"Snapshot III:Decisions" 
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned 
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and 
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are 
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No 
infringement is intended. 
 
Classification: V+,MSR,A 
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages) 
 
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        They had finally gotten up to watch the rental movie. It was 
one of those direct-to-video nightmares starring the younger brothers 
and sisters of more well-known movie stars, and was filled with inane 
situations, stupefying dialogue and plots that could have been figured 
out in an instant if all the characters didn't posses sub-room-
temperature 
IQ's. 
        Neither of them saw a single frame of the movie. Scully's head 
was against his chest, her fingers making little circles through his 
shirt. 
Her eyes were glazed, unfocused, staring at some middle distance between 
the television and her heart. Mulder's hand was at the back of her neck, 
his fingers lightly grazing the skin there, the follicles standing at 
attention, awaiting their orders from the army of goosebumps his touch 
raised. Scully closed her eyes, wondering if it were possible for her to 
actually start purring. 
        Her thoughts drifted back over the events of the last few 
hours, and she felt herself snuggling closer to Mulder, the memories 
making her want to be as close to his body as possible. For close to 
an hour they had slowly discovered as much about each other as they 
dared. They could feel that moment coming, slowly approaching over the 
horizon, and they both knew that their promises to each other 
whispered in the office might have to be broken, and soon, or they 
might both go slowly insane. Pleasure delayed, someone once said, is 
pleasure denied. 
        With a start, Scully realized that she was staring at a 
television screen filled with nothing but the white snowy streaks of 
static. The movie had ended, the VCR had auto-rewinded, and then 
faithfully turned itself off. Without wanting to know what time it 
was, Scully glanced at her watch. 
        It was half past nine, both too early and too late. Too early, 
because Dana desperately wanted Mulder to stay, to stay all night if 
he wanted. Almost too late, because if he stayed much longer, he would 
want to stay all night, and they both knew what would happen if he 
did. 
        "Mulder-" she said, moving slightly away. 
        "I know. I'm just about outta here, Scully. I just..." 
        She laughed softly. "I know. Didn't want to disturb me." 
        He nodded. 
        "Tomorrow?" she asked, the unspoken hope clear in her voice. 
        He shook his head. "I have to requalify. I've been putting it 
off for months, and Skinner has insisted that I finally get it done, 
or he's going to personally write me up." 
        "I could-" 
        "Scully...he's going to be there." Mulder paused, knowing what 
he had to say next was going to be difficult for the both of them, but 
he knew it had to be said, it had to be spoken aloud, brought out from 
the soft, comfortable corners into the light. "Until we can figure out 
how we're going to...deal with this, I don't think we should be near 
ANY FBI facility together. We need this time apart, Scully...we need 
to..." 
        "Decompress," she finished, nodding in agreement. She looked 
away, suddenly feeling sad. 
        Mulder reached over with his free hand, his fingers finding 
her chin. He turned her face towards him slowly, finding her eyes with 
his. "You know there's no place I'd rather be than with you." 
        "I know." It happened again. Just looking at her face, falling 
into her eyes, was all that it took. He felt his breath locking in his 
chest, his aching hunger consuming him, drawing him to her, a 
combination of magnetism and chemistry too powerful to resist. Their 
lips touched softly, and for the first time, Mulder felt the soft, 
moist tip of Scully's tongue slowly tracing the outline of his bottom 
lip. The feeling was so shocking, so erotically charged that he pulled 
back as if burned, his hand going to his mouth. 
        "Whoa," he whispered. Scully's smile was enigmatic, a sphinx's 
teasing grin, promising so much more given half the chance. Mulder's 
breath returned to him in stages. He closed his eyes, imagining that 
warmth and silky moisture elsewhere on his body, and let out a deep, 
shuddering sigh. 
        "I have to go...now." 
        He stood, holding out his hand. Reluctantly, Scully took it, 
letting him pull her off the couch. He found his jacket and slipped 
into it, his hand automatically going to the holstered pistol on his 
hip, adjusting it, tugging it into position. He walked to the door, 
stopping to bend down and grab his keys off the floor. He reached for 
the knob and stopped, wanting to say something else, something more, 
and found that the words in his mouth had deserted him as he felt her 
arms circling his waist from behind, first her chin, and then the side 
of her face against the middle of his back. 
        "I want you to stay," she whispered. 
        "And that's why I have to go," he answered, just as softly. He 
felt her nod against him, and without looking back he turned the knob, 
opened the door, and stepped out of her embrace. His steps were 
deliberate as he walked down the hall to the stairs. He stopped at the 
landing and turned back, knowing what he would see: Scully, holding 
the edge of the door against her face, staring at him. 
        He felt the sudden urge to blow her a kiss, but didn't. 
Instead, he smiled. Scully gave him a little wave and closed the door. 
A moment later he heard the deadbolt snick! into place. 
        Mulder sighed and started down the stairs. 
 
                                      *** 
                                The Next Morning 
 
        Dana opened her eyes slowly, not ready to greet the new day 
quite yet. In the hazy layer between sleep and wakefulness, she knew 
that she had dreamed about Mulder, had dreamed about being in his 
arms, had dreamed about the feel of his naked body against hers. She 
woke to find herself clutching the spare pillow, and smiled at it, 
wondering if she should ask if had been good for the pillow, too. 
        She sat up in bed, the sheet falling away to reveal her usual 
sleeping attire: A VICAP T-shirt and a pair of USMC red running 
shorts. Padding barefoot into the kitchen, Scully started the coffee 
and headed for the bathroom, eager to get in the shower and start the 
day. It was so rare that she had a weekend completely off, and Scully 
wanted to take full advantage of the time. 
        The water was hot and plentiful, and before long the tiny 
bathroom filled with steam. She slid the curtain back and got in, 
letting the water hit her in the face and cascade down her petite 
body. 
        Heat. 
        Moisture. 
        Standing there in the shower was like bathing in one of 
Mulder's kisses, she thought, and immediately let out a giggle. God, 
I haven't giggled since high school. But it feels so good to feel this 
wonderful. I sure as hell don't know what tomorrow's going to bring, 
but I do know that I feel wonderful today, and that's all that 
matters. 
        Taking the soap, Scully started on her hands and arms, working 
the suds into her skin, seeking that refreshing, clean feeling the 
shower always gave her. She trailed the bar up her arm, into the 
crease of her elbow and... 
        Suddenly Dana had an incredible body memory, a flashback to 
the night before when she and Mulder had been on the couch necking 
like a pair of hormonally-charged teenagers. He had been tickling the 
palm of her hand with his fingers as his mouth had moved against hers, 
tasting her lips, teasing them, and then his hand had slowly moved up 
her arm, not actually touching her skin, just close enough to rake the 
fine hairs on her arm backwards until his fingers had encountered the 
crease of her elbow. He had traced the crease so incredibly gently, so 
lightly that Dana had to concentrate to remember if he had actually 
touched her skin, or if the heat from his fingers had somehow 
transmitted itself to her body without physical contact. She 
remembered the feeling inside her center, her core, as the heat and 
moisture there had slowly welled up and consumed her, a melting, 
dissolving feeling that had made her swoon. 
        God, had any man ever touched me like that before? she 
wondered. Just that she had to ask that question made Scully smile in 
the shower. Mulder had erased any memories of previous lovers. The way 
he touched her...with respect, with consideration, the way he moved 
with her, at her pace, never pushing, never asking for more than she 
was willing to give, knowing that at any moment he could do something 
to her, touch her in a certain way and she would dissolve into a 
puddle of writhing, naked need...and yet, he waited for her to join 
him in that place, that special moment when they would take each other 
for the first time, when they would join as one- 
        The way his hunger fed off hers. She tried to remember the way 
it was with Jack, and frowned. When compared to Mulder, Jack seemed 
like a Neanderthal jackass. He'd been pushy, insistent, fully 
expecting that Dana be ready for him, ready to join him in whatever 
particular frenzy he was feeling. She remembered feeling rushed and 
blaming herself, making if not faked, then at least exaggerated little 
noises of pleasure during the entire ordeal. 
        Ordeal? She nodded dumbly in the warm stream of water. 
Compared to Mulder, her time with Jack _had_ been an ordeal. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Mulder awoke to greet the new day in the same place he did 
every morning: crashed out on his couch. But for the first time in 
recent memory, he'd slept through the entire night. He glanced at his 
watch and saw that he had about ninety minutes until Skinner expected 
him at Quantico. That gave him about twenty minutes to shower and 
change, get out the door, get some semblance of a breakfast and make 
it to the range in time. 
        He bounded off the couch, shedding clothes as he went, and 
started the shower running. Running some cold water to brush his 
teeth, Mulder was greeted by a sight in the mirror he hadn't seen in a 
while. An actual smile. It was small, a little teasing thing at the 
corners of his mouth, more visible in the depths of his eyes than on 
his face, but it was there. He could see it, could sense his own 
happiness. 
        The water was warm and welcome, and Mulder luxuriated in it, 
using the soap quickly, efficiently. He was washing his chest, 
studying the way the soap made little fluffy bubbles in his chest hair 
when he remembered the way Scully's fingers had teased him there 
through the shirt, as if her fingers had wanted to burrow through the 
material and reach skin. His morning erection, usually an unwelcome 
visitor each morning, made a return appearance, bobbing back to life. 
He considered doing what he had done on more than one occasion, as 
many men had through the ages, considered taking care of the problem 
in the quickest, most efficient way possible. But somehow, today, this 
morning, that seemed like... 
        Sacrilege. Like it was somehow...cheating. 
        He didn't want to release that energy inside him, didn't want 
to do anything that might cloud his spiritual connection to Dana. And 
that, doing what was at the same time both natural and just a little 
unseemly, might color the edges of what he was feeling, might somehow 
cast an oily cast on the memories. 
        Shrugging, Mulder leaned forward and did what men in his 
current predicament had been doing since the invention of inside 
plumbing. He cranked the hot water handle all the way to OFF and 
waited for the suddenly icy stream to do its business. 
        "Sweet Jesus GOD!" he screamed out, gritting his teeth, trying 
to outlast the shivering. Finally, he cranked the cold tap all the way 
to OFF, grabbed a towel and jumped out of the shower, his teeth 
chattering. 
        The things I do for love, he thought, grinning as the word 
made its way across the synapses of his brain. He glanced at his watch 
again upon entering his bedroom, and saw that he had less than ten 
minutes to spare. 
        He dressed quickly, selecting jeans and a turtleneck from his 
wardrobe, and (thankfully) remembering his Bureau-issue Smith & Wesson 
10mm pistol on the way out the door. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        The FBI pistol range at Marine Barracks, Quantico, Virginia, 
had been built just before the J. Edgar Hoover building, and it was 
showing it's age. Thirty firing lanes, each of them with an electric 
motor controlling a laundry-line-like assembly that held the targets 
at the various ranges needed to qualify. Mulder quickly reviewed the 
range safety procedures with the safety officer, and nodded as the 
man explained what he would have to do. 
        "Ten rounds each within ten seconds at three, five, eight, ten 
and twenty five yards. Then rapid fire, twenty rounds at the same 
distance. Any score less than two hundred and eighty means you fail, 
and have to requalify." The man looked at his clipboard, found 
Mulder's name and frowned. "Although, according to our records, 
Special Agent Mulder, if you fail to qualify today...we'll have to 
make a call to your SAC and let them know." 
        "I know, I know," Mulder muttered, annoyed. "I've been putting 
it off-" 
        "Well, no time like the present. Lane six is ready, Agent 
Mulder." 
        Mulder nodded, taking the three boxes of ammunition the man 
held in his hand. "Any last suggestions?" 
        The range safety officer thought a moment. "Pretend the target 
is someone trying to hurt someone you love. That always works for me. 
You've got five minutes to prepare, Mulder, and then the first whistle 
goes. Get cracking." 
        Mulder walked to lane six, and opened the three boxes of ammo, 
stacking the little Styrofoam carriers full of 10mm cartridges in a 
neat little pile. He reached for his pistol and removed it from the 
holster, thumbing the magazine release. The slim clip fell into his 
hands, and he quickly thumbed off the ten duty rounds, rapidly 
replacing them with the less-powerful qualifying ammunition. He loaded 
his spare magazine as well, wanting that one full so he could 
concentrate on the "basics" as he took his shots. He put on the 
protective goggles, and then the muff-like ear guards. 
        '...imagine it's someone trying to hurt someone you love..' 
the range officer had said. Mulder had no problem imaging someone 
trying to hurt Dana. The list of those that had placed his partner, 
his friend...his lover...in harms' way was seemingly endless, starting 
with that- 
        "Ready on the left!" came the voice of the range safety 
officer from a hidden PA speaker. 
        - black lunged - 
        "Ready on the right!" the voice continued. 
        - son of a - 
        "The firing flag is up, it is waving, it is down. Fire at 
will!" 
        - BITCH! - 
        The whistle went off to Mulder's left, and the pistol was in 
his hand, coming up, finding the target. The sights aligned themselves 
automatically, and Mulder felt his finger taking the slack out of the 
trigger, felt the satisfying kick of the pistol as it went off, and 
saw the round impact the target not six feet away. He followed that 
first shot with nine more, almost faster than his eye could track. 
When the whistle blew again, signaling that ten seconds had passed, 
Mulder had already re-loaded, and was waiting for the target to move 
to five yards. 
        "Ready on the left-" the voice said slowly, carefully. Mulder 
moved his neck from side to side, getting loose. His minds eye saw the 
Bounty Hunter, that evil-looking spike held in one huge hand, and the 
whistle went off again, and once more the pistol came up on autopilot, 
found the center of the target and it went off, again and again, the 
pistol kicking back against Mulder's body, his elbows flexing to take 
the energy of the shot, not letting the barrel of the pistol rise more 
than a fraction of an inch before bringing it back on target at the 
same instant his finger pulled the trigger to maximum slack, wanting 
the trigger ready for that instant when the sights lined up again and- 
        crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! 
        The pistol emptied, the slide locked back, smoke trailing out 
of the open breech in lazy circles. 
        Mulder didn't hear, and didn't sense Skinner approaching him 
from behind. He saw the target moving out to ten yards. His hands 
quickly loaded the two magazines again, slapping one home at the same 
instant his thumb worked the slide release. The gun was ready, heavy, 
and warm. 
        "Hurt Dana will you..." he muttered, seeing Alex Krycek's face 
on the target. "Fucking son of a-" 
        "Fire at will!" the voice called, and Mulder emptied his 
pistol in less than two seconds, each shot finding its' intended mark. 
Ten little holes opened what would have been Krychek's heart had he 
been standing there. The target moved further out, out to twenty-five 
yards, almost eighty feet. It was a little white rectangle bobbing on 
the guide wire, and Mulder still didn't know that Skinner was standing 
behind him. 
        He reloaded the pistol, aware that he was going to blow the 
fucking target right off. 
        "I love her, you asshole," he whispered, once again seeing 
that nameless chain-smoking- 
        "Fire at will!" 
        The gun emptied itself in less than two seconds one more time. 
Seven seconds later the voice came over the PA again. "The firing flag 
is down, repeat down. Safety all weapons, place them on the bench and 
step back for scoring!" Panting, Mulder put the gun down on the bench 
and 
stepped back, bumping into Skinner. 
        Mulder turned, his arms already coming up, hands clenched into 
fists, before he remembered where he was and who he was facing. 
        "Sir!" he shouted. 
        Skinner didn't smile and didn't frown. He just nodded at 
Mulder. The range officer came over after a moment and reeled Mulder's 
target back in. Mulder removed his ear protection and goggles. 
        He looked at the target in amazement. "Agent Mulder, you put 
fifty rounds into this target. Forty of them into the X ring and the 
9 ring. The last ten you put in the head." He paused, unsure of what 
to say next. "Excellent shooting, Agent Mulder." 
        Mulder said nothing. He was staring at Skinner, wondering how 
much the man had overheard. 
        "I think it's safe to say that Agent Mulder has qualified, 
don't you?" Skinner said to the range officer. There was no mistaking 
his tone, and the range officer nodded. "I'd agree, sir." Turning to 
Mulder, he added, "That's all sir. I'll enter you as qualifying at the 
expert level, Mulder. Again, Excellent shooting." 
        The range officer stared at the two men. They were obviously 
not going to say anything while he was present, and he moved away, 
curious as to what was going on. 
        "Agent Mulder," Skinner started, and then stopped. "Fox," he 
said, knowing that using his first name would grab Mulder's attention. 
"Join me for lunch." 
        "Sir-" Mulder started to protest. 
        "Please," Skinner said a little more softly. "I insist." 
 
                                      *** 
 
        It was a burger-and-beer joint, complete with the multiple 
televisions mounted on hanging brackets in every corner, each tuned to 
a different sporting event. The two pool tables looked tired and worn, 
their felt faded to the color of dried grass in a late August summer. 
There were perhaps six or seven other patrons inside, all of them 
watching the Redskins game. 
        Skinner and Mulder seated themselves at a small circular table 
in the back, and waited for the waitress to come and take their drink 
orders before speaking. 
        "Very good shooting, Agent Mulder," Skinner started. "You 
seemed very...motivated." 
        Mulder said nothing, silently cursing himself for letting 
anything slip in front of this man. He didn't know what to say, so he 
said nothing. 
        Skinner waited for a reaction, and getting none, he frowned. 
Clasping his hands together, he leaned forward. "Talk to me, Mulder. I 
have to know what's going on." 
        "Nothing-" Mulder started to lie. 
        "Bullshit!" Skinner exploded, and then looked around, 
wondering if anyone had noticed. "Don't give me that, Mulder. I heard 
what you said. I was there. I was standing directly behind you. I 
heard you say that you were in love with Agent Scully." 
        "Actually, sir, what you heard me say was that I loved 'her.' 
I didn't say that I loved Scully, or that I was in love with her." 
        Skinner gritted his teeth. "Mulder, I'm not some junior G-man 
or public defender that you can bullshit with your semantics. We both 
know what you said -- if not the exact words, then the meaning behind 
them. I'll ask you again -- talk to me. Tell me what's been going on, 
and how long it's been going on. I'm only going to give you one more 
chance." 
        "Give me a minute," Fox asked, pleading with his eyes. Skinner 
nodded. Skinner's mind was not at all made up. He had been aware for a 
long time that Agents Scully and Mulder were more than just partners. 
He'd suspected once or twice that they were enjoying a romantic 
relationship, but every time he called them on the carpet to chew them 
out for some breach of Bureau protocols or procedures, he would see 
the way that Scully's eyes would flash with anger and annoyance at 
something her wayward partner had said or done, and those suspicious 
would be put to rest. Put to rest, that was, until the next time 
Skinner had an opportunity to observe them without being seen. 
        He'd seen the way they touched, the quiet little gestures, the 
way they seemed to be able to finish each other's thoughts without 
speaking. Then the suspicions would start to build again. They had... 
something, Skinner was sure, and he was going to get to the bottom of 
it once and for all. 
        "Sir," Mulder started. 
        "Mulder, call me Walter. This is strictly off the record." 
        Fox felt his eyes widening. If it was off the record, then 
there was nothing official Skinner could do with whatever he decided 
to tell the man. Well, not directly, anyway. All Skinner would have to 
do was call the Office of Professional Standards. The FBI's version of 
the Internal Affairs Divisions that plagued the cops of cities and 
towns across the country, the OPE had a very...distinct reputation 
amongst Bureau agents. 
        Mulder opened his mouth and began to speak. 
---------------------------------------------------------------------- 
End of Part III. 
 
Comments, suggestions, questions, etc. continue to be welcome. 
drambo@azstarnet.com