From: AnubisKV5@cs.com   
      
   TITLE:  NIGHT BLOOM (*Do not archive to   
   Gossamer!*)   
   AUTHOR:  AnubisKV5   
   E-MAIL:  AnubisKV5@cs.com   
   FEEDBACK:  Constructive feedback always   
   appreciated!   
   RATING:  NC-17 - no minors allowed! If you're   
   under 18, SHOO! Go away! This isn't for you!   
   BETA-READER:  The wonderful, amazing Aerostar.   
   All other errors are my own.   
   CATEGORY:  MSR. Mid- and Post-Ep   
   SPOILERS:  The Beginning   
      
   DISCLAIMER:  Not mine -- I make no claims; The   
   X-Files characters belong to 1013 Productions,   
   Chris Carter and Fox. No rights implied. I'm   
   just borrowing them. (Mrs. Edgar is *all* mine,   
   however.) Also, I am not the same Anubis   
   archived on Gossamer, nor am I AnubisLite. I'm   
   a totally different person, ergo, AnubisKV5.   
   But, you can call me Anubis. ;)   
      
   SUMMARY:  They fought like wildcats at times, at   
   least verbally. He was the believer and she was   
   the skeptic. As always. Eternally. But, as best   
   friends, they always came together and were able   
   to put work behind them and truly *be* friends.   
   She'd always hoped they could become more. Was   
   that possible now?   
      
   AUTHOR'S NOTES:  Written for the Virtual Season   
   of Smut Challenge - Season 6 at Fandomonium.com.   
      
   DEDICATION:  For Aerostar, for her constant   
   support and friendship. For her suggestions,   
   additions, beta-ing and everything else there   
   is. You go, girl! -- ahite? To AJ, well, just   
   because.   
      
   ~x~X~X~X~x~   
      
   She awoke, disoriented, though she wasn't   
   certain why.   
      
   And then she heard it; something she wasn't   
   accustomed to hearing very often: the soft,   
   gentle snores of her partner. She smiled to   
   herself and slowly, quietly turned over on her   
   bed to face him.   
      
   The dim light of the motel bedside lamp was   
   enough for her to watch him sleep. He lay on   
   his side, facing her, one arm pillowing his   
   head and the other wrapped around his middle.   
      
   She resisted the urge to run her fingers along   
   the edges of his slack mouth, especially that   
   plump bottom lip which had fueled so many   
   fantasies for her during the nearly six years   
   of their partnership.   
      
   They fought like wildcats at times, at least   
   verbally. He was the believer and she was the   
   skeptic. As always. Eternally. But, as best   
   friends, they always came together and were   
   able to put work behind them and truly *be*   
   friends. She'd always hoped they could become   
   more. Was that possible now?   
      
   Lately, the friendship had been strained and   
   their slowly-escalating relationship had   
   stalled, it seemed.   
      
   Her mouth strained, too, into a slight frown.   
   Diana Fowley: the two words that held the power   
   to spoil her mood faster than anything she knew.   
   Not even her brother Bill's haughty, holier-   
   than-though haranguing about *his* opinion of   
   how she should be spending her life could bring   
   her mood down so damned quickly.   
      
   *Why* did he trust *her* so completely? Believe   
   everything *she* said as canon? Why didn't he   
   trust her -- his partner -- the way he trusted   
   his *ex*-partner? Even if it wasn't true, it   
   certainly felt that way at times. Now, more   
   often than not.   
      
   The pain lodged uncomfortably low in her gut,   
   chewing, she was sure, an ulcer into her   
   stomach. Maybe she'd have to have it checked.   
   The pain was real, visceral, deep. And it hurt   
   like hell.   
      
   Or did she need to have her heart checked?   
   Truly, she wasn't sure which.   
      
   "Scully?" His voice was sleep-filled, tinged   
   with worry. "Are you okay?" He tentatively   
   reached over to attempt to gently rub the frown   
   from her forehead with a fingertip.   
      
   "M'okay," she muttered, allowing the touch   
   momentarily before moving back out of his reach.   
      
   But she wasn't okay. Not with the specter of   
   Fowley around. She'd lied; Dana Scully was   
   always on edge lately. Fowley was like a bad   
   penny; always showing up at the most inopportune   
   times. Now, Diana Fowley and Jeffrey Spender   
   had the X-Files and the basement office.   
   Mulder's life work which had become *her* life   
   work as well. She was invested; totally and   
   completely.   
      
   Every time she saw the woman, Fowley reminded   
   her, unfairly or not, of one of those spitting   
   cobras, one of the ones that coiled, flared its   
   hood, swayed provocatively, hypnotizing its   
   unsuspecting prey and then blinding it with its   
   acrid venom before devouring the prey whole.   
      
   Fox Mulder, it seemed, was Diana Fowley's prey.   
      
   Scully had done everything she could to convince   
   Mulder of Fowley's deceptions, but because of   
   their past together -- or maybe in spite of it   
   -- Mulder continued to insist that Diana Fowley   
   was his friend and would not betray him or the   
   X-Files. More than anything, Scully was certain   
   he'd be hurt by her again. Admittedly, she knew   
   little of their past; he was not especially   
   forthcoming. She surmised the rest, wrong or   
   right.   
      
   Scully sat up, rubbing her eyes. She hadn't   
   meant to fall asleep while they were talking,   
   discussing the case and the crime scene they'd   
   visit the next day, and neither had he. They   
   were both dressed in casual clothing and had   
   been sitting on the bed in her Phoenix motel   
   cottage, a little "Mom and Pop" set-up, which   
   was surprisingly nice, considering that Mulder   
   had, as usual, picked the place.   
      
   They'd checked in earlier in the afternoon, too   
   late to go to the crime scene at the nuclear   
   reactor, and met the "Mom" of the motel   
   operation instead.   
      
   Mrs. Irawanah Edgar had greeted them warmly. She   
   was a small, elderly, round woman with glowing,   
   apple-colored cheeks. Her hair was almost   
   completely iron-gray and she had a happy smile   
   on dark-reddish skin that bespoke of her Native   
   American ancestry. She'd been impressed and   
   pleased that *real* FBI agents had decided to   
   stay at her and her husband's place.   
      
   After they'd signed in, Mrs. Edgar had walked   
   them through the small courtyard to their   
   respective side-by-side white-washed stucco   
   cottages. Mr. Edgar, it seemed, was in Tucson,   
   on business.   
      
   The courtyard had been full of all kinds of   
   desert-blooming foliage and an impressive cactus   
   garden, and Scully had commented on its beauty.   
   Mrs. Edgar had smiled even wider, if it was   
   possible, and told her about the deer, rabbits   
   and other desert wildlife that came into her   
   courtyard in the very early morning hours to   
   munch on her plants for breakfast. She'd tried,   
   she said, for years, to stop that, and then   
   finally gave up. Instead, for the past decade,   
   she and Mr. Edgar enjoyed watching, from the   
   swing on their front porch, with cups of steaming   
   coffee in their hands, the animals come and go   
   in the early dawn hours. The desert, she said,   
   could be very cold at night, even in the hottest   
   summers, and the coffee helped warm them up.   
      
   "Scully?--" Behind her on the bed, breaking into   
   her thoughts, Mulder sat up, too.   
      
   She started to turn toward him, but whatever he   
   was going to say was stopped by the rapid but   
   quiet knock on her door. Scully and Mulder   
   looked at each other, then, as one, at the   
   clock. It was after midnight. Scully stood and   
   retrieved her SIG from where she'd deposited it   
   on the top of the television and went to peek   
   out the curtains. With a sigh of relief, she hid   
   the gun behind her back and opened the door.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)