Marriage (17): "The Madness of an Hour" by Juliettt@aol.com (revised and completed March 4, 1996) I began this one a while ago after getting several requests for "more Marriage stories." In my universe Mulder and Scully aren't given much opportunity to be a couple before they are, suddenly, a married couple. This, combined with the stories I have seen on this group which imagine Our Heroes as teenagers, gave me the inspiration for this story. It's just for fun, with no X-file, no gunznbombz, just a lot of physical attraction and, I hope, a few laughs. Rated -- I dunno, PG-13? for lust and suggestive material, though absolutely nothing explicit. It's set in October of 1999, a little over five months after the wedding. As always, Dana Scully (Mulder) and Fox Mulder belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, FOX Broadcasting, and to Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny, and they are borrowed lovingly but without permission. Any and all other characters (a grand total of one this time) who appear are mine, as is this story. Also as always, a chronological list of the stories in the Marriage series follows the end of this installment. Please also note that I have added the preface "Marriage:" and a parenthetical number to the title, which will be the format from now on. This number refers to the posting order rather than the chronological order, and includes all stories in the Marriage series (both Engagement and Marriage stories). I have made this alteration after receiving mail from readers wanting to know which list of stories is accurate; I update the list with each new story posting, so hopefully this will allow those of you finding them out of order to find the most current list. Any and all feedback is welcome. ********************************** "The Madness of an Hour" by Juliettt@aol.com ********************************** "You know, Scully," Mulder said as they left the office Thursday afternoon, "I think we should do something special this weekend." "Like what?" she asked as they crossed the parking lot to their car. He shrugged uncertainly. "I don't know. Go on a date, maybe?" She shot a glance at him. "Mulder, we're *married*." "So?" She considered. "I guess I just meant that we go out -- or stay in -- all the time. We have dinner. We go to movies. You make it sound like you want to do something -- different." "I *do*, Scully," he insisted, unlocking the doors. "I mean, we never really got a chance to date much before the wedding." "Well, no," she admitted, "but only because we didn't even get involved until a week before." "Exactly. I really miss that we didn't do that." "Do what?" "You know -- go out to dinner and dancing, a movie maybe . . . flirt with each other. . . ." "Mulder, we flirted for nearly six years," she reminded him. "Well, yeah," he grinned. "But not openly, where we could be *conscious* about it or anything." That was true. They had kept their feelings repressed until the afternoon Skinner had split the X-files and then within just a few hours they had shared their first kiss, admitted their love for one another, and were making wedding plans. "I just feel kind of badly, Dana," he said sincerely. "I never really got to woo you." "'Woo' me?" she asked with a grin. "Fox, you just don't strike me as the 'wooing' type." He grinned shamefacedly. "And besides," she continued, "do you really miss the fact that we never went through that awkward first date where you try to think of something to talk about and wonder what your date thinks about you?" "No-ooo," he admitted, then grinned again. "Then again, we kind of went through that on our first meeting. Not that we didn't find something to talk about, but I sure did wonder what you thought of me." "I'll tell you what I thought of you," she deadpanned. "What?" "That you were arrogant and condescending and just plain nuts," she informed him. She paused and then went on with a smile, "also that you were brilliant and witty and absolutely gorgeous." "Oh, really." "Uh-huh." "D'you want to know what I thought about you?" "I'm not sure. No, I *know* what you thought about me," she said, after a moment's thought. "Oh? What?" "That I was arrogant and stubborn and closed-minded and probably a bit of a wet blanket," she said decidedly. "You forgot 'just plain nuts,'" he added. "Oh. Pardonnez moi." He grinned at her. "I also thought you were possibly the most brilliant woman I'd ever met," he admitted, " -- I'd read your file. And that you were *definitely* the most distracting." She stared at him. "'Distracting'?" He nodded. "Yep. When I was reading your file I envisioned all sorts of possibilities. They didn't even come close." His voice softened. "When you walked in you looked so young and beautiful and innocent, and then I looked into your eyes and saw all the things you had seen. I knew I had to push you away but you returned every verbal dart I threw at you with one of your own. I was so intrigued I decided to let you stick around and see what you were really like. Before long it was too late. If only They had known it -- They'd found the perfect weapon. A woman who could handle all I dished out and whip it right back at me, who made me respect her theories even when I disagreed with them, who made me trust her when I thought I couldn't trust anyone anymore." She sat there with a small, satisfied smile on her face. "So many times over the years I almost said something," she admitted after a prolonged silence. "I wanted you -- I knew you were attracted to me. And then later there was more. But I was so afraid that They would find a way to separate us -- not that I was so worried about the 'official channels,'" she hastened to explain, "but -- it was so devastating, every time one of us got taken away. . . ." He nodded and they rode on in silence. "I wanted to do all those 'normal' things with you, Dana," he continued. "I wanted to be able to take you to dinner -- to those awful Bureau functions Skinner made us attend -- as more than just my partner. D'you remember that case with the Church of the Red Museum? That was the first time anyone ever made the mistake and called you my wife." She nodded, remembering. "That really hurt. Here we couldn't even get involved but it seemed it was obvious to everyone how we felt. It was like we were getting all the hassle with none of the perks." "Good things . . ." she smiled, reaching to cover his hand on the steering wheel with her own. He smiled and nodded. "But I still wish we could have done some of those things -- I still want to do them." "Like what?" she asked, repeating her earlier question. He paused, his brows furrowed in thought. "Ever been to a drive-in, Dana?" ***** --Friday night-- She finished brushing her hair, allowing it to hang loosely over her collar. She'd let it grow longer recently, and knew that he loved it. She stood and looked at herself critically in the mirror. Black pants and a sweater. Casual but dressy -- just the sort of thing, if not precisely the same style, a teenaged girl would wear on a date. She added earrings and smiled approvingly at the finished picture. He would be there to pick her up in -- she checked her watch -- ten minutes. He'd dropped her off after work and headed off, ostensibly to run some errands, as he had told her. But she figured this was just one more way he was trying to make this like a "real" date. It really seemed to bother him that he had never given her an evening like this, simple as it was, before they had been married, so she had decided to humor him. Besides, it would be a lot of fun. The doorbell rang. She smiled at herself in the mirror. He was early. ***** Fox Mulder stood outside the door of his own house and fidgeted nervously. This was ridiculous. She was his *wife*, for crying out loud. No. For tonight she was just Dana Scully and he was just Fox Mulder and they were going on a date. The door opened and she smiled at him. She looked beautiful, as always, the black and white sweater setting off the intense red of her hair. He grinned when he caught the approval in her eyes as she took in his chinos and loafers and cream sweater, which he'd thrown over a denim shirt. No tie. Of course. "Ready?" he asked. She nodded and turned to lock the door. He noticed the small bulge at the small of her back that told him she was wearing her sidearm, as he was -- the only concession they had made was to carry their weapons and badges. His own gun was in its holster at his hip. They had discussed once the merits of side, back, and shoulder holsters and she had explained quite candidly that because she was so small the holster was uncomfortable on the side; occasionally it would actually bump the chair in which she was seated. Besides, it was more unobtrusive at her back. More than once in the past her placement of her gun at her back had proven wise; even in this day and age perps were less likely to expect a woman to have a gun than a man, and it was fairly invisible tucked into its leather holster at the base of her spine. Of course, that also made it uncomfortable for her to wear it in the car whereas his own was barely noticeable to him. "Let's go," she said, and reached for his hand, twining her fingers with his. His heart swelled as it always did at the simplest contact, and they walked hand-in-hand to the car. ***** Dinner was pizza and Cokes at Tony's. It was awkward at first, trying to slip into the role of just-man and just-woman without all the connotations of work and the X-Files and their years of partnership together. There had been little time for romance in their relationship before the wedding. By the time they had begun taking those first tentative steps they were already as well acquainted -- in most areas, at least -- as couples who had been married ten years. The things that plagued most newly married couples -- the personal habits and individual quirks which really only show up during lengthy periods of time spent with one another -- were issues that had been raised and handled years before on road trips or stakeouts or during quarantines. There was little idealism because they had so few secrets; they knew one another well, warts and all. In fact, the secrets they *did* still have were those things that are so often rushed during courtship that they become lost in the shuffle and newness of things. Between Mulder and Scully there was nothing but trust, and so they had revelled in fully exploring one another, spiritually as well as physically, to a depth they would never have thought possible. And now they knew one another even better from their few months of marriage than they had after years of partnership. They finished one another's sentences when they spoke, allowed their eyes to speak for them the rest of the time. This in itself was nothing new. What *was* different was the content of those unspoken conversations. He found himself watching her, noticing the familiar curve of her cheek and wondering when he had memorized it for the first time, when it had become so familiar and dear to him that he could pick it out of a crowd of faces, just that soft edge that defined Dana and the air surrounding her. He smiled at her, knowing how they must look to the other couples, younger and older than they, dining in the restaurant that night. Simultaneously comfortable and on edge -- sharing a new experience with this woman with which he already shared so much. Doubts and distrust. Physical peril. Illnesses and injuries. Betrayal. His heart and mind. And, for the past five months, his body. He wondered how the others in the restaurant registered the dichotomy; did they read his companion or his situation as unnerving him? He caught one older, quite obviously married couple glancing their way and talking very low, and imagined what they were saying. *Just look at those two. First date, I'll bet. Look how nervous he is -- but he really likes her. You can tell. She's laughing at all his jokes. I always wonder when I see a couple on a date whether they'll have any future together.* he thought, and grinned, wondering if he and Dana would look like an old married couple after ten years, or twenty, or fifty. "Fox? Something funny?" she asked, sipping her Coke. He started to shake his head, then shrugged. "Just noticing all the couples on dates here, and noticing them noticing us, and wondering what the future holds," he said cryptically. She smiled. "Is that a line? 'Cause it sounded like a line." He blinked. "It wasn't *meant* to be." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I haven't done this in a while -- dated, I mean," he teased. She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Now that *was* a line." He laughed and she laughed and they ate their pizza and discussed the music that was playing on the jukebox and national and international politics and sports and the diners seated around them watching them and watching each other. "You know," she said with a smile, reaching for his hands, "it's probably a good thing we never did this before we got married. If we feel this conspicuous now, think how it would have been had we been trying to hide our relationship from everyone." Just then the song on the jukebox changed, shifting into a song that after a moment Scully recognized as a soft ballad by Billy Joel, sung in the style of the 50's. She hadn't heard it for years, but after a moment she began to laugh as her mind ran ahead to the words of the song before they began. "What?" "This song," she smiled at him. "Listen. . . ." Didn't I say I wasn't ready for romance? Didn't we promise we would only be friends? And so we danced, though it was only a slow dance, I started breaking my promises right there and then. His eyebrows shot up and he joined in her laugh. "I'm really surprised Jackie never dedicated that one to us," he muttered, looking down at their linked fingers. She shook her head. "Guess Billy Joel's not her style. You have to admit, though -- it *is* perfect." She glanced up at him. "I don't think I had ever been more surprised that when you pulled me out of the car on that stakeout and asked me to dance. He grinned. "A moment of complete and utter lunacy," he admitted. "But it was fun." He nodded, then chuckled. "Bet Jackie never dreamed what effect those songs would have on us." She rolled her eyes. "Oh, she dreamed, all right. You know she and Mom and Melissa were plotting for years." "And then after we announced our engagement they insisted they had known all along. . . ." "Well -- didn't they?" She looked at him askance. He smiled. "Yeah. Guess so." Scully shook her head. "I always wondered -- if it was so obvious to them. . . ." "Why it wasn't obvious to Cancerman, et al?" He shook his head now. "I don't know, Scully -- maybe it was. Maybe that's even what they had in mind when they sent you." "To spy on you." "Ah, so you finally admit it!" She looked him right in the eye. "That was *their* agenda, Fox. Never mine." His teasing smile softened into a look that melted her. "I know," he admitted. There was a brief moment of silence that settled into something comfortable and comforting. Didn't we swear there would be no complications? Didn't you want someone who'd seen it all before? Now that you're here, it's not the same situation, Suddenly I don't remember the rules anymore. . . . He grinned suddenly. "What?" "Just thinking how badly it backfired on them, if that was their plan. I mean, what a combination! A sexy woman who could distract me or damage my credibility if I got involved with her, and at the same time a skeptic who could debunk all my theories as well." She smiled. "And instead they got somebody who loved you enough to back you but stayed out of your bed . . ." ". . . and ultimately became a believer." At her look he sighed. "Okay. Partial believer." "Partner." "Best friend." They smiled at one another and he covered her hand with his own. "Cancerman must have been one frustrated guy." "Guess maybe it's good we waited, huh?" "I think so." She looked at him curiously. "Don't you?" "Probably. No, definitely -- the one and only time that playing by the rules has panned out for me." He paused. "But it wasn't easy." "No," she smiled. "It definitely wasn't easy." "You know," he said carefully, "I tried to drive you away during that first case." "I knew that." "You did?" "Well, it was pretty obvious, Mul-Fox. The questions you asked me! 'Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?'" She laughed. "And the *look* on your face when you said it!" "You should've seen the look on yours." They laughed together. "Seriously, Fox -- you really were rather -- snotty." "I know," he sighed. "I was trying to be. I didn't want another partner, for one thing. And a skeptic?" He rolled his eyes. "But I figured that if I complained to Blevins the X-files would be shut down within a month. My only hope was to make you leave voluntarily." His smile was crooked. "The only problem was that within just a couple of days I found myself wanting you to stay." "Oh, really?" "Mm-hmm. Told you I found you distracting." "Was this before or after I dropped my bathrobe in your hotel room?" He laughed again. "Before, actually. Afterwards, I *really* wanted you to stay." She grinned at him. "I think it all started when we were on the plane on the way to Oregon. I looked over at you, sitting there with your glasses on, reading through the case file so carefully with that little furrow between your eyebrows and shaking your head over the pictures and reports. You didn't believe a word of it, but you came along anyway." "Well, I'd never been to Oregon. . . ." He grinned. "It's always been like that between us, you know? Even when you didn't believe me you kept your mind open enough that you could actually hear what I was saying instead of dismissing it out of hand. It's like what you said when I asked you that 'snotty' question about the existence of extraterrestrials: 'Logically, I would have to say "no."' And then you went on to explain yourself. You didn't just laugh at me and call me crazy." "I did call you crazy once." "You did," he agreed, "more than once. But as I recall, I asked for it." "I really did wonder for a minute there when you pulled out that can of orange spray paint." He grinned. "Just another attempt at spooking you so badly you'd want to leave." She grinned back. "You had no way of knowing that would just make me want to stay. You were a mystery I wanted to solve. What made the great Fox Mulder tick?" Mulder chuckled. "Figured it out yet?" "Mmm -- not entirely." She smiled at him and raised her glass of soda in a toast. "Here's hoping I never do." ***** After dinner they headed for the car. "Fox," she said. "Hmm?" "I've -- never been to a drive-in before." "Oh, really?" he grinned evilly. Then, catching her eye, he relented. "Neither have I." "I don't believe you," she announced. "No, really -- well, once . . ." "*HA*!" ". . . with my family, to see 'The Creature From the Black Lagoon.' I was twelve," he completed. "Oh." "What I *meant* was, I've never been to the drive-in on a date before." "I see. . . ." The picture was the original "Invasion of the Body Snatchers." The perfect cuddle-up-if-you're-scared flick for a bunch of teenagers. Problem was, they'd seen real alien bodies before; Dana had even autopsied one. she recited from her high- school English class. In this case it wasn't the science fictional basis of the movie that she had to ignore, but her own experience. They sat there with the bowl of popcorn between them on the front seat like Lancelot's sword, each sorting out his or her thoughts and trying to remember what it was like to be a teenager, attracted but uncertain, full of hormones and hesitation. The movie began. As the black-and-white images rolled across the screen the years slipped away. . . . ***** He sat there watching her out of the corner of his eye. Thinking how beautiful she was -- and smart. Too smart to be out with a guy like him. She could have had *anyone*, and she'd chosen him. Why? He'd never been very lucky in any area of his life. Oh, sure, he'd been given more than his share of intelligence, but that had caused him as much pain as pleasure. Always trying to hide his quick mind from would-be friends, trying to downplay his ability to see all the pieces at once and put the puzzle together with amazing swiftness. Wanting so badly to belong, feeling he never would. Telling sophisticated jokes that drew no laughs because his "friends" couldn't understand them and the adults couldn't understand *him*, thinking he was just trying to "act smart." Wondering if it would always be this way, if he would always be alone in the world, or if somewhere out there was someone meant for him, just for him, who would understand him and accept the dark parts of his nature and care enough to try to figure out the ununderstandable bits. He eyed her again, wondering if this would be the one. . . . ***** She watched him watching her, wondering what he was thinking. Was he wishing he had asked someone else? One of the tall, curvy girls that all of the guys seemed to like so much better than a small, brainy kid with red hair and freckles? It amazed her that Melissa always seemed to pull off the Irish coloring, using it to her advantage. On her, Dana, it simply looked -- "cute." She *hated* being "cute." She thought she would die of terminal cuteness. She wanted to be something else -- anything else but that. Beautiful. Sexy. Alluring. Down deep she wanted to be "dangerous." But how could you convey that impression when you were stuck with the terminally cute "girl next door" image? Her parents had assured her that she was pretty, but she needed to hear it from someone who *mattered*. Not that *they* didn't matter, but they were her parents, after all. They were supposed to think she was pretty -- they had supplied her gene pool. She sighed. Probably none of the other girls in her class knew much about what a gene pool was. And if she let on that *she* knew she would just -- how was it Melissa had put it? -- "frighten guys away." She didn't want to do that. But she hated pretending to be something she was not -- or rather, pretending not to be what she truly was. She would probably wind up alone, an old maid who never even got the chance to fall in love. There would be no white picket fence or two and a half children or dog or cat or vacation home in Florida for her. Not that she necessarily *wanted* all those things. But sometimes, even at such an early age, the future yawned ahead vast and frightening to her in its loneliness. It was the loneliness as much as the vastness that scared her. Books were fascinating and good companions on a rainy day, but they couldn't keep you warm at night. She wanted to be warm at night. She glanced over at him. He was cute, but not in the obvious ways that so many of the popular guys in school were cute. She thought that his glasses made him look even sexier whenever he wore them. He was smart, too, and so far he didn't seem to be threatened -- or put off -- at all by the notion thhat *she* was smart. Her father had told her that one day she would find a man who would respect her, body and mind. She wondered if this could possibly be the one. . . . ***** The night was cool and he had his window open for the speaker, which they still used in some drive-ins, apparently. She shivered a little in spite of her sweater and scooted closer to him. He moved the popcorn and scooted closer to her. They sat in silence for a long moment, the material of his pants and hers touching. He moved a little so that the outsides of their thighs brushed -- such an innocent, fleeting contact -- and wished for more. A long silence reigned. He was more conscious of her presence than he was of the movie, although "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" was one of his all-time favorites. She shivered again and he bit his lip, then smiled nervously. "It -- might be warmer in the back seat," he offered. "I'd put the window up but then the speaker . . ." he hastened to explain. he berated himself. <"Warmer in the back seat;" -- bet she's never heard *that* one before.> He had really wanted to offer his arms but was too shy and in his confusion fell back on the next thought in his mind, which he definitely should have thought through before articulating. She smiled a little at his obvious confusion and at the eager- reluctant manner in which he had made his suggestion. She was hesitant but interested. "Okay," she heard herself saying, to her surprise. His eyes lit up and he was out of the car in a flash. Before she could open her door he was around her side and opened it for her, then opened the back door and slid in beside her. He was right, she had to admit. It *was* warmer in the back seat. Or maybe that was just because she was flushed. . . . *This* was great, he thought. A girl -- *this* girl -- in the back seat with him. One part of him was making vigorous "Yess!" motions with its fist and the other was very, very nervous. He wavered and went with "Yess," sliding his arm around her shoulders. Much warmer. Much, *much* warmer. She snuggled up to him with a sigh. He kissed the top of her head, making her smile. He was so comfortable. His arms -- they were both around her now -- seemed made for her. She turned her head to smile up at him and his face was right there in front of hers. She could feel his breath on her nose. He stared down at her. Her eyes were so blue, even in the dim light. Her lips were full and red and he knew they would taste sweet. And then she tilted her head a little and it was the most natural thing in the world to bend that breath's distance and kiss her. It was sweet and chaste and sent fire racing through her veins. She felt his hand slide up to cup the back of her head as he kissed her harder and then her mouth melted beneath his and her lips parted and they shared a deeper kiss, and she could feel the blood pounding in her head and heard his breathing quicken slightly. To say that "one thing led to another" would be putting it mildly. The next thing they both knew they were lying on the back seat and his hand had traded back for front and had slid up underneath her sweater to caress her bare skin. She was only slightly aware of her own hands moving down his back to pull the denim shirt from his chinos; her mind was fully occupied with his kisses, which she struggled to return. They were hot and deep and drugging and she felt herself rushing to the edge of some precipice and knowing she didn't want to turn back -- ever. This was Fox and this was right. He lifted away from her slightly and dug in his pocket and she had to laugh a little at how prepared he was. It only served to inflame her further and she pulled him back down for another long, breathless kiss as their hands worked the suddenly frustrating fastenings of their clothes. The pace was frantic and fast but not fast enough. His heart swelled. She made him feel strong and masculine and virile, like he was the most handsome, sexy man in the world. That she could want him, that this wonderful, incredible woman could want him this badly. . . . Her heart fluttered. He made her feel beautiful and sexy and maybe, she thought as his mouth found her throat, just a little dangerous. Dangerous enough to make a man forget himself and want her badly enough to. . . . And then, suddenly, there was a knock on the window. The kiss ended abruptly and they stared at one another in shock. Everything came zooming back into focus. The bright beam of the flashlight that cut through the soft darkness of the car illuminated their blushes. Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, FBI agents, married for five months, had been caught making out in the back seat of their car like two teenagers. He allowed his head to drop back onto her shoulder for just a moment, still breathing heavily, and laughed gently at her groan of frustration. "All right, you two -- out of the car where I can see you," the officer's voice floated in through the open front window. "And let me see your licenses." Mulder removed his hands from underneath her sweater and straddled her on his hands and knees so she could sit up and open the door. He buttoned his pants and she buttoned hers and pulled her sweater back down, running her hand through her hair in an attempt to restore a semblance of propriety to her appearance. Who were they kidding? They had been making out -- heavily -- in a public place, about to "go all the way," as they would have said in high school, and they had been caught. It would be funny if it weren't so humiliating. Heck, maybe it was funny anyway, in spite of the humiliation. Or *because*. The languid warmth that the cold shock of being caught had begun to dispel crept back through her body at the unexpected eroticism of the situation. She had never been what could be considered even remotely "wild" during her teenage years, but this -- making love with a man in a very public place, even her husband -- no, *especially* Fox. It certainly wasn't very dignified, but she had to admit that it had a certain -- sensual appeal, and at that moment she wanted nothing more than to shove Mulder back in the car and drive at top speed to the nearest hotel. Well, actually, there was *one* thing she wanted more. . . . "Do you have any idea how much trouble you two are in?" the officer was bawling. "I'll just bet your daddy doesn't know you're using his car for your own private parties, Mister," he said, the flashlight's beam bouncing off the gleaming paint of the Mulders' Ford SHO. "I know this is embarrassing now, Miss," he said to Scully as she slid out of the car and came to stand in front of him, "but you'll thank me later. These young studs -- were you even packing?" he asked Mulder as he untangled himself from the back seat and stood up next to her. "I've half a mind to call your parents," he continued, hoping to scare some sense into these two hotblooded kids who probably didn't even understand the meaning of "safe sex." He played the beam of the flashlight on their burning faces and his jaw dropped. "What the. . . ?" His middle-aged face showed shock. Mulder couldn't resist. "If you want to call her mother, go ahead, but I have to warn you she'll probably cheer." Scully choked on the snicker she had been trying desperately to stifle since the nightmarish moment the cop had first tapped the butt of his flashlight against the glass, and elbowed Mulder in the ribs. The policeman stared at them for a moment, then shook his head. "Shouldn't you two be in a hotel somewhere or something?" That did it. They both lost it. After just a moment the officer joined in. When they calmed down enough he resumed his questioning. "May I ask -- *what* are you doing out here -- besides the obvious," he hastened to add, seeing Mulder open his mouth to deliver what was undoubtedly a sardonic and expressive reply. Mulder and Scully glanced at one another and she shrugged. He smiled wryly and returned his attention to the officer. "We're married," he said. "We just wanted to -- go on a date and . . ." now he shrugged, "just -- *date*." The policeman shook his head. "You take a chance like this when you could be at home in your own bed? Does your love life really need spicing up that badly? 'Cause from what I could see through the steamed windows," he grinned, "that would kind of surprise me." Scully's blush deepened but she leapt to the defense of their sex life. "Actually, Officer -- we didn't really get all that much opportunity to date before we got married, and so, well. . . ." Mulder hung his head. He was *never* going to hear the end of this. The policeman frowned. "Shotgun wedding?" He played the flashlight down Scully's trim figure. Not that it was any of his business, but this was the most interesting time he'd had on a Friday night at the drive-in since . . . well, since his own high-school years. Mulder bit his lip. "It's kind of a long story." The officer didn't answer. His light had caught the dark shape at Mulder's hip, the object he'd picked up from the floor on instinct from where he'd dropped in the midst of their passionate encounter. His hand went to his own waist. Scully realized instantly. Her own gun was still on the floor. "Officer," she hastened to explain, "we're -- this is really embarrassing -- we're federal agents." She carefullyy reached into her pocket and retrieved her i.d. The policeman relaxed as Mulder did the same. "Two feds, married, and making out in the back seat of a car," he murmured. "My wife isn't going to believe this one. Heck," he grinned suddenly, "maybe it'll give her ideas." They replaced their badges and stood waiting. He frowned and seemed to come to a decision. "All right, you two," he said, his voice once again the menacing growl it had been a few minutes earlier, "consider this a warning. I don't wanna see you here during my beat again or I'll run you in *and* call your folks. And believe me, this is *not* something you want on your permanent record," he barked. "Do you understand me?" "Yessir," they said meekly. "All right, then, get out of my sight," he growled. This last, however, was delivered with just the hint of a wink, and he walked away with a smile. Just a few paces later he heard a car door slam and when he turned around there were no profiles visible in the light the movie screen cast through the windshield of the SHO. He grinned again and shook his head. "Kids." *End* The Marriage Series: (ENGAGEMENT STORIES) "The Gordian Knot" [*] "Start Spreadin' the News" (1-?) [*] "The Talk" [*] "Rings" [*] "Longing" -------------------------------------------- (MARRIAGE STORIES) "Epithalamion" "Wonders Wrought" (2 parts) "The Last of the Chambord" "Waking" "On the Road" "Girls' Day Out" "Old Habits Die Hard" "Watching the Storm" "The Madness of an Hour" "A Heart-to-Heart" "Life Changes" (2 parts) "Mother's Day" [*] "Nursemaid" [*] "Success" "Cherish" "Childhood Lullabies" [*] "Everything I Want for Christmas" [*] "Lullaby For a New Generation" "Lipstick" "Room Service" "A Need For Comfort" [*] [*] These stories are still in the editing process (final titles may be changed when posted); the others may be found on the world wide web and ftp sites.