By Susan Esty (AKA Windsinger)
Windsinger@aol.com
 

1/1/96 (revised 2/20/97)

Synopsis: Time approximate, shortly after Paperclip. Mulder and
Scully come to Las Vegas on a case that quickly turns out not to be
an X-file. A little night on the town follows, a little M/S, a
little third party voyeurism, a good dash of Mulderangst and
actually a very sweet little story.

Rating: PG13 for alternative lifestyles explored in a very non-
threatening and not explicit way. (Equal opportunity fantasizing
here!) AND NOTHING HAPPENS.... Nothing, nothing, nothing. And no
hospitals, villains or death. (Can't possibly be a Windsinger story
then. If you want all that see The Gift.)

Hi, I wrote this as a Christmas present in 1995 for one of my
dearest friends in the world. The fact that we used to sit together
at parties and lust over DD's body might tell you a little bit
about him. He was given a room once in Atlantic City which was
bordello red and had a round bed and mirrors on the ceiling. We got
to talking and this was what came out.

Disclaimer: No, the characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are
not mine. They below to CC and Ten Thirteen Productions (more's the
pity).

FLAT CATS (1/2)
By Sue Esty (AKA Windsinger)
1/1/96 (revised 2/20/97)

      For FBI Special Agents Mulder and Scully airport terminals
had begun to take on the similarity of motel rooms. At least in a
motel room one usually can find a local phone book stashed away in
a drawer. Take a casual glance around most airport terminals,
however, and your current location is less obvious. There is always
your boarding pass and luggage tags, but if you're a sleepy agent
just off a mind-numbing case, these are not much help when trying
to determine if you've arrived in your destination, if you should
be waiting for a connecting flight, or if you're in some
unconnected city altogether on the off chance that your previous
flight had been diverted.

      On this particular day Fox Mulder was a man without answers.
He couldn't even find the energy for the questions. Not that it
mattered; he was letting his partner take the lead on the travel
arrangements. His head was still full of photographs of gruesome
corpses and data from a ten inch stack of files from the case they
had just solved - or hoped they had. Sometimes with an X-File one
could not be quite sure. Normal murder investigations usually did
not require in depth philosophical discussions on the division
between life and death. Under this burden, the location of one
particular airport lounge out of hundreds was rather insignificant.

      Mulder didn't even remember what he was doing here, wherever
here was. Something that had come up suddenly, something
interesting but not so very much. He'd remember later when he woke
up. For the moment he just wanted to open his mind and let the last
case drift about and settle itself down deep in his psyche.
Someplace nice and dark and safe and fairly inaccessible. Available
for recovery at some later date but not too easily. Then he would
be ready to start fresh.

      A sound threatened to worm its way him, a sound that, if he
wanted to, he knew he would recognize. Mulder shifted uneasily in
his chair and clamped down on the input. He wasn't ready. Later.

      If he'd been willing to rouse himself he would indeed have
recognized that bright, clinking sound. It is rather unmistakable;
quarters being down the throats of slot machines. The one-armed
bandits, though few had arms any more, were everywhere in Las
Vegas, even at the airport. And if not that, he should have been
able to detect the machine's tantalizing flashing lights right
through his eye lids.

      A pair of small, nicely ankled feet came into view near the
chair where he slouched, the only view his weary, slitted eyes
acknowledged.

      "I won ten dollars," his partner's voice announced near his
ear jingling her winnings. "Sure you don't want to play?"

      One red-rimmed eye opened to take in the view of the trim,
petite redhead. "Quarter slots, Scully? I see you're living
dangerously."

      "What choice do I have. They don't have nickel slots anymore.
Besides, it's not how much you win, but the expectation." She took
two fingers and tried to raise the point of his chin but it stayed
sunk onto his chest. "Come on, I brought three rolls. Whoever hits
the jackpot first buys dinner."

      "Wow. That and five dollars will buy hot dogs and soda." Her
male companion closed the one opened eye, wrapped his arms across
his chest and sank about six inches lower into the waiting room
chair. "Sorry, Scully, but I'm really tired."

      Hands on hips she examined him, red head tilted at a slight
angle. "I won't disagree with you. At my last count you hadn't
slept for three days. Even more important, when did you eat last?
You've triggered an attack of hypoglycemia, haven't you?"

      Why, oh, why, had they ever given him a physician for a
partner? At least she was a pathologist. Only if she were a
psychiatrist could matters have been worse.

      The merest twist of his shoulders, which only she could have
read, told her all she needed to know. Special Agent Dana Scully
disappeared towards a deli she had seen down the concourse. Coming
back a few minutes later with a tuna salad sandwich wrapped in
plastic, she paused at the entrance to the largely empty lounge. A
young man of average build, sporting a small blond beard, was
sitting across the aisle from her partner and reading a book, only
he wasn't really reading the book - He was holding the book and
reading her partner. From time to time his eyes raised over the
spine and examined the sleeping man with singular interest.

      Dana stepped forward as if she had not paused at all, senses
on the alert. Sleeping like this, even as large a man as he was,
Mulder seemed vulnerable and he had had enough happen to him
lately. In her professional opinion he should not even be working.

      When it became obvious that she was coming to join the
sleeping man, the new arrival put down his book and rose to his
feet, not guiltily, but with a friendly, open expression.

      "Agent Scully?" The young man extended his hand.

      Dana found herself looking up - though not nearly as far up
as she would have if this had been Mulder - into a pair of
guileless blue eyes. "Yes?"

      "I'm Senior Analyst Wallace Ingrim from the Orange County
Office. I'm your contact on this case. I think you were expecting
me?"

      At the title and the name Dana relaxed and shook the
proffered hand. The grip was not as large of Mulder's, but firm and
comfortable. "That's right." Dana smiled expectently. "I'm told
you'll be taking us to the MGM."

      Sadly, Ingrim shook his blond head. "Sorry, couldn't get the
rooms. Convention season. We've got three rooms at someplace called
the Starlight." His eyes strayed towards the weight at her hip
though Dana knew he couldn't really see anything. Still, even
computer analysts with the Bureau must learn to identify weapons
almost by scent. "It's not the best location but at least you seem
well protected."

      Dana's smile dimmed. She had hoped to stay at a nice place
for a change since Mulder wasn't choosing. Ingrim must have noticed
the fading of that bright smile. "I guess we could swing by and see
if there were any cancellations." He looked down at the sleeping
senior agent whose head was resting at an uncomfortable angle
against the back of the seat. "I take it this this is Agent
Mulder?"

      Dana nodded, the smile fading entirely. Mulder should be in
bed or better yet laid out in the sand where he could stare out
upon waves breaking on a beach and rest his stressed mind. They
both could.

      "Just got off a tough case?" Ingrim asked. "I'm told you two
work sometimes with Violent Crimes. I've seen some of the other VCS
staff after a bad case. They look just like this."

      Dana relaxed a little. The young man's comment was
understanding and matter-of-fact. No judgement calls. That's all
Mulder ever asked for - a level playing field with no
preconceptions.

      Dana nudged her partner's foot with her own. When he only
groaned and shifted, she opened one end of the tuna sandwich and
passed it under his nose. "Food, Mulder, and our ride's here so you
better wake up."

      Whether it was the promise of a softer seat than the one he
had or the smell of the tuna, Mulder stretched and stood up to his
full height blinking those sleepy, hazel eyes into the lights.
Ingrim had stepped back, but his eyes were definitely on the lean
agent as Mulder absently took the sandwich from Dana's hand and
stuffed half of one triangle into his mouth even as he slung his
carry all over his shoulder.

      Dana made introductions and Mulder mumbled through a mouthful
of sandwich. Ingrim had stepped forward quickly to take Mulder's
hand even though the taller man was still too groggy to offer it
without a long hesitation first.

      "Las Vegas... Ingrim, our UNIX guru," Mulder reasoned as he
swallowed. Eventually, he had found the association in his over-
burdened head. "Henderson says your team has been taking apart the
hotel's computers for over two weeks now."

      Ingrim gestured to indicate they could talk as they walked.
"We have - figuratively, not literally - and can't find anything
unexpected, though there are still a few hundred places where our
mystery code could be hidden. What I don't understand is why the
two of you are here. High tech crime doesn't sound like your normal
venue."

      Mulder almost smiled as if he found his host agent's comment
humorous. "If there is no high tech 'advantage'," Mulder suggested
as he munched on the rest of the sandwich, "then the group who has
been cleaning out the hotel casinos in this town must have a less
conventional edge. I keep an eye out for that sort of thing. Agent
Scully -" his eyes strayed to the top of her head as she walked
briskly by his side "- keeps me honest."

      As the food hit his stomach and his concentration improved,
Mulder's sharp eyes began studying their assigned subject matter
expert, though not in the same way that Ingrim had studied him.

      Ingrim was older than he looked at first having one of those
young faces despite his beard. He was of average height, carried
ten or fifteen pounds more than he should, and had an open,
friendly face full of easy intelligence. In his hand he held the
newest Larry Niven novel, his index finger between the pages to
mark his place.

      "Is it any good?" Mulder asked, gesturing towards the book.
"I'm behind in my reading."

      "You like science fiction?" Ingrim asked with decisive
interest. So was launched an animated conversation which lasted all
the way to the baggage area, out to the parking lot and half way to
the MGM Grand. A conversation which left Scully in the dust.
Relinquishing the passenger's seat to Mulder and his long legs
while Ingrim drove, Dana leaned against the back seat, pleased to
see her too-quiet partner obviously enjoying himself. She wondered
a little at their host but decided that they were all adults here
and let it pass.

      As they got out of the car in front of the huge golden
leonine facade of the hotel, Ingrim explained their reservation
problems to Mulder and hinted tactfully that Agent Scully seemed to
prefer to stay at the MGM as their alternatives were not nearly as
attractive. The news at the reservation desk was better than any
expected but not great. There had been a cancellation. Two rooms
were available, but both had only a single bed.

      "They're special rooms," the rooms clerk told them, "but the
only ones we have. As you're government, though, we'll give them to
you at the regular rate."

      Mulder frowned. He liked having a room to himself, his hours
were irregular and his sleep habits not much better, but he'd seen
how Dana's eyes brightened with curiosity and excitement at the
incredible, ostentatious decor of the huge hotel with its thousands
of lights and the wide, mirrored golden hallways.

      He owed her this much for all the Motel 8's and Travelodge's
he had picked out over the last months.

      "I can share," Mulder offered, speaking to Ingrim. The
analyst had stiffened at the suggestion until Mulder, not correctly
reading the reason for the other man's reaction, added "Maybe they
can find us a cot."

      The analyst relaxed, all, that is, except for the beat of his
heart.

      "Sorry, sir," the reservations clerk reported having
overhead, "there are no cots available, but there is a couch in the
room."

      Mulder raised his head to his partner, sharing a secret joke.
"Couch? No problem then. Give us the two you have then and an extra
blanket."

      Dana came to stand so close he could smell her scent, sense
her breathing. "Mulder, we don't have to do this. These are more
expensive than I thought. What's Accounting going to say?"

      Mulder looked over at their computer expert. "This is where
the action is. We'll say we had to be available on a moment's
notice. As long as Ingrim here pays for his half, we'll be all
right." Mulder picked up the key cards from the desk and swung his
suit bag over his shoulder, at the same time placing his hand
behind his partner's back in almost a mime of touching. "Besides,
you're going to earn us enough working the quarter slots so we can
retire from this harried life."

      Ingrim carried his bag and followed along behind, a wide,
contented grin on his bearded face.

                            * * * * * * * *

      The two men left Dana off at her room and continued down the
hall. After opening her door with the magnetic key Dana just stood
for a moment in the doorway and stared. "Mulder!" she called after
him in an odd voice.

      A jolt of adrenaline surging through him, Mulder was at her
side before he had even opened the door to his own room half way
down the hall. Mulder was accustomed to coming upon dreadful scenes
of violence and doom.  What he saw was Dana standing in the middle
of her room, her luggage forgotten at her feet.

      The hotel room was blue, mostly dove-blue velvet. The flocked
wall paper was blue as well as the rich velvet draperies. The
majority of the room was taken up by a massive round bed covered
with a blue and gold embroidered bedspread. But Dana's eyes were
not on the bed so much as on the ceiling above the bed which was
covered with gold-flecked mirrors. "Oh, my God.... I guess wishing
stars work after all," Mulder breathed with a soft chuckle.  "We've
checked into a bordello."

      Ingrim's face appeared hesitantly in the doorway a few
minutes later to see the two of them stretched out on either side
of the huge bed, with enough room between them to put a good sized
double, and laughing at themselves in the mirrors like a couple of
children. Seeing them obviously relaxed, without any signs that he
was interrupting anything intimate, Ingrim's face lit up with a
mischievous grin as he sought Mulder's eyes. "If you like this,
you're going to love ours."

      If Dana smiled before, she laughed until her legs were weak
when she saw the men's room. Where hers was blue, theirs was red,
fire engine red.

      "Didn't they use this as the set for one of your videos,
Mulder?"

      The agent gave her a crooked smile. "Sure you don't want to
trade?"

      "Oh, I wouldn't want to rob you and Mr. Ingrim of your fun."

      In a rare mood, Mulder reached out one long arm and pulled
the startled younger man into a brief, congenial hug for Dana's
benefit. "Gosh, you're just jealous."

      Neither agent noticed that the analyst crept out of the
embrace with reluctance and that his blush was threatening to match
the wallpaper.
 
 

      It took half an hour for the three to calm down enough to
ensure that they could maintain a professional demeanor in front of
Ingrim's team. The analyst led them down into the clean, white
bowels of the basement brain of the huge facility. At the door of
the computer room he ran into a tall, middle-aged woman whose
reading glasses hung from a string around her neck.

      "Grim!" she shouted excitedly. "I was just going to 'beep'
you! Harry found it! Just like you thought, it's a chameleon."

      "I knew it! I knew it! They used the security system, right?"
The two agents immediately forgotten, Ingrim ran into the room and
was surrounded by four young people who, obviously, had been all
working on the same problem under his direction. There was much
whooping and hollering and talk of levels of security and techno-
babble that neither Scully nor Mulder could hope to follow but
there was no doubt that they had found the code that explained the
gambling group's phenomenal success. No psychic cheaters here, Dana
thought with a sigh.

      After a few minutes, Ingrim came back to his two visitors
with a sheepish expression on his face. "Sorry, we tend to get
carried away with our work sometimes."

      "Oh," Dana said cocking an eyebrow in Mulder's direction, "I
don't think I know anyone who gets caught up in their work."

      "It was a chameleon. They didn't actually change the code but
the redefine what the computer thinks the code means. That's very
subtle and hard to find."

      "I guess there's nothing left for us to do here," Dana said
to the analyst looking about the gleaming hallways almost
wistfully.

      Ingrim put his hands in his pockets. "Guess not. Sorry you
came all the way out here for nothing. We can take care of this.
There's a lot of technical documentation that has to be done." He
looked at Mulder in a curious, sad way. "Are you going to be going
back right away?"

      Mulder consulted his watch and then Scully who had a stricken
expression on her classically lovely face. He could read her mind
as clearly as if she had spoken. It was only two in the afternoon
which meant plenty of time to make it back. By tomorrow it would be
back to midnight gambols on the moors with Mulder. Mud in her shoes
and spider webs in her hair.

      "I don't think so," Mulder said slowly pleased to see Dana's
face brighten. He liked that. Her skin had been too pale lately.
"Tomorrow is soon enough. I think Scully and I deserve a little
time off. Want to join us for dinner?" Mulder asked, but something
about the way his arm had almost gone around his small partner's
trim waist told Ingrim that the senior agent's inquiry had only
been made for the sake of politeness.

      "Sorry can't." Ingrim sensed both relaxing just a little at
his words, though both would have denied it. "I've got lots of work
to do here. You two have a good time. I won't tell."

      As if afraid they would be called back if they lingered,
Mulder turned smiling, but his smile was not as wide as Dana's.
Hers matched the hallway that was blazing with fluorescent lights.
"By the way," Mulder said turning back to the analyst for a moment,
"I'll take the couch. I'm used to it."

      Before heading back to his work, Ingrim watched the two
agents walk off, their steps considerably lighter than he had seen
yet that day from either of them.

                            * * * * * * * *

      Hands in his pockets, Mulder moved down the golden hallway on
the main level of the hotel. Dana felt a surge of electricity as if
he really had this aura Melissa had always talked about. If he did,
the aura at this moment would be glowing. He was different already.
Just the way he moved was looser, more relaxed. There was almost a
swagger in his step.

      Dana found herself more relaxed as well. Just watching him
did that. It was as if a steel rod had been removed from her back.

      "Twenty-one hours until our return flight, Scully. Time... an
abundance of riches. What do you want to do?"

      "I know your first order of business - food." Dana knew
probably better than Mulder did that he did not eat well when he
was on a case. Not well or often, in other words, the same way he
slept. Though his sleep cycles only improved modestly when he was
not under the stress of an investigation, his appetite underwent a
phenomenal improvement which meant he was probably ravenous.

      Mulder tossed back the lock of hair on his forehead with a
flick of his head. "How did you know?"

      "Observation, oh partner of mine." Dana had to admit a shrimp
cocktail and a thick petite fillet mignon - quality rather than
quantity - would go down rather well. Dana could see, however, that
Mulder's eyes were straying towards a sign for the hotel's coffee
shop. "Nothing doing, Mulder, I want this afternoon and tonight to
be special. As you said, we deserve it."

      Hazel eyes glowed in return, eager and playful. "Oh, that's
the way it is, is it?" Then the light dimmed. "Just as long as it
doesn't sink my budget. I'm still paying accounting back for the
unauthorized use of that van last month."

      "You didn't tell me it wasn't authorized!"

      "Sorry I brought it up. No more shop talk tonight, okay?"

      "O-kay," Dana agreed with alacrity. This was not Mulder
talking, but whoever he had mutated into she would spend the night
on the town with him, anyway. Besides with the glint in his eye and
the easy slouch to his shoulders, he was just too good looking to
be let off by himself. To prove her point, at that moment a silver-
tinted blond emerged from the casino near where they were walking.
The woman was dripping with jewels and wore a skin-tight gold lame
cocktail dress and spiked heels - and she was looking at Mulder as
if she would like to eat him up.

      Definitely, Mulder could not be allowed out by himself in
this city.

      Subconsciously, Dana looked down at her strict business suit,
remembered her practical hair style and felt downright dowdy,
uptight and not particularly feminine.

      "First," Dana said, stepping up to him with such a firm and
rapid step that Mulder found himself pushed up against the edge of
the registration desk and forced to look into her determined face,
"you stay right there and don't you move a muscle while I ask a
couple of questions." Mulder opened his mouth but had no time for
a sound to come out. "Don't you even think about it!" Dana snapped
then turned to a female clerk, asked a soft question, got a longer
reply, and wrote down some directions.

      Her hand on his sleeve, Mulder was towed out the door and two
blocks down the street to a small shop that rented evening and
formal wear mostly for the Sweetheart Wedding Chapel next door. In
fifteen minutes Special Agent Scully appeared at the door of the
dressing room, her hair swept up, her body poured into a green
satin form-fitting sheath dress which was covered with emerald-
green crystal droplets that shimmered as she breathed. Mulder, now
dressed nearly unrecognizably in an European cut dark grey tux with
a collarless shirt, whistled long and low.

      After leaving instructions to have their clothes sent to
their hotel, they left laughing, a tall, slender, handsome man side
by side with a small, curvaceous redhead. So intent were they on
planning what was left of their day, that they turned right instead
of left in front of the rental shop and practically ran into a
middle-aged man, dressed in a white suit, white patent-leather
boots and a Western string tie. The front man for Glen Campbell was
just then unlocking the door to the Sweetheart Chapel.

      "Hi! Didn't mean to keep you folks waiting," the preacher
drawled with a gold-tooth grin. "Will you be wantin' the five
minute or the ten minute service?"

      After a moment of startled amusement Mulder looked down at
the woman at this side and then back at the man in the shiny shoes.
"Thank you very much - but not today."

      Dana spent the next fifteen minutes trying to still the
frantic beating of her heart. She was so distracted that she let
Mulder choose the restaurant for their early dinner.

      The rest of the afternoon and evening was idyllic, at least
idyllic to two world-weary FBI agents. They lingered over dinner at
one of the most luxurious hotels, Mulder pitching in extra for a
view of hotel's main attraction: a Spielberg-quality special
effects spectacular consisting of a sea battle between two full-
sized pirate ships in which one was sunk completely only to be
resurrected to fight again - every hour on the hour. By the time
the third battle came around - as well as the third carafe of wine
- Mulder was betting on the ship both knew would lose.

      "Mulder, you haven't got a chance."

      "So? I like to root for the underdog... someone has to."
Heaven knew few enough had been there to support him in his
battles.

      Stomach full and just drunk enough to throw caution to the
wind, Mulder and Scully hit the casinos with a canvas bag of coins
and chips. Dana attacked the slots, Mulder the Twenty-One table.
Tiring of her game, Dana played bimbo to Mulder's Sugar Daddy and
draped herself around his broad shoulders at the craps table.
Once, when a grossly obese man hurled himself around the crimson
table, his hip knocked Dana and she was tossed like a feather into
Mulder's lap. They had laughed, but after the initial surprise the
humor died away in a rush of strong emotion. The lights and
carnival type noises around them faded away until it was only the
two of them nose to nose, breathing each other's air.  The tension
between them became something you could smell. Certainly Dana could
feel that his touch on her arm was trembling. So was her small body
as it fit lightly within the circle of his arms. Awkwardly, they
drew apart. Not very far or very fast but enough to make a
statement.

      Yes, I would like to, but, not now.

      Not now.... not today... but no talk of never.

      It was a glorious evening but even glorious evenings must
come to an end. When, in a spout of silliness, Mulder dumped half
a glass of champagne on Dana's head when she won her fourth modest
pot at the dollar slots, Dana decided it was time to call it a
night.

      The desert night air was cool and dry, the sky clear and full
of brilliant stars as they came out of the Silver Dollar and
finally located the gold of the MGM in the distance. They spoke
little in silent companionship, walking to clear their heads of the
lingering alcohol. Dana loved the sense of him walking beside her,
not touching, but so close that neither knew they were not. She
loved the feel of the slight breeze against her tired face, the
feel of it in her hair, and the way it moved his dark hair across
his high forehead.

      Mulder felt himself being watched and cast his eyes over his
companion. High on life, he had not noticed how the flaring white
light from a thousand watts had begun to make his eyes and his
brain ache. The night's darkness was a blessed respite. Even more
soothing was the return of his partner's cool, familiar
professionalism which she managed even in that thigh-length dress.
And over it all was her obvious, gentle pleasure in his company.
His arms remembered the feel of her. He wanted to feel her there
again, to watch, from a more intimate perspective, the gold and
silver gleam from the garish neon signs reflect in the red shine of
her hair. Someday he would, but for the moment there were still too
many obstacles, too much he would be bringing to her that he did
not wish to bring to any woman - all his fears and all his
obsessions. And then there were his demons. Even though she was an
equal to all of the strong people he had ever met in his life,
Mulder did not wish to burden her with any of those.

      But someday, after he'd cleaned house, then maybe.

      Sighing, he looked down the street, through the darkness,
towards their goal.

End of Chapter 1
 

From windsinger@aol.com Sat Mar 29 22:02:17 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: FLATCATS (2a/2) by Windsinger
From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger)
--------
FLAT CATS (2/2)
By Sue Esty (AKA Windsinger)
1/1/96 (revised 2/20/97)

Chapter 2

      By the time they reached the golden main entrance of their
hotel, Dana knew Mulder had pushed himself too far. There was
darkness about this eyes, a grey tone to his skin despite his weak
smile. In her preoccupation with their silly comments and exuberant
caperings of the evening, content to see the appraising flow of his
eyes across her form in its rented finery, Dana had forgotten his
exhaustion at the airport. Here was the Mulder who had not had a
decent night's sleep for days and she had been selfish wanting the
night to go on and on. His eyes had begun to lose their luster two
hours before but Dana had chosen not to interpret that signal and
he had not wanted to spoil her fun by calling it a night before she
was ready. Mulder was like a candle with a low wick - he still
burned brightly, but every once in a while his flame sputtered. It
was doing that now as he stood swaying beside the control panel in
the elevator car trying to remember their floor. He barely made it
to her door.

      Dana hesitated before going in, wanting to pull him in with
her and into that big bed - just to sleep safe and warm beside him,
if for no other reason than to keep this night from ending so soon.

      Mulder sagged against the wall by her door as if all that
kept him upright was its wallboard and gilded paint. His eyes were
fixed on the shadowed depths of her room as if he longed to rest
there as much as she, but he would not speak. It was her place to
speak. Neither did he move. Whether from exhaustion or because he
was waiting for her, even he did not know.

      Dana's hesitation stretched between them. They knew each
other so well, had played this game for so long, had drawn the line
so strongly it was hard to find the words to break it. Dana had
actually raised her hand to reach out to take his, but before her
fingers could make contact, Mulder had pushed his flagging body
from the wall. His tired eyes had missed her now aborted movement.

      "Guess I'd better let you get some sleep. 'Nite, Scully."

      With more than a twinge of disappointment, Dana watched him
turn and move down the hallway. At one point he stumbled slightly
and one long hand came out to touch the gilded wallpaper to steady
his progress.

      "Get some sleep yourself, Mulder. See you in the morning."

                         * * * * * * * *

      Nearly midnight. Documenting the subtle, furtive revisions
which had been made to the security system in the hotel's computers
had taken Wallace Ingrim's team far longer than finding the
problem. With a burst of intuition honed to a fine edge by
experience, the team had traced all the irregular processes from
their control points. Unfortunately, documenting the high tech
crime in such a way that the report would be comprehensible by even
computer semi-literates and admissible evidence in a court of law
was going to take a week. They had gotten a good start but there
were days of work still ahead of them.

      As he inserted the magnetic card into the door lock, a flight
of butterflies moved in Ingrim's stomach. Not that they were
anything knew. They'd been there all day in anticipation of this
moment. His fingers shook slightly. He opened the door as quietly
as possible in order not to wake the Washington agent if he was
asleep. Because the heavy black out curtains which were intended to
block the morning desert sun were drawn, Ingrim couldn't see any
details in the room at first, not even a detail as significant as
a six foot plus man. Unaware that he was holding his breath, the
analyst switched on the bathroom light and immediately felt a wave
of disappointment.

      No Mulder. No dark-haired head on a pillow, no strong, lean
body asleep, either in the bed or curled on the couch. A pillow, a
set of sheets and some blankets had been left on the couch by
housekeeping but that was all.

      Ingrim took a long shower, the image of his roommate for the
night burning in his brain. He had not thought that the senior
agent would be out so late. Mulder had exuded a weariness that was
distressing to see in one who was clearly very physically active.
That thought led to another, as equally disappointing as the first.
Ingrim sagged against the cool tile of the shower. Maybe Mulder was
spending the night with his partner, their separate room
arrangements a legal fiction. Ingrim knew the Bureau's policy but
was no prude. The partners made a handsome couple.

      Ingrim appreciated the female physique, the soft, unexpected
curves as restful to the eyes, in the Japanese way, as a pool of
quiet, deep water. And if women were, therefore, like works of art,
then Dana Scully was museum quality. Still, the sex did not
enflame.

      On the other hand, Agent Mulder....

      Wearing only short pajama bottoms, Ingrim came out of the
bathroom to roll into the center of the huge bed.  He stretched out
with his hands behind his head thinking furiously.

      Walking into the airport lounge, the analyst had seen a tall
man slouched in one of those uncomfortable chairs, head thrown
back, limbs sprawled out - all in all, dead to the world. Just a
man, but somehow this one had captured Ingrim's imagination and
triggered a most profound physical response. Ingrim had not known
for certain that the owner of those long legs, those broad
shoulders and slender, sensitive hands was one of the agents from
Washington he was scheduled to meet, but this was the lounge where
he was scheduled to meet the visitors, and no one else fit the
descriptions he had been given. Besides, two brief cases and the
carrying case for a lap top were sitting side by side on the floor
at the man's feet and the sleeper's suit also had an certain
eastern Fibbie air about it though it was of better quality than
most. So Ingrim had sat down opposite from the very nice view and
studied the source of his enchantment.

      Wallace Ingrim found his physical reaction unexpected.
Typically, he was attracted to more powerful, stockier out-doorsy
types. And hair... lots of hair, especially beards and dark, furry
chests. The man sleeping before him was of the intelligent,
aesthetic variety, strong and physical but not from outdoor
pursuits, too pale for that. Also, the skin on his face was not
lined from the elements as many men's were and he had the look of
one whose chest was probably nearly hairless. All in all, a body
more like one of the great sleek cats than the bears Ingrim
preferred.

      It was the face that drew Ingrim. Long, dark eyelashes lay
against the smooth, high cheekbones. Sensual lips were parted in
sleep. The jaw and chin were strong. Ingrim liked beards, his own,
he was told, added years to his eternally, youthful looks. Many
others, those with missing or weak chins had their appearances
significantly improved by a beard but this one needed no such
adornment. Not at all. Youthful, handsome, even beautiful, strong
yet sensitive. All this and more. Ingrim sat entranced until the
arrival of the partner.

      That was another thing. Something about her bringing the
sandwich and waking her friend with a casual tenderness had evoked
Ingrim's own considerable nurturing side. He could see himself
caring for and protecting someone like this. Here was one for which
he would like to lessen a burden or smooth a path.

      Yes, a handsome couple, comfortable with each other. Ingrim
would be surprised if the two didn't stray, at least occasionally,
especially when, like tonight, they were on holiday. Their easy
companionship, deep friendship and affection were obvious to anyone
who cared to look. Ingrim had to admit that he was sadly envious of
their relationship. The reality of that bond, however, didn't mean
that the analyst couldn't look and dream a bit.

      Dream... Ingrim stretched out, liking the feel of the thick,
silken, quilted bedspread against his bare back and legs.

       The fantasy began weaving around him. He was not alone.
There was other skin - smooth, warm skin with a man's steel muscles
beneath was moving against his own.

      That was when Ingrim opened his eyes...

      And jumped, disoriented, until he remembered about the
ceiling mirrors. Groaning, he shut his eyes.

      He did not need a second look, had not wanted the first. His
own reflection made his winch. His face was youthful and pleasant
enough, his legs, however, he felt were too short, his calves too
thick. The love handles at this waist testified to too many hours
spent in front of the computer and too few at the gym. His body was
altogether too stubby and, worst of all, it spread out like a house
cat's when the animal lay in the sun. He was that flat cat, every
spare ounce of flesh, every untuned muscle flattened out like
butter on a warm plate. Ingrim shuttered. Mulder would not look
like this. His body was firm and wild. His body would be a pleasure
to look upon in that mirror --

      A jolt of giddy warmth coursed through the analyst's body,
coming to center in his groin as an idea began to form.

      Suddenly alert, Ingrim sat up and eyed Mulder's carryall. It
seemed untouched since the agent had dropped it in the room. If
Mulder was going to sleep over with his partner he would, at least,
have come to retrieve his toothbrush and other necessary items, so
perhaps, Mulder and Scully had not returned yet from what, even
Ingrim could tell, was for them an unexpected nightly prowl. This
meant Mulder may yet come here to sleep. Mulder had said he would
take the couch but he would not be able to if the Ingrim had it
first.

      Rapidly, the analyst turned up the thermostat as far as it
would go and set the fan to its highest setting. He made up his own
bed on the couch and laid a towel out temporarily on the round
mattress to test his view of the mirrors when he laid down.
Blushing and feeling more than a little guilty about the
preparations, Ingrim finally turned down the worst of the heat and
laid down on the couch, eyes fixed on the mirrors, but closed as if
in sleep. No one would be hurt, Mulder did not even need to know.
It was no different than 'girl' watching at the beach. At least
that was what Wallace tried to tell himself.

                            * * * * * * * *

      Mulder came in an hour later, not quietly, but by then he was
so tired he had completely forgotten he had roommate until he
stumbled over the analyst's luggage. Noticing that their UNIX
expert had taken the couch, Mulder's response was only a weary
shrug. As tired as he was, he could sleep on a bed of thorns for
what little remained of the night. On the bathroom mirror Mulder
saw scrawled in soap on the mirror, "Please leave the bathroom
light on. Hope you don't mind."

      Mulder smiled just a little. Someone else afraid of the dark.
 

      As far as bed preparations went, sliding the toothbrush
around in his mouth and slashing a little cold water on his face
was as far as Mulder got, though normally he would have taken a
shower to get rid of the tobacco scent of the casinos from his skin
and his hair. Kicking off his shoes and slipping out of the rented
tux coat, Mulder was aware for the first time of how oppressively
hot it was in the room. Accustomed to poor hotel climate control,
he did not give the matter another thought. Except for his black
silk boxers, the remainder of his clothes ended up in an untidy
pile on the floor. Turning down the bed Mulder crawled on top of
the cool white bottom sheet and with an extended sigh passed almost
immediately into a deep forgetfulness.

      After a minute's hesitation, a pair of pale eyes from the
form on the couch opened and stared up at the ceiling, their owner
feeling guilt evaporate as he appreciated the view.

                            * * * * * * * *

      Ingrim woke from sweet dreams of dark-hair and long limbs to
odd sounds in the night. He listened, eyes remembering in the light
from the bathroom where he was. He stole a look at the mirrors.
There was movement on the bed. Mulder was not sleeping quietly any
longer. The sounds came from him. Strangled breaths, groans and
something like an angry sob. His head moved from side to side on
the white pillow and his hands moved restlessly.

      Ingrim listened for the few minutes, wondering what he should
do. Finally, when the cries became, not louder, but clearly more
agonized, he slid from his couch and crept to the bedside.

      Mulder's hazel eyes were shut, painfully so, and his whole
body was rigid in the rigors of what clearly was some terrible
nightmare.  Tentatively, wanting to help but know knowing how, the
young analyst touched the smooth shoulder. His own eyes opened with
awe and a deep pity when he saw the round pink scar on that
shoulder from what was clearly a bullet wound and one not so many
months old. The skin under his light touch was hot, though Mulder
was actively shivering as he forced air out from between clenched
teeth.

      Hastily, Ingrim reached across the writhing body for the
turned down top sheet, feeling a warmth, a sexual pull that was
painful. To be so close... He pulled the sheet over to cover the
agent.

      Though unconscious, Mulder reacted. For a heartbeat as the
sheet touched him his body convulsed almost as if the fabric
burned. Fists that were all tendon and knuckle and bone wrestled
with the offending fabric. Then his body went rigid, nearly
catatonic from some remembered agony. "No...no...no," came not from
his lip but from down deep in his chest. Another convulsion
traveled from the anguished face, past the neck and shoulders and
down to the thrashing feet. His back arched. Every muscle in arms
and legs and chest and neck at that moment went as taunt as a
pulled bow string and Mulder flung back his head as his mouth
opened wide in a silent scream, a cry, more alarming for that
horrible silence.

      If Ingrim could have seen himself at that moment he would not
have recognized his own pale eyes which were wide and staring in a
paler face. Fearful, anxious, but needing to do something, he
reached for that shoulder again if only to break that paralyzing
torment that was going on and on and on, certainly for far too
long. He needed to run his hand over that skin, those muscles, if
only to offer some comfort.

      Break the spell he did. As Ingrim touched Mulder's skin, skin
now dripping with sweat, one of the agent's long, slender hands
broke its hold on the sheet and snaked out to take Ingrim's wrist
in a grip of steel.

      Fear exploding in every muscle, the young analyst lunged
backwards but the grip held. Mulder's strength was as hard and
unmoving as stone, his fingers like iron bands which would not
budge regardless of how frantically Ingrim twisted in that hold.

      For the first time Mulder's eyes were open. Glistening green
orbs stared in Ingrim's direction but clearly saw some other scene,
from some other time, some other place. Remembered or imagined,
Ingrim didn't know or care. At least the awful rigors had stopped.
Ingrim's intervention had done that much, had moved the focus of
the nightmare from hard hands and tight straps that had held the
agent down, from needles that came out of the dark to rob him of
strength and will, from men in white masks that hovered coldly
above him, from a hand that came down to drop fire into his eye to
rob him consciousness and thought and memory.

      The nightmare shifted to one where Mulder had some control
though the horror still burned up from deep inside. Long legs swung
over the side of the bed so the agent now sat glaring, but still
unseeing, into the intruder's face. That hand, iron around Ingrim's
wrist, was like the chain of the handcuff that had bound Mulder to
the hunter. The hunter who had held Mulder's life in his hands, the
hunter who had answers for which Mulder had been willing to give
his life.

      "Where is she?" Mulder demanded through a throat constricted
with rage. His anger was even more than the fear for his need to
know was stronger. "Where?"

      Bracing fear-empowered legs against the bed frame, Ingrim
fought that restraining hand. He pulled back, twisting with all he
had, felt the fiery pain all the way up his arm and into his
shoulder, inflaming every joint, but the agent's mad strength would
not be shaken.

      "I don't know!" Ingrim swore, in a plaintive voice. "Please,
Agent Mulder, I don't even know who Sam is!"

      As an expression of loss, of sorrow passed over the other's
face, Ingrim stopped struggling and looked into those blank eyes.
Just as suddenly, the overpowering hatred that had flooded the
agent dissolved; his body seemed to deflate. As the anger
evaporated, a younger, different voice came out. "Please, don't
hurt her."

      From the depths of the soul, though he had no idea of whom he
spoke, Ingrim replied, "I don't know where she is. I'm sorry. If I
knew I'd tell you."

      Mulder's eyes closed again. The wide shoulders relaxed, then
folded. The phenomenal strength just flowed away like sand carried
off by a wave, like a house with no foundation. Slowly, Ingrim
extracted his wrist from the loosened grip. There was no
resistance. With the imprint of those fingers still imbedded in his
flesh, Ingrim reached out with gentle compassion to move aside the
damp hair from that chill, damp forehead.

      Mulder's head raised a little, and that small voice came
again. "S-Scully?" he inquired, searchingly.

      At that name Ingrim jerked back. Fevered by his humiliation,
he moved away. This was not his place. At that moment a shudder
passed through the agent's pale, lean body, the head dropped. Even
in the dim light, Ingrim could see the stronger shudder begin, a
total body-wrenching spasm, and Mulder would have fallen from the
bed, face down onto the carpet, if the analyst hadn't been there to
catch him.

      All of which explained how Ingrim found himself kneeling
beside the bed with Mulder's upper body collapsed around him, the
dark head on his shoulder, long arms weakly around him, bare chest
pressed against his. Ingrim felt each long shudder, each small
convulsions, as it racked the lanky body he held. As his surprise
wore off, the analyst realized that Mulder was clearly still not
awake, never had been, but remained locked in some dream of need.
The analyst returned the embrace, let his head rest against the
head of the one he held. Ingrim swayed a little as a mother
comforts a child, as he smelled the cigarette smoke from the
casinos the night before, the scent of beer and a little scent of
her. Overall, however, he smelled sweat, a male scent that
triggered a spread of a warmth from the places Mulder's body lay
against his, all the way through the analyst's body to his loins
with a deep pleasure. He allowed himself to stroke the straight
hair, felt the bands of muscles in the back and arms alternately
contract and relax as each spasm passed.

      It was all Ingrim could do not to crawl into bed and wrap his
whole body around that suffering form, all he could do not to pour
out all of his own loneliness and compassion but he was a better
man than that. It had been unfair enough to do what he had without
the other's knowledge and permission. Mulder had given no sign
whatsoever that afternoon that he had any tendencies at all in that
direction.

      Minutes passed. Ingrim held the taller man and gave himself
up to dim fantasies as the adrenaline surge in both gave way to the
lassitude of exhaustion.

      Slowly, Ingrim woke from a pleasant fantasy of long legs, a
man's firm muscles against his, a musky male taste in his mouth,
sensing a wrongness. The spasms that had assaulted Mulder's body
were gone. Though Ingrim would not have thought it possible, the
agent's upper body was even more relaxed than before, a true dead
weight laying across the analyst's shoulders, as limp now as he had
been nearly catatonic with terror before. Fear, like ice water,
shattered the remnants of Ingrim's dream.

      Alarmed, the analyst hastily rolled the limp body from his
shoulders, quickly, but gently laying the upper half of the agent's
body back onto the bed, swinging the long legs up onto the mattress
and covering all with the sheet. The sleeping man was completely
passive in a way that made Ingrim shiver with apprehension. His
heart was pounding so loudly in his own chest, the blood roaring so
in his own ears that Ingrim could not even tell if the agent
breathed, could not differentiate whether the faint throb he felt
under his fingertips was from his own heart beat or the other's.

      Frantic, stopping only to snatch up a t-shirt, Ingrim threw
open the door of his room, thrust his suitcase in front of the
opening so that the door would not lock behind him, and raced to
Mulder's partner's room, to pound with his closed fist against her
door.

                            * * * * * * * *

      Dana slept lightly as she always did when on assignment with
Mulder. One just never knew.

      The pounding on the door awakened her. She jerked awake and
flailed at the night stand for her gun before she was even coherent
enough to identify the sound.

      Not home... Hotel... Door...

      She knew immediately it was not Mulder. She knew all his
knocks just as she knew his moods and this was none of his. Safety
off, gun by her side, dressed in blue satin pajamas, Dana padded to
the door and opened it cautiously. She was barely able to recognize
Wallace Ingrim in this wide-eyed, white-faced and barely-clothed
man standing at her door. When she did, she opened it wide.

      "What's wrong?"

      "Agent Mulder..." Ingrim reported, gulping for air like he
was drowning. "Please come." He did not even realize that his face
was wet with tears - tears of both imagined joy and true terror.

      Dana had the safety back on her gun and was out the door and
half way to the men's room before Ingrim's shaky voice could add,
"He had a nightmare -"

                            * * * * * * * *

      Dana found Mulder as Ingrim had left him. She didn't like the
total lack of resistance in the muscles, the unawareness, the
shallow breathing or the slow heart rate. Though his condition
worried her, she had seen it all before.

      Gently, she used a warm wash cloth to wipe away the worst of
the sweat. Then she wrapped her friend warmly in a blanket and sat
by his side crooning softly under her breath until his respirations
deepened and became more regular.
 

      Returning to her room nearly half an hour later Dana found
Ingrim sitting on her couch, legs drawn up, her bedspread around
his shoulders. He looked as if he was feeling a chill from
somewhere deep down.

      "He'll be all right," Dana announced, answering the young
analyst's unasked question as she sat down on the bed facing him.

      Ingrim let out a breath he did not know he was holding. "Are
you going back to stay with him?" he asked.

      Hair disheveled from sleep, Dana's red head shook in the
negative. "No, he wouldn't appreciate waking up and thinking I had
to babysit him. This happens often enough that we have an
understanding. If he doesn't wake up fully, he usually doesn't
remember. Best then to let him think nothing has happened. He's
sleeping soundly now which is what he needs. The dreams, if they
don't wake him up and get his mind working, really knock him out."

      Dana took the young man's measure and liked what she saw.
Mulder's nightmare must have scared the young agent half to death
but he had kept his head and acted with restraint despite his
obvious emotional inclinations. As far as Dana could see he hadn't
taken advantage when he could have. She saw kindness, intelligence,
honor and need - a loneliness that in many ways matched Mulder's,
a craving to be accepted and loved for himself, a desire to bestow
friendship and have that friendship returned.

      "It must have been a bad one. I know how frightening those
can be."

      Ingrim frowned.

      "Thank you for being there for him. I'm usually not so far
away, usually just on the other side of the wall so I can hear
him."

      Ingrim's eyes strayed to the door but still he didn't move.
"You're afraid to go back there, aren't you?" Dana asked. She
looked at her own couch. "You could stay here with me, I wouldn't
mind. Kind of like a slumber party -"

      Ingrim smiled, knowingly. "In other words I'm harmless - at
least in that respect."

      "In ALL respects," Dana emphasized, "if I read you right.
Like I said you could stay with me but I would consider it a favor
if you went back and stayed with Mulder. It's been a rough few
months and though he usually only has one episode per night, I
don't want him to be alone."

      Seeing the young man's hesitation, Dana added reassuringly,
"I'll be right here if you need me."

      With a slight hesitation as the rhythm of his heart
quickened, Ingrim stood. This quite extraordinary woman had given
him a gift and a mission. Little things in the complex weave of
life but her trust meant much. That she should put into his care,
even for such a short time, one who meant so much to her was
humbling. Ingrim had no way of knowing that to survive, Mulder, and
later Dana, had had to learn to read people very quickly and very
well. Who could they trust and who could they not? They were not
always right, but in this instance Dana felt no hesitation.

      Before he left, Ingrim turned and asked one last question.
"How can you work with him, day in and day out? With him looking
like that, I mean. With him being... him."

      The analyst saw the woman cock her head, a wistful smile
lingering on those red lips. "Oh, I don't see that all the time.
Just as even a beautiful landscape eventually is taken for granted.
Just as your straight friends have learned to see YOU after a while
and not just the stereotype. I see his mind work, I see his pain,
I see the danger, the horror we have to live with. It's the pain I
see, though, more than anything." Dana found herself blushing.
"Between us, I have to admit, there are times like last evening,
when I'd like to forget who we are and rip his clothes off."

      Ingrim grinned. He liked this woman. He liked this woman a
lot. She almost made him wish.... But no. He was who he was. "Are
you certain Agent Mulder wouldn't like that?"

      Dana gave the analyst one of her rare wide smiles. "I think
he would but that would complicate our lives more than either of us
are willing to risk right now. But who knows? Maybe he'd even like
you to snuggle up to him." She smiled a little wickedly as Ingrim
blushed crimson. "You have to admit, you're safer in many ways.
There's not the professional and emotional bond. Mulder's
inclinations are not a subject we've ever discussed. I know he
likes women, but does he swing both ways? Personally, I doubt it,
but Mulder's deep. It's not my place to say."

      Trying to ignore the heat of his face, Ingrim absently looked
down to rub the bruise on his wrist. It hurt a little. In a weird
way it made him happy. He had been there to help when he was
needed. Sighing, the analyst dropped the bedspread and got to his
feet. "I hope to find someone some day and when I do I hope we have
what the two of you have."

      Dana spoke, a wistful expression on her face. "I wish you
luck. I think you will. Find someone, I mean." Ingrim gave her a
grateful smile and started for the door only to be halted by her
voice. "Oh, by the way," she began, voice lowered warningly, "I
think your room's a little chilly. I'd leave him covered, if I were
you. I don't want him dreaming about what happened in Alaska."

      This time Ingrim blushed, really blushed, knowing why she
really wanted her friend covered. No anger but a gentle reproof.
She trusted him to a certain extent but no further. Voice
constricted with shame, Ingrim managed to ask, "What happened in
Alaska?"

      "You don't want to know."

End of chapter 2a

From windsinger@aol.com Sat Mar 29 22:04:23 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: FLATCATS (2b/2) by Windsinger
From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger)
--------
FLAT CATS (2b/2)
By Sue Esty (AKA Windsinger)
1/1/96 (revised 2/20/97)

Chapter 2b

                            * * * * * * * *

      The sound of the door to his room closing woke Mulder late
the next morning. He was alone. His eyes felt gritty. His muscles
ached, as did his head. He knew he had not drunk that much the
night before so the more probable explanation came to him quickly.

      Another one, probably a bad one.

      Sitting up, his eyes sought the place on the couch where the
young computer expert had been curled up the night before. The man
must sleep like the dead to have slept through all that. The pillow
and blanket and rumpled sheets were there but that was all.
Ingrim's luggage was gone, too, but from the sound Mulder had heard
upon waking, Ingrim had not been gone long.

      Mulder took a long shower letting the hot water wash away
much of the ache while his mind struggled to get into gear. When he
remembered that he and Scully were, in essence, caseless for the
moment, he let his thoughts blank out, until he remembered their
night on the town. By the time he emerged from the bathroom, the
hotel towel wrapped around his waist, there was a rare half smile
on his lips.

      Casually, he noticed a note lying on top of his open carry
all. After glancing at it, he tossed it aside to reach for the
clothes beneath.

      "Agent Mulder, got to go meet with the team and wrap this
puppy up. Sorry we didn't have a chance to really work together. I
hope you and Agent Scully enjoyed yourselves last night. If you
ever need a UNIX expert again, let me know.     - Wallace Ingrim."

THE END