I'm back!!!! And this time I brought the real Bonnie Drew with me. If you read "The Office Pool", you know what to expect in this very belated Christmas story. DISCLAIMER: Disclaimers? We don't need no stinking disclaimers!!! O.K., so we do. Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, A.D. Skinner, poor Pendrel, and the Scullys are all the property of Chris Carter (SALAAM!!!), 1013 Productions, and Fox. We're just borrowing them and you wouldn't want to sue us anyway. We're both broke. The characters Bonnie Drew and Peter Drake are ours HA HA HA HA HA. And no, you may not have them. In our little corner of the X-Files universe, Scully's best friend is a bizarre little ghoul by the name of Bonnie "Tiki" Drew. They went to medical school together, as this little tidbit shows, and Tiki now works in the Forensics-Pathology Department of the FBI. One other note. Tiki and A.D. Skinner, by this point in our personal time line, have been dating for about eight months. This is strictly a "what if" story, so if you're a non-relationshipper (and we know you sick puppies are out there) TURN BACK NOW!!!!! And for those of you really observant folks who notice the reference in the first paragraph to Duncan, be patient. The pre- quel to this will be along as soon as Sally has enough time to finish her part of the damn thing, probably sometime this summer. CONSTRUCTIVE criticism and comments, as well as lavish praise, welcome. Please, no flames. We have delicate constitutions. If you hate it, keep it to yourself. (Why yes, we DO teach English. How did you know?) Responses to amstone@ix.netcom.com "By Any Other Name" Part 1 of 3 by Sally Bradstreet and Bonnie Drew December 21, 1995 The delicate scent of heather wafted to her nose. Even as she read, she smiled. The bouquet had arrived today with a note written in Duncan's strong, bold hand. It was in Gaelic, and she was debating whether or not to take it some place to be translated quickly, or puzzle it out for herself. Duncan's notes had been fairly intimate, so she was leaning toward the latter. It had been about two months since she'd seen the big Scot, and she missed him. She missed feeling safe. Dana Scully was rousted out of this comfortable reverie by three peremptory knocks on her front door. She looked at the door balefully, and wrestled with the knowledge that once she opened that door, her quiet night spent with a blanket, a mug of lemon tea, and the soothing charm of Lord Peter Wimsey would be a lost cause. She did not know why she knew this, but she was certain of it. The knocks came again, more insistent this time. Abandoning herself to fate, she kicked off the comforter around her ankles and padded to the door. She checked the peephole and smiled to herself at the distorted image of her friend, like a fun house mirror, that appeared on the other side. She unlatched the door, thinking that perhaps, just perhaps, this wouldn't be so bad after all. "Ah, ha!" Tiki crowed, with an accusing finger at Dana. "I knew it!" Dana crossed her arms over her chest and waited. "Knew what?" "That you would be in here in a frumpy old robe and pajamas reading." Tiki shook her dark head sadly. All work and no play makes Dana Scully deadly dull. Have I taught you nothing? C'mon. We're going to the party." "What party?" "The Bureau party, you nit." Tiki bounced into the apartment and perched on the arm of Scully's couch. "Hurry up. I'll wait." "No way." "Way." The little coroner grinned. "Besides, it'll give you a chance to wear my gift." She pushed a large gift box at her. It was wrapped carefully in snow-white tissue and gleaming red ribbon. Dana took the beautifully wrapped present gingerly. "Bonnie, I haven't gotten yours yet . . ." "Oh, duh! I know that, Dana. But as long as it's fantastic, I won't care." Again, that flash of grin. "You always give me terrific gifts, Dana. Just what I want. So open it! Open it!" She waved an imperious finger at the package. Scully chuckled and began to tear away the paper. It wasn't fast enough for Tiki, who began to bounce a little on the sofa impatiently. "Oh, Bonnie!" Dana exclaimed. "How perfect!" She embraced her friend quickly. "Thank you!" She stroked the silky fuzz of the white button-up sweater. A severe little voice in her mind told her that it was too young for her, that she would look about six in it. Then she found the flirty pleated skirt underneath it, red and green with stripes of gold and black running through the plaid. She shook the skirt out of the box and held it up to her waist. "Oh, no, Tiki! I can't wear this! This is way too short!" Tiki hmphed once. "Don't be dumb. You'll look sensational. C'mon. Go get changed and we'll go." "But . . ." "Dana," Tiki said in exasperated tones. "The skirt covers plenty, and gives away just enough. Your sexy partner with have a stroke when he sees you in it." "Tiki." Dana colored. "Mulder won't be there. He hates parties." "Mm," was the only noncommittal answer Tiki gave. "Well, hurry up. I wanna get there before the good food is gone. You can ride with me." "What about Skinner?" Tiki shrugged. "He's meeting me there. Besides, he'll keep." Something in her friend's tone made Dana look at her sharply. "Are you two fighting?" Tiki smiled her very sweetest smile, which had been known to make people's teeth ache and, in some uses, to put others in a diabetic coma. "My dear child, I never fight. Besides, it's none of your business. Now, into the bedroom with you." She bent down to pet Dana's little dog. "But . . ." "Quick, quick! Let's go!" Sighing, Scully obeyed. She shook her head ruefully as she slid her nylons over her legs, and rooted for her black pumps. Why was it that no one could say "no" to Bonnie Drew? She drew on the skirt and fastened it on the side, absently noting that it was a perfect fit. She was an FBI agent. She was supposed to be tough. The camisole whispered over her head, and then she shrugged herself into the sweater. It felt lovely, warm and sensual next to her skin. She had fought mutants, killers, and evils of all descriptions. Why couldn't she refuse to attend one lousy party? She reached for her perfume, the kind Tiki had given her last Christmas, and brushed it onto her skin. What was it about Tiki? Was it that she was just so persistent? So aggravating? So determinedly cheerful? Dana grumped and slipped on her shoes. Then she looked in the mirror. No. It was because she was usually right. Blue eyes stared back from the mirror at the woman. The skirt really wasn't that short. She allowed herself a small smile. She knew Mulder was a leg man. Maybe . . . "Very nice," Tiki observed from the door. She nodded approvingly. "I look like a Catholic schoolgirl gone wrong," Dana grumbled. "You are a Catholic schoolgirl gone wrong." Tiki stepped toward her and unbuttoned Dana's next sweater button. "There. Do you know how much some men pay for that look?" "No, but I bet you do." Tiki just grinned and waved Dana's blush away. "Let's go. We'll take my car." Dana sighed. This is how it always started. She remembered the last time Tiki talked her into something like this.=== University of Maryland Research Library December 19, 1987 4:15 p.m. It started with an innocent question. "Do you want to go to New York with me?" Dana Scully looked up over the rims of her glasses. "What?" "I said, do you want to go to New York with me." Bonnie Drew hopped onto the battered library table and took the physiology text from her red-headed friend's hands. "My credit card company just upped my limit and I'm dying to spend some money." "Bonnie," Dana sighed, snatching her book back, "finals are next week. This is hardly the time for a pleasure jaunt to New York." Bonnie took the book again and dropped it on the floor behind her. "On the contrary. The week before finals is the perfect time for a pleasure jaunt. Besides, after your last test you're going home for Christmas, so it's now or never. Are you coming with me or not?" Dana contemplated her companion silently for a moment. Her violet-blue eyes were sparkling with the thought of possible adventure, and she tossed her glossy black curls impatiently. "Well?" "Bonnie, I can't. I've got to study for Van de Graff's final. You know how his tests are." "Yes, and I also know that you have been ready for that test for two weeks." She tucked her feet under her, resting her elbows on her knees, and propped her chin up in her hands. "Please, Dana." Dana could already feel herself weakening. She had met Bonnie a year and a half ago when they were assigned to the same dormitory. At first Dana had been put off by Bonnie's almost manic behavior, but the bubbly little woman had an uncanny knack for wheedling her way into even the most straight-laced of hearts. Since then, the two medical students had developed a close friendship. Going anywhere with Bonnie might be fun . . . No. She shook herself mentally. This was not the kind of thing she did. "No, Bonnie. Thanks for the offer, but I can't." "All right," Bonnie said logically, "you give me one really good reason why you have to stay on this damned campus for the next forty-eight hours, and I'll leave you alone. Deal?" "Deal." Dana sat back in her chair. "I have a paper due in microbiology." "A paper that you turned in two days ago." "I promised Sam I'd help him study for his lab final." "Just give him your notes." "I have a Sophomore Committee meeting tomorrow." "Uh, huh. It's been postponed until after vacation." Bonnie grinned. "Any other feeble attempts?" Dana sighed. "You're not going to let this go, are you?" "Nope. I've made it my personal crusade to see that you have fun this year. You might as well give in." She rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll go." "Yippee!!" This outburst earned several irate stares, but Bonnie ignored them as she jumped to the floor and began to dance in circles. "We're going to New York! We're going to New York!" "Bonnie!" Dana hissed between clenched teeth. "Get a hold of yourself!" She stopped dancing and bowed her head meekly. "Sorry." Then she looked up, devilment in her eyes. "We're going to New York!" she whispered. "We're going to New York!" Dana stood and began to gather up her texts and notebooks. "So, when do we make our reservations?" With a flourish, Bonnie pulled two plane tickets from the back pocket of her faded jeans. "We have to be at the airport in an hour." "You are incorrigible!" Dana exclaimed. "A little advanced warning would have been nice." Bonnie shook her head sadly and grasped Dana's shoulders, speaking slowly and clearly. "Dana, darling, this is a spontaneous trip. One does not give advanced warning for a spontaneous trip. If one does, it ceases to be spontaneous. Now get moving." Dana growled, regretting her decision already. "So do I at least get to pack?" "No need." Bonnie magically produced Dana's carry-on suitcase from under the table. "I did it for you." She watched as Dana scooped up the remaining pile of her academic flotsam and then slipped her arm around her friend's narrow waist. "I even brought that little black skirt you keep in the back of your closet." "Why? What do you have planned?" "Oh, nothing. But it never hurts to be prepared." Three hours later Bonnie whined, "I hate airports!" She dropped into a molded vinyl chair. "They smell funny and the people are so strange." "Then why do you fly?" Dana asked with a smile, thinking that Bonnie fell into the "strange" category herself. "Because I hate long car trips even more." Bonnie sighed, then glanced at Dana. "What are you reading?" Dana peeked at the title of her book. "Uh, The Pathology of Microbes in the Human Digestive Tract. Why?" For the second time that day, Bonnie snatched a book from her hands. "How did you slip this past me?" Dana shrugged. "I thought we might have a lay-over because of the snow and I wanted to make the most of it." "Oy!" Bonnie lamented. "You're missing the point of the exercise, Dana." She slipped the text into her carry-on bag. "If you want to read something, let me chose it for you, O.K.? Don't go away." She watched helplessly as Bonnie darted through the teeming crowd of travelers toward one of the airport's many over-priced gift shops. Some of the women in their building called that dark-haired imp "Hurricane Bonnie", but Dana was beginning to think that the nickname was too tame. "Why did I agree to this?" she muttered to herself. Five minutes later, Bonnie presented her with a paperback novel. The slick cover boasted a woman with flowing blonde hair and a disheveled dress in the amorous clasp of well-muscled, sweating Indian brave. Dana gingerly grasped the book between thumb and forefinger. "What is this?" "This is what is commonly known as a bodice ripper'. Surely you're familiar with them." Dana shook her head and Bonnie continued blithely. "Well, this novel has your basic plot with the unhappy farmer's daughter who falls in love, against her will, with the requisite half-breed. And it has the standard the two of them trapped in an abandoned cabin during a blizzard' sequence. It's great stuff." Dana opened the book and read from a random paragraph: She whimpered as he drew her to him and crushed his firm lips to her trembling ones. "I don't want this," she whimpered against his mouth. "Let me go!" "No," he growled, pulling her soft, rounded body against the hard planes of his chest. "You want this as much as I do." "This is awful!" she exclaimed. "True, true, very true," Bonnie agreed. "But that's half the fun." Dana hated to admit it, but she was a little intrigued by the idea of the blizzard scene. "All right. I'll give it a try." "Oh, goody!" Bonnie squealed. "Read it out loud!" "What?" "Oh, come on, Dana. You read beautifully. Please?" Dana sighed, something she felt she was going to do quite often on this trip, and opened the book to the first page. She cleared her throat and began to read. "Love's Wanton Fire, Chapter 1. Cassandra stood in front of her father's cabin and stared out over the swaying grass of the prairie. She hated it here . . .' "=== FBI Building December 21, 1995 9:35 p.m. They arrived in good time. There had been times when Dana found her friend's driving almost restful after Mulder's. This was not one of them. For some reason, Dana was nervous. She smoothed the skirt over her thighs again. She looked like a sixteen-year-old! What would Mulder say? Dana told herself to stop thinking about it. He wouldn't be there anyway. Tiki strode purposefully to the door, with her red-headed friend a half step behind. They could hear the strains of Christmas music coming from the large hall. It sounded like the Bureau had sprung for a live band. Dana smiled. "Jingle Bells" chimed in her memory. It was her mother's favorite Christmas carol. Mrs. Scully had festooned the house with bells and garland on December first every year, humming "Jingle Bells" all the while. Dana was looking forward to going home. They stepped through the swinging doors into the lights. Dana blinked, certain that the skirt was far too short, or that there was a square of toilet paper on her heel, or perhaps her hem was caught in her pantyhose. Tiki dragged her forward. It wasn't as bad as she had feared. During the day, this room was a conference hall, grey and austere. It had been closed off and redecorated. The band was in one corner, six piece. There were 10 tables in a horseshoe around what Dana guessed was probably going to be a dance floor. There were chairs scattered along the walls. In the right corner nearest the door bristled a Christmas tree tied with gold ribbons and garnished in silver, green, and red. It looked to Dana's naturally detailed-conscious eye, that the presents beneath it were real, and then she remembered that the Bureau had run a Secret Santa program this year. She and Mulder had been away most of this week, so she hadn't expected a Santa. It surprised her, then, to find a pound of expensive gourmet coffee on her desk when she returned. Other small gifts had followed at regular intervals. A demure little ornament, a small cushion for Clyde the Pomeranian, and even a tiny bottle of Chanel #5. They had been thoughtful gifts, and she appreciated the effort. She speculated that maybe he had . . . Knock it off, Dana, her voice reminded her. She continued her survey of the room. The lintels were hung with garland and holly and in the center of the room, over the dance floor, dangled a small sprig of mistletoe. Cotton batting was sprinkled with silver glitter in a snow scene, complete with plastic Santa and Frosty on her left. Maybe it wouldn't be quite so awkward. Tiki smacked the palm of her hand to her forehead. "Ugh!" she cried. "I forgot. I left a file down in my lab. I need to get it to the chem boys by tomorrow. Dana, go ahead without me, all right? I'll be back. Save me a table." "But . . ." She had gone. Scully sighed and strolled in. Perhaps it was Tiki's influence, or just the skirt, but the pleats swayed gently from side to side as she walked. "Agent Scully?" a voice asked timidly at her elbow. She turned and smiled at the young electrician who had helped her with her implant a few month ago. "Merry Christmas, Pendrel." The young man blushed. "It's Kevin, actually." "Kevin," Scully corrected, still smiling. He seemed a little uncomfortable. She wondered why. "Agent Scully, I, uh, . . ." "It's Dana, actually," Scully echoed. Kevin took a deep breath and beamed. "Dana," he breathed. "I, uh, I was your Secret Santa this year." "That was you?" Scully squeezed his hand. "You have excellent taste, Kevin, thank you." He seemed to be having trouble breathing. "I, uh, got you these," he blurted, and shoved a small box at her. His brown eyes were very wide, as if he expected her to slap him or laugh at him or something. Dana took the jewelry box and opened it. She chuckled low in her throat and he swallowed. "How sweet! Thank you, Kevin." She quickly slipped the earrings on. They were small crystals cut in the form of icicles. They dangled from her ears, catching the burnished copper of her hair and a thousand other colors. "Do they look O.K.?" "Beautiful." She laughed a little and kissed his cheek impulsively, blue eyes warm. "Thank you." He reddened and sputtered, "I, I'll be right back." Scully frowned as he dashed away, then shook her head. His face was a red as that clown's in New York. Tiki had sure put one over on him.=== New York City December 20, 1987 8:20 p.m. Bonnie slapped Dana's hand. "Will you stop that? You look great." Dana obediently moved her hand and raised a questioning eyebrow at her friend. The little black skirt from the back of her closet was very little indeed and she surreptitiously tugged on it again, trying to get the hemline somewhere near the vicinity of her knees. "Are you sure?" Her companion shook her head and eyed her critically. The black skirt and the flowing white silk blouse she had packed for Dana fit her perfectly, showing off the smooth curves and shapely legs that were usually hidden under demure skirts and sweet sweaters. Yes, she looked great. Bonnie shifted her gaze to her friend's face and sighed quietly. What she wouldn't give for that thick red hair that hung in soft waves to the middle of Dana's back. She knew the waves were the result of a perm, but still . . . She shook off the thought and smiled reassuringly. "I'm positive. You're stunning." Dana wrinkled her forehead, still unconvinced. With the perverse envy that is so common between female friends, she studied Bonnie for a moment. Her long dark curls were held up in becoming disarray by a silver clip. Her slim, curvy figure was encased in a short velvet dress the same shade of violet-blue as her eyes, eyes that shown with a confidence that Dana wished for the thousandth time she possessed. She sighed, knowing that Bonnie would always be as comfortable and self-assured as she was right now, regardless of what she wore. Dana gave up this line of thought and smiled with false confidence at her friend. "If you say so." "I do say so. Now stop worrying and listen to the music." Before they had ventured out this evening, Bonnie had cornered the doorman of their hotel, questioning him at length on the best clubs in the general area. So far, his advice had been faultless. The first club they visited did have great food, and the music here was above reproach. Dana sat back and let the sounds wash over her, hoping the steady rhythm of the piano-grounded jazz would loosen her up a little. Unfortunately, the hypnotic melody of "Take Five" was interrupted by a loud cheer that rose up from the vicinity of the bar. Several men were gathered there, punching arms and slapping backs in a typical display of masculine barroom behavior. Bonnie looked in their direction, watching this performance in the long, shiny mirror that hung behind the bar. Her lip curled in disgust, and she grabbed the elbow of a passing waiter. "What is going on at the bar that could possibly be of more interest than this outstanding band?" The waiter gave an understanding smile and leaned on the back of an empty chair. "See that big guy over there, the one in the blue shirt and gold chains?" The women surveyed the pack and groaned when they saw him. He stood a good six inches above the other men and his dark blonde hair was slicked back with enough oil to service a Cadillac. As they watched, he winked at the woman mixing drinks, and Dana could almost hear him make that annoying clicking noise with his tongue in the side of his mouth. "You mean the one who looks like one of the Sweathogs, or maybe a refugee from Saturday Night Fever?" Bonnie asked, disgusted. The waiter laughed. "That's him. His name is Will. He comes in every Friday night and challenges the bartender on duty to mix up a drink he can't handle. The thing is, his insides are made of cast iron. Nothing phases him. Personally, I think he could drink battery acid without blinking." "So what's the bet? What does the bartender get in return for knocking this guy on his butt?" Bonnie inquired. "The honor of having a drink named after him or her," he said with a nod toward the bar. "But no one's succeeded yet." "Is this contest limited just to bartenders or can anyone play?" Bonnie's question was harmless enough, but Dana knew the glint in her friend's eyes. She was plotting another hare-brained scheme, and Dana knew that one way or another, she'd end up right in the middle of it. "Well," said the waiter, considering, "I don't think anyone else has ever offered. You only have to see Will down some gut-burning concoction or another once before you realize it's a lost cause." Bonnie took a large swallow of the ice tea she had ordered earlier and thought for a moment. "So," she asked slowly, "who do I talk to about entering this contest?" The waiter grinned. "You're not kidding?" Bonnie shook her head and he dashed across the room yelling, "Hey, Sarah! We've got a live one!" Dana put her hand on Bonnie's arm. "Uh, far be it from me to interfere with your fun, but what are you doing?" Bonnie smiled. "Do you remember my Uncle Jake?" At Dana's nod she continued, "Well, he runs a bar and I used to work there during the summer. I saw guys like Will come and go every season, and every season Uncle Jake put them down with a very simple secret recipe." She stood up and straightened her dress. "A recipe I have committed to memory. Want to come watch?" "I don't think I can resist." Dana gathered up their coats and purses, just in case they had to beat a hasty retreat when this was all over. "Who do I put my money on?" "Who else?" Bonnie asked with a wink. The waiter they had been quizzing returned to their side. "Right this way, ladies. Will is waiting." They worked their way up to the bar and Bonnie hopped onto a bar stool. Her eyes traveled around the room, lighting on the tiers of bottles with their colored labels, the rows of shining glasses, the tall beer spigots peeking over the bar. She smiled. Just like Uncle Jake's. "Hi," she said at last. "I'm Bonnie." Will looked down at the diminutive woman who only came up to his chest even sitting on the high stool and began to laugh, an ugly, rasping sound that came from deep in his gut. He slapped the back of the man next to him, causing that unlucky individual to stumble forward. "You? You think you can mix a drink I can't handle?" Bonnie smiled at him, unruffled by his rough demeanor. "Mm-hmm. And I'll do you one better. I'll drink it, too, and live to tell about it." At this announcement the entire bar broke into paroxysms of laughter. Bonnie merely took another large swallow of her ice tea. When Will had stopped laughing long enough to hear her, Bonnie asked, "So do we have a deal?" "You bet, honey bunch," he oozed and reached out to pat her leg. Her hand on his wrist and her icy glare stopped him. "Look, but don't touch," she hissed. Will leaned back and shook his hand as if he'd touched something hot. "Ooo. I'm scared of this one," he hooted to his bar mates. The next minute Bonnie had taken hold of his thumb and twisted it and his wrist to an impossible angle, causing him to lean forward in pain and surprise. "Now," she said sweetly, looking into his eyes, "are you going to play nice, or am I going to have to order you off the playground?" "Hey, now," the bartender interrupted. "I won't allow that. If you want to mix a drink, fine, but I draw the line at assault." Bonnie shrugged and released him. "O.K. That's fair." She glanced again at Will, who was rubbing his hand sullenly. "Are you up for it or not?" Dana, standing quietly at Bonnie's elbow, saw the big man's jaw tighten in outrage. His glower said that no one had ever stood up to him before, let alone a tiny woman with long curly hair. Looking along the length of the bar, she noticed a large empty beer stein just within her reach. If that ape even looked at Bonnie funny, she knew she would have that stein in her hand and broken over his head before he could take another step. Part of her was surprised at this realization, but stronger in her than the need to heal was the need to protect those around her, especially those she cared for. Action on her part was not necessary, however. Will glared at the woman on the barstool for several heated seconds, then growled, "Mix your damn drink." Bonnie smiled innocently and sipped again at her tea. "All right, here's what I need: two whole limes, two bottles of Tabasco sauce, a bottle of tequila, two shot glasses, and two tumblers." A murmur ran through the crowd. No one had ever tried to beat Will with just one type of alcohol before and they were amazed at the audacity of the woman sitting calmly at the bar drinking ice tea. The bartender, an older woman with peroxide blonde hair and an orange-tinted fake tan, raised her plucked eyebrows questioningly, but fetched the items Bonnie requested. "All right, honey," she asked with a small smile, "what now?" "Each tumbler gets a shot and a half of tequila, a shot of Tabasco, and the juice of one lime," Bonnie replied. "Mix them completely, and leave a wedge of lime in each glass." "That's all?" Bonnie checked the bartender's name tag. "Yes, Sarah, that's all. Believe me, it's enough." She lifted her tea again and indicated the ingredients lined up on the polished bar. "Go ahead." Sarah shook her head and rolled her eyes slightly, but mixed the drinks as per Bonnie's instructions. Bonnie didn't blink or flinch as the bar erupted into a storm of guffaws and insults. She merely caught Dana's eye and winked. "All right," Sarah said at last. "Here you are." She carefully centered the tumblers on two napkins and placed them neatly in front of the two contestants. Bonnie picked up her glass and sniffed its contents delicately. She looked up at Will. "May I?" she asked politely. "Knock yourself out, babe," Will snarled. "If you can handle that much!" The barflies joined in with his raucous laughter. She lifted her glass in salute, and downed the drink in a single swallow. She reached into the glass, pulled out the lime, and sucked it dry. Then she smiled sweetly. "Your turn." Will took the glass before him with a disgusted expression. "Let's see if I can handle it, boys," he yelled. His eyes raked over Bonnie, then he put the glass to his lips and slowly drained its contents. He never made it to the lime. He slammed the glass on the bar, opened to his mouth to speak, and gasped. He put his hands on his knees and bent over, swallowing air like he had swallowed the drink, trying desperately to get his breath back. "Are you all right, Will?" Bonnie asked solicitously. "You look a little ill. Can I help?" The glare he turned on Bonnie was eloquent with disbelief and hatred. She shrugged and placed her glass back on its napkin. "O.K. Your choice." The bar was silent for a full thirty seconds, then Sarah began to clap. The rest of the crowd reluctantly joined her, and soon Bonnie was taking bow after bow. Dana just shook her head, a huge smile playing on her lips. At last Will was able to speak, his face the same shade as the Tabasco. "Well, I'll be damned," he gasped. "I never would have thought a little thing like you could pack such a punch." Bonnie shrugged deprecatingly. "You never can tell just by looking at something, can you?" Sarah banged on the bar to get everyone's attention. She held in one hand a tumbler, newly filled with Bonnie's murky orange-red drink. "I proudly present to you, the . . ." She paused and looked to Bonnie. "What's your name again?" "Bonnie Drew," she replied humbly. "I proudly present to you the Tequila Drew!" The bar echoed with a rousing cheer and the congratulations of several people who had lost more than one bet with Will. Bonnie jumped to the floor and brushed her hands together. "Well, my work here is done. Good-bye, all." She scooped up their coats with one hand and grabbed Dana with the other. "Let's go," she whispered. Dana needed no encouragement. Once they were a safe distance from the bar, she asked quietly, "O.K., what's the trick?" "Trick?" Bonnie asked innocently. "Oh, no you don't, Bonnie. I've seen that look on your face too many times, usually when you're wheedling your way out of something. I don't buy it. What's the trick?" Bonnie giggled. "All right, the trick has two parts. First, I drank ice tea right up until I drank the Tequila Drew'." She paused and repeated the name, rolling it around on her tongue. "The Tequila Drew'. So, my mouth was fairly numb," she continued. "Second, I made him mad. He didn't notice that I drank it as quickly as possible. He was trying to redeem his standing, his manhood, and his pride by drinking it as slowly as he could. That way the Tabasco and tequila have more time to take your breath away." She shrugged. "Easy as pie." Dana began to giggle, then to laugh, then to crow. She stopped and leaned against a lamp post until she could breath again. "Remind me to stay on your good side." Bonnie looped her arm through that of her giggling friend. "That shouldn't be too hard. Come on, Flame. I'll buy you a drink."=== FBI Building December 21, 1995 9:40 p.m. Mulder took off his glasses and blearily rubbed his face. Scully normally wrote the reports, but their latest case had been particularly gruesome, and for once, in the spirit of Christmas, he had taken charge of the paperwork. Out of a sense of Christmas Spirit, Mulder, or a desire to make things easier for your pretty partner? He filed the question to the back of his mind and grouchily decided that next time he'd be Scrooge and let Scully handle the idiotic details. " Early to rise and early to bed Makes a man healthy but socially dead.'" Mulder looked up. A small, very feminine figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light. His throat tightened. Scully? Then she stepped into the room. Mulder felt a queer sense of disappointment but grinned anyway. "Tiki. Don't you look festive. What brings you down here? Looking for coal for your stocking?" She chuckled. "Mulder. My lab is below your office. The basement is upstairs. Besides, aren't you going to tell me how great I look?" She pirouetted prettily for him, and Mulder had to admit she looked great. Hazel eyes took in the artlessly tousled black curls, the heart-shaped face, the eyes like wet forget-me-nots. His own traveled down the long sleeve, form-fitted, crushed velvet dress to her legs in black, shiny nylons and velvet pumps the same forest green as the dress. "You look adorable, Tiki," he said honestly. "Like an elf who got lost from the North Pole." "Ooo, I'm purring like a coffee mill. And I should look like an elf cause I'm playing Santa's little helper tonight. If you're a good boy, I may sit on your lap and tell you what I want for Christmas." "Ha. Promises, promises. What if I'm bad? Do I get a Christmas goose?" He watched her drift closer, grinning. "Now who's getting coal in his stocking?" She came around the desk and boosted herself onto the top, crossing her legs demurely. Mulder kept his ankles on the desk and watched with interest as she produced a small flat box and handed it to him. "Merry Christmas, Mulder. I'm your Secret Santa." He was as surprised as Scully. More so, in fact. This year was the first time he'd ever received Secret Santa gifts. Yet, every day since he and Scully had returned, he'd found something on his desk. A five-pound sack of sunflower seeds, the newest Dean R. Koontz novel, a particularly cool framed inkblot. Now that he thought about it, it made sense that it was Tiki. Why then, did he feel a pang that it wasn't Scully? Pushing the thought from his mind, he opened the box and laughed. It was a bright red tie, with tiny sleighs of a darker red embroidered on it. "You like it?" "It's great, Tiki. Thank you." He put his feet down and loosened the necktie he had worn to work. She slapped his hands away. "Here. Let me do that." She threaded the tie around his collar while he sat meekly. He smelled the sweet scent of her perfume. Nice. Like fresh peaches. "There," she said leaning back. "Perfect." He put his hand to the knot. "Where'd you learn that?" "I used to work in a mortuary." He paled. "Just kidding, Mulder. Lighten up! It's a skill I happen to have. I'm very good at tying things around men's necks." "Ha! Well. This was nice of you, Tiki. I appreciate the gifts." "Oh, it's not over yet, handsome. You have one more gift." "Oh? What's that?" She smiled devilishly. "Me." "Uh, ordinarily, Tiki, I can think of no more pleasant Christmas surprise than unwrapping' you, but . . ." She held up a finger. "Uh, uh, uh. No. I'm your date tonight." "I guess Santa got my letter. Where do you want to go?" "Upstairs. To the party." Mulder frowned. "Sorry, Tiki. No dice. I don't do parties." "You've never been to a party with me. I'm a great date." "How about dinner instead?" Tiki's jaw set. "Nope. C'mon, G-man. Take a risk." Mulder blew out his breath. "To tell the truth, Tiki, I don't think I'm invited." She didn't insult him by denying it. Instead, she became serious. "I know. You think that Spooky' Mulder isn't welcome at the FBI festivities. Well, I promise you, you walk in there with me on your arm and you'll have a great time." He thought about it a moment, knowing she was probably right, but shook his head. "Sorry, Tiki." "Mulder, Dana already knows this, so it's time someone told you. I always get my way. So you might as well come now, and save us both some grief." Her tone changed. "C'mon. Please. Dana's gonna be there." "Scully?" He snorted, and looked at the tiny woman with new respect. "How did you talk her into it? What do you have on her?" "Nothing. Mutual admiration and respect," she replied piously, then quirked her mouth up. "Besides, if I told you, it would destroy all your innocent visions of your partner." Mulder answered her grin with one of his own. "Tiki . . ." She leaned very close and he could inhale the scent of her breath. "C'mon, Spooky," she breathed. Somehow, when she said it, he didn't mind the nickname. "Don't you want to mess with their heads?" He looked into the violet eyes. "Doesn't anyone ever say no to you?" "Nope." "Far be it from me to break with tradition." He stood and offered her his arm. She hopped down from the desk and took it. Together, they headed up to the party. This is a mistake, Mulder thought. When he and Tiki entered the room, every head swivelled to stare at them. His muscles tightened unconsciously as the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Didn't I see this same scene in Village of the Damned? he asked himself silently. It's like a Stepford family reunion in here. He felt his gut twist, then a small hand on his arm. Tiki squeezed his elbow reassuringly and he looked down at her to give her a falsely confident smile. He never got the chance. She scrambled up his body into his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck, then kissed him full on the mouth. He was too surprised to do anything but catch her and hold her as her lips pressed to his, warm and sweet and undemanding. He inhaled her scent again and forgot that he was in front of his colleagues. Then, just as suddenly, she broke away and he felt her lips against his ear. "Merry Christmas, Mulder." She slid down him and waited as he blinked. "Wh-what was that?" "Mistletoe." She jerked a thumb toward the ceiling. "Tradition." "That's way over there. I thought you were supposed to kiss under the mistletoe." "We are." She brushed her earring with her finger and he peered down to get a closer look. They were tiny mistletoe clusters, dark green with their waxy white berries. "Does that mean I can kiss you neck?" "Not unless you're prepared for the consequences, Agent Mulder," his date laughed. "And I doubt you are." "I like this holiday more and more." She giggled. "C'mon. There's Dana." "Scully?" He looked up, alarmed, then met his partner's blue eyes across the room. She nodded with perfect understanding. He felt a wave of relief wash over him. There were two people in this room who understood him. And, what's more, he understood them. He sighed and tightened his arm around Tiki's waist. "Look what Santa left under my tree," Tiki called to her friend. "So I see." Mulder winked at his partner and then regretted it. It was one less second he could look at her. She was perfect. Delicate, lovely, and uniquely feminine. He felt his heart skip a beat. That poor kid in Electronics would have a difficult time sleeping tonight. Then again, Mulder admitted to himself, so would he. "Nice tie," she observed. "Thanks. A little elf bought it." "Save us a table, Dana?" "Yes. Right here." Mulder found himself in the enviable position of being between the two women. Dana's face was turned toward the band, leaving him to admire the perfect curve of her jaw and throat. He was too busy wondering about the promise of the third button of her sweater to notice Tiki had quietly slipped away. It was one of the few things Tiki ever did quietly. Dana's eyes, however, were on her friend as she tripped up to the band and murmured something in the pianist's ear. She struck a pose, hands clasped behind her, head cocked to the right. Dana snorted. The picture of innocence. She wasn't surprised when the pianist gestured her toward an open mike. Tiki's surprisingly low, throaty voice took Mulder aback. Have yourself a merry little Christmas. May your hearts be light. From now on your troubles will be out of sight. "I didn't know she could sing like that." "There's a lot of things you don't know about her." "Like how she got Tequila' as a nickname?" "Like that." She turned to smile the full force of her blue eyes on him. "You look very handsome." "Thanks. But I didn't change." "I know." He sat for a moment, thinking of the implications of her words, then decided that it really wasn't a good time to pursue it just yet. Dana watched her friend, so at ease in the spotlight. She wondered it if was learned or inborn. Either way, seeing Tiki's dark hair bathed in light returned her to that night.=== New York City December 20, 1987 9:01 p.m. "Why are we here again?" Dana bellowed as the noise and smoke and heat of another club hit her like a wave. "Karaoke." Bonnie gestured to a small stage where an overweight businessman in a loosened tie and shirt sleeves was singing an off-key rendition of "Copacabana". Dana winced as he hit a particularly sour note. "Of course. What a wonderful idea." "That's what you said about the Park," Bonnie reminded her with a nudge. Dana smiled. She had wanted to go to the Metropolitan Museum or maybe a Broadway matinee, but Bonnie had rejected these suggestions. "I refuse to let you use my good credit to broaden your mind, Dana. This is my trip, and I insist on having fun." So it was that they spent most of the day playing in Central Park. They rode the carousel. They ice skated on the one of the Park's larger ponds. And after eating a lunch of corn dogs, hot pretzels with mustard, and root beer ("Nothing healthy," Bonnie said. "It's bad for the glands.") they were even asked if they wanted to play snow baseball with a rambunctious group of 10-year-olds. The game that ensued from this invitation was unique at best. Thanks to her brothers, Dana was a steady pitcher. Bonnie proved to be a good catcher, and they were ready to go. The other players, however, seemed less interested in baseball than in chasing each other madly around the bases while throwing snowballs. What began as a respectable game quickly deteriorated into a running, sliding, screaming free-for-all that ended only when a bevy of embarrassed parents arrived and pulled their squirming, red-cheeked children one by one off the two exhausted women who lay giggling at the bottom of the dog pile. Dana giggled again at the memory, her eyes sparkling. "You're right. But I don't see any little boys who want to play baseball." Bonnie gestured toward the bar where a group of men, single and otherwise, sat lined up like fresh fish on display. "This is even better," she said wickedly. "These boys are all grown up and know exactly how to get to first base." "Bonnie!" Dana scolded with a swipe at her friend's shoulder. But she had to agree. This bunch did look like a lot more fun. The two women sidled between surging groups of people dancing, people talking, people drinking. With her doll-like figure, Bonnie darted amongst the flailing elbows without incident, leaving Dana to contend with smashed toes and jabbed ribs alone. Finally they broke through the crush of humanity near the stage and Bonnie pounced on a clipboard hanging crookedly on a supporting beam. "All right, let's see what's next on the docket." She groaned. "It's seems our tone deaf friend up there has reserved the next two slots to continue his ode to Barry Manilow." Dana grimaced. He was just beginning a sappy, and again off-key, arrangement of "I Write the Songs". "Are we sure we want to stick around for this?" "Absolutely." "But he's deliberately trying to kill us all." Bonnie shrugged. "I know, but maybe a light will fall on his head and end our misery." She scribbled on the dog-eared pages of the sign-up sheet. "There. We're next." "We?" Dana looked over Bonnie's shoulder to see her name inscribed with a flourish under Bonnie's. "Oh, no. If you want to make a fool of yourself, fine. I'll sit with the coats." "The hell you will." Bonnie grabbed her wrist and headed back into the fray. With enviable skill she found an empty table and they deposited themselves and their aforementioned coats in the wooden chairs pushed sloppily under it. A pale, beleaguered waitress struggled to their side and shouted, "What do you want?" "Two ice teas," Bonnie replied, "one with extra lemon." "Whatever." She tossed her stringy brown hair over her shoulder and headed in the direction of the bar. "Charming," Bonnie muttered. The opening strains of "Mandy" floated to them on the smokey air and both moaned. "I had a near death experience like this once," Bonnie groused. "Did he intentionally choose the worst songs ever written?" "I thought that was the basic idea behind karaoke--bad singers singing bad songs badly," Dana teased. "Yeah, well, that opinion will change after you hear me." "I can't wait. So, what's next on your little clipboard, Julie Newman?" Bonnie threw a handful of peanuts at her. "I don't know. We'll wait and see what turns up." Her attention was momentarily drawn to a blonde Adonis ordering another beer. "Or who." Barry's biggest fan at last finished his numbers and bowed to the smattering of applause from the relieved audience. He took his seat, beaming, secure in his standing as one of the world's best bad singers. Bonnie jumped to her feet and ran her fingers through her long tousled curls. "Here goes." "What are you going to sing?" Dana queried. "I don't know. I'll find something." As Bonnie consulted the tape library, Dana scanned the club's patrons. They were the usual mix of swingers and business men and women that these places usually attracted. These people were of a higher class than Dana had first suspected, but they still had that air of easy desperation that she disliked so much. If she had been with anyone but Bonnie . . . Where was Bonnie anyway? Dana half rose, straining to see beyond the wall of the backs and shoulders that blocked her view of the stage. She caught a glimpse of Bonnie's slight form as she dashed to retrieve the microphone and she sat down again, anxious to hear Bonnie's selection. Probably Pat Benatar or Joan Jett, she mused. She was surprised, when instead of a hard driving rock beat, the opening notes of a slow bluesy song drifted down from the speakers. The other club-goers paid no attention. They'd heard them all before. Then Bonnie began to sing: Another bride, another groom, Another sunny honeymoon, Another season, another reason For makin' whoopee. Her voice was low and sultry, perfectly suited to the mellow tones of New Orleans jazz. She sang effortlessly as she moved, flirting with the pools of light that splashed the stage. Dana was genuinely impressed, as was the rest of the crowd. Conversations died one by one. Men who had been jostling for bar space yielded their claims and turned to listen. Couples exchanged lusty looks over martinis as the song's heart-beat rhythm caught them and carried them away. Bonnie worked the crowd, winking at a grey-haired man at the door, locking gazes with the gentlemen down front. She walked seductively to the stairs and slinked to the main floor, pulling the eyes of every person in the room with her as she leaned casually against the wall. Dana was suddenly glad for the short cord on the microphone. With a longer one, she was sure Bonnie would end up on the bar, singing her heart out. So don't forget, folks, That's what you get, folks, For makin' whoopee. Bonnie crooned the last lines to the Adonis at the bar and the audience cheered their approval. She took two or three well-deserved bows, then darted to their table. "Come on, Dana." "Oh, no. Not after that. Take my turn and do an encore." "Nonsense." Bonnie took her firmly by the arm and drug her to the stage. "Now pick a song." Dana was an intelligent, self-possessed woman, but the thought of standing up to sing in front of a roomful of strangers made her dizzy. "Will you sing with me?" she pleaded with Bonnie. "All right," Bonnie sighed. "What do you want to sing?" Dana searched the array of tapes lined up on a long table and finally found an acceptable selection. Bonnie looked at the title and groaned. "You're kidding." "It's this or another solo for you." "Fine. Let's get it over with." The two young women mounted the stairs amidst a flurry of wolf whistles. Dana blushed but didn't lower her head. Bonnie whistled back. The music began. You'd better watch out. You'd better not cry. Only the familiarity of the words kept Dana from going blank. You'd better not pout, I'm tellin' you why. The audience began to clap as Bruce Springsteen's band kicked into high gear. Santa Claus is comin' to town! They danced with the freedom of teen-agers as they sang, skirts flouncing, hair flying. Dana even tried to shimmy like Bonnie did, but she was only moderately successful. The men didn't seem to mind.=== Scully's reverie was interrupted when she realized Mulder had said something to her. "I'm sorry. What did you say?" "I asked if she did this sort of thing often." "On occasion." Dana cleared her throat and confessed. "She, uh, even got me up to one of those karaoke machines one time." "Oh, really?" Mulder's attention was wholly captured now. "I would have liked to have seen that." "I bet you would have," Scully replied. "Any chance of an encore performance, Scully?" Mulder asked with one of his boyish grins. "None," she replied flatly. "Too bad. I would have paid money for that." "You would have had to. We were good," Scully replied stoutly. "We even had people applauding outside the window." Mulder frowned as a memory teased at the edge of his mind. He remembered watching someone sing from a street window. He'd been with Peter . . . How long had that been? With a pang of guilt, he realized he hadn't heard from the other psychologist since his involvement in the X-files. He allowed himself the luxury of remembering that cold, cold New York night.=== Fox Mulder burrowed his hands in the pockets of his trench coat and scowled. "Peter. It is too cold for this." "One drink," his friend wheedled. "Just one. Just to be sociable." "Not a chance." He wrapped the soft argyle scarf around his neck. "I have been in a hotel all day, listening to a bunch of elderly professors who think way too much of themselves discuss Jungian theory. The chicken was rubbery, the potatoes were undercooked, and the whole place reeked of cigarette smoke. I smell like the floor of a taxi cab and all I want to do now is head back to our hotel and sleep. We leave tomorrow morning." "Mulder." Peter Drake shook his sandy head ruefully. He was a tall, good-looking man, everybody's idea of the English aristocrat. Mulder usually despised such types, but Peter had a geniality and a self-deprecatory air that put Mulder at ease. Drake never stared at him icily after his insights. More often then not, he'd grin and clap him on the shoulder and say, "You're something, Mulder." Now, however, Drake's coffee-colored eyes glinted almost gold under the reflected street lamps of New York. "I have never known any Yank to despise Christmas. C'mon, Scrooge. In the spirit of Christmases yet to come, to forgive a bad pun." "Drake, I'm exhausted. If I have the energy I'll try to catch a showing of Debbie Does Dallas." "And they call us stuffy." His friend blinked once. Mulder strode away, Peter following behind, puffing a little. "It'll warm you up," he persisted, jerking a gloved thumb toward a green-painted door. "It's your duty as an American to show your friend from across the waters a good time." Mulder eyed the streetwalkers shivering violently in their cheap, flimsy clothing. "That's what they are for." "All right," Peter said resignedly with a sigh. "You win. My last night in New York, and I'm going to spend it listening to you snore." "I don't snore," protested Mulder heatedly as they continued to walk past the glass. A flash of fire caught his eye and he turned to look. Actually, a flash was all he could see. There was quite a crowd drawn around this place. He craned his neck to see what was so interesting and gulped. The occasional strain of music drifted out toward him. It sounded like "Santa Claus Is Comin' to Town", the Bruce Springsteen version. On stage of the karaoke bar were two very pretty young women, singing the carol with a come-and-get-me- honey tone. Looking at the brunette with her blue eyes catching like matches against a box, and her friend whose hair and body fulfilled the promise of the spark, Mulder idly wondered if one was naughty and one was nice. He thought it might be worth exploring. His English associate's jaw dropped and he let out a strangled sound. "With women like that, no wonder you wanted your own colonies. England's not big enough for those two." He turned to catch Mulder's lapels. "Please! One drink. I've got to meet them" Mulder disentangled himself from the grasping hands. "O.K. One drink."=== Mulder's thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Kevin Pendrel. Mulder noticed that the younger man's collar was slightly damp, as if Pendrel had splashed his neck with cold water. The boy was staring at Dana, and Mulder felt a twinge of resentment. Who did the pup think he was? He quickly quashed the thought and managed to give the electrician an almost-friendly smile. Almost. "Pendrel, isn't it? Have a seat." He noted with amusement that the wide round table had a wall near it. Tiki's empty space was closest to the wall, so she could lean back like a thirteen-year-old at a school dance. Mulder sat beside her, facing the band, then Dana. The younger man had to scramble over a couple of chars to sit next to Scully. Pendrel shot Mulder a dirty look and finally sat. Only to stand again when Tiki finished her song amid thunderous applause. Mulder chuckled as the petite woman gave two extra bows and a wink at a somewhat chagrined-looking Assistant Director Skinner. Oh, to have a camera. Then again, he thought rather nastily, the glare would probably ruin the picture. He held the chair out for his "date". "Thank you," she said, a little breathless. "Oh, hi, Kevin. How are you?" She favored him with a brilliant smile. "Fine, thanks, Dr. Drew." "Ugh! Kevin, the name is Tiki. Allow me to give you a piece of advice." She leaned forward and patted his hand conspiratorially. "If I know your name, call you by it, and am sitting at a table with my two best friends in the world, it's likely I won't object to my nickname. Especially since Dana here was at my christening." The younger man colored as three pairs of eyes, one hazel, one blue, one violet, all leveled the same sympathetic look towards him. Still, Tiki took pity on him. "So what did you think, Dana?" Pendrel was able to breathe again. "You were great, and well you know it." "You could still tell me, you know," she replied eagerly. "Nope. You'd get too conceited." "Spoilsport. What about you, Mulder? Are you going to shower me with compliments?" "Anytime, anyplace, anywhere you want to shower, I'm game," Mulder quipped. "Beast!" "Actually, Tiki, it reminded me of a singer I saw in New York once." "Really? Was she a professional?" Mulder swallowed a smile. "No. I don't think so. But she was a lot like you." "How's that? Charming? Beautiful? Incredibly sexy?" She batted her eyelashes at him. "I think Mulder is thinking of insane, looney-tunes, nuts," Scully put in. "Ha, ha. Very funny. Let the man finish. Go on, Mulder." "Actually, there's not much to tell. She was part of one night that remains one of my favorite memories." Tiki's violet eyes were without guile. "Did you here that, Dana? Mulder found out what a great town New York can be." Suddenly, blue eyes caught hazel and a slight frown rippled between them, followed by an ever-so-slight shake of the head. No, she told herself firmly. The law of averages flatly forbade it. She stood quickly and watched, feeling sorry, as Kevin Pendrel jumped to his feet. He's going to strain something, she thought absently. "I'm going to get some eggnog. Any one else?" She received three nods to the affirmative. "I can get that for you, Agent--Dana." "No, no. Stay put. I need to stretch my legs." She began to make her way across the dance floor, unaware of the scrutiny with which the limbs in question were being admired. She reached the little table where a few hors d'oeuvres and the eggnog were spread. She decided to forgo the crackers and cheese, looked past the little tray of smoked meats, rolled and impaled with toothpicks. How festive. The toothpicks were colored green and red. She decided against the bright vegetable tray and went straight for the eggnog. She expertly filled the glasses, and put them on a plastic plate. There was no way her little hands could get around the four full glasses. Scully picked up the tray and headed for the table. The last time she had served drinks in a short skirt . . .=== End Part 1 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- End Notes: (It's kind of a "Where's Waldo" thing. And don't sue us for that either.) Our thanks (and apologies as the case may be) to the following: Highlander: the Series, Dorothy Sayers, Animaniacs (for those who were quick enough to catch it), Welcome Back, Kotter, and The Love Boat. Song credits include: "Take Five", "Makin' Whoopee", "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas", "Santa Claus Is Comin' to Town", and Barry Manilow. A special apology to any author who might have written a novel called Love's Wanton Fire. We were just kidding. Really. amstone@.ix.netcom.com. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Sat, 9 Mar 1996 18:47:39 -0800 From: amstone@ix.netcom.com (Alaina M. Stone) Subject: If You Wouldn't Mind Again . . . "By Any Other Name" Part 2 of 3 by Sally Bradstreet and Bonnie Drew Original disclaimer in Part 1 The song ended and both Dana and Bonnie were surprised when they heard muffled applause adding to the noise in the bar. They turned to see 15 or 20 people standing on the sidewalk, hollering and giving them the thumbs up sign. They bowed graciously to their in-house and overflow audiences, then ran gigging off the stage. The bartender snagged Bonnie's microphone before it hit the table and stood at center stage. "I'm glad you enjoyed the show, folks, but I'm afraid this is last call." The room vibrated with the collective moan of 150 people. "My last waitress just went home sick and my second bartender never showed. I can't serve you all at once. Sorry." "We can help you." The crowd turned as one to stare at . . . Bonnie. "What?" the bartender asked incredulously. Bonnie hopped back up on stage and the mike picked up her voice. "My friend and I can help you out. We don't have plans for the rest of the night." "I can give you a plan, baby!" came a slurred offer from the back. She ignored it and the bartender sputtered, "I appreciate the offer, really, but I can't let just anybody work here." "We're not just anybody. We're two respectable medical students on a short vacation." She ignored Dana's frantic attempts to get her attention. "Besides, I know all about drinks. My grandaddy has a still." A laugh rippled through the group. "Go ahead, Bob!" someone encouraged. "A closed bar won't make money!" Bob put his hand over the microphone and everyone winced as feedback squealed through the speakers. "I could lose my liquor license for this," he whispered. "Only if you get caught," Bonnie whispered back. "Hey!" she yelled. "Any cops in here?" She smiled when the response was to the negative. "See? No problem." Bob considered this odd dark-haired woman and her red-headed friend, who was currently trying to blend into the wall, for a moment, then relented. "Oh, what the hell." "We keep all tips?" Bonnie negotiated. "Deal." They shook hands and the audience applauded. "Now get off the stage!" a voice called from the bar. "It's Paul's turn to sing!" Bonnie took the voice's advice and left the stage only to be met at the bottom of the stairs by a pair of eyes sparking blue fire. "We'll help him out?" Dana yelled. "Have you completely lost your mind?" Bonnie shrugged. "Look at it this way. It's easy rent money." Dana had the sudden urge to shake her friend until her teeth rattled and barely restrained it. "I've never been a waitress and I'm not about to start being one in this place," she hissed. "I'm going to the hotel." "No, you're not," Bonnie replied, unconcerned. "Bob and I shook on it, and that's as good as a contract. You don't want to make me look bad, do you?" Dana raised her hand, threatening exaggeratedly to back hand her, then sighed and let her hand drop. "You have no idea how big you owe me for this, Bonnie." "Yes, I do," the imp replied with a grin. "Now here are the basic rules of waitressing: 1. Don't spill anything. 2. Show a little cleavage. 3. If you get pinched, ask for a bigger tip." She patted Dana's cheek. "Go get em, Tiger." She slipped to the bar and happily pulled on the apron Bob produced for her. "All right, boys," she drawled, "who's first?" Dana shook her head at this performance and muttered, "She's insane and it's contagious." She wondered why she had agreed to this latest Lucille Ball scheme even as she slipped into the ladies' restroom. After a quick glance in the mirror, she thought maybe Bonnie was right about the cleavage. She undid the next two buttons of her blouse, then scrubbed her fingers through her hair, mussing the soft auburn curls. Dana rolled her eyes. No one would believe me even if I told them, she thought, and went out to fetch her tray and order pad.=== Mulder watched his partner's every move. He'd always been a detail man. He'd had to be, in his line of work. Then why was it he had never noticed the way she walked? Why hadn't he seen her grace, the subtle movement of her hips and waist? Why hadn't he seen the glow of her hair from soft light? He had, Mulder admitted to himself. He always knew, always was aware of the sheer loveliness of his partner. He just didn't want to be. It would be . . . complicated. Then how, a treacherous little voice whispered in his ear, can you recognize her scent? He groaned without a sound and wrenched his mind back to that night in New York. He didn't want to think about Dana Scully. He wanted to remember that night. A small smile played on his lips and the tide of thought continued unabated.=== Mulder wondered how long he could hold his breath in the crush of people. Didn't anyone ever bathe in New York? They had witnessed the bartender's plea for help and the quick response of the pert little brunette and her quieter, red-headed friend. Peter's eyes seemed glued to the former, and he gazed at her longingly as she mixed drinks at the bar. "She's a goddess!" he groaned. "She's a bartender!" Mulder shouted back, exasperated. "You've conned me into a drink. Now, I'm thirsty." "It looks like the redhead's the only waitress. Give her time, my friend." Peter bellowed philosophically. Then in a lower tone he added. "She looks like she might be worth it." Peter's attention was back on the brunette before Mulder could comment. The two men had watched as a short, fiery discussion took place between the two women. The brunette was grinning, clearly having the time of her life. The redhead, obviously a reluctant chaperone, had heaved a deep sigh. Then Mulder had lost sight of her for a few minutes in the press of people. When he saw her again, she was transformed. The coppery hair was tousled alluringly around her face and pointed chin. The next two buttons of her blouse were open, revealing creamy skin and the peep of a lacy camisole that precisely matched the blue of the girl's eyes. She swayed over to the next table with the grace of a ballerina. Her hand was held high above her head, carefully balancing the drinks. She reached the table, triumphantly lowering the tray. "Hey, baby," called the businessman nearest Mulder. "What time do you get off work?" He reached out a hand and stroked it along her right buttock and thigh. Mulder tensed as those blue eyes went glacial. She leaned closer to the would-be Lothario and spoke in a fierce low tone that was only meant for his ears. Mulder, however, had the ears of his namesake and grinned at what he heard. "Listen, friend. You can move that, or you can get your hand back a bloody stub." He couldn't take a hint. "Hey, I like the feisty ones." "You're obviously suffering from an acute case of inebriation, so I'll repeat myself and use small words so you can understand." Her soft, full lips snarled above even white teeth. "I am a medical doctor. I don't have much experience with a scalpel just yet. Sometimes, sharp objects slip, and anything protruding past the waist is in immediate danger of being CUT OFF! So, unless you want to be a terrible disappointment to your parents and wife because you've been gelded, move your sweaty hand!" The man gulped and withdrew his hand. She nodded and smiled sweetly. "Good move, Ace." She plunked the beer in front of him and served the rest of the table, then turned her attention to Mulder and Drake's booth. She met Mulder's eyes and suddenly he felt very warm. His breathing deepened and went ragged. He decided that he had never met a women with eyes that color before. He had never seen that color before. She was kneading her lower lip in her teeth and Mulder felt jealous. For an instant, he wondered if she tasted of strawberries. "Well, boys?" she greeted them in a low, cool voice. "What'll you have?"=== "O.K. Four eggnogs," Dana announced, a little peevishly, placing the four glasses on the table in front of her colleagues. "Thanks, Dana," Tiki replied, then goaded, "you did that like a pro." "I am not without practical experience in the realm of cocktail waitressing," came the amiable reply. Mulder was momentarily distracted by the vivid image of his partner in a tiny black skirt. He shook his head to clear it. No. It was Cassandra, not Scully, in the little skirt. He could have allowed himself the mistake, though. After all, they were both pretty redheads, as small and fierce as wolverines. They had the same blue eyes. The same sweet face . . . Mulder frowned. Scully went back to her seat, her duties now complete. Her high heel, out of sheer orneriness, caught on her chair as she stepped in front of it. She gave it an impatient yank, and it suddenly gave way. She pitched forward, into Mulder. Seeing the potential for disaster, her quick-thinking partner put out his hands and caught her waist. The heels of Scully's hands slammed against the top of his chair to balance herself. She was braced above him, not touching him, although her wrists were on either side of his neck. His long, brown hands were around her waist, almost circling it. He looked up with a grin. She looked down with a rueful shake of her head. "Nice catch," she told him. "Thanks. I played football." His tone, his voice, his words . . .They were the same.=== Mulder didn't get the chance to reply. The moron at the next table stood up and pushed his chair into her. In the mass of people, her balance was entirely undone, and her knees buckled. She stumbled and sat. On Mulder's lap. This, he thought, was not unpleasant. He deftly caught the tray and her waist. It was the perfect size and his arm fit neatly around it. Blue eyes sparked on hazel for a moment, as he inhaled the clean, feminine scent of her heavy red hair. His arm tightened unconsciously. "Good hands," she breathed. "Thanks. I've never had any complaints." A small smile played on the corners of those delectable-looking lips as she considered this. She stood and took the tray. "I played football," he added after a beat. She sized him up and stated flatly, "I doubt it." Her eyes traveled down his torso, and for once, he didn't really object. "Swimming?" "Yeah." And colored. Why? Never mind.=== Years later, Dana Scully met the quizzical hazel eyes of her partner and friend, Fox Mulder. She remembered his arms around her waist, steadying her, and perhaps something more. She remembered the warm, wet smell of his overcoat, and her own reaction to the smoke in the bar. It had clouded him, and it frustrated her. Now, she read in those gold-flecked eyes her own thought: That was you?' Oh, no, Mulder thought, looking up to see the light bouncing off her hair, setting it aflame. He recalled the perfect fit of his arms encircling her waist. He recalled the warm silk of her skin, and the briefest of moments when her breath had brushed his ear. His hands tightened around her in response to that remembered instant. He saw the question mirrored in those cool, ice-blue eyes, now wide, and knew the answer. They both dropped their eyes and Scully scrambled to her feet. "Thanks," she muttered again as he released her reluctantly. "Anytime, Scully." As she bit her lip (ah, that lip!) and settled into her chair, he shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in his. She's gonna go out of her ever-lovin' mind, he thought. He's going to lose it over this, she thought. Neither could think of anything else. They sat beside each other in an awkward silence, unable to dam the flood of images that filled their brains. The night hadn't ended there. Peter had made sure of that.=== Mulder caught and held her eyes with his own. "Can I buy you a drink, Flame?" Those eyes narrowed. "No one calls me Flame'." "Except me," a voice piped up enthusiastically. Mulder felt the weight against the back of his chair. He looked up to see a Cheshire-cat grin, surrounded by a halo of raven curls and the gleam of violet eyes. "Gee, I leave you alone for one minute . . ." The redhead's friend shook her head in mock disapproval. She surveyed Mulder with an appreciative glance. He was beginning to feel like Tom Selleck's puny cousin. "He's cute, though," the brunette surprised him by saying. "Did you save one for me?" The redhead gasped out something scolding. Drake saw his opening and jumped on it. He seized the brunette's hand. "I am your slave forever, my darling! Command me!" Mulder groaned inwardly. The women just looked amused. "I'm not sure you're up to it, Limey." Drake stared into the supremely confident eyes of Bonnie Drew and decided she was probably right. Right at that moment, though, he would have traded his Oxford education and a promising psychology career to be a towel near her shower. "What's your name?" "Tequila," Bonnie replied without hesitation, and Dana grinned. She knew Bonnie was too infatuated with the name to let it die in that bar. "I believe it," Mulder said under his breath. Liquid fire and lime. "No. Too long," Peter was saying. "Tiki's better. If it must be. Like a tiki torch. Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright.'" "Romeo and Juliet died at the end," the newly-christened Tiki reminded him and grinned wickedly. "This is my friend Da--" "Cassandra," Dana said huskily, with a toss of her hair that would have done the insipid heroine proud. Tiki's eyes widened in approval. "And you are?" "Starved for affection," Peter Drake groaned plaintively, and laid his head on Tiki's shoulder. "I can believe it, with lines like that." Dana smiled, though, removing the sting from her words. "All right, Cassandra," Drake emphasized pointedly. "My name is Bond, James Bond." Tiki hooted in approval. "What about you, handsome? What's your name?" "Fox Mulder." The brunette slumped. "Oh, come on. If we're going to play pseudonyms, at least come up with a good one." Mulder grimaced at the irony of this and turned his eyes back to the redhead. Something about Drake's theatrical quotation had sparked a memory. The blue eyes were magnetic, lit softly, glowing from within. "John Donne," he said quietly. Would she understand? "Cassandra" smiled. She understood. Bonnie frowned. "O.K. Whatever." She turned on her hip to face her friend. "Bobby has just decided on last call. He may really get in trouble if we stay. We'd better jet." "Um. O.K." She smiled a little shakily and Mulder felt his heart bunch as the two grabbed their coats and headed out into the slushy New York night. "We've got to catch them! They can't just leave!" wailed Peter. He bolted to the door with Mulder behind him, but couldn't get through the crush of the bar's exiting patrons. Mulder was pressed against the window, and he watched. "Bonnie, you amaze me." "Please. It's Tiki," she corrected formally. Dana giggled. "Now what?" "Oh, so you are having fun?" Tiki pressed. Dana side-stepped the question. "Where are we going?" "No idea. But we're gonna need a cab. Geez, it's cold." Tiki put two fingers between her lips and blew. The piercing sound left her friend wondering if her ears were bleeding yet. "That's not gonna work," groused Dana. "O.K., Flame. I'm open to suggestions." Scully's mouth quirked up as she had a brief flashback to her visit to Scotland last summer. What had Angus said that day in the heather? Oh, yes. He commented on her beautiful-- Dana strolled to the curb and thrust one knee forward and one hip out in the classic pose. Both hands found her hips and she cocked her head back with all the red-headedness she could muster. The cab screeched to a stop. Angus had been right. She did have great legs. Tiki whistled appreciatively. "I have taught you well, Young Jedi." Meanwhile, the two men in the bar stared. "What are you waiting for?" Mulder bellowed. "Go!" They plowed through the door, stumbled into the snow, and dived for the taxi. Mulder found himself wedged up against the lovely redhead. "Hi," he said inanely. His friend stretched the corners of his mouth upward. "We couldn't just let you walk out. Not after all we've meant to each other." "What'd you have in mind?" Tiki asked with a cock of her bird-like head. "How about some dinner?" Peter asked.=== Why didn't I see it? Scully thought angrily. Everything about him is the same. The eyes, like sunlight over a still pond, dappling brown with gold and green. The hair, dark and smokey. The scent of him. Dana allowed herself one point. At least he doesn't wear cologne anymore. But I should have seen it. Why didn't I know that Fox Mulder and John Donne were the same man? Because I was too angry with her, Mulder answered the question in his mind. That day in the basement, before I knew her. I didn't want to know her. An eidictic memory, an Oxford degree, and I can't remember the face I saw that night. He had such a chip on his shoulder. He was so paranoid, so frightened that I might cost him the X-files, that I would run to my superiors and tell them that Spooky' Mulder was delusional. I almost did . . . I almost recognized her. Sometimes, when she smiles, she looks just like Cassandra. When she calls me on something. When she arches that one eyebrow in a wordless lecture, I remembered . . . I didn't want to remember. I didn't want to face that memory. It's all come back tonight. Damn Tiki anyway! Why can't she just leave the past in the past? Damn Tiki! How did I let her con me into coming? I wonder if Tiki remembered? Oh, no. What if Dana remembered before I did? So what if he remembered before I did? If he knew for two years, he never said anything. Never let on. That jerk! He's probably been laughing at me this whole time, remembering "Cassandra, Flame of New York" . . . If she remembered, then all this time she's been comparing me to John. Probably wondering what changed me. Probably missing that guy in the bar who . . . Damn her, anyway! I don't care if he knows or not. That night changed my life. I started thinking about joining the FBI, about forensics instead of a medical practice. After 23 years of playing the dutiful daughter, I grew up . . . I have a lot of fond memories of that night. Cassandra was the only woman to make me forget Phoebe. I started to heal then, and accepted that I was going to be different. That I was going to be Spooky' Mulder, no matter what, so I might as well enjoy it . . . I don't care if . . . she wants to make a . . . big deal out of it, that's . . . her problem. I am going to . . . remember what I like and . . . she/he can go hang! It was only then that they looked at each other and saw their thought that hissed furiously, hot as a spark from a dry log. Murky hazel met the cloudy blue and then cleared. Mulder chuckled and Scully did, too. "Did I miss something?" Kevin asked. Tiki smiled innocently. "About eight years," Mulder muttered under his breath. "C'mon, Scully. Let's get some food." He took her arm, assumed it with a natural control that Kevin envied, and frankly hated. Scully stood, still smiling, and walked at Mulder's side to the table. Their respective "dates" had different reactions. Tiki simply called, "Bring me some of those butter cookies, will you, Mulder?" Mulder angled his head back around to look at the coroner with an odd smile. "Yeah, sure," was all he said. Then he bent his head over Scully's to whisper, "How's your Latvian?" She tossed back her head to laugh, sweet and silver, and Mulder felt himself bubbling up with a grin that was goofy and stupid and impossible to suppress. His hand slipped of its own accord to her waist and his own low laugh chimed in harmony with hers.=== New York City December 20, 1987 10:13 p.m. "I'm not sure this is such a good idea," Dana cautioned. "Oh, come on," said Tiki. "Where's your sense of adventure?" "But the Waldorf?" Peter smiled confidently. "Now don't worry, love. I've done this before. You Yanks are a sucker for an English accent and a sob story." "You've done this before?" Mulder asked, surprised by the revelation. "Well, of course I have," Peter answered, exasperated. "How do you think we got that table at the Four Seasons last year?" He continued before an amazed Mulder could reply. "Now, whatever happens, don't panic. Remember, the worst they can do is throw us out." "I feel so much better now," Dana said miserably. "O.K., so what's our story?" Tiki asked, ready to throw herself into the part. "Story?" Peter echoed faintly. "I don't really know. I usually just make it up as I go along." Tiki, sensing that Dana was about to make a run for it, caught her hand and gave it into Mulder's keeping. "It'll be fun," she whispered. "Now, everyone take a deep breath," Peter instructed, "and think upper crust thoughts. The more aloof you are, the better. And let me do the talking. Here we go." The foursome swept up the stairs and into the lobby of the Waldorf with the grace and aplomb of royalty with Peter in the lead. He strode purposefully to the maitre-de and flashed his most charming English smile. "Hello, old man. Four under Wimsey." The maitre-de barely deigned to look up from his reservation book, giving them all a chance to observe his combover technique. "Wimsey, Wimsey," he muttered flatly as he ran a thick finger down the columns in his book. "No, I'm sorry. I don't have anything under Wimsey." "Oh, dear," uttered Peter, managing to infuse in those two syllables such a sense of disaster that the maitre-de actually made eye contact. "You're sure you don't have anything under Wimsey? Lord Peter Wimsey?" "Lord?" the maitre-de repeated, his voice cracking. He bent to his book again, motivated more by the title than the desperation in Peter's voice. "No, my lord. There's nothing under that name." "Oh, damn!" Peter grumbled. He turned to Tiki. "You're sure she said December 20?" "Yes, Lord Wimsey," she replied demurely. "Damn!" He put a hand to his forehead and began to mutter to himself, careful to make himself heard. "That's what I get for leaving something this important to a temporary secretary instead of doing it myself. The ambassador will to be most displeased." "The ambassador?" repeated the maitre-de. Peter spun on him suddenly. "Look, old man, uh, what's your name?" "Charles, sir," he stammered. "Ah, Charles. You see, I'm an attache with the British embassy. I am responsible for seeing to the comfort and entertainment of these two very important visitors to your country." He gestured toward Dana and Mulder, who stood arm in arm, and they attempted to look very important. "My regular secretary has been out with flu this past week and the temporary girl that the agency sent over has bungled this beyond belief. So, now I'm stranded with two diplomats and their interpreter," here a gesture toward Tiki, "and no bloody dinner reservations." Charles seemed rather dazed by this speech. Never in his two years as maitre-de had he encountered a problem like this and he scrambled for a solution. "Well, perhaps I could call another hotel for you, find a restaurant with an opening." "I don't know about that. You see," Peter said, leaning toward Charles and speaking quietly in his ear, "these diplomats are from Latvia." "Latvia, sir?" Charles said loudly. "Shh." Peter glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one else was listening. "Latvia is part of the Soviet Union. It's very unusual for that government to give their diplomats this much freedom of movement and sudden changes make them very nervous." On cue, Dana leaned forward and spoke quietly with Tiki, presumably in Latvian. "My lord," Tiki interrupted, in an excellent English accent, "Mrs.Tolstoy is concerned. What should I tell her?" Peter looked to Charles. "Yes, what should she tell her?" Charles looked from Lord Wimsey, to the pretty interpreter, to the striking couple from Latvia, to Lord Wimsey again and shrugged. "I'm sorry, my lord. I'm at a loss. I simply don't have an open table right now." "Damn!" Peter sighed. Dana spoke again, more sternly this time. "My lord, Mrs. Tolstoy wonders how your embassy will manage a," Tiki looked around furtively before continuing, "defection if it can't handle a simple dinner reservation." "Defection?" The word almost died in Charles's throat. Peter frowned. "Now you know just how serious this problem is. The Tolstoys are diplomats from Latvia, but they are also nuclear physicists. They are considering leaving the Soviet Union because they disagree with that country's military policy. My embassy has promised to help them, but this situation is doing nothing to instill confidence in our abilities. If I ruin this opportunity for the Tolstoys, it will be my job and their necks on the line. Is there nothing you can do?" Charles thought for a moment, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. "Well, perhaps if I move things around a bit." He looked again to his book and flipped to the next page, searching it carefully. "Lord Wimsey, if they're willing to wait for half an hour, I think I can squeeze you in, and at our best table. Would that be an acceptable solution?" He glanced at the group hopefully. Peter nodded to Tiki and she interpreted Charles's suggestion. Dana and Mulder whispered together for a moment or two, then Dana spoke once again. Tiki smiled broadly. "They don't mind waiting, Lord Wimsey. In their country a half an hour wait would be considered nothing less than a miracle." Charles sighed loudly with relief and gestured for an attendant from the cloak room to gather the diplomatic party's coats. "If you would care to wait in the lounge, my lord, I'll seat you in the main dining room as quickly as I can." Peter smiled widely and shook Charles's hand warmly. "Thank you, old man. Not only have you saved my position, you have perhaps saved the lives of these brave people. Thank you." "This way, my lord," Charles beamed. He lead them through the opulent lobby to a set of double doors. "The lounge is through here. Call me if you need anything else." He bowed and returned to his post. "You speak Latvian?" Mulder muttered quietly into Dana's hair. "No," Dana replied through a tight smile. "We were just listing the nerves and muscles of the body in Latin."=== Tiki watched the progression of the evening serenely. Mulder and Scully were talking animatedly at the buffet table. Ostensibly there to bring back food, neither had put more than a slice or two of cheese on the red and green plastic plates. The dark head bent over the bright one, the two faces, one dour and handsome, one smooth and feminine. They fit together perfectly, seamless and complete. "It's about bloody time," she muttered under her breath, and then heard the soul-rattling sigh from across the table. Oops. She'd forgotten about Kevin. Well, they could continue their little tete-a-tete later. Dana owed Kevin a dance at least, and besides, it would never do to expose Mulder and Dana to more tongue-wagging. Office romances always became fodder for gossips, she philosophized. Tiki had a rather convenient habit of excluding herself from nearly every rule. After all, she was the exception. "Kevin, why don't you ask Dana to dance?" The boy looked up, startled. "N-n-no," he stammered. "She wouldn't want to." He put his chin on his hands and looked abjectly miserable. Tiki mentally shook her head. Pathetic. Out loud, she only said kindly, "I happen to know that Dana loves to dance." "She does?" Kevin's woebegone expression brightened at this. "Yes. Go ask her. What's the worst that could happen?" His face fell and he grumbled, "She could turn me down flat, never speak to me again, and everyone would laugh at me." Tiki leveled her violet eyes on the Kid, as she had begun to refer to him mentally. "You're putting me on," she said at last. "Or," Kevin said, warming to his subject, "she could say yes, I'd dance with her and step all over her feet and then she'd kill me. Or . . ." Tiki shook her glossy curls in disgust. "How did you ever make it past Quantico?" she asked. "What?" "Nothing. C'mon, boy." She dragged him out of the chair by his arm and not-so-gently herded him to the buffet table. Scully and Mulder turned to see a determined-looking Tiki with Agent Kevin Pendrel in tow. "Dana. Kevin here has something to ask you." "Yes?" Dana asked, turning. Tiki nudged him and hissed, "See? She's already agreed. Now ask!" "W-would you like to dance, Agent--Dana?" The words spilled out in a rush. Scully looked at the young man with sympathetic eyes. She understood what Tiki did not. It was always hard for a woman of Tiki's charm and confidence to imagine why anyone would be reticent about anything. Dana would have been more sympathetic had she known Kevin's helplessness beneath that blue-eyed gaze. He squirmed and waited, unwilling or unable to look at her. "Of course," she said quietly. "Agent Mulder, would you excuse me?" Mulder was not completely without heart. "Of course, Agent Scully. Pendrel?" He watched as Scully transferred her arm from his to Kevin's, and smiled despite himself as Kevin led his partner to the floor. He seemed dazed, and held her waist lightly, as if she might shatter. Mulder was surprised. The boy could dance after all. He hummed the tune quietly a moment, then recognized it. Poor Pendrel. "Can't Get Started with You". The boy didn't stand a chance. He finally became aware of the small presence next to him, who stood waiting patiently. "I'm sorry, Tiki. I'm a lousy date," he said, giving himself a mental shake. "Would you like to dance?" She pulled his ear down to her lips with a hand on his collar. "I'd love to." Kevin Pendrel was in hell. How could I let Dr. Drew--Tiki talk me into this? There's no way . . . He stumbled and Scully deftly stepped back. "My fault," she said politely. "No," he shook his head. "Dana. There's something I've been meaning to tell you." "Hmm?" she smiled up at him, blue eyes candid. She thought perhaps he had found something else in the implant. A shudder ran through her body. "Is something wrong?" His hand pressed against her waist. "No," she said quickly. "Nothing." She pushed all thought of the X-files from her mind and tilted her chin up to meet his eye. He really was a nice kid. Kevin hummed the song, trying to find the phrase. "I've never heard this," he said. "Does it have words?" "Mm-hmm. I love this song." Encouraged, he asked, "How does it go?" Dana blushed delicately and began to sing very quietly. I've been around the world in a plane. I've settled revolutions in Spain. The North Pole I have charted, But can't get started with you. Kevin choked a little. "Go on." Around the golf course I'm under par, And all the movies want me to star. I've got a house, a showplace, But I get no place with you. The song tapered off and Scully blushed. "Sorry. I don't sing like Tiki. Did you want to ask me something, Kevin?" "No, Dana. No." He looked down at her quietly for a long moment, then, almost absently, touched her face. Dana Scully realized then, what he was trying to tell her, and why he didn't. She swallowed, her heart aching for him. She had no idea what to say. "May I cut in?" Tiki came to her rescue, Mulder beside her. Her violet eyes were deep and still as she looked up at Kevin. "If you don't mind the smell of formaldehyde, that is." Kevin smiled gallantly. "Summer peaches is all I smell, Tiki." He held out his arms, and she walked into them. Mulder cocked his head and looked askance at Scully. She very deliberately misunderstood the question. "Yes, Mulder, you silver-tongued devil. I'd love to dance." He didn't press further, just led her out to the dance floor.=== The blue bloods gazing lazily at the open doorway saw a group of attractive young people out for an evening's entertainment. They were far too disinterested to see the swallowed smiles and shaking shoulders that betrayed the foursome's real amusement. "So now what do we do?" whispered Tiki. "We trip the light fantastic, of course," Peter declared. He gallantly offered Tiki his arm, which she delightedly took, and swept her onto the dance floor. A little more reserved, Mulder extended his hand to Dana and bowed slightly. "Shall we?" Charmed, Dana lightly placed her hand in his and smiled. "Of course." The lounge reflected the quiet elegance of the lobby. The bar stood to the right, casually screened by a stand of graceful potted plants. A small orchestra in white ties and tails occupied a stage opposite the door, framed by a window with pristine white curtains. Small groups of ivory brocade wingback chairs clustered together invitingly in the corners and alcoves of the room. Three large chandeliers dripped light from a thousand gleaming crystals onto the heads of the dancers who swayed gently on the polished hardwood dance floor. Mulder escorted Dana to the heart of the floor, and bringing her expertly into his arms, began moving to the steady rhythm of the fox trot. Dana fell in step with him almost immediately, giving herself up to his strong lead and letting her mind wander. She had been in places like this before, usually on the arm of a handsome, up-and-coming businessman or lawyer that her family approved of. Those dates had been proper, polite, and dull. She suddenly realized, with a healthy twinge of guilt, that she was enjoying this entirely improper evening with a man whose real name she didn't even know much more than any of those other conventional dates. "You haven't done this before, have you?" She glanced up at him, startled by his voice and his insight. She thought she had been hiding her inexperience with gate crashing rather well, and it was distressing that this stranger could see through her carefully maintained guise. Perhaps she could still salvage it. "The fox trot?" she asked innocently. "Oh, no. My father is old-fashioned and insisted that all of us take lessons . . ." A sure pressure on her shoulder blade sent her twirling under their joined hands and he brought her again into his arms, a little closer than strict International dancing style required. "So I see," he said with a nod, "but that's not what I meant." "I know," she sighed. "What gave me away?" "Well," Mulder began, "you keep biting your lower lip." He looked away as she slowly released the full lip that so fascinated him. "And," he continued after clearing his throat, "this kind of thing just doesn't seem like your style." "It's not my style. It's Tiki's. This whole trip was her idea." Mulder searched the swell of dancers until he found the familiar shape of Peter's head, bending close to Tiki's. "You sound as if you didn't want to come." "Well, I didn't, really. I'm not very good at spontaneous." He caught her gaze. "I doubt that," he whispered. Dana flushed and dropped her eyes. "It's just that it's impossible to say no to Tiki," she concluded rapidly. "How hard did you try?" She smiled. "Anyone who knows Tiki knows it's easier in the long run just to give in. Once she gets it out of her system, she's fine, but until then . . ." Her friend's bright laughter drew her attention and she turned in time to see Tiki complete an intricate lift. "And besides. She needs a chaperone." "Are you sorry you volunteered for the position?" Mulder asked with a smile. She studied his face, the strong square jaw, the lock of hair that hung rakishly over his forehead, the serious hazel eyes that held her blue ones. "Not any more." Tiki peered over Peter's shoulder, trying to catch a peek of her uptight friend. She sensed that Dana was enjoying herself, but she needed to see her to be sure. "I'm sorry I'm boring you," Peter said a bit peevishly. "I didn't know you American girls were so hard to keep entertained." Tiki smiled brilliantly into his face. "It's not you, darling. I'm just trying to spy on Cassandra." "Oh. Well, why didn't you say so in the first place? I am a spy, remember?" She giggled and Peter moved them to the edge of the flock, circling slowly around the other dancers to allow Tiki a clear view of everyone. "Ooo! There they are!" She gestured with her elbow. Both Tiki and Peter were surprised and pleased to see their friends dancing intimately at the center of the floor. "It's about bloody time," Peter said with feeling. "What?" "Mu--my friend John over there has, of late, had a rather low opinion of women. You see, he dated an unfeeling, cold-hearted," his lips twitched as he paused to edit himself, "girl for some time while he was in college who was very bad for him. We could all see it, but of course, love blinds us all now and then." "So how did it end?" Tiki pressed, interested. "One day she calmly cut out his heart and dissected his ego, handing the remains of both back to him in a large jar of formaldehyde. He was, as you might expect, devastated, and since then he has tried to steer clear of the fairer sex." Peter pulled her closer. "His loss." "Cassandra isn't much better," Tiki said, reaching up to drape her wrists over Peter's shoulders. "She's too caught up in her classes to notice a man, let alone dance closely with one. If I had known the effect New York was going to have on her social life, I would have drug her here months ago." "Well," Peter reflected philosophically, "perhaps the timing wouldn't have been right then. Perhaps you both were fated to be here on this particular night in that particular bar at that particular time." He dipped her and tried to fathom the depths of her violet-blue eyes. "You do believe in Fate, don't you?" "Yes, I do," stated Tiki matter-of-factly, "but I also believe in giving Fate a hand now and then." She extricated herself from his grasp and grabbed his arm. "Come help me." "What are we going to do?" "We're going to convince the orchestra leader that I need to sing a solo." Peter shrugged. "Of course," he said resignedly. "Why didn't I think of that." They waited for the song to end, then slipped around the applauding dancers. Tiki leaned against the edge of the stage. "Excuse me!" she called quietly. The conductor glanced over his shoulder and nodded in acknowledgment. "All right. It Had to Be You' from the top." He set the tempo with his hand. "And one and two and three." The band began at his cue and swung along smoothly, leaving the conductor free to turn and face the dark haired woman who looked up at him so innocently. "Now how can I help you?" "Do you take requests?" she asked. "Yes. What did you have in mind?" "Do you know How Long Has This Been Going On'?" He thought a moment. "It's been a while, but I think we can manage it." He turned back to the orchestra. "Wonderful!" Tiki dashed up on stage. "Where do you keep your microphone?" "What?" The conductor, still leading the orchestra with one hand, twisted his head to stare at her. "You play, I sing. Deal?" "Absolutely not." Tiki looked back at Peter, a pout marring her pretty features. "They'll be so disappointed." "Who'll be disappointed?" The conductor was curious in spite of himself. "Do you see that couple in the middle there?" Tiki gestured to Dana and Mulder, who were gazing at each other with almost palpable intensity. "Tonight is their anniversary. I sang that song at their wedding, and I thought I'd surprise them and sing it again tonight." "Well, I don't know, dear," Peter interjected. "Your agent doesn't like you to sing in public like this when you haven't been booked." "I hate my agent and you know it," Tiki declared with a half wink at Peter. She leaned toward the conductor conspiratorially. "He hasn't gotten me a job since I finished my tour with, uh . . ." "Cats," Peter supplied hastily. "Cats," Tiki concurred. "O.K.," the conductor asked. "What's the scam?" "Scam?" Tiki asked, wide-eyed. "You're good, but not that good. What's the real story?" Tiki's shoulders drooped. "What gave us away?" she asked. The conductor shook his head, confused. "What?" "What gave us away?" she repeated. "I want to know so I can improve my performance next time." Her expression was expectant. Peter interrupted before she got her answer. "Look," he said succinctly, "those are our friends and we're trying to give them a romantic evening. If Tiki sings this song, it can only help, and believe me, they need all of the help they can get." "Please?" pleaded Tiki, focusing all of her considerable charm into a small smile. The conductor chuckled. "Oh, why not. If I had had friends like you at your age, maybe I wouldn't be twice divorced." The song was in its final bars and he turned again to the orchestra. "All right, gentlemen. Next up, How Long Has This Been Going On'." He gestured to the wings. "The mike's back there." Tiki blew him a kiss. "You won't regret it!" "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Ready and . . ." The music changed, and the familiar, up-beat strains of "It Had to Be You" were replaced with something Mulder didn't recognize. It was slower, more sensual, what some of his friends would have called down-and-dirty-with-your-baby' music. A woman began to sing with a voice as smooth and sweet as warm honey, weaving a spell of words designed to twine souls together. I could cry salty tears. Where have I been all these years? Little wow, tell me now, How long has this been going on? Would she mind if I . . . Mulder wondered even as his hand traced the line of her back and settled on her waist. She didn't mind. She stepped farther into his embrace, snuggling against his chest, and for the first time in two years he didn't think of Phoebe. All he could think of was the lovely woman in his arms and the dance that bound them together. There were chills up my spine, And some thrills I can't define. Listen, sweet, I repeat, How long had this been going on? Would he mind if I . . . Dana wondered even as her fingers skimmed over his shoulder and threaded into the soft, dark hair at the nape of his neck. He didn't mind. He bent closer to her, rubbing his cheek against her temple, and for the first time in years, she didn't worry about the expectations that she usually associated with men. She could only think of the handsome man in her arms and the music that surged through their blood. Oh, I feel that I could melt Into heaven unfurled. I know how Columbus felt, Finding another world. The world contracted to a bright sphere large enough only for them. Neither stopped to analyze why it felt so right to be losing themselves in each other, or why it seemed so natural when Mulder lifted Dana's hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. They only focused on the mingling scents of cologne and perfume, the feel of skin and muscle under their palms, the way their bodies moved gently against each other as they danced. Kiss me once, and then once more. What a dunce I was before. What a break! For Heaven's sake, How long has this been going on? How long has this been going on? A satisfied smile curved Tiki's lips as she held the final note longer than she thought possible. She wanted to sustain this moment, to keep reality from crashing in on Dana and John for as long as she could. The conductor seemed to read her mind, and instead of beginning a new song, he led the orchestra into a reprise of Tiki's spell. "You're great," he whispered over his shoulder. "Want to give it another try?" "Only one per customer. Sorry." Tiki flashed a grateful smile, and glided down the stairs. She reached the main floor and watched, amused, as Peter hastily kissed the hand of a lithe blonde in farewell and rushed to her side. "You were wonderful!" he breathed into her ear as he swept her into his arms. "You should give up bartending and become a singer." "You are a love, James, but I don't think . . ." Her voice trailed off as a flurry of movement at the door caught her eye. There was something about the couple that just entered, something familiar. Peter followed her gaze and wrinkled his forehead. "Is there something wrong?" "I'm not sure," muttered Tiki. What was it about that man in the military uniform and the woman with brown hair on his arm? She had seen them before, maybe in a picture . . . She gasped in sudden recognition. "What is it?" Peter asked, concern heavy in his voice. "Oh, nerts!" Tiki grabbed his arm and yanked him onto the dance floor. "Excuse me! Excuse me!" she repeated as she bumped into pairs gliding slowly under the chandeliers. She skidded to a halt a few feet short of the couple she sought. They were still entwined in each other's arms, moving to a rhythm that transcended the music around them. Tiki hated to interrupt, but . . . "Da--Cassandra," she whispered. "Go away," Dana responded dreamily, only half listening. "Cassandra!" Tiki yelled as lowly as she could. "She said go away." Mulder growled. Under normal circumstances Tiki would have happily complied, but this was far from a normal circumstance. "Is it possible that your friend in the Navy could be here on shore leave tonight?" she asked urgently. Dana turned away, rubbing her cheek against Mulder's chest. "I don't have a friend in the Navy," she murmured, unconcerned. "Yes, you do. Remember the captain?" Tiki emphasized, her teeth clenched. "Captain?" Dana repeated, then jerked fully wake. "Captain!" Tiki gave a sigh. "They just came in." Dana scanned the crowd and stiffened in horror when she saw them, her parents, sitting in the group of chairs nearest the bar. She took Mulder's arms and hauled him bodily in front of her, his broad shoulders concealing her from the view of paternal eyes. She looked at Tiki. "This is not good." "Well, gents," Tiki said quickly, "this has been lovely, but I'm afraid we must go. Now." "Why?" Mulder asked grouchily, rather put out that his enchanting dance had been disturbed. "But we haven't eaten yet," Peter complained. "Why do you want to go now?" "We're not hungry," Dana explained, tugging Mulder toward the door, keeping him between her and her parents. "We ate at the club." "Now see here," Peter demanded. "I went to a lot of trouble getting us in here and I want an explanation for why we should leave." Tiki took his hand and pulled him toward her. "Do you see that man in the naval uniform near the bar?" she whispered. He nodded and she continued, pulling him to the door as she talked. "He has been sent to kill me. You see, I'm a spy too, and I'm carrying documents vital to national security. You understand, James. You've been in situations like this before. Please help me." Mulder was unmoved by Tiki's performance. He was looking, instead, at Dana, and saw the fear flashing in her eyes. He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "Of course we'll help you, Tiki. Come on, James. Let's get these ladies to a safe house." Dana met his gaze with a smile of gratitude. "Thank you, John. Let's go." The four of them slipped between the dancers still on the floor and exited quickly, the men placing the women carefully behind them. The maitre-de smiled effusively as he saw them. "Ah, Lord Wimsey! We should have a table for you shortly." "Oh, I'm sorry, old man, but an emergency has just come up." Peter gave his shoulder a friendly slap. "Embassy business, you know." Charles wrung his hands. "But, Lord Wimsey! What shall I tell the chef? He was looking forward to cooking for nobility!" Peter reached for his wallet and pulled out two bills. "Here. One for you, and one for the chef. As a thank you for all of your effort." Charles's distress lessened visibly as he pocketed the bills. "And give our table to the couple who just came in, the man in the uniform and his escort. With my compliments." "Of course, Lord Wimsey. Thank you for your patronage." Peter nodded absently, and pulled Tiki's hand into the crook of his elbow. "Shall we go?" "Yes!" Dana said with a worried glance behind her. "Now would be good." Mulder took her coat from the cloak room attendant and wrapped it firmly around her shoulders. "It's all right," he murmured in her ear. "I don't think he saw you." She looked back at him in surprise, expecting him to demand an explanation, but he didn't. His expression was one of support, not curiosity, and she realized that he only wanted to help her, regardless of the reasons. "I hope not," she whispered. "It could be, unpleasant, if he did."=== Since Tiki had left the stage, the band didn't have a singer. The music, lyric-mute, washed over them as they danced. This was familiar, his hand on the curve of her waist, her head resting lightly on the hollow of his shoulder. Her fingers skimmed over his collar and curved along the back of his neck. He guided her closer, inhaling the scent of her, of his Scully. "His Scully"? Since when had he been so proprietorial? Uncomfortable with this realization, he cleared his throat and asked, "That was your father, wasn't it?" She felt his voice from his chest, then looked up and smiled. "Yes. It was." It didn't surprise her that he was remembering the same thing she was. It was only natural that he wonder. "Did you ever tell them?" He spun her away with a slight push on her back, and brought her back neatly into his arms, closer this time. "No way!" she said with a quiet chuckle. "That's still one of my parents' favorite stories, how they went to the Waldorf in New York and were shown to the best table by an obsequious waiter. My dad always paused here for effect." Scully took a breath, her father's daughter. "And you can imagine their surprise when they were told that their table was with the compliments of Lord Peter Wimsey." Mulder grinned. "Peter would have had a great time with that." "His real name was Peter?" Scully asked. "That's right. You never knew. Yes. It was Peter Drake." Realization caused her to hesitate, missing a step. "Sorry," she said absently. "That's the Drake Tiki talks about." "She still talks about him?" Mulder asked. He was disconcerted by this, although he didn't know why. "On occasion. I'm not sure, but I think they still write each other." They both laughed a little over this, then danced in silence for a moment. Scully had not paid much attention to the music until now, having focused mostly on the rhythm. Now that she had the benefit of Mulder's strong lead, she let her thoughts wander, and she hummed quietly to herself. I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood. I know I could always be good To one who'd watch over me. Gershwin. Of course. She snuggled her head into his shoulder, too content to care about partnerships or X-files or Skinner. He may not be the man some girls think of as handsome, But to my heart he carries the key. Won't you tell him please to put on some speed? Follow my lead. Oh, how I need Someone to watch over me. Mulder felt her move closer, and he breathed her in with closed eyes. He rested his chin on her head, crumpling the hair beneath the stubble of his chin. He sighed and opened his eyes. Every eye in the room was on them. Some curious. Some amused. Some openly hostile. Damn. Why couldn't he dance with his partner? It was Christmas, and she had been returned to him. She was the only gift that mattered. Something in Mulder growled protectively at the crowd over Scully's head. Sensing his mood shift, she angled her head up. "What is it?" "People are staring," he said shortly. "So what?" she replied recklessly. "I'm entitled to dance with my partner on Christmas, and they'll be too hung over by tomorrow to remember it, anyway." He grinned down at her, encouraged. "Let's give them something to stare at then. Prepare to be dipped." His hand slid to her waist and he leaned way forward, forcing her back and beneath him. She squealed delightedly and her eyes never left his face. Her bright hair slipped away from her face, making a bright banner almost to the floor. The light dashed blue sparks from her eyes, and he laughed at the sheer joy of the moment. The fuzzy white of her sweater had warmed with the heat of her body. That night, the fluffy whiteness had been cold, very cold. And he had looked down at Cassandra, the red of her hair framing her face in a fiery halo. She had been an angel looking up at him.=== End Part 2 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- End Notes: Our apologies to any and all New Yorkers. Sorry about the geography. What more can we say? Our humblest apologies to the Waldorf as well. We're sure your maitre'des aren't that gullible. Our thanks and apologies to: Ian Fleming, George Lucas, and John Donne. Music credits: "Can't Get Started with You", "How Long Has This Been Going On". Science Note: Does digitalis really have that effect? Beats the hell out of me. It just sounded good. amstone@ix.netcom.com ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "By Any Other Name" Part 3 of 3 by Sally Bradstreet and Bonnie Drew Original Disclaimer in Part 1 Greenwich Village December 20, 1987 10:52 p.m. Snowflakes as fat and white as goose down drifted through the still, cold air, covering the night-quiet streets of Greenwich Village with a white veil. It was as yet too soon for the panicked rush of last minute Christmas shopping, and the people on the sidewalks strolled along leisurely, smiling as the flakes dusted their hair and shoulders with diamond powder. "Lord Wimsey" and his party mingled easily with the native New Yorkers, sauntering past closed shops and abandoned lots in companionable silence. Peter tucked Tiki's arm into the bend of his elbow and sighed happily, watching his breath as it hung in a silvery cloud before him. "We never have snow like this in England," he said wistfully. "It's usually the color of soot before it hits the ground." "I thought that added to the English atmosphere," Mulder observed wryly. "The only people who care about English atmosphere," Peter replied with a good-natured glare, "are the tourists." What might have become a rousing debate on the respective virtues of England and America was interrupted by a delighted squeal from Tiki. "Oh, look, Cassandra!" She pointed to a vintage clothing store across the street. Its large plate glass windows were lined with tiny, multi-colored Christmas lights which shone softly on a display of party dresses and jewelry from the 1920's. "And look at all the pretty beads!" She clapped her hands like a little girl. "Let's go see them!" She freed her arm from Peter's grasp and darted into the traffic without waiting for her friend's response. The trio flinched as a Honda came close to clipping Tiki's swift heels, and sighed in relief as she landed safely at the other curb. She smiled and waved energetically at them, then focused her attention on the glittering array. Peter shook his head in dismay. "Is she always like this?" Dana sighed. "Only when it comes to bright, shiny objects." The Englishman repeated her words, perplexed. "Bright, shiny objects?" "Or string," Dana added with a nod. He contemplated her for a moment, and decided she was entirely serious. "Well," he said, turning his collar up against the chill, "perhaps I'll see if I can offer her a bauble that will keep her attention on me." He, too, darted into the crowded street. A moment later Mulder watched in amusement as the little dark haired woman grabbed his friend's wrist and gestured excitedly at the window. "She either had such a wonderful childhood that she doesn't want to leave it behind, or such a horrible childhood that she's trying to experience a happy one now," he muttered. Dana glanced up at him with an smile. "You sound like a therapist." "Well," he said, clearing his throat, "I am a therapist. A psychologist, actually. I don't practice though." She studied him for a moment. "Really." Mulder returned her searching gaze. "You sound surprised." "I am." At his hurt look she continued quickly. "It's just that with those brooding eyes, I figured you were a preacher, or a poet, or some other person who contemplates the mysteries of the universe." He turned away and looked toward the sky. Heavy grey storm clouds blocked his view, but he knew all the constellations that lay beyond them--Orion, Cassiopeia, Ursa Minor. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine what existed beyond those burning spheres, and he called out silently, as he had innumerable times before, Samantha! And as before, there was no response. "I did contemplate those mysteries for a while, but I gave it up." "Why?" Her voice was as soft as the hand she laid on his arm. "I guess I got tired of people thinking I was crazy." Mulder smiled wanly. "People usually don't think psychologists are . . . spooky." Dana's brow wrinkled in concern as she watched the emotions play across his face. He was haunted by more than just the memory of a few hurtful remarks, but it wasn't her place to pry. "That's true," she agreed, "but I'm sure people even called Shakespeare mad on an occasion. And that didn't stop him from writing." She smiled brightly at him, then hurried across the street to join Tiki, who stood with her nose all but pressed up against the window of the store. Mulder stared after Cassandra's lithe form, stunned. He was loathe to admit it, but she was right. It didn't matter what other people thought of him or his beliefs. If he believed strongly in what he was doing, that should be enough. He looked up to the sky again, and when he called to his sister this time, his heart was a little lighter. "It's amazing how a total stranger can put things into perspective for us, isn't it?" Mulder jumped at the sound of Peter's quiet voice and narrowed his eyes. "I thought you went to buy Tiki's affection with a trinket." The Englishman shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. "She didn't like the look of what I had to offer." He waggled his eyebrows at Mulder's chagrined expression. "Besides, I was curious to hear what you and Cassandra had to say." "It isn't polite to eavesdrop, Peter," he growled. "Oh, is that what they say at the Bureau?" Peter grabbed Mulder's sleeve as his friend started to stomp away. "Listen to her, Mulder," he said. "She knows what she's talking about." "Peter, I don't need your--" "Some escorts you are." Tiki's words broke into their conversation and they turned to meet her baleful glare. "We could have been kidnapped or ravaged and you two wouldn't even have known it." They looked to Dana for confirmation, but she merely rolled her eyes and shook her head, knowing full well that Tiki could take care of herself. Peter took Tiki's hand and held to his chest. "Forgive me, fair lady. I have been derelict in my duty as your knight protector. Please allow me to redeem myself in your eyes." "Find me some hot chocolate and you can consider yourself redeemed," Tiki replied, patting him on the head. "Now, you two look far too serious and I just can't allow that." She linked arms with the two men, and gesturing to Mulder to take Dana's elbow, began to stride purposefully down the sidewalk. "Let's go find something interesting to do." The four walked arm in arm, forcing other pedestrians to slip around them as best they could. Tiki was entirely focused on her quest and paid no heed to the dirty looks their spacial arrangement garnered. At last she stopped with a triumphant shout. "Here we are." Dana surveyed the empty lot and raised an auburn eyebrow in question. "And here is?" Tiki sighed in frustration. "Look!" She gestured again to the lot. Snow blanketed the ground in glistening undisturbed drifts. Not even the paw prints of alley cats marred the smooth white surface that spread before them. "This snow is begging to be played in," she declared. "But it's so lovely as it is," Dana replied. "Do we really want to destroy it?" "That's what snow was created for, silly. Now come on." Mulder eyed the frosty expanse critically and nudged the border between snow and sidewalk with a cautious toe. "I wonder how deep it is." "That's easy to find out," Tiki responded. She sidled up next to him and shoved him backwards. Mulder let out a yelp of surprise, and somehow managed to twist around in the air before he hit the ground. He caught most of his weight on his hands and lowered himself into the snow with a grunt. He rolled to his back, his coat crusted with snow, and glared up at Tiki's dancing violet-blue eyes. Mulder muttered something under his breath. Laughing, Tiki leaned toward him. "What?" Mulder took advantage of her closeness. He grabbed her wrists firmly and neatly flipped her over his shoulder. She squealed in shock as a cloud of frozen powder settled over her and yelled, "Hey, now!" "My lady!" Peter wailed in mock distress, and plowed into the snow to rescue her. His progress was stopped when Mulder stuck out his foot and caught his friend's ankle. Peter tripped and landed head first in deep drift. He brought up his head and sputtered through snow-covered lips, "I say! Was that really necessary?" This question was answered with a volley of hastily formed snowballs, coming from both his friend and his lady. The three scuffled in the snow for several chilly moments while Dana stood snickering on the sidewalk, giving curious passers-by apologetic shrugs. At last the snow stopped flying and the three combatants looked up at Dana's wide smile. "Which of these things is not like the others?" Tiki panted. "Wet," a gesture at herself, "wet," a gesture at Mulder, "wet," a gesture at Peter, "dry," a final gesture at Dana. "It seems that you are right, my dear," Peter answered, futilely brushing snow from his coat. "What should we do about that, I wonder?" Dana was already backing away from the three snow elves, holding her arms defensively in front of her. "Oh, no. I'm fine, really. You keep on playing, and I'll stand right over here." She moved toward the curb, but Mulder was already on his feet. He scooped her easily into his arms and stood at the edge of the snow field. "So, where should I put her?" "On the sidewalk!" Dana hissed, kicking furiously in his strong grasp. "Here's a nice deep pile." Tiki pointed to her right, sending up a flurry of snow with her hand. "Here would be excellent." Mulder stepped over Peter's still prone body and with a wicked smile, dropped his victim in the middle of the sparkling drift. He stood looking down at her, and was surprised when she giggled up at him. "Is that the best you can do?" she asked. "If my brothers had been here, I would have been buried under at least two feet of this stuff." She shook her head, mingling her shining red hair with the white crystals under her. "Amateurs." She laughed, and began to move her arms and legs in wide arcs. "What are you doing?" Tiki asked. "I'm making a snow angel, of course. You can't play in the snow unless you make a snow angel. It's a law. Somewhere." She stopped her motions and looked up at the three faces now huddled around her. "Don't just stand there. Find a nice patch of snow and make an angel and then we can go." The three rushed to do her bidding. Those walking past the snowed-filled lot were surprised to hear peals of laughter floating on the winter air. They were even more surprised when four adults emerged from the cold white depths and stood on the sidewalk, shaking snow from their hair and clothes. Tiki cleaned off her coat with a flourish. "Well, that alone was worth the trip. What now?" "I'm hungry," Dana replied. "Maybe we can find someplace to eat." "All right, here's what we're going to do." Peter stepped into the role of leader, unaware that his foray into the snow had tousled his hair into a most unleader-like nest. "Tiki and I will go down this block and try to find a restaurant. You and Cassandra," he said with a nod at Mulder, "wait here. If a taxi comes along in the next five minutes, hail it and hold it." He winked at Dana and eyed her legs approvingly. "You shouldn't have a problem with that." He took Tiki's hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. "We'll be back in no more than ten minutes. Understood?" Dana snapped to attention and popped off a crisp salute. "Aye-aye, sir." Tiki rolled her eyes and started down the sidewalk. "See you in ten." Mulder scanned the road dubiously. "I wonder what our odds are of finding a taxi at this time of night," he asked idly. "I don't know," Dana replied, her voice quavering. He looked at her sharply. "Are you all right?" "Yes." She shivered violently. "I'm just really cold." "Well, then, you shouldn't have gone playing in the snow," he teased. She arched an imperious eyebrow at him and shivered again. "I tried to avoid it, but the matter was out of my control." He flashed a contrite smile. "Sorry." He took her right hand and began to rub it vigorously. "I haven't been this cold since I spent two days in the morgue with Andrew." Her words rattled out between chattering teeth. Mulder's eyes widened in surprise and Dana hastened to clarify. "You don't understand. Andrew was a corpse." At that he dropped her hand and stared at her, horrified. "A corpse?" She couldn't repress a small laugh. "Relax, John. I'm not a sicko. I'm a medical student. I was studying Andrew for a class final." "Oh." He laughed a little shakily and picked up her hand again. "Do all medical students name their cadavers?" "No, and I didn't used to until I met Tiki." Dana paused a minute, wondering exactly when she had stopped thinking of her friend as Bonnie'. Somehow Tiki' seemed to fit the odd little woman better, and she didn't think Tiki would mind the change. "And it was easier to refer to him by a name instead of by a long toe tag number," she continued. "Why Andrew?" Mulder asked as he moved his hands briskly up her arm. "Was he an old boyfriend?" "An intellectual rival, actually. He always got the better scores in American history, damn him." Her shrug was lost in another violent shiver. "The corpse didn't seem to mind." As she spoke Mulder continued chafing her arm gently, bringing the warming blood to the surface of her skin. He could feel the fine bones of her forearm through her heavy coat, and he wondered how her skin would feel against the palm of his hand. It would be soft, he mused, and carry the scent of her perfume. The memory of how she had felt in his arms at the bar rushed into his brain, bringing with it the desire to have her like that again, sitting in his lap with her beautiful lips parted in a slight smile. . . With a jolt he realized that he was still holding her arm, but instead of rubbing it to warm it, he was caressing it, exploring the shape of her limb with gloved-encased hands. Mulder hastily dropped her arm and brusquely took up her left hand, his touch now completely business-like. His mind, however, was still preoccupied with the way her hair had brushed his cheek as she stood up, and he rushed to find a topic to distract himself. "Why did you spend two days with Andrew?" he asked gruffly. "I was trying to clarify his cause of death. It bothered me that his electrolyte levels were so low when he had had a heart attack." "It's unusual to find the two together?" "Mm-hm." Suddenly Dana didn't trust herself to speak. John had taken her arm in a friendly attempt to warm her up, and he was being more successful than he knew. She could feel the strength in his fingers as he gently massaged her bicep and wondered how those fingers would feel on her shoulders, on her back, tangled in her hair. Her own fingers remembered the sensation of pressing into the firm muscles of his chest as she leaned against him in the bar and they ached to repeat the experience. Her waist still remembered the pressure of his arm as he held her against him as they danced, and she fought the urge to move closer to him, to again feel his body pressed against her own. Dana closed her eyes and tried to immerse herself in the memory of Andrew's autopsy, the stinging smell of the formaldehyde, the cold echo of steel instruments hitting metal trays, the heavy weight of liver and heart in her hands. But those unpleasant memories weren't enough to stop the flood of images that rushed through her mind, or to overpower the strong male presence standing beside her. She began to talk, forcibly pushing the intoxicating thought of John's touch to the back of her brain. "I only had to conduct a basic autopsy, but I couldn't get the low electrolyte count out of my mind. Everyone thought I was nuts, but I had to find the answer." "You don't like mysteries?" He was rubbing her shoulders now, and she didn't resist as he drew her closer. "I d