Scully blinked, both terrified and eager to hear what he 
was about to say.  She'd gone over all her old memories of 
Melissa so many times, she could call them up and replay 
them at will.  She was eager to learn something new,   
something she'd never known. And scared as hell to find out
what part Mulder had played in it.
       
"X had met me in the parking deck at the Bureau that
night.  He'd set it up so that the people who'd taken you 
would think I was going to be out of town.  He'd planted
something in my apartment, something he said they'd want.  I 
was to wait in my apartment for them to arrive and then
defend myself. With 'terminal intensity.'"
       
Scully could tell by the tone of Mulder's voice that his 
last words were a direct quote from X.  Her stomach
curled into a knot of dread.  "What happened?"
       
"I was there.  At my apartment.  Waiting.  They were 
supposed to be there at 8:17.  Around 7:30, Melissa knocked
on my door."
       
That was so Melissa, Scully thought.  Queen of bad timing. 
Or, in this case, maybe good timing.
       
"She told me you were weakening.  She wanted me to come to
the hospital to see you.  To tell you goodbye."  He stumbled
over the word, and his grip on her hands tightened  
momentarily.  "I told her I couldn't come."
         
"But--"
       
He nodded.  "I know.  I came.  Thanks to Melissa.  She made
me realize I was being a selfish, stupid ass for running
around trying to avenge your death when you weren't even 
dead yet, when I should be there telling you how I felt. 
Even if you didn't come back to us, she said, at least you'd
know how much you meant to me."  He smiled suddenly.
         
"What?" she asked when he didn't continue.
       
"She also said that I'd know, too.  How much you meant to
me.  She was right."
       
Scully smiled, though her eyes burned with unshed tears. 
"So you came to see me."
         
He nodded. 
       
I guess I have something else to thank Missy for when we
meet again, Scully thought.                                  
                   
         
*  *  *  *  *    
       

After they finished eating, Samantha and Scully went to 
play a game of pool.  Preston and Mulder stayed at the table 
for a while, watching the women from a distance. 
       
"I like your Scully."  Preston took a sip from his mug, his  
 green eyes on Mulder's face.
       
Mulder smiled into his glass of tea.  My Scully, he thought. 
"Yeah, Scully's a hell of a woman."
       
"I didn't know what to expect. Samantha thinks the world  
of her, of course, but I've heard stories from others--"
         
"From whom?" Mulder lowered his glass of tea.
       
"Well, an old college acquaintance I ran into a few weeks
ago, for one.  A fellow agent of yours.  Tom Colton."
       
Mulder grimaced.  "Colton's an ass."  The little jerk had 
royally screwed up an X-Files investigation and almost cost
Scully her life, all because of his obsession with climbing
the F.B.I. ladder.
       
"Lydia Chamberlain said the same basic thing about Dana,"
Preston added.
         
He could guess what that was.  "What basic thing?"
       
"That she's a cold fish.  Hard as nails, cold as ice.  I can 
see it's not true, of course."  Preston looked
uncomfortable.  "I just wonder--"
       
"How they could get such an impression?"  Mulder stirred the
ice cubes in his tea with his straw.  "Scully's a true
professional.  If she were a man, she'd be called tough and
no-nonsense.  But because she's a woman, she's called cold. 
Hard."  He clenched his jaw.  "Well, if you have any doubts,
Powell, let me relieve them for you.  Dana Scully has a big,
soft heart, a mind that's probably better honed than yours
and mine combined, and she's got the touch of an angel or a
linebacker, depending on the demands of the circumstances.  
Those hands--" He waved toward the pool table, where Scully
was lining up a shot.  "Those hands have bound my wounds, 
brought me back from death, comforted me, compelled me,   
restrained me, and once, even shot me."
         
Preston's eyebrows rose, and Mulder grinned. 
       
"For my own good," he added.  "In the beginning, Scully was
sent to put an end to my work.  Even she knows that, though
I doubt she'll admit it.  But in the end, Scully was all 
that stood between me and failure.  Between me and death.  I 
owe her everything."  He looked down at the rich red-brown 
liquid in his glass, suddenly embarrassed by how much he'd 
just revealed to this man who was systematically taking his 
sister away from him all over again.  He wondered when he   
had stopped being so tight-lipped, so paranoid.              
                     
Preston took another sip of Labatt.  "I've heard that law 
enforcement partners can be closer than family.  Closer than
spouses."  
         
Mulder didn't dare answer.
       
"Hmm, looks like Dana's winning."  Preston nodded toward the
pool table.  

Mulder looked where he indicated.  Samantha stood at one
end, arms folded, watching Scully shoot.  A little frown
creased his sister's face.  Mulder recognized the look--
Samantha had always taken games so seriously.  Of course, so
had he--and taken huge glee in beating her.
       
"Shall we go take sides?"  Preston slipped out of the booth
and headed for the pool table.  Mulder followed.       

Samantha walked over to stand between them.  "I thought
she was the queen of logic," she murmured to Mulder.
       
Mulder glanced at his sister, then back at Scully, who was
on the other side of the pool table, facing them.  She was 
bent at the waist, her face almost level with the cue ball.
Her blue eyes darted back and forth from the white ball to
the purple ball at the other end of the table.  To put that
ball in the corner pocket, Mulder saw, she'd have to make a
hell of a bank shot.
       
Eyes still tracing the angles from the cue ball to the
purple ball, Scully eased back and positioned her cue stick. 
She began to move the tip of the stick across her index
finger, setting a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm.  Then, she
did something unexpected.
         
She closed her eyes.
       
Mulder watched, fascinated, as she continued to weave the
cue stick back and forth in front of the ball, her eyes
closed, her face tight with concentration.  Then, like a
snake striking, she jabbed the cue stick forward.  The cue
ball spun and banked, rebounding in a straight line for the
purple ball. 
  
They struck with a "crack" and the purple ball rolled into   
the corner pocket.
         
"I'll be damned," Preston murmured.
       
Scully opened her eyes slowly.  A little smile flitted
across her face as she saw Mulder watching her.
       
Her next shot was more complicated. She followed the same
strange ritual, but this time she missed--though not by
much.  

Samantha breathed a little sigh of relief.  "Thought I'd
never get to shoot again."  She approached the table, and
Scully crossed to greet Mulder and Preston. 

"Nice shootin', Tex," Preston said.  He went around to   
stand near Samantha. 
         
Mulder just looked at her, not saying anything.  

She looked back, a little twinkle of amusement in her eye. 
"What?"
         
"That was downright--"
       
"Spooky?"  She leaned toward him.  "Do you think I'm   
spooky?"
       
Touche, Mulder thought.  "I assume, if you're still you, 
that there's some sort of logical, scientific explanation
for what I just saw."
         
"Of course." 
       
"Care to share?" he asked when she didn't explain further. 
       
"I'll do better.  I'll show you.  After this game is over." 
  
Samantha had just missed a shot, so Scully returned to the   
table.  She made quick work of the last three shots, 
dispatching the eight ball with amazing ease, considering
the tricky angle.  Samantha sighed and handed her cue stick
to Mulder.  "See if you can do any better."  She and Preston
headed back toward the table.
         
"Okay, so spill, Scully.  What's with the little trance?"
       
Scully chuckled.  "Actually, it's a Melissa thing.  Sort
of."  She took his hand and drew him over to the table.  "We
grew up playing pool.  It's a military base rec hall
tradition.  And, well, you know Missy.  One day she came up
with this--thing she did.  I guess some people would call it
visualization.  In her mind, she saw the ball go into the 
pocket--then made it happen for real.  Sometimes it didn't
work, but mostly it did.  Making her very unpopular with my
brothers--and me."  Scully racked up the balls and removed
the triangular rack.  "But she couldn't keep a secret worth
a damn, especially if I gave her one of my pitiful little
sister looks."
         
"I know the one you're talking about."  Mulder smiled.
       
She chuckled.  "She told me what she was doing.  How she
looked at the balls, how they lay on the table, and then
how she'd close her eyes and see herself hitting the ball
into the pocket.  Then, with her eyes still closed, she'd do
it for real.  With amazing success."
       
"So you tried this visualization?  You? My favorite little   
skeptic?"
       
"Mulder, try it."  She took the first shot, scattering the 
tight triangular cluster of pool balls across the green felt
table top.  "There's your shot--not too hard.  Four ball in
the side pocket."
       
Mulder bent over the cue stick and gauged the shot.  "What
am I supposed to do?"
       
"You see the cue ball.  You see the four ball.  You see the
side pocket, and you see the angle needed to propel the ball
into the pocket.  This should be easy for a guy with a     
memory like yours."
         
"Okay, I've got it. Now what?"
       
She moved in behind him, resting her hands lightly on his
hips.  "Now, relax."
       
Impossible, Mulder thought, deeply aware of the pressure of
her fingers.
       
"Line up your shot the way you think you should make it
based on what you see."
         
He shifted the pool cue and readied himself for the shot.

"Now, close your eyes, and visualize the scene in front of
you.  Remember what it looked like, what the angles were,
what the distances were.  Can you see it?"
         
He nodded.
       
"Make any adjustments you think are necessary in the
position of your stick."
       
There was a double entendre waiting to be made there
somewhere, but Mulder was too mesmerized to do it.  He
shifted the stick a fraction of an inch to the right. 
"Okay."
         
Her voice was little more than a whisper.  "Now, shoot."
         
He obeyed, keeping his eyes shut.
       
There was a satisfying "crack."  He opened his eyes in time
to see the four ball skitter into the side pocket. He felt a 
surge of excitement, and turned to stare at Scully.  
       
Her blue eyes danced with suppressed laughter.  "Oh, Mulder,
there's nothing paranormal about it.  All you're doing by
shutting your eyes is allowing your cognitive mind to take 
over, without any external distractions to alter the
concrete laws of physics.  You set the distances and angles
in your mind, almost like feeding data into a computer. 
Then, you sit back and let your mind do its work."
         
"And Melissa taught you this?"
       
"She gave me the idea.  I was the one who figured out the
physics tie-in. Which is how I became the terror of the 
Annapolis Recreation Center."  She smiled.  "I paid for my
first car with my pool winnings.  To this day my mother
thinks I earned it by mopping the rec center floors after
school."
         
He grinned. "Your secret's safe with me."
         
"It's still your shot."
       
He shook his head and handed her the pool cue.  "You're the
physics undergrad.  I'm a psychologist.  I can't figure out
angles as well as you, although I can probably help you work
through performance anxiety should the need arise."
       
She propped the pool cues against the table.  "Chicken."
       
He held out his hand.  "Let's blow this honky-tonk, Scully. 
Looks like it might snow, and you know how I love a little
stroll in the snow."

"Yeah.  Right."  She tossed him another "cut the crap,
Mulder," look, just as he'd hoped.  
       
They made their goodbyes to Samantha and Preston and walked
out into the brisk November air.  The clouds were low and
thick over the horizon, and the first few snowflakes had
begun to float down, melting when they hit the pavement.  
But the temperature was below freezing, and Mulder knew the
snow would start sticking soon.
       
Maybe we'll get snowed in, he thought.  It wouldn't be the
first time.  Still, it was scary what a tempting thought
that was, even after all these years.  He'd always found
Scully attractive, even in the very early days when she had
tried so hard to be the consummate professional, and he'd
been sure she was a spy sent to ensure his downfall and the
demise of the X-Files.  Then, as she proved her loyalty and
honor time and again, he'd been unable to hide behind his
distrust.  As recently as eight months ago, he'd come close
to pursuing a very unprofessional relationship with his
partner.  But circumstances had intervened, and the time 
had passed. 

Maybe that was for the best.  As it stood, his friendship
with Scully was the most personally satisfying relationship 
he'd ever had--ever hoped to have.  He would always find
her attractive, always wonder what might have been if 
circumstances were different, but he would never again risk 
losing her.  Not to appease his curiosity--or his hormones.
                             
                                                 
*  *  *  *  *                   
  
Scully awoke Saturday morning to impossibly bright light    
pouring in the windows of her bedroom.
         
Wait. Not her bedroom.  
         
She was in Boston.  At Mulder's.
       
She rolled up to a sitting position and rubbed her eyes. 
Her travel alarm clock sat on the small walnut bedside
table, but she'd failed to set it.  The glowing red numbers
showed 8:30 a.m.  She'd slept in--for her, at least.  She
stretched and got out of bed, padding barefoot across the
cold hardwood floor to the window. Outside, snow covered
everything but the road, which was speckled by grayish slush
where the snow had been marred by traffic.  Though clouds
still obscured the sun, the snow was blinding, making her
squint.
       
She shivered and pulled on her terrycloth robe.  Through her
closed door she could hear soft sounds. A radio or a
television?  She opened the door and walked down the hall to
the living room.        

Mulder sat on the couch, eating cold cereal and watching a
Bugs Bunny cartoon,  his sock-clad feet propped up on the
nicked coffee table in front of the sofa.  He flashed her a
grin and took another bite of cereal. 
       
She couldn't resist the urge to ruffle his already unkempt
hair. "Captain Crunch?"
        
"Sugar Bombs."  He held up the bowl.  "Wanna bite?"
         
"Pass.  Got anything else?"
         
"Bagels.  No promises about how fresh they are--"
       
"I'll take my chances."  She found a bag of blueberry bagels
in the refrigerator and took one out.  She toasted it in the
small toaster oven on the counter and took it back to the  
living room along with a glass of milk.  Mulder patted the
sofa cushion next to him, and she sat down.  A new cartoon
was coming on.
         
"Mmm, Pepe LePew!"  She took a bite of the bagel.  On
screen, the animated skunk had cornered a chihuahua wearing
a black and white striped fur coat.  "You are the aroma of
spring flowers that bloom in the spring!" he declared in his
Charles Boyer accent.
       
"Oh, check this out..."  She waved toward the television.  
The panting chihuahua lurked behind a tree, carrying a large 
stick, waiting to waylay Pepe. Then, boom!  She whacked him
and ran.  Pepe lingered, animated stars swirling around his 
head.  He looked into the camera--well, where the camera 
would have been had there been a camera--and murmured,   
"Coquette!"
         
Scully laughed aloud. "I love that line!"
       
"I've used that one myself."  Mulder scooped up another   
spoonful of cereal.
       
"You have had more than your share of conks on the head."
         
"I'm on the Aetna Life and Casualty hit list."
       
She smiled.  "Been there.  Done that.  So, do you have to
work today?"
         
"Nope."
         
"We're just going to sit here and watch cartoons?"
         
"We could go outside and have a snowball fight."
         
She shivered.  "No, thank you."
         
"We could make out here on the couch like teenagers."
         
She gave him her patented Scully look. 
         
He grinned.  "Or not."  
       
She should have called him on that, she thought.  Now that
they weren't partners, she could afford to relax some of 
the barriers.  Not that she really thought he'd try anything
with her.  Not now.
       
Still...her curiosity nagged her.  What would have happened
if she said okay?  Would he have blushed and stammered?  Or
would he have started groping her like a kid on the prom
date of his life?
       
And, perhaps the more important question was, what would she
have done if he'd taken the dare?
       
The answer hovered in the back of her mind, daring her to
bring it out to the open.  But she didn't, quickly slamming
the door on the thought.  Not all that long ago she'd come
to the conclusion that what she and Mulder had was too 
special to risk.  They were two halves of a whole,
and they'd gotten there without falling into bed or
declaring undying love or all those things people had been
assuming about them for six years.
       
It wasn't that she didn't find Mulder attractive.  She did.  
God knows she did.  Sometimes all her inner resources had to 
go toward keeping her mind off Mulder's lean body, sensuous 
mouth and sexy bedroom eyes.  But in the end, the thing that 
existed between them, the thing that she cherished most, 
transcended anything physical or mental.  She and Mulder 
shared an almost spiritual connection, one that she'd
protect against any foe, including the weakness of her own
body.  
  
*  *  *  *  *  
       
After cartoons, they watched football.  One game after the
other.  Mulder usually couldn't stand keeping still that
long, but somehow with Scully there on the couch with him,
he was loath to move.  She was such a steadying influence in
his life, almost like some sort of drug that kept him from
plunging into madness.  Even when she wasn't here with him,
he heard her voice in his head, warning him of dangers,
quietly questioning his more off the wall theories, helping
him stay focused and on track.  He never liked to think
about what his life would be like had she not walked into
his office six years earlier.  Truth was, he knew he
wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for her.        

Around 1:00 he opened the can of Spaghetti-Os and they
shared it for lunch while watching Florida State beat 
Florida on a last minute field goal.  After that, they
watched the Alabama vs. Auburn game.
       
"Scully, did you know that many people in Alabama believe
that Coach Paul 'Bear' Bryant's ghost haunts the end zones
at Legion Field in Birmingham, where the so-called "Iron
Bowl" used to be played between Alabama and Auburn every 
year?"  He sounded like he was reciting another X-File, he
realized.  He couldn't stifle a grin.
       
"Why yes, Mulder.  Yes, I do."  She quirked one eyebrow at
him.
         
"But you're not convinced?" he asked, anticipating her
upcoming diatribe with barely hidden glee.
       
She shook her head.  "Mulder, Paul Bryant is widely held to
be one of the top college football coaches ever to step on
the field.  He had an amazing record of wins that has never
been equalled in Division I-A history. He won his last game
before his retirement, and by all accounts, his death was a
peaceful one.  Even if I believed in the existence of
ghosts, I doubt that Bryant had any sort of unfinished goal
that would keep him from passing quietly into the
afterlife."
       
Mulder smiled, well pleased with her comeback.  "Maybe he 
just comes back for the great barbecue."
         
Her expression softened a little.  "Maybe."
       
He wondered if she was thinking what he was thinking--
remembering a little jaunt to beef country--specifically 
a barbecue joint where he and Scully had gotten down and 
dirty with some ribs.  She'd looked so cute with that sauce 
dribbling down her chin that he'd forgotten his strict 
"hands-off" policy and wiped her mouth for her. 
       
He'd wondered then if Scully ever thought of him as something 
more than her partner and best friend.  He'd thought she might,
once.  Just before they found Samantha, he and she both had
contemplated the possibilities of deepening their friendship. 
Though they had never made that final move toward each other,
Mulder still wondered if she ever watched him while he wasn't
looking (the way he had watched her) and thought, what if?  
       
He thought about what ifs.  Especially now that she was so
far away.
       
What if I'd kissed away the barbecue sauce like I really  
wanted to do?
       
What if he turned and kissed her right now?  She was so
close. All he had to do was turn his head, bend a few   
inches, and--
         
A burring sound made him jump.
       
"Yours or mine?" Scully asked, reaching into the pocket  of
her robe and pulling out her phone.  "Mine."  She turned it
on and answered.
       
Another burring sound came from the counter in the kitchen. 
Mulder went to answer his own cellular phone.  "Mulder."
       
"We've got another body, Mulder."  Thacker's voice was 
tense. "Looks like the same thing as before.  They're taking 
her to the morgue at Boston General.  I'm at the office,
pulling all our files on the previous case."
       
"Damn.  Okay, I'll meet you there."  He turned off the   
phone and looked across at Scully.  Her face was tense.
         
"Guess you heard about the new body?" she asked.         

He nodded.
       
While she showered, he dressed and straightened the mess
they'd made in their couch potato mode, then dressed
himself.  Soon she emerged from the spare bedroom, neatly 
dressed in a black trouser suit, her hair towelled dry and
shining like copper.  She had packed her overnight bag and
carried it out.
       
"If things go like they have before, I'll be at the morgue 
all night.  I'll probably have to catch a nap there at the
hospital."  Her eyes spoke her regrets.  "And my flight back
to D.C. leaves tomorrow at noon."
       
"I'll probably be working late, too."  He took the bag from  
 her.  "Come on, I'll walk you to your car."
       
He put her bag in the trunk and went around to the driver's
side of the car to give her the keys.  She unlocked the  
door but didn't open it, turning to look at him.  "Mulder,
this weekend--"
       
He touched his fingers to her lips, hushing her.  "I know."
         
"I'll call before I catch the plane back."
         
"You'd better."
       
She surprised him by hurling herself against him, wrapping
her arms tightly around his waist.  He felt her nose nuzzle
his collarbone, and his insides melted into a puddle.  He
stroked her hair, not trusting himself to speak.
       
Then she pulled away, looking down as she straightened her
jacket.   "I'll call," she repeated.  She opened the door
and slid behind the steering wheel.
       
He watched her drive away, then walked to his car.  As he
cranked the engine, he ejected the tape in the player so he
could check what the news reports might be saying about the 
new body.  The radio was tuned to a soft rock station, 
surprising him until he remembered that the last time he'd 
listened to the radio, Samantha had been in the car, station
surfing like a teenager.  
       
He was about to change the station when he heard the words
of the song playing.  
         
"Please come to Boston for the Springtime..."
       
He thought about Scully and smiled.  Spring wasn't that   
far away.   
     
         
                                                             
                                                             
                                                             
                                                             
End of #3