Disclaimer: All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX networks, DD, GA, etc. and are used without permission. SOMETHING SO RIGHT by Paul Simon is used without permission (but it's so perfect for this I couldn't resist). The characters of Mr. and Mrs. Preston Powell Sr. and Preston Powell Jr. belong to me, and if I had as much money as the Powells do, somebody might want to sue me for this...but since I don't... This is part 6 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. No sex but strong hints of a romance... TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION No. 6: February Something So Right by Anne Haynes Dana Scully glanced at her watch as the plane circled J.F.K., waiting for the next available runway. A stewardess had calmly answered her testy question about the delay with a half-smile. "It's Valentine's Day Eve and it's New York City. Can't fight romance." Scully subsided against her seat and closed her eyes, trying to ease the tension knotting in her shoulders. Think pleasant thoughts, Scully. Breathe slowly. In. Out. Pleasant thoughts led to Fox Mulder. Most thoughts seemed to lead to Fox Mulder these days. She missed him like she'd miss an arm or a leg. Her work wasn't nearly as interesting, her evenings and weekends were downright lonely. The funny thing about that was, she and Mulder never had spent all that much downtime together while they were partners. Maybe because of spending sixty-hour weeks with each other, they respected each other's need for some time alone. But now, Scully'd had just about all the time alone she could stand. She needed some excitement. She needed a good dose of Mulder. She glanced at her watch again. Already 6:56. She was supposed to meet Mulder and his family at Milano's at 8:30 for an engagement dinner for Samantha and Preston. They'd been engaged since Christmas, but Samantha the romantic wanted to wait until Valentine's Day to celebrate. Since Valentine's Day was on Sunday that year, they decided to celebrate on Saturday, which meant that Scully could get away from D.C. to join them. She just should've flown out earlier in the day instead of hanging around to catch up on paper work. The announcement that the plane was preparing to land pulled her out of her reverie. She buckled her seat belt and looked at her watch again. 7:08. No way she was going to be able to get to her hotel, change into her dress, and meet the Mulders by 8:30. She picked up a rental car at the airport and pulled out into the Saturday evening traffic jam. Another glance at her watch made her cringe. 8:03 and counting. She pulled out her cellular phone and dialled Mulder's cell phone number. "Mulder." "Hi, it's me. I'm just now leaving the airport. I have to go check in at the hotel and change, so there's no way I'm going to make it by 8:30. I'm in a traffic jam that would make your hair stand on end--" She glanced at the rear view mirror. "Which is what mine is doing right now." Mulder's chuckle warmed her. "I'd pay money to see that!" "Please, tell everyone how sorry I am and that I'll get there as soon as possible." "I will," Mulder promised. "I'm heading out the door." "Are you sure that my green velvet dress is appropriate for Milano's?" She'd never been to the restaurant, but a colleague from Quantico had told her it was one of the finest in the city. She'd agonized over what to wear for almost a week before deciding on a simple velvet dress with long, fitted sleeves and a flaring skirt. "I've never seen your green velvet dress, Scully." Of course he hadn't. Suits and jeans, yes, but green velvet dresses, no. "Then I guess you don't know." "Frankly, I'm dying of anticipation. Am I going to recognize you without your sensible shoes?" "Mulder, my shoes have never been sensible." She had painful memories of running through the woods in heels. What she'd put up with to add a couple of inches of height! "Why don't I call Mom and tell her we'll both be late?" Mulder suggested. "I'll wait here at the hotel for you. I can even check you in, okay? So all you'll have to do is change and we can go. Or we could even skip the thing altogether." The thought was very tempting, but Scully put it aside. "No, Mulder, you shouldn't miss any of your sister's engagement dinner just because my plane was late. Go ahead. I'll meet you there. Talk to you soon." She hung up the phone. Flicking her right turn signal, she angled over in traffic and headed for the hotel. * * * * * Mulder nibbled his Chicken Divan and checked his watch. Almost nine. Scully should've been here by now. He shifted uncomfortably, wishing Preston Powell's family had a little less money and a little lower expectation in dining experiences. Like the Powell men, he had donned a tuxedo in keeping with the atmosphere of the five star restaurant. He'd warned Scully that an evening dress was warranted, but he hoped he'd properly stressed just how dressy an event this damned dinner was. Scully wasn't exactly a party animal, and he wondered if even this fabled green velvet dress would stand up to the competition. Then he shook his head and smiled at the silly thought. Dana Scully could walk into this place wearing a barley sack and outclass any woman here. He just wished she'd hurry up and get here. A soft burring sound interrupted his thoughts. He reached in his pocket for his phone. "Mulder." "It's me. I've been in the car for twenty minutes and I'm still only a mile away from the hotel. Why was I so stupid as to think renting a car in New York City would be a GOOD idea? The traffic is horrible and I don't know any of the shortcuts. I think I'm going to turn around and head back to the hotel, park the car and see if a cab will have any better luck." "Scully, why don't you just wait there at the hotel?" He lowered his voice, glancing around the table to make sure the others were safely involved in their own conversations. "Honestly, Scully, it's pretty dull here. Samantha and Thurston Howell the Third are making kissy face, my mom and Mrs. Powell are haggling over china patterns, and Papa Bear is drinking himself under the table. Stay there and I'll make an excuse to leave early." "Mulder, I didn't fly all the way to New York City to sit in my hotel room, even with you." "I think I'm insulted," he murmured. "Wait. I see a break in traffic. Hold your breath as I make my move--" He held his breath. "Ahh! I think I'm in luck. If all goes well, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Bye." He shut off his phone and returned it to his pocket. "Was that Dana?" Samantha asked. He nodded. "Who is this Dana?" Preston Powell Sr. asked, his words slurred by the good bourbon he'd been putting away. "Dana is Fox's, um, friend." Samantha darted a sly look his way. "GOOD friend." Mulder's mother's eyes met his. The speculation he saw gleaming there made him squirm a little. Great, Samantha, get Mom all excited again. He'd confided in his mother a few months ago when he'd been contemplating taking his friendship with Scully to the next level. When things hadn't developed in that direction, she'd been deeply disappointed. He knew his mother had long despaired of his ever finding a nice woman and settling down-- with good reason. A wife and family had never been on his list of priorities. By the time he'd been old enough to think of such things, he'd known that kind of life was far, far beyond his reach. Never, even in his most foolishly romantic moments with Phoebe Green, had he given thought to marriage or babies. At least, he hadn't. Not until this past Christmas, when Dana Scully kissed him underneath the mistletoe. God, that had been a epiphany. A soft brush of her lips against his, the slightest puff of her warm breath into his mouth--he'd often tried to imagine what it would be like to kiss Scully, but his imaginings had always leaned toward an explosion of passion, where the tension that had always existed between them became too much to resist. Never in a million years would he have imagined that a sweet, chaste brush of lips could have sent him into such a reckless fantasy of endless passion and devotion. He'd already picked out their bathroom colors before he plummeted back to reality. A reality in which Dana Scully was his best friend and his loyal supporter, but nothing more. They'd had their chance to change things between them--and failed. So back into the dark recesses of his mind went the fantasy, and he made himself be happy with the reality that had somehow been enough for him before. His mother's voice stepped into the dangerous path of his thoughts. "Is she going to be able to make it?" "She's trying. She's stuck in traffic, but she thinks she just got an opening." "She's a very nice woman," Mrs. Mulder murmured to Mrs. Powell. "She and Fox worked together at the F.B.I. for several years. She's quite lovely and very smart--a doctor, as a matter of fact." Mulder could hardly stifle a smile. Every mother wants her child to marry a doctor, he thought. "What's the matter, Fox?" Samantha leaned forward. He shook his head. "Nothing." "Are you mad because I got Mom to speculating again?" He glanced at her, surprised by how she always seemed to read his mind. "I don't want her to say or do something to make Scully uncomfortable." "It'll be okay. Mom's not much of a meddler." "Scully and I don't think about each other that way." Samantha cocked one eyebrow in a Scullyesque display of skepticism. He stifled a grin. "Promise me you won't say anything, either, Samantha." "Not a word. But maybe you should." He shook his head. "I've been doing this for a long time. I see no reason to change things now." "What if Dana's just waiting for a word from you? What if she feels the same things but she's afraid to tell you?" "Scully's not afraid of anything, Samantha. If she had feelings for me, she'd tell me. We had our chance and nothing came of it." He sighed and glanced at his watch again. Where was she? * * * * * Damn, damn, damn! Traffic closed up within a quarter mile, trapping Scully in the wrong lane. She had to turn right and circle the block to catch the light a block up before she could make her way back to the correct lane. A glance at her watch made her stomach burn. 9:43. They had to be well into dessert by now. Mulder had probably given up on her and picked up some tall brunette in a slinky black dress. Somebody with a British accent and a bad habit of stomping on men's hearts. Damn it, Mulder, if I get there to find you cosied up to a Phoebe-wannabe, there's not a court in this land that would convict me for your murder. For such a smart man, he could be so incredibly stupid. She'd taken one look at Phoebe Green and summed her up. Vampire. She sucked every ounce of joy and self-esteem from her lovers, leaving the empty husks like so much detritus in her wake. Mulder himself admitted that it had taken ten years to get her out of his system. And speaking of vampires, he'd really made a huge blunder with Kristin Kilar. Protecting a suspect--SLEEPING with a suspect, for God's sake! It broke every rule of conduct, every ethic--Scully shook her head, her stomach tightening even more. It had broken her heart. Knowing that while she was missing, held by God knows who for God knows what purpose, he'd been in another woman's arms. His body buried in a stranger's flesh, his mouth probing hers, his voice calling another woman's name when he came-- Stop it, Dana. Stop it now. He had beaten himself up enough for that when he'd finally been forced to tell her what had happened. The shame, the guilt, the self-loathing had been horrible to see, and she had to pretend that it was okay, that she understood, because she sure as hell couldn't let him or anyone else see that she was dying inside. Whoever had sent her the photographs of his liaison with Kristen had WANTED her to be hurt, be angry. The anonymous packet of photos had come during a tense case, timed perfectly by men who were consummate manipulators. And it had almost worked, because she HAD been hurt. And angry. And jealous. She stared at the stalled traffic in front of her, her mind still in a cold, dark mansion in Los Angeles, watching Mulder making love to a shadow woman. There was nothing prurient in her imaginings, only sick horror at the dark desperation she saw in his face as he took his cold comfort. She realized that tears were seeping down her cheeks, no doubt smearing her careful make-up. She checked her rear view mirror, repaired the slight damage with a tissue from her hand bag. Cool blue eyes stared back at her, remarkably calm considering the turbulence she felt inside. Is this how I look to him? Like a porcelain doll, cold and untouchable? She'd always hated emotion, hated what it did to her, the way it tried to rob her of control. She fought to tamp down tears and terrors in some deep, hidden place inside her where they could do no harm. But what else had she hidden away in the process? Something precious that she should have shown to Mulder a long time ago? In the car in front of Tooms' house all those years ago, she'd had a chance to test the waters between her and Mulder. He'd given her that chance with soft, teasing words. "If there's an iced tea in that bag, could be love..." She cringed now when she thought of her response. "Must be fate, Mulder...Rootbeer." Damn it, she had almost gotten tea. She'd actually made them change the order at the sandwich shop, thinking he'd prefer the carbonation to wake him up after so many hours without sleep. If only she'd stuck with the tea... And what if you had, Dana Katherine Scully? What if you'd pulled a cup of tea from that bag? What if he'd-- Her cellular phone burred quietly. She picked it up and connected. "Scully." "Chocolate cheesecake with cherry liqueur, Scully. Mmm..." His voice rippled down her spine. "Do they let you take out doggie bags?" "I told you we should've stayed at the hotel." "You're about to leave the restaurant, aren't you?" She squeezed her cell phone, disappointed. "I'm afraid so. It's past the old folks' bedtime." In the background, she heard Mrs. Mulder. "Fox!" Scully chuckled. "Still know how to make friends and influence people, I see, Mulder." "Yeah..wait...no--" There was a scuffling sound, then Samantha's voice on the line. "Dana?" "Hi, Samantha. I'm sorry about this. I'm stuck in traffic." "Where are you?" "About two blocks past Times Square, best I can tell. On..." She squinted at a street sign. "I'm on Broadway at West 42nd Street, heading in the general direction of the Empire State Building." "Perfect! Fox will be there at the top, waiting for you." "Oh, no you don't, Samantha! I've seen AN AFFAIR TO REMEMBER, and I have no intention of being run over by a taxi just so Cary Grant can cry over me!" "Actually, I was thinking of SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE, and that ended just fine--" After another soft scuffling sound over the phone, Mulder spoke. "Forget the Empire State Building. Every SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE fan in America will be there. There's a little diner near Madison Square Gardens. Called the Knick. It's between W. 30th and Seventh. It's only a half-mile from here, so I may beat you there. I'm the guy in the tuxedo, eating a Dodger Dog." She chuckled again. "Okay. W. 30th and Seventh. The Knick. Got it." She hung up the phone and flicked on her right indicator, hoping somebody would let her over. Mulder was waiting for her. * * * * * "You should've stuck with the Empire State Building, Fox." Samantha hooked her arm through Mulder's as her fiance settled his parents into their car. "Much more romantic than a diner." Somehow, he didn't think so. He happened to know that the Knick had an old style jukebox and the best seafood pasta in the city. He made a regular pilgramage to New York City at least once a year to watch a Knicks game at the Gardens. About four years ago, Langley, Byers and Frohike had come along. As annoying as it was to have them constantly scanning the crowd for CIA operatives, distracting him from the game, Byers' suggested after-game trip to the Knick had made up for the irritation. The diner was the kind of 1950's tacky chrome place that Scully loved to hate. It made him think of her immediately, and he'd made the mistake of mentioning her name, sending Frohike into paroxysms of passion. Even Langley and Byers had finally told the little gnome to shut up. Mulder smiled at the thought. Scully would expect no less of him than to spend Valentine's Day eve at a tacky diner. And she was going to love the seafood pasta. * * * * * She was in sight of Madison Square Gardens when her car died. It simply chug-chugged twice and stopped. She had just enough momentum to slide it into an illegal parking place in front of a quick copy shop. After several minutes of quiet cursing which called on her memory of every sailor she'd ever met in her life-long acquaintance with sailors, she put on her emergency blinkers and pulled out her cellular phone. It burred in her ear once before Mulder answered. "Let me guess--" "My car just gave up the ghost." "Where are you? She looked up at the sign. "I'm on Seventh at West 35th. I swear, Mulder, I'd just get out and walk except these shoes are torture devices and I wouldn't make it past West 34th. Can it get any worse?" Then, of course, it did. The first splat of rain hit the windshield. "Damn it, Mulder, it's raining!" His chuckle did nothing to improve her mood. "Don't suppose you have an umbrella?" "I can't just leave the car here. I'm going to have to call AAA and at least get a tow." She glanced at her watch. 10:45. She closed her eyes. "Want me to come pick you up?" "No! Stay right where you are. Your sense of direction is worse than mine, and if you get out in this traffic, I'll have to open an X-File on you myself. Are you at the diner yet?" "Yeah. I got here about five minutes ago." A knock on her window startled Scully. A scruffy looking man leered at her through the glass, and her rigid control snapped. She jerked her Sig Sauer from her handbag, cocked it into readiness, and pressed the muzzle against the glass. "Go to hell, freak!" "Scully?" Mulder's voice over the phone sounded tense. The man backpedalled furiously, almost running into traffic. Within seconds, he was out of sight. "Scully?" "Sorry, Mulder. I just shared my joy with some poor panhandler. Listen, I'm going to call for a wrecker, then catch a cab. Are you sure you don't just want to go back to the hotel? It could be after midnight before I get away, at this rate." "This is an all night diner, Scully. I'll wait. Oh, and I've gotten six dollars in quarters for the jukebox. Any requests?" "A normal life, Mulder." "I don't think they have that here." "No, I don't suppose they do. See you in a bit." She hung up, then reconnected and called the number on her AAA card. * * * * * It was almost midnight. Fitting, really, Mulder thought as he glanced at his watch. At midnight, it would be Valentine's Day for real. He sat in the corner booth of the all-night diner, ignoring the stares of the handful of customers, and watched through the picture window for Scully to arrive. A battered cab drew up to the corner, and Mulder knew with certainty that it was her. After the rest of tonight's disaster, it made perfect sense that her chariot would be a twenty-year-old taxi. She emerged from the cab, looking like a refugee from the Titanic. Her rain-damp hair was wild and windblown; her make-up had long since vanished. Her trench coat covered only the top two-thirds of her dress, leaving the bottom part of the green velvet gown to the mercy of the rain and road grime. She caught sight of him staring at her through the picture window and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. A self-deprecating smile curved her lips, and she took a little bow. He slid out of the booth and met her at the door. "I know, I look like hell." She sighed. He shook his head. "You look great. Just perfect." She favored him with one of her rare toothy smiles, and he felt his heart ooze down into his stomach. "Nice tie." She flicked the colorful bow-tie hanging unknotted around his neck. "Well, it matched the cummerbund." He waved toward that offending piece of satin lying on the table of his booth. "So, ready to admit we should've just stayed at the hotel?" She sighed. "Mulder, we should've just stayed at the hotel." He brushed her damp hair out of her eyes. "Come on, I've already ordered for you. The best seafood pasta you've ever tasted. I told them to bring it out when a gorgeous, muddy redhead walked in." He helped her out of her damp coat. Underneath, her green velvet dress was--well--disturbing. To his equilibrium, anyway. It hugged her curves in a way that he himself had only dreamed about in his more careless moments. Though long-sleeved and high-necked, the dark green velvet was a shimmery second skin, leaving him hot and cold at the same time. "So, would this dress have been okay for Milano's?" "Yeah." That dress would've been okay any time, any place, any how, he thought. He forced his mind away from that sweet treachery and took his place across from her. She looked around the diner. He followed her gaze, trying to read her mind. He knew that classy little Georgetown pubs were more her style, but to his delight, she granted him another one of her breathtaking smiles. "So much better than the Empire State Building, Mulder." He grinned like an idiot. "Thought you'd like it. While we're waiting for your food, wanna go pick something from the jukebox?" He pushed a quarter across the table to her. She waggled one eyebrow. "I get to choose?" "Well, there's a limited selection--and no Michael Bolton. I checked." She took the quarter and crossed to the jukebox. He couldn't keep his eyes off her, studying the supple curve of her spine as she bent and pondered her selection. Her face was in profile to him; he saw a slight smile curve her lips as she inserted the quarter in the slot and pushed some buttons. A moment later, the mellow strains of an old Paul Simon song began, and Scully turned to look at him, smiling her enigmatic little smile that always made him squirm inside. "You got cool water when the fever runs high You got the look of love light in your eyes I was in crazy motion until you calmed me down It took a little time to calm me down." She crossed and took her seat without speaking. The song filled his ears and his mind. "When something goes wrong I'm the first to admit it I'm the first to admit it, the last one to know When something goes right it's likely to lose me It's apt to confuse me because its such an unusual sight I swear, I can't get used to something so right, Something so right." He reached across the table and caught her hands. He didn't know if she was trying to tell him something with the song, and he wasn't sure either of them was really ready to hear it if she was, but for the moment, he felt happier than he had in his whole life. "They got a wall in China, it's a thousand miles long To keep out the foreigners they made it strong And I've got a wall around me That you can't even see It took a little time to get next to me." Her fingers tightened on his, forcing him to look up at her. But she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were on their hands. He followed her gaze and looked at the intertwined fingers, the rippling play of their tendons and muscles as they held on to each other. This is right, he thought. However you want to define it, whatever name you want to give it, Scully and I are right together. And everything's all wrong when we're apart. Cancerman knew that. That's why the bastard had taken Scully from him in the first place. Why he had finally given her back to him so that Mulder would suffer the torture of watching her die before his own eyes. But he didn't count on you, did he, Scully? My own personal, daily miracle. She'd come back to him, giving him courage not long after that to come back to her, to acknowledge the truth that bound them together in dangerous purpose. "Some people never say the words I love It's not their style to be so bold Some people never say those words, 'I love you.' But like a child they're longing to be told." Later, he thought. We'll put words to it later. For now, he and Scully were together, and all was finally right with the world. End of #6