At long last, the next in the series is finally finished.  I need to 
issue a few warnings, though.  This is an exceptionally long 
transition piece.  There are a ton of fictitious names being bandied 
about and it would probably help you to take a look at the FBI 
webpage, at least for the organizational chart for Headquarters.  The 
URL is http://www.fbi.gov/over/hqorg.htm.  I've taken the liberty of 
making Walt the AD of the Criminal Investigative Division.  There's a 
fairly long piece about a former case of Walt's, more background in 
reference to his career that I've made up, as well as some 'typical' 
office politics.  And if a lot of description of fashion bores you :-
), you probably want to skip the whole FBI Xmas dinner :-).  

There are two sex scenes, so yes, this story is NC-17.  I've also had 
some wonderful help from a few sources who shall remain nameless :-), 
but I thank them nonetheless.  

The usual disclaimer - the X-Files and its characters are the 
property of CC, 1013 Productions and 20th Century Fox.  No 
infringement is intended.    All other characters are mine, but feel 
free to 'borrow' the names of the FBI employees :-).  Neither is my 
listing of the lyrics for 'Love Of My Life' meant to entail 
infringement.  Feedback is gratefully accepted and acknowledged and 
can be sent to me at Clare_Skinner @prodigy.com.  Enjoy!


Anthony X: Holiday Bustle 
(A Time For Reflection, Ruse and Christmas Miracles) 
by Clare Skinner


Thursday, December 4, 1997, 12:59am

	Allison stormed toward the back porch in a foul mood, wanting to 
slam the door shut behind her, but having too much common sense to do 
it.  Course, if she'd had *more* sense, she wouldn't be letting her 
last two customers get to her like this.  She fumbled with her keys, 
dropping them twice in succession and swearing under her breath both 
times.  "Why couldn't it be Friday or Saturday," she muttered as she 
unlocked the door, "least then I could wake up Walt and bitch."

	In rapid sequence, Allison punched the code in to deactivate and 
reactivate the alarm.  She wandered over to the island, nose 
twitching at the odd aroma wafting through the air and found the note 
Walt had left her.

		Carissima,
			Charlee dared Amelia to swallow a dime,
		so you can potentially watch for it to come out
		tomorrow or the next day and/or warn the school.  
		Don't try to play anything on the VCR in the family 
		room, Ian discovered he could fit his peanut butter 
		and jelly sandwich into it quite nicely.  Unfortunately, 
		he separated the halves before he put them in.

	Allison rolled her eyes at their daughters and wondered what Ian was 
doing with a PBJ sandwich when she'd left chicken and biscuits for 
dinner.  She turned the note over and found her answer.

		I'll replace the pot I burned up sometime this 
		weekend.  By the way, you might want to shop 
		for a new raincoat, Anthony and Trevor tried to 
		flush your old one down the toilet, which is why 
		it overflowed, which is why I burned dinner.  
		Hope your evening went better than mine.
					Walt

	Allison felt a fit of giggles overtake her momentarily as she 
visualized the various scenes.  She wondered what sort of punishment 
Walt had doled out to any and all of them.  Well, Charlee's 
transgression had yet to be proven.  Allison picked up the phone and 
called the only person who would appreciate the note, her customers 
and be available at this hour.

	She waited for the connection to go through, hoping Andy and Joy 
would be home; and mentally gearing up for the answering machine 
message if they weren't.  After five rings, Andy's booming voice came 
across the lines.  "Shiver me timbers, lassie!  Me mates have 
abandoned me and I be too busy chasing me comely wench around the 
gang plank to speak at ye .................................."

	Allison rolled her eyes and joined in, matching the cheesy accent.  
"Not even for a stay of execution from her Majesty, the Queen, Pirate 
Captain Hogle?"

	"Aye, me thinks I'll have to give that some thought, lassie."

	She started laughing, "Jeez, Andy, pirate and the wench?  Trying to 
add some spice to your sex life?"

	"You should talk, Allison, we got it from you and Basil.  Although I 
think Walt would make a better pirate, from what I've heard."  There 
was a suggestive leer in his tone.

	Allison arched one eyebrow at the thought but refused to give her 
big brother the satisfaction.  "Not into games, .......... and, I 
might add, he doesn't need to be...........................  Besides, 
Basil and I never answered the phone advertising what we were doing; 
what'd you do, get caller ID?"

	"Yeah, it's great.  I can tailor my fake answering machine messages 
for each person.  You should have heard the one I did last night for 
Mom."

	"Do I even *want* to know what you really have on the machine?"

	"Just a little holiday ditty."

	She shook her head, still smiling.  "Like last year's 'Mary had a 
little lamb, it spoke and said Shalom, leave a message at the beep, 
for we are not at home.'?"

	"Hey, that was a classic.  For a moment I thought you were referring 
to the one about cleaning the roof after Santa's reindeer."

	"Enough," she chuckled, "you're going to cheer me up before I've had 
the chance to rant and rave about the public."

	"I wondered why you were calling me this late.  What's wrong with 
Walt's ear, not sympathetic to the woes of a retail pharmacist?"

	"Walt and I have a deal; I don't wake him up when I get home 
Thursday and Friday, and he lets me sleep in Saturday and Sunday."

	"Sounds fair," she heard the sound of a pop top being opened, "Okay, 
I've got my beer, let her rip."

	Allison took a deep breath before starting, "Idiot number one came 
into the store at a quarter to midnight, dumped a prescription for an 
infant's antibiotic on the counter and proceeded to peruse the cards 
for ten minutes, oblivious to the loudspeaker announcements that the 
store was closing soon.  When he finally sauntered back, he got very 
snippy when I wouldn't allow him to use his senior citizen discount 
on the script."

	"No doubt claiming you were the first to question a purchase."

	"Uh, huh.  He argued about it for a full minute and then threatened 
to call the store manager and cause a real stink if I didn't give it 
to him.  The discount actually worked out to six dollars, I might 
point out, Cefzil is rather expensive.  Anyway, I refused to give in 
and he left in a huff, muttering threats as he went.  The kicker was 
the date on the script was two days old."

	"Great family."

	"My sentiments exactly.  Well, ditz number two came in just as the 
other idiot started arguing and dropped her script on the counter 
like I was supposed to rush over and bow at her feet.  When I got to 
her, she gave me a look like, 'can't you move any faster, I've been 
*waiting*'.  One of the clerks locked the front door so no other 
'wonderful human beings' could grace us with their presence while I 
filled the script.  And get this, it was a maintenance drug, an 
antidepressant, she'd been on it for a year and for some inexplicable 
reason, waited until she'd swallowed the last one before coming in to 
refill it.  She waited till I had the thing all done and sitting on 
the counter before pulling a wad of singles out of her purse, then 
dumping the thing upside down and spilling out a veritable ton of 
loose coin."

	"Brilliant.  And I suppose she expected you to trust that the total 
was correct, too."

	"Damn straight.  She had her little hand half way across the counter 
for the bottle when I pushed it out of her way.  Then she acted all 
insulted that I was actually going to make her stand there while I 
counted, so I pushed a sign that management had recently given us in 
her face."

	"Which said?"

	"Employees are not obligated to accept more than three dollars in 
coin for any purchase.  Rolled coin will not be accepted."

	Andy started laughing, "I'll bet her expression was something after 
that."

	"Oh, it got better.  I counted everything up twice and had one of 
the clerks do the same and the customer was short $1.78.  She looked 
like she'd swallowed a wasp, thrust her hand in a pocket and pulled 
out two more bedraggled ones which she threw on the counter and 
demanded her bottle.  I gave her my best saccharine smile and told 
her certainly, as soon as we had all the money in the drawer."

	Now Andy was chuckling heartedly, "So she left in a huff, too?"

	"A huff, a glare that would rival Walt's and the unmistakable air of 
being mortally offended.  And hey, you rat, you owe me for a new 
raincoat."

	Andy had a clearly bemused tone to his voice.  "And just how do you 
figure that?"
	
	"Because you sent Trev and Anthony that Bill Cosby tape about 
flushing one down the toilet."

	"Enterprising little 'blokes'.  Consider it a payback for all the 
things you taught *my* kids."

	"Oh right, like blowing bubbles through a straw and making spitballs 
is an even comparison."

	"What about snuffing out candles with their fingers?  Or baking 
cotton balls into muffins for April Fool's?"

	"I'll plead guilty to the first; but I had nothing to do with the 
second."  Allison snickered under her breath at the picture in her 
mind of Andy's reaction to *that* mouthful.  "Sounds more like 
something Audrey would do; or maybe Avery, he's always been a 
practical joker."
	
	"Yeah, well, Aaron's a might too young for me to teach bad habits to,
" his voice trailed off.  "Course, I could probably teach him to 
spray saliva."

	"Am I the only one in this family who's having trouble 
distinguishing the adults from the children?" she asked with an 
amused air of reproachfulness.  "If you tick off Avery, I won't have 
room for you here for Christmas."

	"Good God, that's right.  Just exactly how many of us will be in 
attendance for Christmas day?"

	"If you count 'adults' as being over eighteen, ten kids and nineteen 
adults."

	"And just so we're clear on this, we're not obligated to get 
Christmas gifts for anyone but the kids directly related to us, right?
"

	"Well, it would be nice if you got your own parents something and 
I'm sure your own son would appreciate a graduation gift."

	"Jeez, you're a smart ass."

	"And I learned from the best."  They both laughed briefly.  "You are 
not expected to purchase gifts for Walt's deceased wife's niece and 
nephew nor for Basil's girlfriend's daughter."

	Andy bit his lip to keep from making a derogatory remark about the 
last guests.  He thought Allison was a little touched for inviting 
Basil and whatever their names were, but he wasn't going to 
antagonize her by saying so.  He just hoped he could keep his tongue 
in the spirit of the holiday.  "So what does one get for the newly 
graduated English/Business major?"

	"Anything but a gift boxed set of Roget's (R) Thesaurus and 
Dictionary."

	He chuckled, "Is that like getting a pharmacy graduate a mortar and 
pestle?"

	"Exactly, and I doubt Eric can use five desk sets.  Just give him 
money to build up his wardrobe.  He needs to look presentable if he's 
to succeed at selling advertising.  Not that he'll have any trouble 
with that silver tongue; just like his father - the two of you could 
sell ice to Eskimos."

	Andy's voice dropped lower and became more resonant.  "Jeez, I never 
thought when he went out to Villenova on that basketball scholarship 
it would end like this ......................."

	Allison sighed quite audibly, "Well, before this conversation gets 
too melancholy, I'd better sign off."

	Andy sighed himself, "You're right.  And thanks again for all the 
furniture.  Eric called last Sunday and said he couldn't believe how 
much stuff you and Walt gave him."

	She laughed quietly, "No problem.  That's what family is all about - 
hand me downs."

	They disconnected a few seconds later and Allison couldn't stop her 
mind from focussing on family.  Focussing on one particular trying 
instance - she remembered the anxious, frightened phone call almost 
two years ago.  The one that said Eric had been rushed to Thomas 
Jefferson University Hospital after he'd collapsed in the middle of a 
game against arch rival Temple.  He'd been diagnosed with Hodgkin's 
disease and his dreams of playing 'b-ball' had faded in a breath to 
be replaced with simply surviving the cancer and leading a normal, 
productive life.  The coach had insisted that his scholarship not be 
revoked, especially since he was mid way through his junior year.

	Allison sighed as she turned off the kitchen light and made her way 
up the stairs, remembering Eric's infectious enthusiasm when he'd 
first arrived at Villenova, his patience at proving his worth.  He'd 
remained on the bench the better part of his freshman year.  A month 
into his sophomore year, he'd been the starting point guard, earning 
praise from teammates, coaches and adversaries along the way.  He'd 
always had a lanky frame, starting school at 6'2" and growing another 
two inches while there.  His devotion to basketball had been complete 
and passionate and even though he hadn't devoted as much time to his 
studies, neither did he let them suffer.

	She paused in her thoughts as she checked on the peacefully sleeping 
boys knowing that all too soon, Trevor and Anthony would be entering 
the forum of organized sports.  It was a somewhat frightening 
prospect; she had no intention of holding any of her children back if 
they were eager to perform, to explore, to develop their skill.  But 
neither was she all together anxious for monopolization of the 
children's time with endless practices and the inevitable, hopefully 
minor injuries on the potential road to prowess.

	Allison kissed both boys softly on the forehead and wished again 
that 'her babies' wouldn't grow up too fast and would maintain a 
balance between athletics and academics.  She knew that right now, 
both were firmly entrenched in the sciences and flushing raincoats 
down toilets or not, were two level headed kids.  

	Her mind went back to Eric; he had wanted to play basketball since 
he was nine, and he'd successfully made the transition from 'jock' to 
'bookworm' with a minimum of self pity and regret.  After his period 
of recovery from the radiation treatment, he'd stayed in school an 
extra year to earn dual degrees.  He'd worked for Avery during the 
summer to earn the necessary funds to pay for his extended schooling 
and now had dreams of opening his own advertising business down the 
road.

	Allison partially closed the girls' door and wondered what dreams 
all five were having now - probably dreams of what Santa was going to 
bring them this year.  Maybe because of the tremendous upheaval in 
their own lives over the past twelve months, the kids had 
uncharacteristically short lists.  And, as a result, were actually 
going to get everything they wanted without the customary speech 
about pairing down their lists.  

	Allison crawled into bed and snuggled instinctively next to Walt's 
large form as it radiated heat.  The one thing she most wanted for 
Christmas wasn't possible this year, but next year, she thought, next 
year I'll hopefully be pregnant.  And if not for Christmas, she 
reasoned, a pregnancy would still make an excellent birthday present 
for Walt.  She let these and other thoughts flutter through her mind 
as she drifted happily off to sleep; rude customers becoming distant 
memories.

		*	*	*	*	*	*

6:09am

	Walt woke slowly and peered at the alarm clock, noting with 
satisfaction that he'd awakened right before it was due to go off.  
He used to be able to get up perfunctorily each morning without 
assistance, but with Allison cuddled close against him, he found it 
difficult to convince his body it was time to get up.  With a deft 
movement, he flicked the alarm switch to off and reluctantly climbed 
out of the warmth of the bed, pausing to gaze back at her beautiful, 
peacefully slumbering face.

	He left his glasses on the nightstand and a few short moments later 
was dressed and ready for his morning run.  Walt checked quickly to 
see that the children were still covered - Ian being a terrible one 
for throwing off his blanket - and made his way downstairs.  He 
punched in the alarm code, assembled the necessary items to start the 
coffee machine, reactivated the alarm and quietly left the house in 
the twenty seconds allowed.

	Walt went through a few stretching exercises as his lungs filled 
with the crisp, cool air.  A few calf stretches, some ankle rolls, a 
couple raggedy anns to loosen up and he was on his way.  He glanced 
at the thermometer adhering to the edge of the porch and noted that 
it was a semi-brisk thirty-four.  By the time he reached the end of 
the driveway, the motion sensing lights on the back porch had gone 
out.

	Once a week he liked to jog by his former house, and today was that 
day.  The overhead street lamps did a reasonable job of reflecting 
the gleam of the recent rain as it was currently semi-frozen in thin, 
treacherous sheets.  Walt had to admit to himself that jogging wasn't 
just about physical fitness but also about mental cleansing.  Things 
always seemed so clear and uncluttered; a part of his mind would pay 
attention to where he was going and another part would puzzle out 
work related problems.  Like what Scully and Mulder were up to.  

	They'd been suspiciously quiet the last two weeks (where work was 
concerned) and that was never a good sign.  Just like the children, 
at least when you could hear them, you knew what they were doing.  
Walt tried to make himself believe that after his last shouting match 
with his two agents they were towing the line.  He'd argued with them 
about everything from failure to even remotely follow Bureau policy 
to monopolizing the Lab (AD Padinski was making noises about his 
Division servicing the *whole* of the FBI plus, not just the X-Files) 
to drastically curbing their outlandish expenses (AD Balthazar 
claimed those two racked up more expenses in a typical week than most 
departments in a month).  "Get real, Skinner, if they did what they 
were told they wouldn't be Scully and Mulder," he told himself out 
loud.  He also smiled as he thought for the thousandth time that pain 
in the asses that they were, they were two of the most talented 
agents he'd ever worked with and his job would be considerably more 
dull without them.  And safe, he sighed.

	Walt approached a vehicle parked almost perfectly under one of the 
street lights and his unconscious mind took in a bumper sticker 
advertising a Pennsylvania college, or more to the point the town in 
which it was located (Reading).  He suddenly felt that certain 
connection to his wayward agents again.  He'd been so like them once, 
taking chances, ignoring policies that got in the way of his gut 
feelings; course he liked to think he was more subtle about 
'breaking' the rules.

	Walt had always done a thorough job with all of his cases and had 
particularly sought the most difficult ones, trying to make a name 
for himself.  And he'd always kept more than the casual eye on non 
Bureau cases in the off chance that they would fall under FBI 
jurisdiction.  Which was how the Redding case had started.  

	By all outward appearances, there had been nothing to link the fires 
and the local police hadn't even been investigating them as arson.  
There had just been something about those four fires that had 
bothered Walt, something intangible that had almost spoken to him.  
Since no foul play had been suspected by the various precincts, 
obtaining the scanty files hadn't been too difficult .................
. until two more that potentially fit the pattern he'd been 
developing looked initially suspicious.  Then access had gotten more 
prickly and he'd spent several nights urging the various firefighters 
to loosen their tongues over 'friendly' pitchers of beer.

	It was on one of those nights that he'd found support of his 
extracurricular activities in the person of a colleague.  Walt had 
felt utterly stupid for failing to notice his presence and then 
acutely uncomfortable when he'd unerringly put his finger on what 
Walt was doing.  Instead of flack, however, this colleague had almost 
seemed pleased by Walt's initiative.  He'd even offered some general 
advice about getting ahead in the Bureau - 'If you always play it 
safe, always strictly follow the rules, they will defeat you.  The 
most successful agents are those who aren't afraid to gamble, have an 
inborn tenacity, require trace amounts of sleep and have a one 
hundred and ten percent capacity for details.'  

	He'd then left, saying his wife would be highly irritated if he left 
her alone any longer with their newborn, three and five year olds.  
Walt recalled watching the retreating back of then Assistant Director 
(National Security Division) Edward McIntire with a bit of awe and 
surprise.  He couldn't remember a single conversation he'd had with 
the man when he'd been Assistant Director In Charge of the D.C. Field 
Office and yet the man had known him.  Walt had wondered at the time 
if he'd garnered anyone else's attention during his tenure in the 
office as a Special Agent.  

	The next morning he'd found a large envelope containing everything 
about the last two fires, a green light to investigate signed by SAC 
Kitchens and the strong, but unsubstantiated feeling that McIntire 
was behind it.  With all of the Bureau's resources now open to him 
and the complete cooperation of the police and fire departments, it 
had still taken him a week to find the correlation.  And during that 
week, he'd more than once wondered if he was making a fool of himself,
 stagnating his career instead of helping it.  The cases had all been 
labeled accident due to electrical wiring in the end which hadn't 
been terrifically surprising since the buildings were all older.  And 
that was where the commonality had been.  All six of the buildings 
had been serviced by the same firm of electricians, at least the 
location was the same, but the firm had changed hands several times.  


	Blessing city directories, Walt had gone to Sharples Electric, so 
named from 1970 to the present (1978).  It had also been Channel 
(1966-1969), Folger (1950-1965), Bailey (1933-1949) and Redding (1927-
1932).  After utilizing his best persuasive tone, Walt had gotten 
access to all the old dusty, mildewed records to discover that all 
the dwellings had been serviced by one Sebastian Redding, son of the 
original proprietor.  Finding the first record had been tortuous, but 
acting on intuition, Walt had quickly located the others.  Each of 
the calls had been made on February 29th, from 1936 to 1960, except 
for 1948.  Consulting his list of burnt out shells, Walt had 
additionally discovered that the order of the fires was chronological 
and fell on the same day as the corresponding call.  There had been 
no call for 1948, ostensibly because February 29th had fallen on a 
Sunday that year and the business had been closed.

	With a mixed feeling of hope and dread on that Friday, he'd then 
searched through the records for calls most recent, working out that 
a call in 1964 would fall on a Saturday ........... tomorrow.  And 
he'd found what he'd expected - Redding's name for 1964.  It had also 
been there for 1968, but not after that.  Cross checking, Walt had 
ascertained that Redding had retired in 1968.  He'd also found 
Redding's birthdate, 2/29/08, in the personnel files.  Now he had the 
who, but a motive was still lacking and tipping one's hand too soon 
would make the whole case collapse like a house of cards.  Best to 
build up some 'solid' circumstantial evidence first, he'd thought; 
and set up surveillance at the 1964 location.

	It had been a garish place called Club Paradise, a discotheque with 
the requisite mirrored ball hanging from the shiny ceiling.  Three 
spiral staircases had led to a series of semi enclosed 'boxes' on a 
second floor gallery overhanging the dance floor.  The interior had 
been bright, colorful and full of synthetics which would burn almost 
literally at the drop of a match.  

	Walt's mind had instantly, with a sickened horror, recalled the 
conflagration almost eight years earlier of a dance club in France 
where over one hundred and forty young lives had been lost in seconds.
  Most of his comrades had ignored the news, the horrors they were 
seeing every day in Vietnam being far more real to them; but the item 
had made an impression on Walt, and he'd never forgotten.  

	The barman had told him with too much indignation that of course 
they never kept the emergency exits locked to prevent gatecrashers.  
The reaction had made Walt wonder what other fire regulations were 
being ignored - about a dozen as it turned out.  Management hadn't 
thought kindly of him and since they'd just received a clean bill of 
health from the local fire inspector the previous month, Walt's 
interference had also sparked off an investigation into corruption in 
that department.

	He'd captured Redding in the act of sabotaging the wiring about an 
hour before the club was due to open that Saturday night.  Receipts 
had later shown that over two hundred and fifty people had been in 
and out that night; and given the code violations, had the fire been 
successful, the death count would have been appalling.  Walt had 
indeed made a name for himself with the case.  He'd had difficulty at 
first believing that Redding had simply become an embittered, crazy 
old man seeking revenge against the 'buildings' which had kept him 
from enjoying his birthday in peace.  Maybe knowing that he was dying 
from lung cancer had pushed him over the edge - ironically, he'd died 
on his birthday in 1980, behind the bars of his prison cell.

	Walt paused on the steps of his former house, amazed that the 
details of that case were still so vivid after almost twenty years.  
Time had forced him to understand that the smallest and sometimes 
most irrational things were enough to send some people down the road 
to psychosis.  He waved at the paperboy as he rode past on his 
bicycle and forced himself to think of more pleasant topics.

	The house had been on the market for a few weeks now and despite all 
the naysayers telling him it was the wrong time of the year to sell, 
it looked like a contract was in the offering.  And none too soon 
since the house was now completely empty and therefore that much 
harder to sell from a visualization perspective.  He was going to 
lose a little money on the deal, but he'd expected that, having owned 
for such a short time.  He'd thought Allison was nuts insisting that 
new window treatments in the form of scarves be put up to enliven the 
bland blinds, but the effect had added considerably to the salability 
and certainly looked more welcoming than the faded drapes that he'd 
hung.  

	He laughed as he got up, remembering the look she'd given him when 
the Realtor had brought up the subject of appliances.  Without 
thinking he'd said that all were staying and Allison had instantly 
corrected him to say that the washer and dryer weren't.  He'd shaken 
his head as the Realtor briefly raised her eyes, then excused herself 
to answer her cell phone.  They'd had a 'heated' quick discussion 
about the need for another set in a one family home when he'd claimed 
that a Volkswagon (R) 'Slugbug' would fit in the existing commercial 
sized washer and dryer in her basement.  And she'd countered with the 
less time she had to spend doing the laundry, the more time she could 
devote to other pursuits.  The words had been uttered with a 
suggestive arching of the eyebrow and he'd instantly acquiesced.

	God, he thought, as he began the return journey, she'd even got the 
colors right for the couple in question in nine of the twelve rooms.  
And that was no bother either, since the fabric was just a long strip 
and could be incorporated just about anywhere within their house; or 
possibly passed on to Eric for his apartment.  *Or*, she'd very 
suggestively hinted, they could be used for a modified version of the 
dance of the seven veils.  The comment had set his mind off on just 
what exactly had been some of Basil's fantasies .............. or 
hers.  And his mind, or more immediately, another portion of his 
anatomy, didn't need to be thinking along those lines right now 
either.  Walt stifled those thoughts and sought something else to 
occupy his mind.  Like maybe consulting with her about new 
carpeting/flooring for the apartment complexes.  He had to admit that 
he was highly competent where mechanicals were concerned, but a bit 
lacking in the decorating/color aspect.  Nah, he thought, I don't 
want to think about that right now either.

	He was looking forward to some peace and quiet this coming weekend.  
The previous one had seen Alma, Phil and little Elliot Hoffmann; Jude,
 AJ, Sr., Avery, Nancy, Aaron and Eric Hogle.  But the 'oddest' guest 
had been Mulder.  As soon as Allison had heard that he wasn't going 
to his mother's in Chilmark, she'd insisted that Walt invite him.  
He'd been reluctant to attend until the magical word 'basketball' had 
been used.  Walt smiled thinking of the two on two game with he and 
Eric against Avery and Mulder.  It was quite likely the happiest and 
most carefree Walt had ever seen his Agent.

	And it made for a nice change from the 'traditional' shouting at the 
football game (and the ensuing discussion about whether Bobby Ross 
was a better coach than Wayne 'Rasputin' Fonts).  Phil had taken 
consider ribbing about waiting till the last possible moment to 
support the Pats during last season's Super Bowl.  He'd been 
resoundingly booed as most everyone else had chosen to throw their 
support behind the NFC and the Packers.  

	And of course the final moving had been done.  Participating in 
three moves within a month wasn't exactly Walt's idea of fun and he 
was wont to do it again.  He was also grateful that Mulder had shown 
his gratitude for the dinner by volunteering to help.  Allison had 
been so right about getting everything switched between the two 
houses first, he thought, it had absolutely made things easier for 
first Basil's move and then Eric's.  And spending some rather 
harmless yet arousing time with Allison in the whirlpool after they'd 
shifted items around the previous month had been worth it, too.  

	Slowly, Walt was meeting all of the Hogle clan.  And so far he'd 
determined that all were outgoing, personable types, brimming with 
confidence, sarcasm and a ready to take on the world attitude.  He 
admired the way Eric had done a one-eighty with his career path and 
appreciated the way he'd espoused the value of scholastics to the 
kids.  And the Sunday before Christmas, he and Allison were due to 
drive up to Villenova for Eric's graduation ceremony.  

	As Walt neared home, he replayed who all were coming for Christmas, 
how long they were staying and where they staying -  

Jude and AJ, Sr.: Flying into Philadelphia International Sunday, the 
twenty-first, to attend the graduation.  Renting a car and following 
them back to New Carrollton where they were staying with Teresa until 
Sunday, the twenty-eighth, when they were driving back to Philly to 
spend two more days with Avery and crew before flying home.  

Joy, Andy, Thom and Johanna: flying into same airport Saturday, the 
twentieth, all staying with Avery (except Thom past the first night, 
having 'reluctantly' convinced big brother, Eric to let him stay at 
his apartment) until they were due to fly back on the twenty-eighth; 
driving down Christmas Day, staying overnight at the Red Roof Inn in 
Latham before heading back to Philly.  
	
Nancy, Avery and Aaron: no doubt will be going quietly nuts from all 
their company; driving down and back Christmas Day.  

Mary and Charles: flying into Dulles, Tuesday, the twenty-third, 
staying at the house, leaving on the twenty-eighth.  

Basil, Betsy and Lois: flying into same airport late on Christmas Eve,
 staying at the Red Roof till the twenty-eighth.  

Alma, Phil, Darryl, Denise, Emily and Elliot: flying into same 
airport, Christmas Eve morning, staying at the Red Roof until the 
twenty-eighth; correction, Elliot had already received permission 
from all concerned to stay at the house so his time with Anthony and 
Trevor could be maximized. 

	Coupled with the school Christmas pageants on Wednesday, the 
seventeenth and the FBI Christmas dinner on Friday, the nineteenth, 
Walt realized he'd get no peace for nearly two weeks straight.  And, 
as he reached the back porch again and the 'welcoming' lights, he 
grinned, knowing he wouldn't miss being so surrounded for anything.  
Holiday bustle at its best, he thought.

		*	*	*	*	*	*

	Walt hesitated as he entered the bedroom, two steaming mugs of 
coffee in his hands.  The smell alone was usually enough to awaken 
Allison, but this morning she seemed soundly out.  He walked to her 
side of the bed and smiled at her semi-sprawled form before carefully 
waving the aromatic brew under her nose twice.  She contracted her 
body, stretched briefly, rolled over and growled at him to go away.  
Never one to give up easily, Walt simply grinned as he put the mugs 
down.  He plunked down on the bed and positioned his still cold hands 
up under her shirt and onto her warm, bare back.

	Allison's body contracted quite sharply.  "Jesus, Walt!  I'm going 
to stick my hands in the freezer before I come up to bed in the 
morning - see how *you* like it."  He smiled more broadly as he 
removed his hands from her still squirming body and picked up his mug 
again.  She squinted at the clock - 7:09am.  "Just let me sleep 
another twenty minutes," she groaned.

	Walt handed her the other mug, which she grudgingly took after 
fighting with her disheveled hair.  "Uth, uh, this is the only quiet 
time we get today; now up."  

	Allison continued to swear at him under her breath as he half 
dragged her to the bathroom.  She sleepily coaxed a brush through her 
unruly hair as she unhurriedly removed her night clothes, pausing 
often to sip her coffee.  Walt stripped off his decidedly damp 
clothes, took another large mouthful of coffee, grabbed one 
cornflower and one royal blue bath towel to place on the commode, put 
his mug down on the tank and stepped into the shower.  The water was 
running a few seconds later.  Allison joined him a bit after, having 
used the loo first.

	"If you burst into 'Home On The Range', I'm going to smack you," she 
said, edging him out for the deliciously warm spray and thoroughly 
wetting her hair.

	"Never fear, carissima, I wouldn't dream of sullying your morning by 
subjecting you to my voice."  He regained his dominant position while 
she reached for the shampoo.

	"You're just a barrel of laughs this morning, tesoro."

	"And you," he said while she squeezed out the proper amount into his 
waiting hand, "got up on the wrong side of the bed."

	"What do you expect after five and half hours of sleep, give or take,
" she murmured while he lathered her hair, feeling the tension 
disappear from her body.  Allison filled him in on her night, pausing 
to save off some of the suds to likewise wash his fringe of hair.  
She finished her story while they took turns rinsing and he was 
chuckling.  While they jointly soaped up washcloths to clean each 
other, Walt related in graphic detail his evening.  To which Allison 
chuckled heartedly, 'hearing' of it again.  He left her to shave 
while she applied conditioner and stood under the liberating, pulsing 
action of the water.

	Walt heard the water shut off as he splashed his face clean.  He 
took Allison's half full mug back to the shower and handed it to her 
as he picked up the cornflower towel and gently patted her dry.  "I 
don't know how you do it," he murmured.  "Drink half a cup of coffee, 
take a shower and still be mostly asleep."

	"It's a gift," she softly replied, grinning slightly.  "I can 
function quite well on autopilot."

		*	*	*	*	*	*

	Walt stood in front of the cheval mirror as he adjusted his knotted 
tie.  Allison wandered back in a few seconds later wearing her jade 
robe and still yawning.  He heard the thundering feet of four 
children trying to beat each other to the bathrooms.  She took in the 
combination he was wearing and silently shook her head.  "What?" he 
good naturedly queried as she ambled into the closet for some sweats.


	"Not a thing."  Walt was wearing his grey striped, worsted wool, 
single breasted suit with a plain white, oxford shirt and his navy 
tie with teal and caramel colored 'diamonds'.  She glanced his way 
again and smiled broader as she eased into black bottoms and a 
fuchsia top.  "I just wouldn't wear that tie with that suit."

	Walt, having followed her into the area, glanced down at his tie, 
"What's wrong with the tie?"

	"It doesn't have any grey in it and the caramel brown clashes with 
your suit.  But," she exaggeratedly sighed, "I suppose as long as you 
have your suit jacket off, it won't be *that* obvious."

	He stuck his tongue out at her and left the closet with her laughing 
in his wake.

		*	*	*	*	*	*

7:53am

	Allison was making up four lunches as the children finished their 
breakfasts.  Walt sat at the end of the table in shirt sleeves, 
reading the morning newspaper and sporadically peered over the top of 
it to keep an eye out for potential food fights.  Considering the 
punishment of the night before (no television or computer), all five 
seemed in good spirits and behavior this morning and chattered quite 
amiably over their mostly consumed strawberry topped cereal, raisin 
bagels and apple juice.  Ian indicated he was finished by tossing his 
sippy cup of milk over the side of the highchair.  Walt smiled at the 
'typical' morning stuff and looked at his watch.

	"Okay troops, time to head upstairs for teeth brushing."  The sound 
of grinding chairs pervaded the air as Trevor, Anthony, Charlee and 
Amelia hopped up, threw their mock salutes and ran out to the hall.  
Walt stood up and retrieved a piece of paper towel, which he wetted 
down, before venturing near a red faced and handed Ian.  Ian started 
to climb upright and mumbled 'up', holding his arms up to be removed 
from the chair.  "Not on your life, buddy.  I'm not picking you up 
till that face and those hands are clean."

	Allison smiled as she applied various condiments to the pumpernickel 
bread - butter for Charlee, mayonnaise for Trevor, mustard for 
Anthony and Amelia.  Then she assembled the honeyed ham and colby 
cheese sandwiches.  Each was placed in a Ziploc (R) bag and joined 
peeled/sectioned oranges and a thermos of milk in lunch boxes.  The 
boxes reflected each child's preference - Amelia's was puppies and 
had cheese doodles inside, Charlee's was kittens and had potato chips,
 Trevor's was outerspace and had pretzels; Anthony's was underwater 
creatures and had corn chips.

	She glanced at her two 'men' and started to warn Walt as he picked 
Ian up, but it was too late.  Walt carried him over to Allison as she 
closed each box.  "You'll be wanting to change that shirt and tie 
when you go up to brush your teeth."  He rolled his eyes as he 
wrongly thought she was still 'nagging' him about his choices.  She 
pointed with amusement at the strawberry stains on his clothes.

	"Ian!"  Walt hurriedly and carefully put him down, his tone 
exasperated while Ian looked innocent eyed back.  "Now how did that 
happen?  I cleaned him up."

	Allison picked off the still attached portion of strawberry from his 
sleeper before replying.  "Because you missed what was on his *red* 
sleeper.  What happened to those razor sharp powers of observation?"

	Walt narrowed his eyes and mouthed the words 'smart ass' at her 
before hurrying off to change.  Allison followed at a more sedate 
pace, carrying Ian with his back pressed against her.  When she 
reached the top of the stairs, the kids flew past her, all with 
knapsacks flapping.  "Five minutes," she hollered and wandered into 
Ian's room to get him some clothes.

	She found Walt standing on his side of the walk in closet a few 
moments later, hands on hips, bare chested.  "Well, since you 
disapproved of my other choice, pick out something," he half growled, 
half grinned.  Still holding Ian, Allison with no hesitation pulled 
out another white oxford shirt - except this one had a narrow wine 
colored stripe that repeated between wide expanses of white.  For a 
tie she grabbed the same one he'd worn at the Colonade (soft grey 
background with prominent burgundy and teal diamonds).  "That tie is 
practically the same pattern as the other one," he muttered, taking 
the items.

	"Yeeeees, except this time the colors don't clash and the burgundy 
in the tie picks up the stripe in the shirt and suit.  Now get 
dressed and out of here before you're late."

	He fully grinned as he followed her back out; she stripped down Ian 
and efficiently redressed him while Walt got the shirt and tie on.  
"So what's on your agenda this morning?" he casually asked.

	"Sam's Club (R) for all the cookie supplies plus and fabric store 
for Christmas outfits and the oddments that came in for the play 
costumes."

	"I can't believe they roped you into making costumes for the whole 
fourth grade."

	She rolled her eyes, "It's only half the whole fourth grade and you 
know it.  Who knew so few parents could either sew or would volunteer 
to help make costumes.  Besides with all help I got at Thanksgiving, 
most everything is done.  And if memory serves, you've put in more 
than a few hours making scenery.

	He finished the tie and tilted her chin for a chaste kiss goodbye.  
"True."  He thought back to the supplies Avery had donated and how 
'the men', Anthony and Trevor included, had spent a few hours 
Thanksgiving day building the manger, etc.  "Christmas outfits, huh?  
Does that include the dress you're making for the FBI dinner?"  
Allison raised her eyes suggestively.  "Just what exactly will this 
dress look like?" 

	She smiled impishly while standing up, "It's a classified secret and 
your clearance isn't high enough."

	Walt arched an eyebrow, stole a look at the clock and pulled her 
into his arms for a longer, far more satisfying kiss.  "I'll wheedle 
it out of you.  Vee ave vays of getting information," he said with a 
heavy accent.

	"Is that a challenge?" she countered, "because if it is, I accept.  
No bribing kids and no instructing Anthony to use his gift, however.
"

	Walt responded with mock indignation.  "I wouldn't dream of misusing 
Anthony's gift, but other than that, the kids are fair game as spies.
"

	"Thanks so much.  Guess I won't be working on the dress Mondays and 
Fridays when Amelia isn't in preschool."

	His eyes flashed with mischief as he looked toward the clock again, 
"Sounds fine to me, unfortunately the terms of victory will have to 
wait.  Deal?"

	"Mum!  If we don't leave *right* now, we'll be too late to walk," 
Trevor yelled up the stairs.

	"Deal," Allison replied as they shook on the pact.

		*	*	*	*	*	*

10:24am

	Walt finished reading over the November end of month report from the 
International Relations Branch and pushed back his chair.  Nothing 
out of the ordinary in the Legal Attache offices; investigations were 
still pending, on going and/or concluded.  He picked up the pages and 
read again about the just successful capture of a band of jewel 
thieves in France.  The investigation had been overseen by Legat 
Drayton.  Legat Rosalind Drayton, one time colleague ........ and 
more than one time occupant of his bed.  

	The affair had occurred three months into the White case in the 
winter of 1982-83.  Drayton had taken over the sluggishly moving 
murder case from the SA's and brought him in on it after making 
sporadic progress for several weeks.  As her boss the affair had been 
stupid; but all those long, lonely nights - chasing down leads, 
interviewing witnesses, staring at the evidence - had worn them both 
down in the end.  His eyes glazed partly over in memory of that 
tempestuous month - how they'd be screaming at the top of their lungs 
over procedure one second and be locked in each other's arms the next.
  Neither had expected nor wanted it to become permanent.

	The successful conclusion of the case had garnered them both high 
praise and Walt had made a lateral career move back to the D.C. Field 
Office a few months later, recommending Drayton for promotion to SAC 
in his place.  They'd made the effort to keep in touch, talking 
several times a year, but mostly exchanging e-mails.  She'd been 
quite sympathetic regarding Clare, happy about Anthony and seemed 
genuinely pleased about Allison.

	He chuckled as he gazed out the window, drumming his fingers on the 
credenza.  If anyone would enjoy the bet he and Allison had made that 
morning, it would be Roz.  Forever the clothes hound, she'd greeted 
the offer to go to Paris as divine intervention and since her 
position rather dictated it, always managed to get invited to the 
most exclusive parties - fashionably attired, naturally.  Maybe he 
should call her up and get her opinion on what type of dress Allison 
was likely to make.  Course, Roz would be more likely to give her 
opinion on what would be most eye catching first, flattering second 
with practical finishing well in the rear.

	Let's see, Walt thought, what sort of strategy am I going to employ? 
 Bugging the dining room and/or surveillance with a high powered 
camera were immediately discarded as too anal.  Allison wasn't the 
type to be overly arcane; getting the kids to spy for him should do 
the trick.  And if that didn't work, he could always surprise her 
with a lunchtime visit and catch her in the act of making the garment.
  Oh yeah, he thought, this is going to be like taking candy from a 
baby.

	Not feeling too concerned with *how* he'd win the bet, Walt focussed 
his attention on his 'spoils' instead.  Now what would she least want 
to do, he queried himself.  That was a little tougher; she had few 
inhibitions and could smile her way through most anything.  Maybe 
have her shine all my shoes or wax my car?  No, too mundane, he 
thought.  His eyes lit up as another possibility came to mind.  If 
there was one thing she *did* enjoy, it was sleep; and dragging her 
out for one of his 6am runs on a Thursday or Friday should do the 
trick.  Except as a complete novice, she probably wouldn't last more 
than two miles, let alone six, he continued.  I could have her ride a 
bike next to me ... yeah, that would work.  Yank her out of bed, 
subject her to the stirring, cold air of very early morning.  

	He was smiling deviously when his intercom buzzed.  "Yes?"

	"Deputy AD Jennings to see you, sir," Kimberly's disjointed voice 
said.

	"Send him in."

	Walt turned his attention to the door as his second in command 
entered.  Jennings looked tired, pale and as though his clothes no 
longer fit properly - all a result of his wife, Linda, having 
suffered a severe stroke the previous month.  "I appreciate your 
seeing me on short notice, uh, sir."

	That was Jennings all right, despite repeated requests for him to 
use Walt's first name in private, he was always too uncomfortable to 
do it.  "It's no problem, Paul, have a seat.  How's Linda doing?"

	Jennings sat in the offered chair and slowly pulled an envelope out 
of his inner pocket.  Walt sat on the edge of his desk and warily 
watched.  "Thank you for asking; she's making some progress, but the 
doctors feel she could recover better with, uh, more 'pleasant' 
surroundings."  He half smiled and Walt instantly knew what he meant. 
 Paul Jennings had married quite late and was absolutely devoted to 
his wife .....  and Linda Jennings had scarcely been happy one of the 
eight years since her husband's appointment to this post.  He'd come 
from the SAC position in the Albuquerque Field Office and many a 
tongue had been wagging about the 'unorthodox' transfer.  He'd been a 
crackerjack agent once, but Walt had watched the fire progressively 
fizzle out.  It didn't take much imagination to guess what the 
envelope contained.

	"Are you sure about this?" Walt asked after reading the resignation 
through.

	Jennings shifted under Walt's rather penetrating gaze.  "Yes, I've 
given it a lot of thought.  I know my performance has been lackluster 
over the past year and a half.  I'd rather hoped filling in for you," 
he averted his eyes briefly, "would have, uh, recharged my batteries. 
 But all it showed me was I haven't the tolerance for *more* 
paperwork or for putting up with Mulder on a direct basis."

	Walt smiled inwardly at this statement.  "Paul, are you sure you 
want to leave the Bureau entirely?"

	Jennings managed a faint smile, "Optimally, I'd like to go back to 
the Albuquerque Office, but the only opening is for an SA, and that's 
not for another four months."

	Walt nodded, the beginnings of an idea brewing.  "Who's the SAC out 
there?"

	"Bill Wisniewski."

	Walt partially screwed his eyes up in thought, searching his memory 
for any remembrance of the man.  "I'm meeting with McIntire at eleven,
 let me run a few ideas past him before I do anything official with 
this," Walt said, waving the resignation.  Jennings tried not to look 
hopeful and agreed.

		*	*	*	*	*	*

11:02am

	"Well, I can't say I'm surprised.  He's been walking around the 
halls with a hangdog expression worse than Mulder's for months now," 
McIntire commented as he handed the letter back to Walt.  "Who do you 
think is the best candidate for Director?"

	McIntire arched an eyebrow as he asked the question, deliberately 
changing the subject and trying to take Walt off guard.  Walt still 
took a moment to respond with a diplomatic reply, "I don't know, sir. 
 There are some strong candidates in General Counsel Eufaula, 
Inspector Bryant, AD Friedens .............."

	"I'm not asking you for a sugar coated, on the record, bureaucratic 
reply.  I want a no holds barred, from the gut response," McIntire 
said, cutting him off.

	Walt wet his lips perfunctorily, eyed an ordinary looking black 
briefcase and swam into the deep end.  "Friedens is too easily swayed 
by opinion and at least a fifth of the inspections from his Division 
have come up with suspicious results in the last few years.  Eufaula 
isn't particularly regarded or liked, which could mean he can't be 
bought or he's been bought too many times.  Bryant is on nearly 
everyone's hit list," Walt swallowed quickly, "including mine for too 
zealously pursuing what I have considered obviously trumped up 
charges."

	"In relation to the X-Files?" McIntire baited him.

	"In relation to at least a dozen cases in the past two years that 
cross all Department and Division lines."

	McIntire smiled slowly, "Deputy Director D'Hanis and Chief of Staff 
Collucci?"

	Walt allowed the same sort of smile to cross his lips.  "From my own 
experience and the grapevine, both have been approached by 
'corrupting' forces and made enemies of them."

	"So in other words, trustworthy men capable of executing my position 
in the way it was intended?"  Walt nodded in agreement and continued 
to wonder what McIntire was up to.  "There has been talk of another 
candidate to fill my vacancy, of course."  He turned from his leaning 
position against his desk, walked behind and sat down.  McIntire 
laced his fingers together on the smooth, polished surface and looked 
Walt directly in the eye.  "Someone I personally feel would be the 
best choice, but who in the interest of the greater good, would be 
more valuable staying in his current position."  McIntire paused to 
pick up his reading glasses.  "That person is you."

	Walt wet his suddenly dry lips again and kept all traces of emotion 
from his face.  He also noted that both he and McIntire were bouncing 
back and forth between directness and vagueness.  "Thank you, sir."

	"Don't thank me, Walt.  You've been patient and shrewd; in fact, I 
have your personnel file right here."  McIntire opened a folder while 
Walt endeavored to not squirm in his seat.  "Let's see:
	
	Graduated top in your Academy class, March 1974.  
	
              Began work as a Special Agent immediately in the D.C. 
Field Office through January 1981.  
	
              Promoted to Special Agent In Charge February 1981 and 
oversaw operations in the Chicago                     Field Office 
through June 1983.  
	
              Made a lateral move back to the D.C. Office and was 
Acting Deputy Assistant Director In                        Charge 
from July 1985 through December of the same year.  

              Made another lateral move into Headquarters and the 
Criminal Investigative Division January               1986.  
	
              Temporary assignment to the San Diego Field Office, 
April 1988 through June of same year.  
	
              Served as Acting Deputy Assistant Director from January 
1989 through April of the same year.  
	
              Turned down an offer to make that title permanent in 
favor of applying for the Assistant               Directorship and 
spent two months as SAC no doubt biting your nails.  
	
              Made AD of the Criminal Investigative Division 
effective July 1989."

	McIntire looked over his reading glasses at Walt's still blank 
expression.  Walt wondered again why Charles Wright's background 
check of him had glossed over the temporary and 'acting' assignments. 
 McIntire's voice brought him out of his revelry.  "Cases of 
exceptional note:  

	Redding arson, June 1978; 
	Manucci murder, July 1980 through October 1980; 
	White murder, February 1983 through April 1983; 
	Trautman murder, December 1984 through March 1985; 
	Stanislaw murder, April 1988 through June 1988.

Serious injuries sustained in the line of duty...................."

	"That's more than enough, sir.  I take it you're going somewhere 
with all this?"

	McIntire sighed loudly.  "The problem with appointing a new Director 
has always been the domino effect it has on the rest of the top 
ranking positions within Headquarters.  For the sake of argument, let 
us assume that Collucci becomes the new Director, D'Hanis takes over 
as Chief of Staff and say," a small smile played across his lips, 
"Vivian Opelmeyer becomes the new Deputy Director.  She was my Deputy 
AD in National Security before accepting the nod for EEO (Equal 
Employment Opportunity) Officer and is quite skilled.  And at sixty-
three, she's told me confidentially that barring a change in her 
health; which is excellent, I might add; she'll be looking to retire 
at the end of 2002."

	Walt stared at McIntire with growing interest, respect and caution.  
"Won't Bryant have a royal fit if she gets promoted over him, 
hypothetically?"

	"More than likely.  But the man is a pompous ass.  How he's managed 
to get this far is suspicious enough, but he's, uh, unlikely to get 
any further, hypothetically.  And continuing in that vein, an 
investigation into some recent inspections by Friedens' Division 
would certainly take him out of the running; depending on the 
findings, might boot him out of the FBI entirely.  And Vivian would 
have my head for even suggesting such a thing, but at sixty-eight, 
this is rather the last chance for Eufaula to reach the Directorship. 
 She would agree, however, that 'popularity' or the lack thereof, is 
not something to be taken lightly, especially where Senators are 
concerned."

	Walt thought through the implications of what McIntire was proposing 
and decided there was only one reason why he was 'asking' him to stay 
where he was.  "Do you personally believe in the X-Files, Ned?"  In 
view of the content of their discussion, Walt felt on safe ground 
using a more familiar form of address.

	McIntire stood with an almost sheepish smile on his face.  "I'm not 
ashamed to admit that I wasn't always behind the section.  I have, 
however, seen the need to keep it open.  Few people have the, shall 
we say, stamina, to put up with Mulder, though.  You and Agent Scully 
have proven to be two of the few."  He walked around his desk and 
leaned against it again.  "I assume you're aware of the rotation 
criteria for Special Agents?"

	Walt shifted in the chair, "Of course.  Between four and ten years 
in the first office of assignment, an Agent can be nonvoluntarily 
transferred to a second field office.  After ten years in the first 
office, though, an Agent is pretty much guaranteed not to be 
considered for a nonvoluntary rotational transfer."

	"Exactly; no one, to my knowledge, *has* been transferred after ten 
years.  I believe Mulder left Violent Crimes at his own request 
*three* years into his assignment.  Broad interpretation of the 
criteria suggests that his assignment to the X-Files could therefore 
be considered his first office."

	Walt picked up on the thread with little difficulty.  "And even 
discounting the six months that the section was closed, he's been 
there six years.  And Scully's in the same boat with her two years of 
teaching.  She wouldn't reach her ten years until late, uh, 2002."

	"It's doubtful that 'various forces' would try to engineer another 
direct closing of the section; however, given a puppet in your 
position before the end of 2001 or 2002, they could effectively do 
the same."  McIntire paused and cleared his throat diffidently.  
"Should you pursue advancement next year, in light of Jennings' 
resignation, we'd have another double opening in the top positions of 
your Division."

	There was a palpable tone of insinuation in McIntire's tone which 
awakened various suspicions that had been dormant in Walt's mind.  
"Kayenta's death was a much witnessed holiday boating accident and AD 
Nogales had announced his intention to retire a week before that."  

	McIntire focussed his attention somewhere a bit over Walt's left 
shoulder, "Clare told me the plan against you and Latham was hatched 
because she, uh, failed to take advantage of the opportunity my 
drunkenness afforded.  If we believe her, and we have no reason not 
to, then the clearing out of CI back in 1989 looks quite ominous."

	"Why was Jennings brought in?  I know he was a SAC in CI for eight 
years, but ................"

	"Nogales recommended him, said he'd worked with him in both the D.C. 
Office and in CI; thought he was wasting away in New Mexico."  
McIntire shrugged uninformably, sure that his previous innuendo had 
reached Walt, "Jennings had been with the Bureau more than twenty 
years at that point, had a squeaky clean record.  Plus, wherever 
possible, recommendations are honored ...... and just in case you 
were wondering, Nogales was no help about filling his own position.  
So do you have a recommendation to fill Jennings' vacancy?"

	"Rosalind Drayton."  Walt said it with no hesitation.  

	"Service record?"  McIntire covered his jolt of surprise by removing 
his glasses.

	"Legat, Paris Office 1989 to present; Deputy Legat, 1987 to 1989; 
SAC, Chicago Field Office, 1983 to 1987; ASAC, Chicago Office, 1982 
to 1983; SA, NY Field Office, 1975 to 1982.  Graduated top of her 
class in April, 1975.  I believe you must have met her at that 
conference in September."

	McIntire smiled cautiously, "So you worked with her for 
approximately eighteen months, fourteen and a half years ago, and 
she's your first choice?"  Walt slowly rubbed his right index finger 
along his ear and gazed calmly back at McIntire, aware of his implied 
question.  A faint smile crossed McIntire's face, "Yes, I met Roz in 
Paris.  We also overlapped my last few years as ADIC in New York......
........  Tall, leggy blonde, a veritable hellcat in heels.  And if 
Vivian ever asks, I never said that.  Are you sure we can trust her?" 
 Internally, his mind was laughing at the question - he knew far more 
about her than he would ever admit.  And having her so close on a 
daily basis was going to be dangerous in the extreme, a danger his 
memory and hormones were finding irresistible.

	It was Walt's turn to smile, "Roz Drayton is tough, open minded and 
impenetrable to corruption.  I'd stake my reputation on it."

	"I have to say I agree with your assessment."  Whole heartedly, he 
mentally added while pursing his lips, "I just wish it were that 
simple to be sure of the newer agents.  It's getting harder and 
harder to spot................"  McIntire stopped in mid sentence as 
they both thought of Clare.  He cleared his throat authoritatively, 
"Right, well then, that's all.  Go ahead and offer the position to 
Drayton."

	Walt stood, one more thing on his mind.  "If I may, uh, Ned, I'd 
like to see if I can shift the SAC in Albuquerque.  Let Jennings 
finish out his career there instead of resigning outright."

	"If you're sure, I trust your judgment.  Name?"

	"Wisniewski, William."

	"Right, I'll have Beverly fill out the necessary paperwork for his 
personnel file and you can take it along to Holly."

	Walt left the office about five minutes later and felt, not for the 
first time, the tiniest cringe of guilt for not alerting McIntire to 
the completed copy of Clare's disk in his possession.  The disk that 
would greatly aid in the 'spotting' of Cancerman and the Associates' 
operatives.  The disk that was safeguarding Anthony's life. 

		*	*	*	*	*	*	

12:05pm

	Walt sat in his office reading over Wisniewski's file, absently 
rubbing his index finger over his lips.  A solid career, he thought, 
two commendations, nothing particularly strong in the way of an 
official reprimand - although Walt swore there had been an incident 
some fifteen or more years ago, the particulars of which were on the 
fringe of his mind.  The intercom buzzed again.

	"Yes?"
	
	"I have Legat Drayton on the line, sir," Kimberly's voice said.

	"Thank you."  He picked up the phone and pressed the flashing button.
  "Roz, nice job with the jewelry ring, no pun intended."

	"You're wasting Bureau resources to call about that?  You could have 
sent an e-mail, you know," her sultry voice teased him.  "So why are 
you really calling?"

	Walt smiled warmly, "Can't a friend call without an ulterior motive 
being assumed?"

	"I just talked to you a few weeks ago.  Being in love must be 
softening the brain cells, chéri, in this business one *always* 
assumes an ulterior motive.  So what's up?"

	He swiveled partly in his chair and gazed at a new picture on the 
credenza.  "Care to transfer back to the States?"

	He could almost see the smile on her face, "Why?  Am I being 
considered for the Director's job or something?"  

	Walt softly laughed, "Not quite that lofty, Roz.  More like Deputy 
AD, in my Division."

	"So I'd be working under you again, huh?" Roz managed to put just a 
tad of suggestion in her purposeful double entendre, knowing he 
expected it and finding it helpful to release some of her positive 
tension over the prospect of continuing her liaison with McIntire.  
"How soon?"

	"Pretty much immediately, but I suppose the first of the year will 
do."

	"Trés tentateur (tempting).  A chance to break into the 'old boy 
network' when you get promoted."

	"What 'old boy network'?" he mockly retorted.  "There are high 
ranking women in HQ.  There's Vivian Opelmeyer in EEO, Pam Nichols in 
Public and Congressional Affairs, Fran Scioto in Personnel ...........
."

	"And we both know the Divisions that command the most attention and 
springboard the most Directors are CI and National Security.  So 
what's the deal with your current second in command .... Jennings?"

	"Health related transfer," he succinctly replied.  "I don't suppose 
you could use a SAC over there?"  He almost immediately winced at his 
own, unintentional, double entendre.

	Roz nearly purred her response, "Does this person have at least a 
passable tongue for French?"

	Walt swallowed carefully as he looked at the file again.  "The only 
language I see in Wisniewski's file is Spanish."

	She sighed audibly, "Just as well, my Deputy will be chomping at the 
bit to replace me and there are at least four capable people to 
replace *her*."

	"Then you're accepting............"

	"I guess I am.  Get all the paperwork rolling.  When's the big 
Christmas shindig?"  Oh, I wish I could have seen Ned's face when you 
brought up my name, she thought.

	"The nineteenth."

	"Merde, can't get there in time for that; just as well, I suppose, I 
hear it's generally too sedate for my tastes.  Have to settle for the 
New Year's bash.  Got just the dress for it, too; nice little 
glittery black thing."  Walt could just imagine, Roz's idea of 
'little' generally came under the heading of backless, short and 
showing off a lot of cleavage.  Sort of like Clare's little red dress,
 he absently thought.  "So did you break out the bankroll for 
Allison's dresses?"

	"She's making something for the first party and has to work during 
the second affair."  

	 "Are you sure she's *real*, Walt?  Career, kids, homemaker .........
....... sounds like a Stepford wife to me.  So what's this dress look 
like?"  He explained the bet and asked for advice.  "Let's see, if I 
remember your description properly, you said she's my height, solid, 
good but not athletic legs and hooters the size of Mount Blanc."

	He sputtered in exasperation, "I'm quite sure I *never* said the 
last part, Roz."

	She sighed, happy to have gotten a brief rise out of him.  "True, I 
believe you said voluptuous and that was only after I'd twisted your 
arm.  At any rate, if *I* had her coloring and build, I'd wear 
something moderately décolleté, maybe off the shoulder, reasonably 
form fitting, long with a healthy slit, possibly in teal or red.  
Mind, I don't know how extroverted she is."

	"Yeah, yeah.  You pretty much described the dress I bought her back 
in July."

	"Must be those great minds."  She paused, temporarily distracted, 
"Did you say Wisniewski before?  Bill Wisniewski?"

	"Yes, why?  Do you know him?"

	"Chéri, I *know* a zillion people.  Don't you remember when we 
temporarily misplaced that file during the White case I said maybe 
it'd done a 'Wiz'?  I told you about that minor fracas about him and 
some missing evidence back when I was an SA in New York."

	Walt's eyes screwed up in recall.  "Right.  You said the whole thing 
had straightened itself out, but the evidence turned out worthless."

	"Oui, it happens.  Well, I'd love to chat some more, but you're 
making me late for dinner with the Swiss ambassador."

	Walt shook his head, "Are you so sure you're ready to give up the 
jetset life over there?"

	"Last time I checked, D.C. had plenty of embassies and two airports.
"  And one incredibly sexy FBI Director, she silently added.  "Adieu, 
chéri."

	Walt responded with a laugh and hung up.  He looked at Wisniewski's 
file again briefly and decided to postpone trying to find a place for 
the man till after he'd had some lunch.

		*	*	*	*	*	*

 8:15pm

	Walt wandered into the basement to take care of some of the ever 
increasing pile of laundry.  He swore each child must be wearing 
three outfits a day the way it stacked up, course he and Allison 
tended to go through several changes themselves.  

	He started two loads and his mind drifted back to the events of the 
afternoon.  After consulting with Fran Scioto, they'd located one 
position that would be open in the next month, in the NY Field Office.
  The pay was a cut from that of a Field Office SAC, even though the 
title was the same.  The position was more a career move for getting 
into HQ and Walt wasn't really surprised that Wisniewski turned it 
down.  

	Just before four, local time, Wisniewski had rung back saying he'd 
thought things over and his ASAC was willing to transfer into the 
position (the pay being roughly equivalent with the higher title in 
this case).  Walt had done some fast paper shuffling, gotten the new 
personnel file and decided on a hunch to let Roth prove her mettle.  
ASAC was still a respectable position for Jennings and on the whole, 
he'd been quite pleased.  Except for Wisniewski's rather brusque 
manner, almost as though he had something to hide.   

	Walt stared across at the shelf unit and felt that familiar debate 
start within him - do I look at the disk or not.  He'd considered 
doing so on and off for the past year, and after his conversation 
with McIntire, felt more drawn to doing it.  Except the old argument 
for leaving it alone was still relevant - what could be done with the 
information that wouldn't result in harm to Anthony?

	He didn't know how the files were arranged, only that no security 
measures had been employed to scramble the information.  That would 
have been pointless; the contents were meant to be read, but only in 
an emergency.  Walt had often wondered if he *did* try to access the 
disk, if Clare's spirit would try to stop him.  He tended to doubt it 
since if she were really watching over them, she'd be aware of his 
possession and would have somehow destroyed it.  Course, how much 
'credit' could one give to a ghost, anyway?  

	His eyes focussed on the location of the safe again.  It was 
actually original to the house.  The architect had apparently 
envisioned it as a space to 'stash' rare bottles of wine that his 
client was afraid would be pilched.  The best thing about it, as far 
as Walt was concerned, was that it didn't appear on the blueprints.  
It had been accidentally discovered during the renovation (empty but 
for dust on the rack) and Avery had had to drill out the lock, 
replacing the whole mechanism with a modern electronic one.  There 
was enough battery backup to keep the lock in operation through a 
seventy-two hour power outage and Walt wholeheartedly approved.

	The safe was behind the built in shelving unit that served as 
additional pantry space.  The 'seams' of the falsefront blended in 
with the wall panels.  There were many packages of paper towel, 
toilet paper and napkins on the shelves in front of the entrance.  To 
access the space, one simply emptied the area, removed the applicable 
shelves, exposed the panel, activated the springboard false front, 
and punched in the ten digit code.  The space itself was thirty-two 
cubic feet and fireproof.

	Allison and Basil had used the area to store negatives, old photos, 
original homemade videos, important/legal papers, etc.  Walt used it 
for much the same plus Clare's disk and an electronic 'novelty'.  
Through a one time contact of Clare's, he'd purchased a phone 
scrambler which provided a secure untraceable line from any phone 
being used.  He'd also bought a state of the art 'sniffer'.  It came 
in the form of an electronic address book and Walt made use of it 
everyday.  While performing the duties of its appearance, it also 
alerted the owner to any listening devices within a five hundred 
square foot area.  Even the most sophisticated 'bugs' emitted a tiny 
signal when properly coerced.  Cutting edge technology was trying 
hard to remedy that.  It also had a monitor mode that indicated if a 
parabolic microphone were aimed in its general direction.

	The device wasn't designed to jam any signals and Clare had 
recommended it over ones that did, saying they were obsolete too 
quickly/too expensive to maintain as a single individual and too 
cumbersome to carry around on a regular basis.  Better just to be 
aware of the bug and alter your conversation accordingly, she'd said. 
 Walt thought how ridiculous it was in the movies to have people turn 
up music to try to drown out their voices in the presence of a bug.  
Equipment sensitive enough to peel layers of sound off a tape was all 
too available to well bankrolled criminals.  He thought again how 
Clare would love McIntire's little 'toy'.

	He had the latest in 'antisurveillance' equipment; he and CIA 
Director Grabowski had a gentlemen's agreement to share all 
breakthroughs and did so on a regular basis.  The 'toy' was an 
ingenuously designed briefcase with an electronic keypad and made 
from a revolutionary polymer which allowed the signals to pass 
through it.  One punched in a certain sequence and all forms of 
jamming went into effect simultaneously.  It also had some unique 
methods for theft prevention.  If the keypad were in any way tampered 
with, an ear splitting alarm sounded and didn't end till a code was 
entered; ditto for the case portion.  A most interesting feature was 
the case's 'spatial awareness'.  If it were moved more than five 
square feet, without the 'alarm' code being entered within thirty 
seconds, the alarm sounded.  And if the case were moved just shy of 
five square feet, it took an hour before the new position was 
recorded/accepted.  One had fifteen minutes to complete one's 
'legitimate' journey before the unit automatica
ly reset.

	Walt had looked with pronounced awe at the case when McIntire had 
shown it to him.  A timer on the keypad counted down the fifteen 
minutes.  The whole system was overkill for the average criminal, but 
to those in the know, successful theft was regarded as impossible.  
Switching cases, say when the owner was asleep, didn't even work 
(provided one had a soundproof box to stow the briefcase in).  Each 
case had a unique 'serial number' programmed by and known only to the 
owner.  

	McIntire had only had the case three months and it was a definite 
improvement over the old system; it had also been modified once 
already for technological advances.  The unit almost literally made 
the use of bugs worthless, except for the prohibitive cost.

	Walt was roused from these musings by numerous voices yelling from 
the first floor, begging for ice cream.  He walked over and mounted 
the stairs, shaking his head, thinking that it could be twenty below 
and the kids would still want their frosty treat.

	"Come on, Dad," Anthony urgently said as he grabbed for his hand to 
pull him into the kitchen.  "Our show is on commercial."

	"Well it's either the show or the ice cream."  Visions of the mess 
all over the cushions last time played across Walt's mind as did 
echoes of the tongue lashing *he'd* received from Allison.  "I'm not 
having a repeat of before."

	"Pwweeeaaaaaassssse, Uncle Walt?"  Amelia gave it a good run, 
batting her eyelashes for good measure.  "We promise to be careful."

	"And I've heard that before, too."

	"But we won't let Tabitha and Buster jump up this time," Charlee 
added, casting a half strength beam on him.  Ian came over, wrapped 
his arms around Walt's legs, leaned his head back and broadly grinned.


	Walt felt his resolve failing, again; the kids knew he was a soft 
touch.  "Why should I let you have ice cream in the first place?  
You're all due to go to bed in an hour at the most."  Five pairs of 
eyes looked at him beseechingly.  "No ice cream.  How about some 
popcorn instead?"  

	"Okay, can we can the cheese kind?" Trevor asked with the hint of a 
gleam in his eyes.

	Walt narrowed his own eyes and gazed at each one in turn.  "You 
sneaky bunch of connivers, you never wanted the ice cream."  They all 
grinned sheepishly, and none contradicted him.  "Get out of here," 
Walt good naturedly growled, "I'll toss a coupla bags in the 
microwave."

	The kids scampered back to the family room to re-establish their 
claims on the sofas.  Walt nuked the bags and poured the contents 
into two bowls before carrying them out.  When he'd left them in the 
room before, they'd been sprawled all over the three sofas.  This 
time, they were cozily together on the center one.  Amelia was 
snuggled next to Anthony, who was trying to look 'disgusted' (his 
faint smile giving him away, however), Charlee came next with her 
feet folded under her, then came a standing/bouncing Ian and last was 
Trevor, who kept rolling his eyes as Ian's Curious George (R) stuffed 
animal was repeatedly blocking his view.

	The kids all straightened up smartly when the popcorn arrived and 
were busily chomping away as Walt left them again.  He retrieved the 
bowl of ice cream he'd procured for himself with a mischievous smile 
and wandered into the dining room.  Allison had left the spoils of 
her fabric store shopping on the table and he looked through it with 
interest.  He wasn't surprised there was no pattern for an adult 
sized dress, nor seemingly enough fabric for one.

	What was on the table were several pieces of velvet, two patterns, 
some exceeding large pieces of lace (with matching narrower pieces), 
another bolt of natural colored muslin, a roll of wide gold ribbon 
and about four dozen sections of braiding in every color imaginable.  
Walt looked with interest at the information on the receipt, but it 
was unhelpful, not indicating that anything more than what was in 
front of him had been purchased.

	He wasn't sure if the red velvet was for Charlee and the blue for 
Amelia or vice versa, but judging by the tiny piece of green, he 
guessed that Ian was getting a vest in that color and black velvet 
pants.  Well, at one and a half, almost, he wouldn't put up a fuss 
over wearing it like Anthony and Trevor would.

	Both were looking forward to their roles in the Christmas pageant; 
they were portraying two of the three wisemen (Gaspar and Melchoir).  
Allison had made softly colored robes for them, Balthazaar, Mary and 
Joseph; all the wisemen's ones needed were their gold accent.  
Charlee's class was singing a medley of five Christmas carols and the 
children had been requested to dress in red or green.  And Amelia's 
class was reciting 'Twas The Night Before Christmas'.

	Walt glanced back at the muslin and couldn't believe Allison was 
going to be making *more* tunics.  With all the sewing she was doing 
for the school, he also couldn't believe she was still going to make 
a dress for herself.  She hadn't made Thanksgiving costumes after all,
 the school having decided to focus resources on Christmas instead.  
And the reason for all the sets and costumes was a fire.

	It had occurred in early/middle summer and had considerably damaged 
the auditorium, completely destroyed backstage, the below level 
staging area as well as the costume/scenery storage areas.  The new 
auditorium was about twenty-five percent bigger, providing additional 
seating for the expanding crowds and an increased stage for the 
grander performances.

	There had been a battle to get the increased space which was neck 
and neck with the debate about changing the archaic rule about age of 
admittance.  The school had been adhering to a rule that a child had 
to be five before September first to be allowed into kindergarten; 
which had nixed Charlee the previous year by nineteen days.  It was 
pointed out by many teachers and parents that as a progressive school 
offering so many advanced programs, this policy was incongruous.  And 
with a close vote, the School Board had passed a resolution to admit 
children on an individual basis should their age be less than five at 
the aforementioned date.  

	Once Charlee had been tested, she'd bypassed kindergarten entirely 
and been placed in first grade.  There was even a possibility that 
she'd be bumped up another grade like Trevor.  

	And since she no longer had her 'buddy' home all day with her, 
Amelia had pleaded with Allison to go to preschool.  Luckily, a very 
good day care/school lay on the way to the elementary school and 
Amelia was going three full-time days a week.  According to her 
teachers, it was a certainty that Amelia would be admitted to 
kindergarten the following year.  And then he and Allison would have 
four children in the same school at the same time, Walt thought, 
smiling.  

	Every now and then it seemed impossible to him that he could have 
gone from childless bachelor to married and father of five in such a 
short time.  Well, okay, so they weren't married just yet.  They'd 
settled on November eighth because Allison had assured him that to 
pull off the extravaganza *he* wanted it would take that long to 
plan/get reservations.   

	Walt had never planned anything like this, but he'd known enough to 
know that a year might not be enough.  Allison had said she'd be 
happy in jeans, in the backyard, with a bunch of wildflowers.  He'd 
laughed until she'd arched an eyebrow and fixed him with a stern look.
  Then he'd choked and explained that he really wanted a traditional 
wedding with all the bells and whistles.  She'd started to say 
something, swallowed slowly and finally told him to try to hold the 
cost down to under his pension. 

	He could just imagine the look on her face when he told her he'd 
managed to book the Willard Inter-Continental for the ceremony and 
the adjacent Occidental restaurant for the reception.  The managers 
had both told him that his luck was extraordinary since both *had* 
been booked only a few days earlier and the two couples on the 
waiting list had found other accommodations.  Then they'd required 
hefty downpayments.

	Walt finished his ice cream and was about to take the empty bowl 
back to the kitchen when he was caught red handed by Charlee as she 
carried the similarly empty popcorn bowls.  She flashed her smile at 
full wattage at the almost embarrassed expression on his face and 
made the little 'my lips are sealed' gesture before taking his hand 
and entering the kitchen with him.

		*	*	*	*	*	*

Saturday, December 6, 1997, 9:15am

	"You booked where?"  Allison's eyes were saucer wide as she bent to 
pick up the washcloth she'd just dropped.  Walt grinned and sexistly 
wished he were standing on the other side of her to watch her 
straighten up.  He repeated his words and she began to systematically 
beat him with the washcloth.  "Have you gone stark raving mad?  
That'll cost at least a hundred a person for the reception."

	He grabbed her still active hand, divested her of the washcloth and 
pulled her close against him.  "In that general vicinity anyway.  And 
it fits in my budget."

	Allison wriggled away from him, pushed him out of line from the warm 
spray and narrowed her eyes.  "I know I'm going to regret this, but 
just *how* much is your budget?"

	Walt angled his way slowly back, "Between flowers, music, 
photographer, cake, rings, dresses, tuxes, invitations, limousines, 
incidentals and hotel for the ceremony, I'm allocating about twelve 
thousand.  With eight to ten thousand for the food; we already agreed 
the guest list would be around sixty, maybe eighty."

	Allison shook her head as she sputtered and coughed several times.  
"Twenty *thousand* dollars?!  That's ... that's three times what my 
entire wedding *and* honeymoon cost!"  She covered her face briefly 
and groaned, unable to believe he was being so 'reckless' with money. 
 "What's left for the honeymoon?  A trip around the world?" she asked 
with a nearly snide tone as she dropped her hands.

	He merely smiled angelically back, "Not quite, I was thinking of two 
weeks in Europe, though.................  Paris, Milan, Venice, 
Madrid."

	The thought, and hope, that he was kidding entered her mind.  She 
relaxed and smiled at him.  "Are you pulling my chain about all this?
"

	Walt pulled her back in his arms and pushed a section of hair away 
from her face, noting how the water beaded up on it.  "Maybe about 
two cities in Italy."

	She smiled back at him, more broadly, and backed him toward the 
shower door, pausing to open it.  "Then I have only one thing to say 
right now," she pushed him through the door, "Find yourself another 
fianc‚e."  And then she closed the door with a slam.

	He stood there, dripping, a surprised expression on his face.  He 
could hear her grousing and swearing and knew she was pissed.  
"Allison ......................"

	"Save it," she yelled over the water.  "I'm not speaking to you 
until common sense returns."

	Walt absently dried himself off, pouting and pursing his lips.  He 
recognized a stalemate when he saw one, and he knew he had to give 
her time to cool down.  This had all the makings of being worse than 
their disagreement from July he thought.

	BEGIN FLASHBACK

Saturday, July 26, 1997, 8:47am

	Walt finished cleaning up the kitchen and wandered over to the 
French doors to watch the children playing outside.  In a few more 
hours, the temperature would rise enough to have them 'wilting' and 
begging to be allowed to stay inside.  He turned a few possibilities 
for afternoon activities over in his mind as the phone rang.  Maybe 
the Smithsonian, he thought, walking toward the phone, the kids never 
seem to get enough of that place.

	"Wright residence."

	"Yes, may I speak to Allison, please."

	Walt found the voice on the other end of the phone somewhat 
interesting.  It was pleasant enough, with a slightly formal air that 
was struggling to be familiar at the same time.  "Allison isn't 
available at the moment.  Would you care to leave a message?"

	The voice coughed and decided to do so.  "Well, yes, this is Jeff 
Watkins at Seabrook Hospital, could you ask her to call me before one 
o'clock?  She has the number."

	Walt arched an eyebrow with rapidly deepening interest.  "I'll 
certainly pass along the message.  May I tell her what this in regard 
to?"  Walt managed to keep his voice casual and even from years of 
experience.

	"Uh, she'll know what it's about.  Thank you."  He disconnected the 
phone with the pricklings of suspicion growing like barnacles.  There 
was something about the tone used by 'Jeff Watkins' which rang 
awkwardly.  And Seabrook Hospital - wasn't that?  Walt picked up the 
phonebook and flipped quickly through the yellow pages to confirm his 
memory.  There it was, Seabrook Hospital - 'Psychiatric and Addiction 
Medicine Programs'.  Walt stared at the page, thinking.  Why would 
Allison be communicating with anyone there, he wondered.  She seemed 
to be adjusting all right to Basil's attack and if she needed to talk 
to a professional, why someone at a private hospital versus a 
psychiatrist's office?

	His musings were interrupted as she came up behind him, yawning and 
slowly rotating her healed shoulder.  "Looking for something?"  Her 
eyes fell on the open page and her nonchalant expression changed 
rapidly.

	Walt was surprised by her expression.  It seemed a combination of 
embarrassment, resignation, defeat and oddly was accompanied by a 
rigid straightening of her spine.  "Just curious," he cautiously 
replied.  "A Jeff Watkins just called from Seabrook.  He'd like you 
to return his call before one; he said you'd know what it was in 
reference to."

	His eyebrows raised expectantly for her to expound, and she appeared 
to ignore him, instead becoming fascinated with something in the 
refrigerator instead.  "Thanks," she mumbled, "I'll do that."  When 
she looked up, Walt was gazing at her still, "What?"

	"Are you all right?"  The concern audible in his voice was evident 
on his face as well.  "Are you, uh," he swallowed awkwardly, "a 
patient of one of the doctors there?"

	Her pupils dilated suddenly and he wasn't sure if she was annoyed or 
amused.  "No, I'm not; although a Dr. Waterbury is affiliated with 
Seabrook and the local AA chapter so I suppose in a very left handed 
way one could say I'm a patient."  She swallowed roughly on her way 
past him, holding a juice container.  "I was going to tell you 
tonight, but I suppose now is just as good a time.  I'm working for 
them, effective tomorrow, twelve hours a week, four on Sunday and 
eight on Monday."

	"Why on earth would you want to work *more* hours?" he sputtered, 
taken off guard by her answer.  "The kids need you here, not spending 
more time away from them."

	Allison poured her juice with a slight quiver to her hand and a 
rising flush to her face.  When she turned to Walt, he could see she 
was trying to maintain a calm countenance.  "I could give you a big 
song and dance, but the simple truth is ........ I need the money."  
She swallowed a large mouthful of juice and refused to meet his eyes.


	He shook his head in annoyance rightly believing she was too proud 
to ask for help.  And he remembered the 'argument' he'd had with her 
earlier in the year when he'd insisted on paying her for all the food 
and utilities he and Anthony were consuming while they stayed there.  
"How much short are you?" he quietly asked.

	"I'm not taking anymore money from you," was her stubborn reply.  

	"Allison," his exasperation was growing, "I can always run a check 
on your finances to find out."  Although simply looking over her 
checkbook would serve the same function, he thought.

	She looked up at him after a few seconds, a line of grim 
determination and independence across her face.  "I can take care of 
my children on my own, Walt.  It needn't be any of your concern.  
Teresa is going to watch them the extra hours."

	He took her elbow as she tried to edge past him, his eyes narrowing 
at this somewhat brusque reply.  "Now what kind of sense does that 
make?  You're going to work extra hours and lose part of the money by 
paying Teresa more?"  She pulled her arm away and walked to the 
French doors, more closely resembling a mule with every step.  He 
hung his head and pursed his lips, trying to come up with another 
angle to breech her defenses.  She spoke before he had a chance.

	"I'm making almost sixty thousand a year, it just doesn't seem 
possible that I can't pay all my bills with that.  I agree that 
shelling out more money to Teresa rather defeats the purpose, but 
it's only temporary.  Once Basil starts paying the child support, it 
won't be so bad.  I've already cancelled my contribution to my 401K 
and Amelia will just have to be mad at me about preschool."

	Walt stole up behind her and gently rubbed her shoulders.  "That 
won't be enough money, though, will it?"

	She sighed quite loudly, "No, even with judicious pairing back, I'll 
still be a few hundred short every month, but between the twice a 
year extra paychecks and the probable significantly higher tax refund,
 it'll more than even out.  And most importantly, the kids won't have 
to move."

	"So ... you're short about a thousand a month right now?"  She 
absently nodded, still staring out the window.  He propped his chin 
on top of her head, his hands lightly resting on her shoulders.  
"Since I know you won't accept the money as a gift, let me loan it to 
you."  She turned instantly around and started to protest. "*Listen* 
to me, I've always been very 'frugal' with my money and I've both 
invested it in real estate and put it away in a Money Market account.
"

	"You should use the money for a trust fund for Anthony, not wasting 
it, even as a loan, on us," Allison replied, shifting her eyes 
awkwardly.

	He turned her chin up and gazed softly into her eyes.  "I hardly 
consider you and the children a 'waste' and I've already set up a 
college trust fund for Anthony.  Plus, I own a two unit and a four 
unit apartment complex in Bethesda, a four unit complex in Austin and 
a cottage on Long Island Sound.  I also buy my cars outright and I 
still have a significant amount in liquid funds.  And I'm telling you 
all this just to prove to you that I *can* afford to loan you money.
"

	Allison pulled away from him and walked back to the island; still 
seeming disconcerted.  "Why complexes in Bethesda?"

	Walt smiled and ambled back to the island, sidling up next to her.  
"Because my landlord put the first one up for sale and it seemed like 
a good idea at the time."  He sighed somewhat heavily, "I ended up 
putting a sizable chunk of savings into it in the way of improvements 
after I became AD.  The old landlord thought I was nuts for doing all 
that work when the worst replacement could have waited five years, 
but my father taught me not to follow the 'if it ain't broke, don't 
fix it' philosophy.  I bought the second, bigger one with part of my 
inheritance and my parents left me the one in Austin.  And aside from 
the occasional short vacancy, they all usually generate a positive 
cash flow.  The money I've sunk in the updates not withstanding."  He 
paused briefly with a mischievous grin, "My tenants think I'm a 
wonderful human being."

	"I'm sure they do," Allison absently responded.  "Hasn't anyone told 
you lending money to friends and family is something best avoided?"

	"Can't help it," he cheerfully replied, sensing a thawing in her 
attitude.  "My father was notorious for helping out his friends."

	"And he was never stung?"

	"Well, yes, as a matter of fact, he was.  But that didn't stop him 
from believing in his fellow man ... or woman."  Walt thought back to 
the mess he'd encountered after his parents had died.  His father had 
co-signed a wincedly large loan with the 'respected' sister of a 
friend who'd then absconded to parts unknown with the money.  The 
senior Mr. Skinner had been left holding the bag and had remortgaged 
the hardware store to pay off the loan.  

	The estate had still come down to about three hundred and twenty-
five thousand dollars plus the apartment complex.  Walt hadn't cared 
about his 'inheritance', what had pained him was that his parents had 
never mentioned the refinancing.  Clare had thought he'd been sad 
about using his inheritance to keep them afloat for their proposed 
year together, when in reality it had been the sorrow of not being 
asked to use his power to locate the sister (who he *had* found, 
after the fact, all the money gambled away).

	"Let me 'loan' you say, fifteen hundred a month in addition to the 
three hundred I'm paying you now."  She started to protest again, but 
he tugged on her hands to silence her.  "That should take care of a 
significant chunk of the mortgage."

	Allison shook her head with disbelief, "First of all that's far too 
much.  And second, how big do you think our mortgage is?  It's only 
fourteen-fifty."

	Walt's eyes raised in what he thought was her naivete .  "You're not 
including taxes and insurance."

	She now raised her eyes back in what appeared to be irritation at 
his comment over her lack of financial acumen.  "I am to.  *You're* 
forgetting what a dump this place was.  When the assessors came 
through New Carrollton in 1980, this place came in at a whopping 
forty-seven thousand.  I believe your subdivision was nailed with 
values a good three times that.  It's entirely possible that *your* P 
& I is nearly the same as our entire monthly mortgage while your 
escrow is through the roof."

	His expression softened into a sheepish smile.  "Okay, I deserved 
that.  But take all the money.  I'm sure you stripped down your 
budget to the point of making a skeleton look fat.  I don't want you 
to have to move, I don't want you to cancel your pension plan, I 
don't want Amelia disappointed, I don't want you scrimping over every 
tiny expense, I don't want you to work a second job.  I *do* want you 
to let me help you."  There were still vestiges of doubt on her face. 
 "Look, you can sign a promissory note if it'll make you feel better.
"

	"And for just how long are you planning to 'boost' my finances?"

	A devious smile swept across his face.  "For as long as necessary."

	"Wallllllllt," she wailed in exasperation, "be serious."  She 
screwed her face up in silent computation.  "I'll be in the hole or 
damned close every year if you lend me fifteen hundred for two months 
and then nine hundred after that.  I won't accept anything more than 
twelve hundred and six hundred."

	Walt gazed into that steely glint in her eyes and meekly agreed.  
"Fine."  She turned to get a piece of paper from a drawer.  "And I'll 
start paying you six hundred a month for our upkeep."

	Allison turned back to him and narrowed her eyes.  "Damn you."

	He fixed her with a determined, yet humorous gleam.  "I'm sure I am 
at least half a dozen times a day.  And repayment doesn't necessarily 
have to come in the form of money, you know."  The potential 
implications of his comment swam in a flood of possibilities across 
her face in a few scant seconds.  Walt's own face immediately started 
to turn red as the unintended innuendo struck him.  "I, uh, meant, uh,
 you could make me one of your decadent cakes a month."

	She looked at him with a perfectly blank expression and spoke with a 
toneless voice.  "Of course you did.  Now can we get this agreement 
on paper?"

	The final agreement read:

		I, Walter Skinner, am loaning the sum of thirteen
		hundred-fifty dollars to Allison Hogle Wright for 
		each of the following two months and the sum of 
		seven hundred-fifty dollars every month after that 
		for a total period of one year.  Repayment of this loan 
		will be expected in full at the end of said year and 
		may be renegotiated at that time.  The only interest 
		to be paid is a homemade cake once a month.

	It was dated and duly signed by both.  Walt's eyes flashed with the 
satisfaction of someone who had just gotten his way, while Allison 
shook her head repeatedly.  "You're a nut, you know that?  A smart 
ass nut.  And I'd better warn you right now that I save all year to 
spend like a lunatic at a huge craft show in October, so I don't want 
to hear you nagging me about those purchases."

	"Fair enough."

	He wandered over to her cookbooks and started to peruse the contents.
  "What are you doing?"

	"Getting an idea of my cake choices," he murmured with a pronounced 
grin.

	END FLASHBACK

	Walt had managed to move to the sink while he was remembering and 
the razor was poised in his hand.  They'd renegotiated in October 
when Basil had been unable to start making payments on time with his 
medical bills and torn up the agreement entirely the same day she 
agreed to marry him; although she insisted on making the cakes anyway.


	He put down the razor after he'd nicked himself a second time and 
leaned against the vanity.  He couldn't believe she was prepared to 
be so pig headed .......... well, yes he could.  But why couldn't she 
see he wanted everything to be perfect and beautiful and memorable 
for their wedding?

***

	Allison stood under the water, still seething.  What the hell was 
the matter with him?  Why did he feel the need to flaunt his money 
all over the place?  Course he'd say it was *their* money ............
... all the more reason to object to this flagrant use, she thought.  
Twenty thousand dollars ..... with the 'proposed' honeymoon add 
another five or six, she continued.  "No way," she muttered and 
squeezed far more conditioner than she wanted in her agitated state.

	"First off, the European honeymoon goes," she mumbled before 
finishing her thoughts silently.  Thinking of his choice of such a 
posh hotel and restaurant had her shaking her head again.  She'd have 
been less surprised if he'd chosen a church for the ceremony.  Since 
neither attended on anything even approaching a regular basis, (she 
and the children went to Mass for Christmas Eve and Easter mostly to 
please Basil's parents) they'd tossed that option aside as 
hypocritical.  She assumed they were having a Justice of the Peace, 
and suddenly hoped it wouldn't be a Federal Justice or other such 
nonsense.  Why couldn't he be like any other normal engaged male and 
leave all the planning to her?

		*	*	*	*	*	*

12:45pm

	Allison gathered up dirty placemats and walked them over to the 
laundry chute.  She heard Ian jabbering as he woke up from his 
earlier than usual nap and was about to get him when Walt came out 
from the family room, bent on the same mission.  He gazed at her 
briefly and they held each other's eyes for a second before she 
turned away, biting at her lip.  They'd barely spoken since the 
shower and the kids were all wondering what was up.  Walt hung his 
head and went up the stairs.

	"Mommy?  Why are you and Uncle Walt mad?"  Amelia tugged on 
Allison's hand, half pulling her mother down to her height.

	Allison peered into the serious eyes of her youngest daughter and 
gently cupped her chin with her free hand.  "We had a disagreement, 
sweetie."

	"About us?" her eyes grew wider.

	"No, about the wedding," Allison's voice was silky smooth as she 
tried to placate Amelia's concerns.

	"Oh," she looked at the floor briefly.  "You can get married earlier;
 I don't mind if it's before my birthday.  I don't need lotsa 
'tention."

	Allison smiled warmly and pulled Amelia into a hug, smoothing her 
hair.  "Thank you, sweetie.  Uncle Walt and I will work out our 
differences without changing the wedding date."  Amelia pulled back 
and Allison lightly touched the tip of her nose, "But it was very 
generous of you to offer."

	Tabitha came skidding out of the family room in hot pursuit of 
Buster, for once, and the two ran past them into the kitchen.  
Charlee emerged right after them and Amelia charged into the foray as 
well.  Allison stood up, shaking her head and announced to the masses 
that she was going to the basement to shift some laundry.

***

	Walt went into Ian's room and found him sitting in a corner of his 
crib, Curious George (R) balanced on his lap.  The 'two' seemed 
engrossed in a serious conversation which was punctuated with a few 
'gobbins', some 'ba ba, ba bas' and the odd 'guy ge ge'.  Walt 
noticed an appreciable wet spot further up the sheet and didn't need 
to sniff the air much to discover that that wasn't all Ian had done.  
"You *reek* fella," he said while scooping Ian and George up.

	Ian smiled happily and tossed out a few 'dada's' on his way to the 
changing table.  Walt removed George from his grasp, noticing that 
*he* smelled peed upon and put him on the floor.  Ian was not 
thrilled and let that be known, squirming, squealing and rolling.  
"You'll get him back in a bit," Walt replied, stripping off pants 
amidst the movement of busy legs and opening the diaper.  
"Oooooohhhhhh, this is *disgusting*.  No more popcorn for you," he 
wrinkled his nose as he spoke.

	Freshly cleaned and wearing new pants, Walt placed Ian on the floor, 
where he immediately went for George.  "Uth, uh, buddy.  He's got to 
be washed."  Ian proceeded to stage a small fit as Walt took his 
friend away and stripped off the sheet and mattress cover.  The fit 
was nothing compared to the one a few moments later when Walt dropped 
George down the laundry chute.  Ian looked at him with enormous, tear 
laden eyes, blinked twice and dropped to the floor, flinging his head 
back and stomping his feet as he let his tantrum out.

	Walt stood and as patiently as he could, watched it play out.  
Allison wasn't taken in by these bursts of emotion and would calmly 
walk away, within view, until it was over.  Walt was barely at that 
point and still had trouble not giving in.

***

	Allison saw the objects hit the floor out of the corner of her eye 
and sighed as she saw George.  "Ian will be throwing a fit," she 
mumbled and sorted the new items.  She continued folding and soon 
heard adult sized feet on the stairs.  She took a deep breath and 
prepared to 'girdle up her loins' for the probable discussion to 
follow.  Walt appeared in the doorway, wetting his lips and unsure 
what to do with his hands.

	"I, uh, know you've got to get ready for work fairly soon, but could 
we at least confirm that we *still are* getting married?"

	Allison looked up at him and pursed her lips.  "I'm still in favor 
of marriage, just not of spending some twenty-six thousand dollars 
for the whole shooting match."

	Walt walked further in and laced his fingers around hers.  "So how 
much are you willing to spend?"	

	She turned her head away briefly, "Oh no, you're not getting away 
with *that* loaded a question.  I simply think leaning toward 
understated is better than overkill."

	He sighed preemptively, "Like?"

	Allison angled her head back, "Like I've seen parts of Europe and 
it's wonderful, but I can't take two weeks off; one at the most.  I 
only get three weeks vacation and what with Easter in London, 
Memorial Day plus in Detroit and Labor Day plus in Boston, I wouldn't 
have enough."

	"We can still do Europe in a week."

	"Losing a day in travel each way and rushing from city to city?  Why 
don't we save that for a tenth anniversary and just go to your 
cottage for a week?"

	He looked at her in embarrassment and exasperation.  "Allison, the 
cottage is rather, uh, rustic.  There's no shower, or sink for that 
matter, in the bathroom; the old clawfoot tub cools off hot water in 
an instant, the hot water heater barely works properly anyway and the 
only electricity is from a generator.  That's why I got it so 
'inexpensive'."

	"And why haven't you updated it?"

	"Well, I kind of like the roughing it aspect, by myself, but as a 
honeymoon retreat it falls well short."

	"So we'll heat up extra buckets of water and take our baths together.
  And I'll get to see you in action with a real working fireplace.  
Sounds cozy, romantic and private to me."

	He shook his head slightly, with resignation, but also with hidden 
pleasure.  "All right, you win.  What else?  And don't even start on 
the hotel or restaurant, those aren't negotiable."

	She pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow thinking those were the 
two she'd most like to trim.  "We don't need limos," he started to 
protest, "I'm sure the hotel will provide us with rooms to dress and 
if not, no biggie.  And speaking of dress, I plan to make mine and 
the girls'; my mother will make Audrey's."  He tried to cut in but 
she wouldn't let him.  "Not negotiable."  Fine, he thought, but I'm 
not letting you get away with making another dress for the 1998 
Christmas dinner, then.  "And there are several very talented people 
at Teresa's church who can make the wedding cake and arrange the 
flowers for less than a professional."

	He fixed her with his own arched eyebrow, "I don't think it's the 
arranging as much as the quantity and type that's going to add up 
with the flowers."

	"Less is more, tesoro; and I plan to stick primarily to what's in 
season."

	"Which would be what, in November?"

	"Never mind.  Now what else?  Oh yes, Jason is quite gifted with a 
camera and I'm sure he'd be happy to take pictures.  I don't suppose 
you'd allow a DJ to provide music?"

	He rolled his eyes, she really was cutting his plans to ribbons.  
"No, I wouldn't.  I was thinking more along the lines of a string 
quartet."

	"Won't be terrifically popular with 'the younger crowd', but I'll go 
along with that.  And, I'll even let you choose the invitations."

	"What about the rings?"  Allison thoughtfully chewed her lower lip a 
few seconds.  "After standing at the jewelry store with you for so 
long, I think I've got a reasonable idea of what you will or won't 
wear."

	She chewed some more and partly closed one eye.  "All right.  And 
tuxedos are your area, too.  Should you choose to buy a new one for 
yourself, I won't object."  She moved in closer and teasingly drew 
her finger along his chin.  "Personally, I think you'd look 
devastating in tails."

	He took her finger and lightly kissed it, "Sorry to disappoint you, 
but I'm too much of a traditionalist."

	"I'm sure they have a long history ........................."  Her 
words were cut off by a pair of soft, yet firm, moist lips for quite 
a few seconds.  "Mmmmm.  Tesoro?"  He murmured a grunt in reply as 
his lips slid down to her throat and neck.  "This is just a 
suggestion, and I know it's not super, super close, but would you 
consider moving the ceremony and reception to Quantico?"

	Walt pulled back slowly, loving warmth radiating from his eyes.  
"Preparations with the annual Veteran's Day ceremony would play havoc 
with trying to hold a wedding and reception.  But I'm very pleased 
that you'd consider getting married at a Marine Corps installation."

		*	*	*	*	*	*	

Sunday, December 7, 1997, 12:34am

	Allison was walking along the hall toward the stairs, absently 
rubbing the nearly always present dull throb in her back when she 
stopped, sniffing the air.  What was that she was smelling?  It 
almost seemed like pine, but that couldn't be right.  She noticed the 
pocket doors to the drawing room weren't completely shut and went in. 
 Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the breathtaking, 
enormous tree standing in front of the windows.  She was barely able 
to squeeze behind it, even with the furniture in its temporary 
location due to the sheer majestic size.  Illumination from the 
street lights was spilling in from the partly opened drapes, catching 
the branches and dancing off them in reflection.  This was no Charlie 
Brown tree she realized ..... and when had she agreed to or had they 
even discussed the possibility of a real tree?  Basil's allergies 
will no doubt be going full force if this thing stays, she thought.

	She mounted the stairs with growing annoyance.  Why did Walt do that,
 she continued, he definitely should have *checked* with me first.  
We just got one 'issue' resolved, and now he's gone off and ..... and 
become a typical insensitive, unthinking male, she finished.  

	Allison completed the check of the children and came to her own 
closed door.  She hadn't noticed the stuffed animal sitting in front 
of it until now.  As she bent to retrieve it, her back protesting 
anew, she saw the light seeping from the room.  About a dozen 
different rebuffs were ready on her lips when she opened the door; 
none of them made it out.

	"I know, I'm sorry, go ahead and say it.  I shouldn't have bought 
the tree."

	Allison's lips twitched.  His apology cut short her speech.  "No, 
you shouldn't."

	Walt smiled, satisfied that he'd averted a lecture, and patted the 
bed for her to join him.  Which she did, warily.  "Let me tell you 
what went on after you left for work.  The kids were bouncing off the 
walls by three and driving each other crazy - I broke up four 
skirmishes in fifteen minutes.  I yelled at them to hold it down to a 
dull roar for about the tenth time and went to shift the last load of 
laundry with Ian hot on my heels.  I was reaching into the washer for 
another bunch of stuff to toss into the dryer when I looked over and 
saw him trying to climb inside after George.  When I pulled him out, 
he howled, stomped, kicked and all but bit my finger.  At that point 
I decided to get them out of the house before they killed each other.
"

	He paused for breath and to smile at Allison's growing grin of 
amusement.  She knew the children were generally well behaved; but 
sometimes they acted like candidates for Ritalin (R).  "We'd only 
been in the van about ten minutes when we passed that tree place by 
the gas station.  They started pleading and whining for a real tree 
and I figured it wouldn't hurt to let them burn off some energy 
running around; and then I'd play Mr. Rotten and tell them no."

	"And instead they talked you into the tree."

	He nodded meekly.  "God help us if they decide to use their powers 
of persuasion for evil."

	She rolled her eyes, "*You* are the softest touch I've ever seen."

	He grinned shyly, "Yeah, well.  I tried to talk them into a little 
one and they kept choosing bigger and bigger ones till we ended up 
buying that Berkshire Pine nine footer."

	"Is that what that is.  I suppose you're going to want to put tinsel 
on it, since it's 'disposable'."  His grin widened as she bent down 
to remove her low heeled boots, "Uh, huh.  Trying to find room for 
all the combined ornaments should be a rare treat."

	"Actually, I've got the perfect solution.  Put up the artificial 
tree in the family room.  It'll be nice and symmetrical having a tree 
in front of each set of windows.

	"And just what are we doing with the table and chairs that are 
currently in front of the windows?  I'll need that furniture when 
everybody's here."

	"I'll figure something out."  

	He leaned forward and tugged on the ears of the animal she'd placed 
on the bed as she stood up, shedding her skirt on her way to the 
bathroom.  "Was that meant as some sort of peace offering?  Where'd 
you get it?  It looks vaguely familiar."  

	"Chuck E. Cheese (R)."

	Allison's eyes grew incredibly large as she partly faced him and he 
got out of bed to follow her, dressed only in sweat shorts.  "It 
takes twelve hundred tickets for that size animal.  How did you amass 
that many ....... and more to the point, what were you doing there?  
That's bloody close to the last place I'd think you'd go voluntarily.
"

	"Oh, I don't know.  Once you get past the throngs of children 
careening into you, it's not so bad.  A bit wilder than Discovery 
Zone (R), granted.  And, I was quite the arcade lover/aficionado as a 
child."

	She swallowed slowly, now by the sink and squeezing out toothpaste. 
"Even so, Basil and I gritted our teeth the few times we went, and 
you went alone with five kids?  On a Saturday?  It must have cost you 
a fortune to buy all those tokens."

	"Actually, we got twenty with our food and the, uh, management gave 
me a hundred free."  Allison cocked her head to the side, urging his 
'reflection' to explain with the slant of her eyebrows while his 
nimble fingers were in the process of unfastening the buttons to her 
cardigan.  "Two drunk patrons got out of hand and I, uh, subdued them.
"

	"You what?" she spoke around the toothbrush before removing it 
entirely.  "Wait a minute, they only serve beer and wine; you'd have 
to have a low tolerance, an allergy or have been there all day 
drinking.  And I can't believe the employees would continue to serve 
obviously soused patrons."

	Walt efficiently got the sweater off while she was spitting out 
toothpaste.  "Well, these two were helping themselves along with 
concealed flasks of whiskey.  At any rate, that's how I earned all 
those tokens."  He started on her tights and slip as she turned the 
hot water on and grabbed a washcloth.  "You know who'd really get a 
kick out of that place ..... Ned McIntire.  There was a Ninja Turtle 
(R) machine with a message about drugs from the Director of the FBI - 
one Freeman Williams.  He was the Director before McIntire."

	She shook her head at his lack of knowledge concerning recent 
children's trends while sliding the soapy cloth over her face.  She 
also half swallowed a groan of awakening desire as his warm, strong 
hands caressed her thighs on the way back up.  "Ninja Turtles (R) 
have been around quite awhile, tesoro.  And not to change the subject 
or anything, but are we going to complete the terms of our bet?"

	He smiled superciliously as his new target became the hook on the 
bra, "Trust me, I haven't forgotten.  When I win, you're going to 
have to accompany me on an early morning run on a Thursday or Friday.
"

	Allison wriggled her nose at the thought and his 'arrogance' before 
rinsing off her face.  "When *I* win, you're going to have to sing to 
me."

	Walt's eyes narrowed and he ground his teeth, temporarily halting 
the motion of his hands.  "I don't sing, remember?"  She calmly held 
his gaze in the mirror, "You're evil.  Do I at least get to pick the 
song ... in the extremely unlikely event that I lose?"

	"Sure, but it has to be a legitimate song, no jingles."

	He leaned further forward, wrapping his arms around her and leaning 
more of his weight against her back.  She grimaced as a spasm of pain 
shot up it at the same time.  "What's wrong?" he asked, quickly 
straightening up and turning her around.  "Is it just my imagination, 
or are your backaches getting more severe and more frequent?"  
Visions of Clare and her pain temporarily clouded his mind.

	She moved past him to dry her face.  "No, it's not your imagination. 
 They're not quite as bad as they were before I lost those fifteen 
pounds, but ............." she finished with a shrug.

	"Well short of taking pills the rest of your life, can't something 
else be done?"

	Allison gazed at the loving concern on his face and stroked his 
cheek.  "Elective surgery would very likely be helpful, but I don't 
know that you'd like it."

	Walt got a slightly puzzled look on his face, "Why wouldn't I like 
it?  Would you be in a back brace or cast afterwards for months or 
something?"

	She shook her head while softly laughing.  "Not back surgery, tesoro,
 breast reduction.  Audrey had it done about five years ago; she was 
in almost constant pain and as unbelievable as this sounds, was more 
endowed than me."

	They moved back to the bedroom and Allison stripped off the 
turtleneck and bra, unconsciously placing her right arm under her 
breasts in a supportive gesture.  Walt came up behind her, folding 
his arms around her body before proceeding to trail his fingers 
lightly over the flesh, gently teasing the nipples to hardness.  "So 
you're telling me the weight of large breasts can cause back problems?
"

	"Where have you been?" she murmured, leaning further against him 
before pulling away and climbing into bed.

	He partly smirked back at the grin on her face.  "Sorry, not my 
field of expertise.  Roll over."  With a sigh, she did and his 
wondrous palms and fingers went to work on her sore muscles.  "So 
what all is involved in this surgery?"

	"The surgeon cuts away the appropriate amount of skin and breast 
tissue, sews you back up."  She neglected to use the word 'amputate', 
even though that was what the books said.

	"From a purely clinical point of view," he leaned down closer to her 
ear and half growled briefly, "not a sexual one, how much did they 
remove from your sister?"

	Allison rolled her eyes against the pillow.  "Three cup sizes and 
two inches.  And that 'wow' better not be audible."  Walt wiped the 
expression off his face in a second.  "She was on restricted activity 
in some form or other for weeks and said the pain was a bit more 
intense than she'd anticipated for the first few days."  Allison wet 
her lips slowly, knowing he'd 'react' to the next bit of information. 
 "And with that much of a difference, they had to surgically remove 
the nipples and graft them back on."

	His fingers stopped abruptly and she could feel him sit up.  "Was it 
absolutely necessary to tell me that?"  He resumed the massage a few 
moments later, his voice calmer.  "How much are you thinking about, 
uh, reducing?"

	She sighed loudly, "Don't know.  Maybe two cups or one cup and two  
inches.  It would sure be nice to be free of the pain on a nearly 
regular basis, but the cost and the thought of being sliced open 
don't exactly appeal.  I will have to do it sometime, though, they're 
hardly perky at this point and they're only going to sag more as I 
get older."

	Walt got a distinctly uncomfortable expression on his face.  "You 
make it sound like your breasts are hanging down to your knees or 
something.  And could we change the subject?"

	She turned her head to grin at him, raising her upper body up onto 
her arms, the 'objects' of conversation hanging down to the mattress. 
 "Making you blush again, am I?  Trust me, my 'boobs' are sagging a 
perceptible amount more than just a few years ago."  She lowered 
herself again.  "I'm used to putting up with a certain level of 
discomfort, but I'd just as soon not be swallowing ibuprofen like 
candy like I was before either."

	Walt moved off her, a distant look on his face as Allison's words 
echoed those of Clare and he remembered again the considerable pain 
she'd endured.  He gazed at the expression of concern now on 
Allison's face and smiled deviously at her.  "So this means you'd be 
able to wear front hook bras?"

	She pulled the pillow out from under her and smacked him with it.  
"Good God, you would think of that.  Gee, does this mean you have a 
preference for whether I become a 38B or a 36C?"

	Walt rolled completely onto his back and pulled her on top of him. 
"Whatever you and the doctor decide will be fine with me.  And the 
cost factor, as you know," he smiled a touch precociously, "is no 
problem.  The only real question is when do you want to do this?  
Won't you have to miss work?"

	He was rubbing the base of her spine again as she caressed the tops 
of his shoulders.  "A few days.  Too bad surgery isn't scheduled on 
Sundays.  I'll probably have to take a few vacation days, which will 
cut into everything else planned for next year.  And I won't be 
lifting any boxes of stock or small children either for awhile.  
Rather like the dislocated shoulder."

	Walt's hands trailed back to her face and he pulled her toward him 
for a slow, sweet kiss.  "So we'll take a day from each trip and the 
honeymoon, that'll cover one full work week.  I'd much rather have 
you happy and healthy than moaning and groaning."

	She looked into his flashing, walnut eyes and felt her arousal go up 
another notch.  "Oh, I don't know, depends on the type of moaning and 
groaning ..................."

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*

	Awhile later they lay snuggled happily and sated in each other's 
arms.  For all their suggestive comments, they'd 'settled' into a 
several times a week routine.  They hadn't made love more than once 
at a time since that day in his office, and while he didn't feel 
'deprived' at their frequency, Walt would have been happier being 
'more active'.  How to convey that without sounding like a fiend was 
a problem, though.  "Carissima?"  Her muffled and sleepy 'Mm?' made 
him decide to wait on this discussion.  "Nothing," he replied and 
turned the lamp off.

	Allison's eyes opened reluctantly.  She knew that tone; that 
hesitant 'I'll put your needs ahead of mine' tone.  She sat up, 
reaching across him to turn the lamp back on.  "What?" she softly 
asked.

	"It isn't important; we can talk about it later.  You've had a long 
week and I know you're tired."  And, off went the light again.

	A few seconds later, it was back on.  Walt looked at her in 
exasperation, an expression pretty much mirrored in her eyes.  "You 
expect me to go to sleep knowing you've got something on your mind?"

	"You fell asleep quite easily when I tried to propose."

	She narrowed her eyes and left the bed in search of a shirt.  Upon 
returning, she fixed him with a slightly superior look.  "I was far 
more out of it that night *and* I had no idea you were going to ask 
something so important.  Now are you going to tell me what's 
bothering you or do I have to play twenty questions?"

	He squirmed uncomfortably, the atmosphere around them no longer 
particularly conducive to the topic.  After taking a deep breath, he 
resigned himself to get it over with.  "I was going to ask you if 
you're happy and/or satisfied with our love making." 

	Allison arched her eyebrows, slightly shook her head once and looked 
him dead in the eye.  "Yes."  Then she reached across him and turned 
the light back out.  Walt lay there, definitely feeling as though he 
missed something.  His hand reached for the light again.  She blinked 
as the brightness played against her face.  "Now what?"

	"That wasn't a one word reply type of question."

	"No, it's the type of question that generally means the asker has 
the misgivings.  So do you?"

	His features knotted up in a frown as she turned the tables on him.  
"No, I'm quite happy with our love making."

	She grumbled under her breath as she reached for the light once more.
  "Fine.  End of discussion."

	When Walt inevitably turned it back on, she rolled back to her side 
of the bed groaning and pulled the covers over her head.  "Allison, 
we're not finished."

	"Oh for crying out loud," she muttered, tossing the covers away.  
"Why did I pursue this the first time?  Ask the bloody question 
that's really bothering you so we can go to sleep."

	He sat up, adjusting the pillow, "I don't have a specific question." 
 She glared at him as she rolled to her side and propped her head on 
her hand.  Walt felt distinctly uneasy and had a sudden rush of 
sympathy for the subordinates he regularly fixed that same look on.  
"Oh, all right.  Are you happy with the frequency with which we make 
love?"

	Oh shit, she thought, "Are you referring to number of times a week, 
mornings, afternoons, evenings or multiple times at a crack?"  She 
wished her voice hadn't been quite so annoyed.

	Walt inwardly winced at her tone and wished he'd never opened his 
mouth.  He swallowed dryly, "Potentially all of the above."

	Allison eased herself to a sitting position and moved the pillow 
behind her, gearing up to find out how much more often he 'needed' it 
to be happy.  "How often did you and Clare make love a week?"  Walt 
sputtered, taken off guard again.  "Or any other woman you've had a 
long term relationship with."

	He coughed with some discomfiture and very reluctantly replied, "Ten 
or twelve times, uh, sometimes more, sometimes less."  Allison partly 
snorted at his answer - why are guys so hung up on sex, she thought.  
Walt decided to go for broke, "What about you and Basil?"

	She peered sideways through her hair, "At least twice that.  Look, 
our schedules don't exactly coincide ..............."

	Walt's eyes bulged at her initial words.  "Whoa, back up.  Twice?  
At *least* twice?  When the hell did the two of you have time?  I 
know you said he had a compulsion for sex, but ..... but, *shit*."  
He suddenly felt inadequate.

	Allison took a mightily deep breath and momentarily closed her eyes. 
 "Basil was small, had an alarmingly quick recovery rate, took all of 
sixty seconds to please himself and had a big appetite.  Three times 
with him took less time than once generally does with us."  Walt's 
mouth was starkly dry; he knew he wasn't capable of *that* sort of 
frequency.  "He kissed better when he was drunk, too," she continued, 
eyes unfocussed as she thought back.  "Um, and if he didn't know a 
little trick that brought me, uh, almost instantly to climax, I 
wouldn't have put up with it." 

	Walt felt cautiously optimistic ....... and intrigued, "What trick?
"

	She gave him a long, cool stare, "Never you mind.  If you discover 
it on your own, fine and dandy, but I'm not telling.  And for God's 
sake, Walt, remember more often doesn't mean better.  I can't believe 
I'm saying this ... but ... Basil tended to produce, uh, also ran 
type orgasms.  You know, enough release to let you know something 
happened, not enough to write home about."

	Oh jeez, he thought, at least I'm doing a better job at that.  I 
mean I think I am ........ God, I hope I am.  "Um, just, uh, how 
would you, uh, rate me?"

	Her eyes held a glowing quality before she looked down.  "Forget 
writing home," he swallowed the enormous lump in his throat and 
couldn't believe he'd misjudged her pleasure that badly.  So she 
wasn't out and out faking, just 'overacting'.  He barely heard her as 
she spoke again.  "My hand would be shaking too much for the words to 
be legible."  Walt's head snapped back up as the smile widened across 
his face.  "You weren't sure?" she asked in astonishment. "From the 
man who knew I was faking, you weren't sure of the power of the 
orgasms you generate?"

	His smile became boyishly sheepish, "Guilty."

	Allison reached across him again, "Well now you know for sure." 
Darkness enveloped them, "so go to sleep."

	She rested her head comfortably against his firm breast.  "How would 
you rate them on a scale of one to ten?"  She lifted her head up, 
mumbling various profanities and with a mighty shove, pushed him out 
of the bed.  A pillow hit him squarely in the face seconds later.  He 
reached for his glasses on the nightstand before lighting up the room 
again.

	"So help me God, Walter Sergei Skinner, you ask another question and 
I'm booting your fine ass out of this room."

	He gazed up at the fire in her eyes as the color deepened to a smoky 
teal.  She turned her back abruptly to him and covered her head with 
the other pillow to block out the light.  Walt slowly got off the 
floor, rubbing his 'fine ass' gingerly and wishing he'd put the 
sweatshorts back on before this.  He found them half under the bed 
and did just that before carefully climbing back into bed and killing 
the illumination another time.

	Walt took off his glasses, laying them on the furniture while 
silently muttering to himself.  Brilliant, didn't get the answer to 
my question *and* managed to antagonize her at the same time; nice 
going Skinner, he thought.  He also thought how sexy she looked with 
her eyes that shade, her hair all disheveled and puffed up, her 
breasts pressing tightly against the fabric of his shirt.

	He felt 'old faithful' coming back to life and instantly wished that 
phrase hadn't entered his mind - it was something Heidi had dubbed 
his penis and he'd hated it.  She's the last person I need to be 
thinking about now, he told himself ..... but wouldn't she and Basil 
have made a pair, both with those tremendous appetites.

	He rolled to his side and cautiously stretched his left foot to 
Allison's calf, slowly stroking the silky smooth skin with the ball 
of his foot.  He waited what seemed like an eternity for her to tell 
him to knock it off, but the words weren't forthcoming.  Encouraged, 
he painstakingly inched closer till he was rubbing her legs with his 
shin.  Eventually, Walt bent his knee and teased the back of hers 
before moving higher against the softness of her relaxed thighs.

	Allison bit her lip over and over, starting to tell him to go away 
at least a dozen times, and enjoying the sensations too much to let 
the words out.  He was right against her now, wrapping his beautiful 
body around her.  She felt one hand snake under the shirt, extend 
over her abdomen and then soft fingertips playing with her navel.  
Her body reacted before she even had a chance to try to stop it, 
arching slightly but perceptibly.  She heard Walt's half chuckle, 
half murmur of satisfaction and decided she had to say something .....
 or do something.

	What she did was press her still bare buttocks more firmly against 
him, noting his full erection through the shorts.  She was about to 
move her left arm from its position over the pillow when she felt 
Walt move away from her.  Stifling a moan of disappointment, she 
tossed the pillow aside and then jumped as she felt his lips and 
tongue at the base of her spine.  Allison barely reached out far 
enough to hit the lights again.  She tried to roll onto her stomach, 
but he restrained her with one powerful arm.  He planted sloppy, wet 
kisses down onto the quickly flexed flesh of her buttocks as she 
gasped and relaxed again.

	Then he was turning her over, onto her back, flinging the covers 
away, pushing her legs into a wide bent position.  She stared at the 
dark pools of molten fire in his eyes as he lightly dragged his 
fingers along her inner thighs.  Unable to hold the gaze, she turned 
away, whimpering quietly.  Somehow, the fact that he wasn't saying a 
single word, not even issuing 'commands', made the whole experience 
more intense.  Before she reopened her eyes, his mouth descended onto 
her navel.  Allison softly moaned as she arched, turning her head 
from side to side as he suckled her 'button' and continued to stroke 
her thighs.

	Walt couldn't believe he'd briefly doubted the effect he had on her. 
 Especially now that he heard the catches in her breath, felt the 
quivering/trembling sensation of her skin, listened to the whimpers 
coming from her mouth, remembered the fire in her luminous eyes.  He 
moved his hands northward and began unbuttoning the shirt, determined 
to make this time mind boggling for her, nonetheless.

	As more of the shirt opened and fell to the side, his lips and 
tongue followed, nuzzling her warm, soft flesh.  He grinned as he 
noticed her clenched fists alternately grabbing the sheets and 
releasing them.  When he had her completely exposed, he gazed into 
her charged eyes.  Her hands started to rise off the bed for him and 
he gently grasped her wrists, pinning them down as he lowered his 
body over her.

	Allison's head dipped backward a split second after he nipped her 
chin and Walt felt another wave of desire course through him at her 
moan.  Her bare throat tantalized him and he ardently lowered his 
mouth to the task of suckling the still faintly tanned beige flesh.  


	As continual whimpers and moans reached his ears, he trailed his 
lips over to her 'trick' collarbone and felt her jump.  He released 
her wrists and felt her hands encircle his neck and the base of his 
head, urging him to his work.  After awhile, gentle pressure from her 
indicated he should stop and he reluctantly did.  Next he began 
kissing every feature of her face with soft, gentle, warm brushes of 
his lips.  He started at her forehead and carefully worked his way 
over her eyes, across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, along 
her chin.

	Walt felt her half shiver, half shudder with pleasure and slowly ran 
his tongue across her parted lips before kissing her 'properly'.  He 
spent several long moments allowing his burgeoning passion to both 
escape and grow as Allison responded with equal fervor.

	Allison felt charged enough to be giving off sparks.  Their love 
making had always been wonderful (the time on his sofa 
notwithstanding), but Walt seemed determined to take her to a new 
plane ..... and she was more than willing to take the trip.  She 
groaned when he left her mouth, arching sharply as she felt him at 
her breasts, oh so slowly continuing the stimulation.  She imagined 
that time simply stood still as he 'played' between the two causing 
her to writhe and moan nonstop.

	Finally, she felt him moving again, bending her legs more, bracing 
her feet against his powerful shoulders, causing her thighs to nearly 
rest on her stomach.  She decided not to tell him he had her nearly 
in the labor pushing position just before his hands slid under her 
bottom.  Her hands balled up the fabric of the sheet as he began to 
'assault' her most sensitive flesh.  She felt the flush of heat 
everywhere in her body and reflexively pushed against his shoulders, 
causing him to grip her buttocks firmer still.  Her breathing became 
steadily more ragged as numerous audible gasps left her lips. 

	And then the incredible tension burst with phenomenal force, surging 
through her body in several long, unbelievable waves.  Every nerve 
ending was tingling in ecstasy.  She managed not to scream only by 
biting into her arm and found she had difficulty convincing her hips 
to stop bucking.  With a tremendous effort, she opened her eyes and 
tried to focus on his face.  "Nine-point-eight," she croaked at him 
as her feet slid like mush from his shoulders.

	He smiled, not quite understanding.  "What?"

	She cleared her throat and took a deep lungful of air.  "You wanted 
me to rate you, nine-point-bloody-eight."  The grin on his face 
threatened to split it wide open as he flopped down next to her.  "I 
am ultimately, fantastically and most gratefully sated, tesoro.  You, 
on the other hand, seem to be in need of some assistance."  Allison 
reached her hand inside the shorts and his eyes rolled to the back of 
his head as she slowly stroked his straining erection.  He never saw 
the devious glint in her eyes as she squeezed the base hard, 
deflating him in seconds.  

	His eyes popped back open in astonishment as his choked on gasp 
barely made it out of his mouth.  She leaned toward him and lightly 
kissed his cheek, "That's better.  Goodnight, tesoro."  Then she 
rolled onto her side, pulled up the covers and turned out the light.

	Walt lay there, temporarily unable to comprehend what had just 
happened.  She couldn't really be denying him, could she?  Was she 
really going to be that, well, heartless?  Then he heard her 
chuckling into her pillow and realized he'd been had.

	"*You* are truly evil," he sternly said as he switched the light on 
again, "Allison Judith Hogle Wright."

	She peeked at him through both the tops of the covers and her lashes.
  "Even if I wanted to slowly arouse you like you did to me?"

	His narrowed eyes relaxed and he replied with forced reluctance.  
"Well, if you have your heart *set* on it."

	Allison mumbled an oath at him and pounced, tickling him like crazy. 
 They both rolled around, fingers groping in flashes of attack before 
retreating to advance somewhere else.  At length, Walt fell out of 
the bed, pulling Allison partly with him as her legs were tangled in 
the sheets.  They stared at each other, lungs heaving and burst into 
laughter.  Then Allison slid the last two feet and began tickling him 
again.  Walt called on his wrestling moves to finally quiet her, he 
thought, until she wiggled a hand loose and soundly goosed him.

	He swore at her some more, picked her up and tossed her back onto 
the bed before stripping off the shorts.  "So much for slow arousal," 
she quipped, taking in his rapidly expanding erection.

	Walt climbed back onto the bed and over top Allison.  "You know what 
they say about best laid plans."  She started to reach for him and he 
warily backed away, 'nervous' at the gleam in her eyes.  "On the 
other hand ............."  He flopped down next to her, on his 
stomach, "Arouse away."

	She climbed onto him, rolling her eyes and perched herself on his 
firm buttocks.  "So you'd prefer to make love more often, huh?"  Her 
hands glided smoothly across his broad, muscular back and he released 
a contented sigh.

	"Not all the time, mind you, I know with our schedules sex isn't 
always feasible.  Just maybe a couple more times a week."

	Allison leaned down to his ear, "Spontaneity is far more gratifying 
than having a rigid schedule, tesoro."

	He sighed again as her gifted fingers kneaded the muscles of his 
biceps.  "Wellllllllll, maybe we should *plan* to be more spontaneous.
"  She rolled her eyes again and purposely dug her fingers in a 
little hard.  "Ouch.  I hate to beat a dead horse," oh great, he 
thought, now horses are popping up with Allison, too.  "But just how 
*did* you and Basil manage to do it so often?"

	She sighed with exaggeration and went back to his shoulders.  
"Brevity.  He'd nail me once before we got out of bed in the morning, 
once in the shower and two or three times in a row at night.  
Sometimes in the afternoon, too, if the kids were otherwise occupied.
"

	Walt partly sat up as her hands slid lower down his spine.  
"Potentially five plus times a day?!"  That's more than we're doing a 
week, he thought.  "And what if the kids became unoccupied?"

	Allison leaned forward again and planted a series of warm, wet 
kisses along his spine, eliciting a murmur of approval from him.  
"The 'danger' factor made it more intense, so he said, but I swear if 
I blinked, I could have missed the whole performance.  Wham, bam, 
thank you ma'am at its finest."

	He settled back on the pillow with a zillion questions floating 
through his brain.  "It hardly sounds like you got any pleasure from 
your, uh, encounters."

	She moved her hands lower and began working on his quads, still 
kissing his back.  "Almost never from the shower escapades, fifty-
fifty chance any other time." 

	"I can't believe he was so selfish as to ignore your needs."  He 
felt her all but hiccup against his skin and twisted his neck to look 
at her.  "You did tell him, didn't you?"

	"..........No.  The man felt terrifically inadequate because of his 
size; that's why he wanted to make love so often.  Telling him he 
wasn't 'setting the world on fire' would have wounded him too deeply. 
 Besides, it wasn't like I didn't get anything out of it.  Annnnnd, 
after the previous guy, Basil's size was a very pleasant relief.  Ken 
was monstrously huge; even in a relaxed drunken stupor with thirty 
minutes of foreplay, my body couldn't put up with more than twice a 
week."  She half winked at Walt's partially turned face.  "Course 
that was before four kids, I'm sure I could better accommodate him 
now."

	"Right," Walt snorted, "Like he's got *any* chance of having another 
crack at you while I'm alive."  He looked her squarely in the eye.  
"Rate Basil."

	She cocked a lopsided hesitant smile.  "You don't find anything 
depraved, ridiculous or perverted about this conversation?"  Walt 
flashed an evil grin back. "Oh, all right.  Zero to five with the 
occasional foray into the seven range.  Happy?"

	"Now rate me."

	Allison narrowed her eyes again as her hands worked on his calves.  
"*My God* men are hung up on performance.  One zero and otherwise 
eights and nines."

	He nodded his approval with superciliousness.  "Let me know if I 
slip below a seven," he countered and dropped his head down again.

	She replied with mock deference, "Aye, aye, sir.  And just for the 
record, where did/do Clare and I rate?"  Allison moved back toward 
his buttocks, enjoying knocking him off balance and the spread of the 
flush on his embarrassed skin.  He stammered a few times and failed 
to give an answer.  "Uh, huh, thought so."

	"No, wait a minute.  It's not the same ..... it's always good for 
guys, er, I mean it was always great with Clare and of course it's 
great with you .............. and I'm going to shut up now before I 
can't get my foot out of my mouth."

	"Wise move," she replied and bent toward kissing the base of his 
spine some more.

	Walt started to ask yet another question and she bit down into one 
cheek causing him to strongly shudder for several seconds.  "Jeez, 
Allison, take it easy."  He shivered as she licked at the 
indentations she'd left.  "Now what was I about to ask?  Oh yeah .....
............... Urrrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhhh!!!!"  He turned to find 
her licking a fresh sets of marks on his other cheek with a Cheshire 
Cat grin.  "For God's sake, Allison, don't leave any marks."  She sat 
on his buttocks again, rubbing herself decisively against him several 
times; he shuddered again, "How deep did you bite?"

	"Not that deep, you just want me to lick your wounds some more," she 
purred.  He held his breath as she appeared to be sucking them more 
than licking them.  "And who besides me is going to be seeing your 
luscious ass?"

	  Walt rolled himself over as she barely hiked up enough for him to 
complete the maneuver.  "Any and all the guys using the FBI shower 
area."

	Allison started rubbing herself over his partially erect member and 
smiled deviously.  "Attract a lot of attention among the men, does 
your fine ass?"

	He arched an eyebrow at her much less than subtle line.  "I've been 
approached by one or two in my time."  And if you want to play games, 
my dear, you're in over your head, he thought.

	Her movements became more insistent as she began massaging his 
beautiful, sculpted chest.  "And how did you respond?"  The color of 
her eyes was deepening rapidly.

	He sidestepped a direct answer.  "Would past bisexuality bother you?
"

	She raised an eyebrow back, "Provided you took precautions, no.  In 
fact," she stretched languidly on top of him, "I find the prospect 
very erotic."

	Walt briefly saw the glow in her deep teal eyes as she closed her 
mouth over his and plunged her tongue inside.  The kiss was 
supercharged with intensity; he wrapped his body tightly around her 
and rolled over.  When he ripped his mouth away, he stared down at 
her, fingers interlacing with hers as he held her arms away from her 
body and held himself poised before her entrance.  "Are you trying to 
tell me *you're* bisexual?"

	Allison groaned as the question ended with him thrusting himself 
inside.  Her lips curled with sly pleasure, "Why?  Would past 
bisexuality bother you?" she repeated back to him.  She bit her lip 
and threw her head back as he began moving at a very determined pace.


	She had him and he knew it.  The only way to end this charade was in 
a deadheat - or was it?  He was hardly going to admit to her that the 
whole context of the conversation had aroused him a good deal.  "No, 
but it would open some interesting possibilities for the future."  
His entire expression showed him to be serious.

	"Harder," she grunted at him.  "I was hoping you'd feel that way, 
cause I've engineered a little surprise for your birthday.  I ran 
into Heidi and she's very willing to partake in a ménage à trois."  
Allison bit his chin with glowing eyes, "or simply let you be a 
voyeur."  Walt stared at her open mouthed and felt his climax 
overwhelm him......................... then he woke up with a start.

	Walt sat up with sweat beading on his face and chest.  He tried to 
turn the lamp on, but the bulb had burned out from its excessive use. 
 His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he made out Allison's form, 
peacefully curled on her side beside him, snugly fastened back in his 
shirt.  He rubbed his hand across his face and tried to figure out 
where reality had veered away into the dream.  It was sometime after 
she'd been massaging his back, he decided.  His hand strayed down to 
his butt and he cringed at the soreness, wondering if she really had 
bit him.  Then he remembered landing on it twice and hoped that was 
it.

	He laid back down and folded himself around her, smiling as she 
reflexively squirmed closer against him.  He didn't want to think of 
the possible significance of the dream - if indeed there even was one.
  One thing he did know for sure was he was never eating another 
piece of pizza after ten o'clock.

		*	*	*	*	*	*

8:17am

	Allison woke to the sounds of feet stomping in the hallway as the 
kids headed to the kitchen for breakfast.  She rolled soundlessly 
past a shaft of piercing sunlight over to peer sleepily at the clock. 
 Humph, she thought, not quite six hours, I'll be in great shape for 
an all day cookie jamboree.  She sat up in wonder as she saw Walt 
stark naked in front of the cheval mirror.  Ooh la la, she thought, 
pulling her knees up under her chin and absently licking her lips at 
the gorgeous view before her.  He was totally oblivious to her stare 
as he kept turning his head toward the mirror and lifting his 
buttocks, apparently searching for something.

	"What the hell are you doing?" she uncontrollably yawned, "Checking 
for brush burns or something?"  He mumbled a reply and hurriedly put 
on some briefs and a pair of sweatpants.  "Sorry?  I didn't catch 
that."

	He gazed at her with an embarrassed/aggravated expression.  "Looking 
for bite marks," he repeated in nearly a whisper.

	Allison shook her head sharply, sure she hadn't heard that right.  
"Bite marks?  From who or what?"

	Walt sat in his wing chair to put on socks.  "From you.  I, uh, 
dreamt you bit me and I, uh, wasn't too sure if it really happened or 
not."  His voice was partly drowned out as he pulled a sweatshirt 
over his head.

	She closed her eyes a few times, trying to blink away the remnants 
of sleep that were still there, apparently distorting the 
conversation - it didn't help.  "Why would I bite your butt ..... at 
the very least hard enough to leave marks the next morning?"

	He got up quickly and headed for the door, thinking if she'd been 
irritated about his discussion earlier in the morning, she wouldn't 
be at all amused by his dream.  "You didn't, like I said, I dreamt it.
"

	"Wait a minute.  Is this something you'd like me to do?  Dreams do 
allow subconscious thoughts to surface, you know."  

	"They don't always represent hidden fantasies."  

	She arched her eyebrows and exited the bed as Freudian psychology 
threatened to come meandering into her brain.  "I don't believe 
that's what I said.  What else did you dream about?"

	He turned and leaned against the door with a petulant look about him.
  "I don't remember."

	Allison walked over to him and lifted his chin; her eyes narrowing 
as his shifted back and forth.  "Bull."

	Walt slitted his eyes back.  He didn't need obstinacy first thing in 
the morning in his own home, work was enough.  "I don't have to tell 
you if I don't want to."

	She smirked back him and his churlish tone.  "Fine," she reached up 
and took him by the ear amidst his many protests, "but if you're 
going to act like a spoiled brat, I'll treat you accordingly."  He 
shortly found himself deposited on the bed and rubbed his pinched ear 
lobe tenderly.  "Now are you going to talk, or do I have to get rough?
"

	Five different smart ass retorts entered his mind simultaneously and 
he glared back at her as he tried to decide which to use.  Then her 
face unexpectedly softened and he shelved all of them.  He related 
the dream, carefully keeping his eyes averted, not wanting to see her 
reaction until he'd gotten it all out ..... if even then.  His face 
snapped up as he heard her quietly laughing and he stared in 
disbelief.  "You're not mad that I dreamt I was aroused at the 
prospect of you with another woman?"
 
	She knelt down in front of him and held his chin.  "Tesoro, the 
majority of heterosexual men when asked will *say* that they find the 
idea of sex between two men repulsive while sex between two women is 
erotic ... especially if they can watch.  Rather a double standard if 
you ask me.  Basil had that sort of dream probably once a month; he 
even asked me to do it once, course he was drunk at the time and I 
thoroughly chewed him out when he sobered up."  She took his hands in 
hers, "All that dream proves is you're a typical, 'red-blooded', sex 
crazed man."

	He looked into her amused eyes with relief and flippantly responded. 
 "Gee thanks, just what I always wanted to hear.  I'd better go make 
breakfast for the brood before they destroy the kitchen."  He leaned 
forward and kissed her forehead before leaving and wondered if he'd 
ever get a handle on what topics would or wouldn't get him into 
trouble with her.

		*	*	*	*	*	*

Sunday, December 14, 1997, 1:37pm

	Walt was prowling in the basement, searching for that blasted dress. 
 All his attempts to catch her making it had failed and the children 
hadn't come up with any useful reconnaissance.  He sat back on his 
heels with a smile thinking of when he'd tried to surprise her that 
previous Wednesday.  He'd carefully left the car in the street so she 
wouldn't hear it and stole as quietly as possible into the house.  
He'd felt triumphant when he'd heard the sewing machine and 
distinctly disappointed as she'd shown no consternation at his 
presence.  

	Walt had tried to cover his failed attempt by claiming that he'd 
come home to be 'spontaneous'.  Allison had cocked her head, told him 
in no uncertain terms that he was lying (she knew because she'd asked 
Kimberly to call her whenever Walt left the office unexpectedly), but 
said that since he was here and Ian was asleep, why not?  He'd 
realized he had a 'traitor' in his office camp when she'd hiked up 
her skirt with an evil grin, sat up on the table, revealed the 
absence of underwear and tossed him a condom.  When he'd gone back to 
work about a half hour later, with a prominent smile, he wasn't sure 
if he should classify his 'mission' as successful or not.

	Back to the current situation in hand, he told his brain.  He'd 
already checked the safe and was seriously considering opening all 
the boxes around him in the storage area.  He combed the dining room 
every day, since she conveniently left everything out for him, and 
found nothing ..... not even the thread gave him a clue since it 
matched the items she was making for the kids.

	Walt was beginning to consider the unthinkable - that he'd have to 
sing.  He mentally told himself no and pulled out the sheet she'd 
given him that morning.  In the absence of actually finding the dress,
 she'd made a list of ten criteria in reference to it and given them 
various values.  *All* he had to do was get eighteen out of thirty 
points to be declared a winner - a score of sixty, a 'D'.  He scanned 
the list, shaking his head as he'd already spent a dizzying twenty 
minutes with her explaining what each term meant.  The list was as 
such:

	 1. Lace - yes/no (1)
	 2. Walking slit - yes/no (1)
	 3. Skirt - sheath/full/a-line (2)
	 4. Color - red/black/green/blue (3)
	 5. Length - floor/ballerina/cocktail/shorter (3)
	 6. Sleeve length - long/three quarter/short/none (3)
	 7. Waist/Bodice - basque/dropped/empire/princess seamed (3)
	 8. Fabric - velvet/satin/silk/crepe/organza (4)
	 9. Back - high/plunging/v/scooped/square/strapless (5)
	10. Neckline - boat/v/sweetheart/scooped/strapless/halter/square/off 
the 			shoulder (6)

	Walt lightly shuddered thinking he'd better find it, cause he had 
*no* chance at getting those blasted eighteen points.  He took 
another box off the shelves and discovered a second one behind it, 
labeled 'costumes'.  His eyes widened in interest as he opened it, 
noting that while the title was accurate, it was also misleading.  He 
pulled out several skimpy outfits and had a very good idea what sort 
of fantasies Allison had been referring to.

	He was still holding the French maid one when Allison came into the 
area behind him.  "Is this where you got to?"  He turned and felt a 
pang of satisfaction as a faint amount of color started rising on her 
cheeks.  "I see you found the, uh, props."  

	Walt slowly stood and held the 'garment' against her while she 
indistinctly snorted.  "Looks like it fits.  Care to model it?"  He 
raised his eyebrows several times in suggestion while she narrowed 
her eyes back.

	She peered into the box and retrieved the item she wanted.  "Sure," 
she purred, "as long as you try on the pirate costume."  Allison 
handed him a small box which contained an eye patch and earring.

	He glanced at the box warily, "Where's the rest of it?"  

	Allison grabbed a belt loop on his jeans, pulled him toward her and 
deliberately rubbed her body against him.  "There isn't any more.  
Question is, are you man enough to wear it?"  

	Her challenge was delivered with an incredibly sultry tone and Walt 
was considering taking her up on it when Trevor and Anthony appeared 
at the doorway.  He quickly tossed the box back in while Allison 
nonchalantly took the outfit from him and also put it back.  "Come on,
 Mom, the dress rehearsal starts in half an hour."

	She turned to smile at Anthony, who had opted to call her 'Mom' all 
the time.  "And you still don't have your coats on."

	Trevor moved over to the box and looked inside.  "Whose costumes are 
these?  I don't remember seeing them before."  He pulled out a laced, 
red waist cincher with a lack of comprehension.  "What's this?"

	Walt swallowed quickly and studiously stared at his sneakers.  
Allison took the item from Trevor.  "Something to make my waist look 
smaller; it went with a frilly, white blouse and black stirrup pants.
"

	"What were you supposed to be?" Trevor asked in confusion.

	Allison glanced briefly at Walt, "A female pirate.  Now move it, you 
two, I'll meet you and your sisters in the van."

	They scampered back to the doorway, "You'll be there later, right, 
Dad?"

	"As soon as Gramma comes over to watch Ian, Anthony."  The boys 
nodded and took off for the stairs.  Allison started to follow them, 
but Walt similarly latched a finger through a belt loop.  "I don't 
recall seeing the shirt or pants in that box."

	"So I lied, sue me.  That's all there happened to be to *my* half of 
that 'skit'.  Walt let a deep groan escape at the mental image.  She 
nipped his chin, "Maybe if you're a good boy, I'll model *that* for 
you later."

		*	*	*	*	*	*

Ten minutes later -

	Walt held a clinging Ian against his shoulder and frowned 
sympathetically as Ian kept issuing a pathetic cry of 'eh, hehh'.  It 
was his first ear infection and the Motrin (R) had yet to effect the 
pain.  "I know, buddy, I know," Walt softly cooed, as he stroked his 
head.  "You'll feel better in a bit."

	Teresa came through the back door a few seconds later carrying two 
large shopping bags full of empty cookie tins.  "I'm sorry I'm late, 
Walt.  We had a mad rush at the bake sale and I couldn't leave on 
time."  She put the bags down and looked sweetly at Ian.  "How's my 
little honey feeling?"

	"Eh, hehh."

	"I just gave him the pain medicine and the antibiotic, so he should 
be set for awhile."  Teresa nodded while rubbing Ian's back.

	"Eh, hehh."

	"I know, honey.  Ear infections are no fun.  Want me to take him?"

	Walt kissed his head.  "I'll keep him till he settles down some."  
Teresa smiled in understanding and decided to unload the bags instead.
  It may have taken a kick in the pants to get them moving, but she 
knew how genuinely happy he and Allison were and how much he loved 
her and the kids.

	"We could have sold three times as many of those Russian teacakes 
and springerle cookies.  Your mother's recipes were a colossal hit."

	Walt smiled proudly; his mother had spent a long time perfecting the 
Teacakes for his father, tinkering till he'd said they were just like 
*his* mother used to make.  And every year she'd make the springerle 
from an old family recipe she'd brought with her from Württemberg.  
Allison had insisted on making them once she'd found the cards in his 
transferred belongings and they'd tasted every bit as good as he'd 
remembered them.  "I somehow doubt Allison will be making the latter 
again any time soon seeing as how they're so much work."  

	Ian started to squirm as he finally spied/showed interest in his 
sippy cup of juice.  Walt placed him in his highchair and put a bowl 
of oyster crackers down as well - those being one of the few things 
Ian was currently eating while he was sick.  Walt decided to try a 
little 'interrogation' on Teresa in pursuit of evening the odds if he 
had to use the list, hoping to catch her with her guard somewhat 
lowered while she fussed over Ian.

	He pretended to absently put his coat on and acted as though the 
thought had just occurred to him.  "Teresa, I now Allison's sworn you 
to secrecy about the dress, and I'm not asking you to break any 
confidences ... but I'd really like to get her a piece of jewelry to 
compliment it and I need at least a little direction."  He went out 
of his way to look the picture of sincerity.

	She gazed at him benevolently on the outside and with an amused 
expression on the inside.  She'd just won a bet with Allison about 
when he'd get around to trying to trick her into revealing anything.  
"I'll try to help, Walt, what were you thinking of getting?"

	He forced himself to breath evenly as the bait appeared to have been 
taken.  "Maybe a bracelet, but I can't decide on the stones - 
emeralds, rubies, sapphires - I don't want the color to clash with 
her gown."  And if a bracelet is a good choice, I know the dress 
doesn't have long sleeves, he silently added.

	"Well, I can tell you right away she doesn't care for rubies.  Loves 
the color red, but for some reason doesn't like rubies.  Oh, and this 
is just a pet peeve of mine, but I never cared too much for bracelets.
  Always got in my way and you could never wear them to advantage 
with long sleeves."

	Okay, he thought, not sure if that was a hint or a red herring.  
Better try to work on narrowing down the color.  "I'm really glad you 
said that cause I was looking at a ruby bracelet.  I just don't know 
about emeralds; I think they'd go all right with blue, black or green,
 but not with red.  Sapphires would probably be a better choice, what 
do you think?"

	"Oh, I don't know.  Emeralds with a red dress would look very 
festive.  But if you really want to be sure about complimentary 
colors, why not stick to diamonds?  They'd go with everything and 
look particularly stunning with a black dress.  Or maybe just an 
unfaceted gold piece of jewelry? "  That should confuse you, she 
thought.

	Okay, he thought, nothing concrete for color or sleeve length, 
possibly black with long sleeves.  "What about an ankle bracelet?"  

	"Oh, she hates those, says they snag her pantyhose and remind her of 
glorified shackles or some such nonsense."  And nice try for dress 
length, she thought.

	Walt felt his options dwindling down with the worst categories ahead.
  "A brooch?"

	"A lovely choice ..... I've got a beautiful cameo that I wear on the 
holidays.  But that might not be good with Allison's chest, I think 
it would tend to draw more attention to it, don't you?  Unless she 
wore it at her throat..........."  Walt got a shade optimistic, 
fabric at the throat would mean a halter neckline.  "Maybe on a 
ribbon."  Oh shit, he thought, that could mean any of the open 
necklines.  "Well, I suppose when you get right down to it, brooches 
and pins look best on the lapel of a jacket."

	He internally sighed and Ian dropped a handful of crackers to the 
floor.  "Earrings?  Some dangly ones or hoops, maybe studs."

	Now what are you up to with earrings, she thought.  "Oh, I think 
that's a wonderful choice.  Not hoops, though, not her style.  And 
with all that thick hair forever hanging into her face, I'm afraid 
studs would have to be quite large and that would be terribly 
expensive.  Something dangly I should say.  That would look very 
attractive, especially with her hair pulled up."  Ah, ha, he thought, 
the back of the dress must be dramatically open because if not, it 
wouldn't matter if Allison left her hair down.  Finally getting 
somewhere, he continued.  "Yes, dangly earrings would help lengthen 
out Allison's face, too, elongate the roundness, which I suppose is 
one of the reasons she wears her hair long in the first place."

	Great, now I'm not sure again, he thought.  Should I even try to 
pursue necklaces, he queried himself.  Oh, why bother, choker would 
eliminate one possible neckline and pendent would do the same; and 
the way Teresa is being so 'helpful', I won't get a straight answer 
anyway, he reasoned.  She looked up at him sweetly, with a hint of 
apology.  "I'd better get out of here before the rehearsal is over.  
Thank you for your, uh, help."  He kissed Ian's head after she picked 
him up and headed for the door.  "You've provided me with a wonderful 
lesson in misdirection and guile," he grinned.  "You would have made 
a fine agent."

		*	*	*	*	*	*

Friday, December 19, 1997, 4:28pm

	Walt returned from yet another walk throughout the Hoover building 
and sat down wearily at his desk to finish up paperwork.  Despite his 
best efforts to remain firmly focussed on work, his mind kept veering 
back to the dress with the least provocation.  Like hearing any words 
that had even the remotest connection - short, dropped, full, boat, 
floor.  Every time he took a walk to attempt to clear his head, he'd 
end up listening in on conversations between female agents about 
fashion and what they were wearing tonight.

	Losing wasn't an option, he told himself as he gave in to his 
thoughts and pulled out the list again.  He'd made it through 
Amelia's brief afternoon preschool performance without looking at the 
other mothers because they hadn't been 'properly' dressed.  He'd 
studiously kept his eyes glued to the stage for Charlee's class' 
performance and also for Trevor and Anthony's parts.  Other than that,
 he'd spent a considerable portion of time watching the audience, 
trying to extrapolate what the latest trends were, not getting very 
far since the pageant wasn't truly a formal affair either.  And 
Allison had spent that night half smirking as she kept an eye on him 
with numerous sideways glances.  Walt wished again that she at least 
talked in her sleep, then he could have taken advantage of her skewed 
work schedule this week.

	He stared at the list and had another go with it, trying to use 
logic.  If the skirt had a walking slit, then it had to a sheath type 
and therefore floor length ...... sure, but would that work with 
velvet?  This was hopeless, he thought.  He'd even spent an hour 
standing in their walk in closet going through all her clothes, 
trying to decide what color she had the most of, what styles; and 
outside of Allison's laughter, it had netted him nothing.

	Kimberly came in his partially open door with a full watering can to 
take care of the small jungle now in his office due to Allison.  He 
sprang out of the chair to take the object from her.  

	"Sir, it isn't heavy.  I'm more than capable of watering plants."  
She sighed as he ignored her and Allison's words rang through her 
head again.  He was letting her pick up more than a paperclip, but 
seldom more than a file.  Kimberly bent to pick up the list as it had 
fallen on the floor when he'd jumped up.  Her eyes widened in 
amusement.

	"If you can help me with that, I'll personally give you a Christmas 
bonus."

	Her mouth curled into a devious smile before she could stop it.  "I 
wouldn't think you'd trust me to help with this ..... sir."  She 
quickly added the last part.

	He briefly met her smile as he moved a step back from the 
diffenbachia.  "I've forgiven that earlier, uh, transgression, 
Kimberly."

	Indeed, she thought, remembering the extra bounce in his step and 
the happy whistling she'd caught him at later that day.  "I'll see 
what I can do."  She took the list over to one of the chairs in front 
of his desk and absently grasped a pen that had rolled to the edge of 
it.  "Fabric," she mumbled the choices under her breath, noticing 
that Walt had tentatively checked velvet, "Did Allison indicate any 
of these criteria could have more than one answer?"

	Walt frowned slightly as he finished watering the wandering jew, "No,
 but I can't believe she'd make it *that* difficult.  Why?"

	"Well, it's just that I've seen several dresses with an empire 
bodice that have velvet above and satin or crepe below.  But you're 
probably right, she wouldn't do that.  I think velvet would be a good 
choice, very holidayish; black would be a timeless color, too.  And 
because this is a formal affair, I'd say floor length," even if I'm 
not wearing a dress that length, she thought.  "That would eliminate 
a full skirt with all that weight, probably not a sheath either and 
therefore no walking slit."  Well, I got that part right, he thought, 
giving the spider plant its drink.  "For a child's dress I'd have 
lace with velvet, but not for an adult.  Long sleeves, uhhhhhhhh, no .
... and three quarter are only flattering when they're leg of mutton, 
which would be hard to pull off with velvet.  So that leaves us with 
short or none."

	Walt was starting to believe he had a chance again, when the phone 
rang in Kimberly's office.  She quickly excused herself and left the 
room.  He finished with the last plant, a variegated ivy, and put the 
empty can on the edge of the desk.  Kimberly had indicated her 
choices with tiny checks - six categories completed, one cut in half, 
three to go.  He sat in his chair mulling it all over.  Everything 
she'd said made sense.  Allison had made velvet dresses for Charlee 
and Amelia and so he'd guessed she'd do the same for herself.  And 
black *would* be a timeless classic, and it also brought out the 
deepest tones in her hair and made her skin look radiant.  

	He stared at the list some more, after dragging his eyes back from 
the picture of Allison on the credenza.  Cocktail length would be 
more useful, satisfying Allison's concern about 'getting wear' out of 
the dress, but he'd told her this year the Christmas party was to be 
a formal affair, so floor length it was.  Now what about the others?  
He knew she complained about her stomach being too rounded, so what 
better way to camouflage than the empire waist?  And a scoop neckline 
and short sleeves to go with it.

	Walt was just about to check high back when it occurred to him that 
if he made the wrong supposition and based the rest of his answers on 
it, he'd very likely screw up all the answers.  He looked everything 
over again and sought what he thought was the most unlikely 
combination with the empire waist - plunging back.  

	"There, finally finished, now maybe I can relax and get some work 
done."  He ended up leaving thirty minutes later, his concentration 
still shot.

		*	*	*	*	*	*

7:13pm

	Walt fingered his black tie for the tenth time and glanced at his 
watch for about the same number of times.  His stomach was grumbling 
with hunger and he now wished he'd listened to Allison and had 
something light to eat when she'd fed the kids.  He'd turned his 
final 'ballot' in to her upon entering the house, but she still 
wouldn't tell him anything.  She'd even relegated him to the guest 
room to change.  

	He glanced at himself in the mirror one last time, deciding that he 
really hated having to dress up in this damned 'monkey suit' and 
pleated shirt.  But at the same time, he had to admit he looked damn 
sharp with the black and white tiny check vest and matching 
handkerchief.  He polished the onyx, gold and sterling cuff links 
thinking of the look on Allison's face when he'd knocked on their 
door to retrieve them.  She'd looked absolutely beautiful, her hair 
swept cleanly up with a small wave over the right side of her 
forehead and several extra curled tendrils trailing down her neck.  
Her makeup had been dramatically deeper than usual, her aqua eyes 
shimmering with muted colors of smoky teal and grey highlighting them,
 her lips looking oh so tantalizing in a rich plum.  Even the robe 
had looked great on her.

	He was startled from his thoughts as he heard the door to their room 
finally open and with a deep breath, he went out to the hall.  The 
first glance took his breath away, then his mind focussed on more 
'practical' aspects - like what he did or didn't get right.  He 
mentally added up the points as she partly turned and he saw the back 
of the dress - he reached the conclusion that he'd earned nineteen 
points and smiled broadly ............ till she walked closer to him 
and the light fell more accurately on the dress ..... it was emerald 
green, not black.

	The velvet, floor length gown had a boat neckline, no lace, no 
walking slit, no sleeves, softly fitting princess seams, a side 
zipper and fell in a relaxed a-line.  The back deeply plunged to 
waist level and was secured by only a single wide strip of silk with 
a gold knot cinching it at the center of her spine.  An open pleat 
about four inches long seductively teased the viewer by its vertical 
placement starting at just above brassiere band height.  Accessories 
came in the form of long black gloves, two and half inch sueded black 
pumps, solid gold tear drop dangly earrings, a small black evening 
bag and a brocaded shawl in black, emerald and metallic gold.

	Once Walt got over his disappointment at losing the bet, he stared 
with marked appreciation for several long seconds, mouth dry and 
heart pounding.  With tingling fingers, he reached into his jacket 
pocket and removed a slender box.

	"What's this?" Allison asked with one eyebrow askance as she took it.


	He wet his lips several times and slowly walked around her, drinking 
in every detail as the shawl dipped down her back.  "A little bauble 
for tonight," he huskily replied.

	She felt a tingly sensation across her skin along with a warm flush 
at his continued stare and opened the box, gasping at the contents.  
"Walt!  I certainly hope this is on loan from somewhere."  He took 
the bracelet from the box and fastened the catch around her wrist.  
It was made up of dozens of marquis cut emeralds, each held in place 
by what resembled the receptacle portion of a flower and separated by 
a gold knot.  Allison shook her head at his continued silence.  "This 
had to cost you a small fortune."

	He finally looked into her eyes and she felt her heart jump a beat 
or two at his loving, happy expression.  "Almost as much as I would 
have spent on a gown, but I don't think I could have done as well."  
Walt carefully pulled her into his arms and looked deeply, but 
mischievously into her eyes.  "Now tell me where you hid it and why 
nobody ever saw you working on it."

	Her eyes gleamed with equal mirth before she gently blew into his 
ear, sending a shudder through him.  "Teresa's had it at her house 
ever since my mother and I finished it over Thanksgiving," she 
whispered.

	"What?  What!" he took a step back and waved his left index finger 
at her.  "You mean to tell me I've searched and had the kids search 
all through this house and it hasn't been here since *before* we made 
the bet?  That's dirty pool, Allison."  She took his finger and 
guided it to the open pleat, pushing it inside and upward till it met 
with her warmed, unencumbered breast.  His manner changed abruptly 
and the rest of his fingers joined the first.  Allison sighed slowly 
as his digits explored.  "You're not wearing a bra?  Don't you need 
some, uh, support?"  The good natured irritation was completely 
absent from his tone, being replaced by a budding desire.

	"Built into the gown................ Mmmmm.................  And if 
you keep that up much longer, we'll be late."

	He reluctantly removed his fingers to gaze with longing into her 
smoky eyes.  "Like I care after that little 'revelation'."  Allison 
giggled as he nipped her chin playfully and they descended the stairs.
  The children came running out of the family room at their footsteps,
 all murmuring compliments.

	"Swell dress, Mum................  You look very handsome, Uncle 
Walt...........  Pretty bracelet, Mom, it matches my eyes.............
.  Every guy's going to be envious of you, Dad."  Then in unison, 
"Did we win?"  Anthony joined in, even though he knew they hadn't.  
He'd found if very difficult to not peek into Allison's thoughts, but 
was proud of himself for keeping his word - once the list had been 
turned in, however, he'd peeked.

	" 'Fraid not, kids.  I was two points short," he reached into a 
pocket and retrieved his wallet.  "However, you all tried very hard, 
so I'm going to pay you anyway."  Allison arched somewhat 
reprimanding eyebrows at him while the children got excited as each 
received a fiver.  They yelled out thanks, good nights, have a good 
times and disappeared back into the family room to contemplate what 
to buy with their 'booty'.

	Teresa came down the hall with Ian trailing, still emitting 'eh, 
hehhs' for the sympathy effect while he alternately guzzled from his 
sippy cup.  "My God," Teresa's eyes bulged at the sight of the 
bracelet, "that's, uh, a lovely bracelet.  What made you finally 
choose emeralds?"  Teresa knew enough about jewelry to have a pretty 
good idea how much it had set him back and shook her head at his 
'excess'.

	Walt took Allison's hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss, eyes 
shining all the while.  "I figured regardless of the dress color, it 
would match her ring.  Which you don't seem to be wearing, carissima,
" he finished with a slight frown.

	She smiled at him and pulled the length of a delicate gold chain out 
from the dress; at the end of it was the ring.  "It wouldn't fit with 
the gloves, tesoro," Walt brightened immediately.  The ringing of the 
doorbell cut short any further conversation.  Walt led Allison to the 
door with a suspicious grin.

	"Your chariot awaits, madam."  She stared with disbelief at the 
chauffeur standing in the doorway and the sleek black limousine in 
the distance.

		*	*	*	*	*	*

	They checked their coats and proceeded to the grand ballroom where 
Allison's shawl was firmly around her shoulders as she wrapped her 
arm around Walt's.  She took in the adornments and tunnel visioned 
out the turned heads; Walt, however, puffed up with pride.  

	The room was beautifully decorated with glittering ribbons, fragrant 
greens, opalescent beads, fresh flowers of all kinds and dozens upon 
dozens of marbled poinsettias beneath four enormous Douglas Firs.  
The trees easily topped fifteen feet and were strategically placed in 
the corners.  A twenty piece string orchestra was set up at the far 
end of the ballroom.  An adjoining room, with several double doors 
open, showed glimpses of tables with beautiful floral and beaded 
centerpieces.  One also assumed that that was where the bar and food 
were located. 

	Kimberly saw them just after they entered the room and dragged her 
husband over.  She was wearing a soft fuchsia colored dress with soft 
white lace covering the empire bodice and comprising the short 
sleeves.  It was ballerina length with two pleats in front giving it 
a loose fit.  Introductions were made and Dave nervously shook hands, 
uncomfortable at being in such posh surroundings.  Kimberly eyed 
Allison's dress and sympathetically smiled at Walt, "Sorry you lost 
the bet, sir.  You never mentioned what the stakes were."

	Walt coughed politely and turned to Dave.  "Why don't we get our 
ladies something to drink before the mob starts."

	Allison and Kimberly watched with amused smiles as the two wandered 
off toward the other room.  Cosseted waiters were weaving through the 
throng with trays of champagne and appetizers - if one wanted 
something other than champagne, one needed to go to the bar, however. 
 "If we'd decided to get married this spring, your dress would be 
perfect for my sister; I love the color."

	Kimberly flushed briefly, "Thank you.  It's going to be doing double 
duty.  We have a wedding to attend at the end of February, I hope it 
still fits then."

	As the two kept up their small talk, another arrival decided to 
leave her observation post and enter the room.  She was strikingly 
attired in a bright red, beaded halter dress with open back and 
flared trumpet skirt grazing the floor.  Her self assured manner, 
aided by the dress and the chicly arranged flaxen hair, drew many an 
admiring glance.

	So this is Allison, she thought as she approached from an angle .....
 and the infamous dress.  She sighed quietly thinking the dress tamer 
than she would have given her credit for.  Kimberly's small purse 
fell to the floor after her arm was bumped and Allison bent to 
retrieve it, the shawl sliding well down her back as she did.  The 
newcomer's smile slowly widened, that's more like it, not staid and 
boring, she mused.

	She reached them as Allison stood back up, "Thank you, Allison, 
you'd think the clumsy oaf would have gotten it."

	"Trés mauvaise manières."  Allison and Kimberly looked at her with 
interest as she offered her own gloved hand.  "Rosalind Drayton, new 
Deputy AD of CI."  Both other women murmured surprise as they shook 
her hand, neither expecting her to attend.  Roz gazed quickly but 
intently into Allison's eyes to assess her knowledge of the past.  
She smiled slowly as she correctly read that Allison knew of the 
liaison and found her presence no threat ..... she liked Allison 
instantly.

	Walt and Dave returned, Walt with a champagne flute in one hand and 
tonic water with lime in the other; Dave with scotch and orange juice.
  Walt saw Roz and swallowed his surprise, relieving a waiter of 
another glass of champagne.  Just like her, he thought, to turn up 
when she said she wouldn't.  He handed the old fashioned glass to 
Allison and one of the flutes to Roz.  "Trying to keep me on my toes 
already, Deputy AD Drayton?"

	She fixed him with a mockly haughty expression thinking someone has 
to other than Agents Scully and Mulder.  "I believe that's the job of 
the second in command ..... sir."  Before Walt could come up with an 
appropriate retort, Roz looked toward the entranceway, sipping her 
champagne.  "Well I'll be damned.  *Who* is that with Ned McIntire?"

	All heads turned and Allison spoke up first, with well guarded 
interest.  "His youngest daughter, Lauren."  And compared to her 
previous stylish dress, this one was designed to stop heart beats.  
It was a flaming scarlet with spaghetti straps and a shorter than 
cocktail length.  Around her throat was draped a long scarf and 
around her waist was tied a floor length overskirt.  Her smoothly 
styled golden blonde hair fell demurely down her back.  She looked 
radiant at the attention she was drawing, especially when a waiter 
nearly dropped his tray.  Her father looked resignedly composed and 
quite dapper in his plaid vest under the traditional black tux.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	

Out in the parking lot -

	Mulder swung the beam of his tiny flashlight to and fro under the 
car.  He hated these damned functions, hated dressing formally and 
hated cuff links ......... and at the moment he hated all of them 
even more for having lost a cuff link no sooner than he'd opened the 
door.  He carefully shifted, trying hard not to let his knee touch 
the ground and compound what was starting off as a 'perfect' evening 
by getting filthy before they made it inside the door.

	The light shone across the pavement and he saw the pointed toe of a 
high heeled black velvet pump, tapping impatiently.  "You did it on 
purpose, Mulder, admit it."

	"Scully, if I was going to try to get out of this stupid function at 
the last minute, I would have come up with something better than this,
 I can assure you."  The foot tapped harder.  "You know, instead of 
trying to break a hole through the pavement, you *could* help me look.
"

	Her tone managed to get icier still, "There is no way I'm risking 
getting this dress dirty, Mulder.  Why couldn't you have let the 
valet take the car?  At least then you'd have more light."

	"Because I'm a cheapskate, Scully."  And that's not all, she thought,
 visions of a pleasant evening beginning to vanish.  "Got it."

***

	Mulder removed Scully's coat, thinking he could at least get *that* 
part right.  His eyes arched with interest at the back of her dress.  
Two angled satin bands were joined together by two pair of 
crisscrosses, leaving a fair amount of her back exposed.  As she 
turned around, he saw the banding continued around the edges of the 
black velvet gown (it had a modified halter bodice) and that it hung 
gracefully down to the floor.  She'd sleeked her hair back behind her 
ears, ostensibly to show off the large pearl and gold earrings.  
Other than her gold cross and black gloves, she wore no more 
accessories; but he was sure she'd managed to squeeze her personal 
weapon into her evening bag.

	Scully glanced back at Mulder and allowed a small smile to cross her 
lips.  Always trying to be a nonconformist, she thought.  He was 
wearing a white dinner jacket over black trousers, no tie.  He'd 
added a splash of color by wearing a red handkerchief and a red rose 
in his lapel.  She shook her head slightly as she sniffed the long 
stem red rose he'd surprisingly given her thinking his two reds 
clashed and his red/green color blindness was quite obvious.

	Walt looked over at the entranceway and involuntarily frowned when 
he saw Scully and Mulder.  Damn, he thought, why didn't I get Allison 
a rose?  He caught their eye and motioned for them to come over.  In 
short order he introduced them both to Roz.

	Allison, Kimberly and McIntire watched the sizing up with amusement 
as Scully and Mulder tried to ascertain if by losing Jennings, they'd 
gone from the frying pan into the fire.  Not that they'd had to deal 
with him often, but they understood politics and realized that Roz 
would likely take over as AD someday - and with McIntire's tenure as 
Director up the end of August, that 'someday' could be all too soon.

	"Charmed," Mulder managed to say and gallantly kissed her offered 
hand.  Oh brother, Scully thought.

	"As Walt's second, I'd love to hear more about your section."  Roz 
turned her slightly bemused expression to Scully.  "Perhaps you can 
fill me in, Agent Scully, while your partner gets us a drink."

	Walt smiled into his glass while Mulder stammered a brief reply and 
left, correctly assuming that he'd been dismissed and no doubt 
swearing at himself.  Lauren looked after Mulder; now that Walt and 
Allison were officially engaged, she was setting her sights on him, 
if only for the night.  She abruptly excused herself and followed him,
 claiming her drink needed more ice.  McIntire watched her leave with 
a sigh.  "I do wish she'd settle down and stop acting so flighty.  
She nearly gave me a heart attack when I saw that dress."

	"That's the reaction it's supposed to elicit, uh, sir," Roz 
commented over fluttering eyelashes as she finished the last of her 
champagne.

	"And as far as flighty goes, my parents complained about the same 
thing while I was in college, goes with the age.  Lauren will 
'serious' up fast enough when she enters the job market."  Allison 
noticed that Roz shot her a look of approval.

	"Come on, Roz," Walt said as he took her by the elbow, as long as 
you're here, this is the perfect time to introduce you to the other 
ADs, etc."

	"What about my conversation with Agent Scully?"

	"I'm sure Assistant Director Skinner has briefed you about us," she 
slyly smiled, "and if you stay here much longer, Mulder will be back 
and potentially trying to ingratiate himself more.  I might add he's 
making a New Year's resolution to solicit more support for our cause 
at all social functions, starting with this one."

	"What an excellent way to avoid being ordered to attend," McIntire 
commented with a mischievous gleam.

	Kimberly leaned over and whispered in Allison's ear.  "I think he 
would have one if you'd worn Agent Scully's dress."

	Allison took another look at it and quickly agreed as Scully 
suddenly felt self conscious and tugged on an earring.  An employee 
of the hotel came up and McIntire followed him away to the phone as 
Walt and Roz began the rounds.  Allison quickly explained to Scully 
about the dress bet and put her at ease.  She was laughing as Mulder 
and Lauren returned.  Mulder looked perturbed at being stuck with an 
extra glass and cut Scully's laughter off by informing her that Agent 
Pendrell had just arrived and was looking in her direction.

		*	*	*	*	*	*

About an hour later -

	Allison and Roz were standing next to each other, backs slightly 
against one wall, otherwise alone.  Scully had dragged Mulder off for 
the dance floor when she'd seen Pendrell circling.  Lauren had 
visibly pouted as Kimberly and Dave had opted to dance as well and 
Walt had risen to the occasion by escorting her.  McIntire had looked 
on the verge of asking Allison or Roz when Vivian Opelmeyer had 
entered stylishly late and he'd gone to greet her.  "Any idea who 
that is?" Roz asked with an almost too casual air and a low voice.

	"Vivian Opelmeyer, EEOA," Allison replied with the same discreet 
volume while watching a somewhat forlorn Shirley Balthazar (wife of 
Edwin, AD, Finance) standing by herself about twenty feet away, 
absently swirling the fluid in her glass.

	"Well she's got style, quite striking, too with that oystery white 
hair.  Her dress is more attractive and flattering than quite a few 
on women ten and twenty years her junior."  It was a bittersweet red 
dress with a modified sweetheart neckline, banded short sleeves, a 
long organza scarf and with a skirt that fell in an a-line to the 
floor.

	"You seem to have an eye for the red dresses, Roz," Allison baited 
as yet another waiter circled them, offering a tempting array of hot 
appetizers.  She looked over the spanakopitas, rumaki, tiny broccoli 
quiches, mushroom turnovers, sausage en croute, cheesy shrimp canapés 
and pumpernickel muenster triangles before taking the rumaki.  

	"You can't live in Paris for as long as I have without getting 
fashion ingrained," Roz replied, helping herself to the canapés and 
spanakopita.  She looked around in some disgust.  "Take for example 
that horrendous thing Deputy AD (National Security) Jarvey's wife is 
attempting to wear."  Allison winced slightly as she turned in that 
direction.  Grace Jarvey was probably the same age as Roz, but a good 
ten pounds heavier and not nearly in as good a shape.  The all beaded 
ivory sheath dress had a split halter neckline that didn't do much to 
flatter her nearly nonexistent chest.  "That dress is hugging all the 
wrong contours and much too tightly at that."

	"And what other fashion disasters have you observed?"  

	Roz arched an eyebrow at Allison's deliberate attempt at instigating 
a 'bashing' session.  "You tell me," she smoothly countered.

	"Welllll, unlike Grace Jarvey, Renee Bryant (wife of Gordon, OPR) is 
hiding a still good figure for mid fifties under that shapeless 
powder blue miss.  Considering what a 'dominant' personality her 
husband is, I'd think something more form fitting, without the high 
lace collar and in a proper shade of blue would keep her from 
blending into the background."

	"Quite diplomatic and correct.  And what would you do for poor Mrs. 
Balthazar?"  Roz was liking Allison more and more.

	Another waiter offering cold appetizers appeared.  Roz quickly 
finished off her two items and reached for the gravad lax and duck 
pate in sherry aspic (on a cracker) while Allison took a ham stuffed 
tomato and a sausage stuffed mushroom; both ignored the stuffed eggs. 
 "You mean other than knock some sense into her husband for 
continually leaving her alone?"

	"Happens a lot does it?"  She rolled her eyes heavenward as she bit 
into the salmon.

	"I can only say that he similarly seemed more interested in 
schmoozing at the July soiree.  And it's your turn."

	Roz tilted her head and wet her lips.  "She shouldn't wear oranges 
of any kind, including that golden rinse some imb‚cile of a hair 
stylist talked her into.  And I'd say a peplum jacket with her, uh, 
generous hips wasn't too wise either.  Actually, that peach suit 
would look much better on Renee Bryant, and vice versa."

	They both turned their heads in the opposite direction as Corrine 
Eufaula (wife of Silas, General Counsel) and Carol Friedens (wife of 
Victor, AD of Inspections) huffed at each other in passing; something 
they'd done so far all evening.   Despite different necklines, they 
were wearing nearly identical gowns in warm beige (boring, Roz had 
said).  Both gowns even had the 'audacity' to have dotted Swiss 
netting.

	"Sales clerk probably swore they'd sold no others even remotely 
similar.  How do you feel about suits in general?"  Allison asked, 
looking toward Fran Scioto (AD, Personnel) and waving off another 
waiter; she and Roz were drawing their attention as well as potential 
dance partners quite a bit.

	"With her chin length blue/black hair and almond eyes, I rather like 
that suit on Fran (icy pink, embroidered with v-shaped neckline).  
And I hope my neck still looks that good in ten plus years.  However, 
despite the fact that AD Rowlesburg's wife (Marilyn, Information 
Resources) looks pretty decent in her suit (embroidered pastel aqua 
with sweetheart neckline), I think she's a might young to be going 
that route."

	Allison looked with familiar sympathy toward Trina Latham as she 
walked bravely back toward Ben (AD, National Security).  It had been 
a semi late marriage for both and they'd been delighted to discover 
the pregnancy the month before.  At the moment, however, the 
retreating greenish cast was still distorting her beautiful deep 
brown features.  Allison was quite sure Trina had purchased the form 
fitting off the shoulder royal purple gown before they'd found out.  
Ben lent her a supportive arm and managed to look proud and nervous 
at the same time.

	Roz followed Allison's line of vision as it shifted to Kimberly and 
Dave.  He had much the same expression.  "So are you and Walt 
thinking of having any children of your own?  If that's not too 
personal a question for me to ask at this juncture."  

	Allison smiled deviously and finished her drink.  "We're 'toying' 
with the idea.  I'll be at least Mrs. Latham's age before it 
potentially comes to pass, though."  Roz nodded a bit absently, her 
attention wandering back to a certain grey haired and distinguished 
looking gentleman.  Allison's voice dropped to a faint whisper as she 
leaned next to Roz's ear.  "How long have you been involved with Ned 
McIntire?"

	Roz flushed quickly and finished her champagne in a gulp.  "What 
makes you .......... okay, I'll admit that he's attractive and has a 
certain je ne sais quoi.  But to extrapolate a few innocent glances...
.........."

	"Oh, don't get yourself worked up into a tizzy.  I'm hardly going to 
start broadcasting.  Although, if I may offer some advice, you might 
want to discreetly advertise that you're interested in someone else.  
Despite the fact that you're all supposed to be trained 
observationists, it seems to work."  Her glance shifted suggestively 
toward Agents Pendrell and Stromanagle.

	Roz narrowed her eyes and took in the woman of medium height and 
dark ash blonde hair who was dancing with Pendrell.  Her fashion 
conscious mind immediately took in the plum velvet v-necked tank 
bodice with full taffeta skirt.  "Ever consider a career in espionage?
" Roz finally asked with a newly relaxed grin.

	Another waiter arrived to take their empty glasses, as did two eager 
men who were disappointed a few seconds later.  "I believe I'm too 
old to apply to the Academy."  Her facial features rearranged 
themselves into a slight frown as she watched Shirley Balthazar 
walking out of the room; the waiters carrying the champagne had 
studiously avoided her.  "Excuse me a minute, Roz.  Time to save 
someone from a lecture later."

	Roz watched Allison's trailing back and had to give Walt credit for 
picking a winner.  Allison reached Mrs. Balthazar just as she was 
ordering a glass of champagne.  "Mrs. Balthazar," Allison made her 
voice warm and pleasant and briefly turned her attention to the 
barkeep, "Two tonic and lime, please.  I don't know that you remember 
me, we met in July.  I'm Allison Wright."

	Shirley attempted to put a sincere smile on her face.  "Yes, I do 
remember you.  I understand you and Mr. Skinner are engaged now, 
congratulations."  She absently picked up her drink and was about to 
take a sip when Allison took it from her.

	"I'm sorry, I thought I saw something floating in it."  Allison made 
a great production out of staring into the amber fluid.  "Just as I 
thought," she pretended to remove something, "eyelash I should think. 
 Why don't you take one of my drinks and join me and Ms. Drayton," 
she noted the other woman's slight stiffening of discomfiture, "at 
least until your husband finishes his conference."  Without giving 
her a chance to say anything negative, Allison took her by the arm 
and began leading her back, peering with interest at the goodies on 
the food tables.  "So annoying when business has to overshadow a 
social event, don't you think?"

	As they reached her, Roz took the hint and began her own brand of 
distraction.  "Mrs. Balthazar, I'm so pleased you could join us.  
Perhaps you can help me with something.  It's so difficult to find a 
good stylist when one moves, and the cut of your hair is so 
flattering, would you tell me who does it?"

	Allison smiled into her drink, the cut *was* quite good, just the 
rinse was wrong.  And the compliment was having a wonderful effect on 
Mrs. Balthazar, whose face softened into a genuine smile, almost of 
shyness.  Her hand hesitantly reached up to touch her hair.  "Why, uh,
 thank you.  You don't think it's too young?  Edwin thinks so."

	"Nonsense," Roz replied, "most males don't have the common sense 
they were born with by the time they reach eighteen."

	When Walt was coming back with Lauren a few moments later, Roz and 
Allison had Mrs. Balthazar beaming and beginning to come out of her 
shell.  A slight look from Allison telegraphed a suggestion to him 
and he flashed her a very brief smile in response.  "Mrs. Balthazar," 
his voice was modulated at its most charming, "would you do me the 
honor?"

	She blushed deeply and looked to Allison in question.  "I don't know.
......"

	"It's more than fine with me, I dance with him all the time, I can 
use the break."  Walt gently took Mrs. Balthazar's elbow, "And when 
he inevitably steps on your toes, you have my permission to swat him.
"

	Shirley was giggling as they moved away and Lauren backed against 
the wall, bending down to rub a partially 'released' foot from her 
very high heeled pumps.  "She looks like a giddy teenager.  Too bad 
her husband doesn't give her enough attention."  Allison and Roz 
glanced at her with a trace of surprise, "What?  I'm young, I'm not 
na‹ve.  I certainly recognize the difference between providing 
financial security and filling emotional needs."

	Roz reached out a hand and patted Lauren's, "Ch‚ri, you'll do fine 
in this crazy world."

	Mulder dragged Scully off to the food tables while Kimberly, Dave, 
McIntire and Vivian returned.  Allison feared she might receive an 
'accidental' smack when she suggested Roz dance with McIntire, but 
Roz behaved quite graciously.

***
  
	"Sooo, Ms. Drayton," McIntire began, restraining himself from 
holding her too tightly, "it's quite a surprise to see you here 
tonight.  I was under the impression that you weren't arriving until 
the first of the year."  And you look absolutely ravishing, he 
thought.

	"Various details were easier to tie up than I originally thought."  
And I've missed you tellement chéri, she thought.

	"Have you made a decision about where to live?  Alexandria is quite 
picturesque."  And you'd be so close to me, he mentally added.

	"I was planning to look around some this weekend.  Ideally I'd like 
an apartment in a busy, bustling area.  I seem to thrive on noise."  
Less chance of your being noticed, too, she continued.  Another 
couple with a shade too much alcohol in their systems bumped into 
them.  Roz took the opportunity to lean close to his ear and whisper, 
"Allison knows about us."

	He glanced at her with a restrained sense of surprise.  "Really, I, 
uh, always preferred quiet, myself.  Er, tell me about the, uh, new 
Legat in the Paris Office," he finished a bit lamely hoping she got 
the message.

	"Oh, she's quite astute and highly trustworthy, one can be sure of 
that.  In fact, she told me about a fascinating idea before I left....
......."

***

	"My but Ned and Ms. Drayton make a striking couple," Vivian remarked 
after thanking Dave for flagging down a waiter and getting her some 
champagne.  "I believe they met when he was in Paris the end of 
September for that conference."

	Lauren wriggled her nose ever so slightly.  "I asked him if I could 
go, but he wouldn't let me miss classes."

	"Quite right, my dear.  And besides, if one is going to explore 
Paris, it shouldn't be under the watchful eye of a parent.  Have you 
ever been to Paris, Mrs. Wright?"

	"I travelled quite extensively through Europe when my former husband 
and I lived in London.  And I wouldn't recommend it with a small, 
colicky child."  She noted that Vivian was watching McIntire and Roz 
rather closely and decided to change tacks.  "Who is that over there? 
 He, uh, looks so familiar."  Allison barely remembered being 
introduced to him during Walt's guided tour.

	Kimberly and Vivian turned in the direction indicated and politely 
coughed at the clearly uncomfortable mid forties man.  His tuxedo was 
rather ill fitting and he had a scowl on his face.  "John Cutter, 
Deputy AD in CJIS (Criminal Justice Information Services).  Why?"

	"Roz thought he was, uh, interesting looking."  She hoped her 
implied statement was received.

	"Well," Vivian cleared her throat carefully, "I don't know that I'd 
agree.  I'm surprised to see him here, from what I've heard he's a 
workaholic."   

	"I believe AD Guo ordered him to attend, threatening to have 
security drag him if necessary," Kimberly contributed.

	"Sounds like something Harry would do, good for him.  And I'm so 
happy for his wife.  Yung was just given tenure at Georgetown," 
Vivian commented. 

	"I love her dress," Lauren said, flipping her own scarf.  Yung's 
dress was black crepe, with extra fabric draped along both sides of 
the softly rounded neckline and had a scarf that fell to the floor, 
hanging from the back.  "Simple and elegant."  She screwed her head 
around to look at Phyllis D'Hanis (wife of Bryan, Deputy Director).  
"But I think Mrs. D'Hanis should have found something, uh, a bit more 
flattering."

	Vivian patted her hand a shade patronizingly, her own form of the 
mature, shapely type; Kimberly tactfully looked away.  "Not everyone 
is a perfect size four, my dear.  I think Mrs. D'Hanis looks 
wonderful."  Her dress was similar in style to Kimberly's, with a 
scoop neck made of bright aqua velvet above the empire waist and 
satin below, the color flattered her honey brown skin very well.  
"She told me she's lost fifty pounds in nine months and is hoping to 
lose another twenty."

	She can stand to lose another fifty, easy, Lauren had the good sense 
to say privately.  

	"I heard good news about Pam Nichols' husband," Kimberly contributed.
  "I had lunch with her assistant and Jenny said the doctors are 
optimistic that he'll fully recover from the heart attack."  It 
looked obvious to Allison that Pam (Inspector in Charge, Office of 
Public and Congressional Affairs) hadn't been eating much lately and 
was there out of duty.  Her deep blue green dress with demure scoop 
neckline, extended sleeves, triangular cutout back and empire waist 
was meant to fit tighter.  And despite the good news, her skin still 
had a grey cast to its usual rosy brown.

	"Yes, that's wonderful," Vivian said.  "But what's shameful is what 
happened to poor Evelyn Padinski (wife of Norman, AD, Laboratory).  
Imagine being laid off after almost twenty-five years with the same 
company.   I told her to sue for age discrimination; she'll have a 
devil of a time getting hired at another accounting firm at fifty-one.
  The nitwit companies seem to pass over experience in favor of that 
wet behind the ears look."  

	Allison gazed at Mrs. Padinski's unsuccessful, but valiant attempt 
to look happy and all but swore under her breath.  Now that she and 
Roz had been bashing the clothes, she couldn't even look at another 
woman without noticing what she was wearing.  Mrs. Padinski had on a 
light clear navy colored floor length gown with rose accented lace 
over the empire waist, causing the gracefully curved strapless bodice 
to become a scoop neck.

	By contrast, Monica Collucci was positively radiant in her mauve 
dress with sweetheart neckline and glittery lace over the bodice.  
She was radiant because her first grandchild had been born the day 
before and Angelo Collucci (Chief of Staff), grinning from ear to ear,
 was showing a candid picture to anyone who came near.

	 Vivian took a long draught from her glass and cast her eyes on the 
McCameys as they drifted by on the dance floor (Maureen and Michael, 
AD, Training).  "Can you believe the luck of those two?  First their 
house gets burgled last month and now someone stole their car."  

	Allison turned her head and sighed as her mind, unbidden, absorbed 
the fashion information.  Square neckline, princess seams, full a-
line skirt, short sleeves and back of bodice covered in lace, 
chocolate brown color.  It did look striking with her flaming red 
hair.  Allison looked to one set of double doors as Scully and Mulder 
walked past it, each precariously carrying two full plates.  "I don't 
believe you've been on the dance floor much tonight, Allison."  
McIntire's voice came from slightly behind her as he and Roz came 
back.

	She turned and saw an incredibly brief twinkle in his eyes that said 
he knew she knew.  Walt and Mrs. Balthazar also returned, she with a 
still faint glow.  "Sorry, sir, she promised the next dance to me."  
He took her hand warmly in his and she swore she could hear his 
stomach rumbling.  

	"Actually, Walt, I was thinking that food is looking rather good."  
Allison purposely wriggled her back under the shawl.  "Roz, could you 
help me?  I think the shawl is caught on that little gold knot 
somehow."  

	Roz raised her eyes a notch, but moved behind Allison anyway.  
"Certainement."

	Allison turned her head, ostensibly to offer instruction and very 
quietly whispered, "John Cutter is your Scully."  

	Roz looked up at her with a trace of surprise.  "You're all set."  
Allison thanked her before she and Walt walked away.

	*My*, that dress makes a statement, Vivian commented to herself as 
the shawl dipped low on Allison's back.  And at that age I had the 
self confidence to pull it off, too.  "Sooo, I understand John Cutter 
may have a secret admirer.............."

 ***
	
	Allison stared at the laden tables, her taste buds gearing up.  The 
first two tables had meat and fish, with appropriate personnel placed 
for carving individual portions of the roast turkey, beef, ham and 
lamb.  There were also servers to dish out portions of three 
different seafood choices, three chicken, one pork, three pastas, 
and/or Cornish game hens.  The next table had the vegetable dishes, 
including single size portions of spinach or asparagus souffl‚s.  
After that came the one with an enormous bowl of tossed salad and 
dizzying array of dressings, four more pastas (of the side dish 
variety), dinner rolls and several delicious looking types of 
breads/muffins (with various types of spreads).  Simply gazing at all 
the food was enough to make one gain five pounds ............... and 
that didn't take the dessert table into account.

	They seemed to have timed their arrival in a minor lull, after 
having stopped first at the table Scully and Mulder were at to drop 
off Allison's shawl and bag.  Walt held his plate absently while 
Allison went ahead of him and received steaming half portions of clam 
stuffed fillet and chicken seville.  "What's wrong?  You were 
starving earlier."

	He lightly shrugged as he continued to contemplate his choices, "If 
you ignore it long enough, it goes away."

	Allison shook her head in response and whispered in his ear, "Would 
you like me to make your decisions for you, tesoro?"  He grinned 
mischievously back,   handed her his plate and took hers.  She smiled 
beautifully at the person behind the roasted meats, "I'd like some of 
the honeyed ham and the beef, please, fairly rare."  She received two 
heaping portions and a few looks of amusement.  In short order she'd 
filled his plate with spiced carrots, potatoes anna, green/wax beans 
with parsley sauce and fettucini alfredo.  Hers had stir fried 
vegetables, a baked herbed tomato, risotto alla Milanese and spinach 
noodles.

	Walt inwardly groaned as the server was filling two salad bowls for 
them.  Allison had repeatedly backed into him, quickly rubbing up 
against him in such a way that was driving him crazy, but looked 
perfectly innocent to anyone watching them; anyone but Roz, that is, 
who was watching with pronounced amusement from the other end of the 
line.  When Allison did it again, after spreading some apple butter 
on her whole grain bread, he hissed in her ear.  "If you don't stop 
that, I'm going to throw you on a table and take you right here."

	She turned with tremendous mirth and whispered back, "Promises, 
promises..................  Besides, if you ignore it long enough, 
it'll go away."

***

	Allison and Walt sat down at the table and noted that the rush was 
on for the food.  Very quickly, the tables were filling up, straining 
the seating capacity.  In short order the other twelve places were 
taken by Vivian, Roz, Lauren, McIntire, Kimberly, Dave, the 
Balthazars (Edwin still talking shop as he finally reclaimed Shirley),
 the Lathams, and lastly by Pam Nichols and Fran Scioto (Fran's 
husband being away on business).  Kimberly fidgeted nervously, 
feeling a tad out of place among the Director, four ADs, a Deputy AD, 
two major Department Heads and two Special Agents.  Allison smiled 
warmly at her and she relaxed some.

	Roz commented that while the coq au vin was good, it couldn't 
compare to the real thing in Paris.  AD Balthazar complained that 
there should have been more choices for vegetarians besides the 
eggplant lasagna, which he grudgingly said was fairly good, but not 
worth the inflated price he'd seen on the everyday menu.  Mrs. 
Balthazar, despite askance looks from her husband, had chosen the 
tandoori chicken and was quite obviously relishing every bite.  
Vivian relayed that her rock Cornish game hen with red raisin sauce 
was outstanding and she was going to chat up the chef for the recipe. 
 By the number of swallows of water that McIntire and Scully took, it 
was evident that the Indian shrimp curry was plenty spicy.  The 
cannelloni was said to be a tad heavy on the salt by AD Latham while 
the broiled tarragon flounder was labeled as a bit under-seasoned by 
Ms. Nichols - who none the less finished every bit as her appetite 
returned and concurred with Allison about the chicken seville.  Dave 
shyly mentioned that Kimberly made stuffing that put that in his 
stuffed pork chop to shame, garnering a blushing response from her 
while she raved about the roast lamb, as did AD Scioto.  When 
prompted, Mulder said his meat lasagna was fine, then fell silent 
again and wondered how soon he could decently leave.                  
                                                                      
                                                                      
                                                                      
             
	"You're not eating very much, Mrs. Latham," Lauren sweetly ventured, 
herself with about six different bite sized portions of entrees.  
"Didn't you see anything that appealed?"

	She looked at her bland plate with plain rice, a small piece of 
turkey and a dinner roll, thankful that the smell of the various 
spicy dishes didn't upset her stomach.  "I've discovered that the 
baby doesn't seem to share my wide range of preferences."

	A response to this statement came from an unlikely source.  "I 
remember when my wife was pregnant with Lauren, anything but hot dogs 
had her being kicked with disfavor."

	"Daaaaaddd," Lauren wailed for a second, briefly embarrassed.

	The conversation took a turn toward the topic of pregnancy 
'cravings' which the four mothers espoused as false when it came to 
odd combinations like strawberries and pickles or oysters and whipped 
cream.

	"The coddling of children starts in the womb," AD Balthazar began as 
he stabbed at his salad and altered the topic with the tracest amount 
of an attempt at a smooth transition.  "You alter your whole life for 
them right from there and then they expect everything to be handed to 
them on a silver platter.  If you can get them to do chores they 
expect to be paid and they grow up with no concept of the value of a 
dollar.  Spare the rod and spoil the child, that's what I say.  
There's too much irresponsibility with money these days."

	The rest of the people at the table pursed their lips trying to 
think of a graceful way of telling him he was being a boor and that 
his viewpoints didn't even have the decency to flow together properly.
  Mrs. Balthazar simply lowered her eyes apologetically while Allison 
plunged in bravely with a disarming smile.  "Why, Mr. Balthazar, I do 
believe you should be grateful this is a closed party.  If any of the 
toy manufacturers were present, they'd likely string you up by your 
lapels for such 'Christmas heresy'."

	He gazed at her with a slightly open mouth, preparing to further 
wedge his foot when McIntire 'saved' him.  "Well I'm doing my part to 
spend irresponsibly for Christmas, Allison.  And I've gotten quite a 
bit of enjoyment from *spoiling* my granddaughter."

	"I'll say," Lauren jumped in, not giving 'Scrooge' a chance to get a 
word in edgewise.  "I helped him wrap the presents.  There must be 
two dozen packages for Greta."

	Various Christmas plans were discussed before conversation turned 
again, first to sports (Mulder managed to join in on the subject of 
the Washington Redskins and warmed to Roz as she displayed more than 
a passing knowledge), second to cars (Dave revealed a passion for 
restoring them, something he had in common with Ms. Nichols, he 
discovered) and lastly to the inevitable subject of home repairs.  
Most 'couples' at the table were able to recite at least one story 
about the project that got away from them to the amusement of all the 
others.

	AD Latham sighed and pushed his plate away, taking his wife's hand 
and lovingly squeezing it.  "I don't suppose anyone can recommend a 
good contractor?  We bought a great little fixer upper and planned to 
slowly work on it ourselves, but the baby has sort of sped up our 
time table."

	Both Walt and Allison were in the process of chewing and weren't 
able to speak fast enough before AD Balthazar was at it again.  "Good 
luck finding an honest one.  Now there's a profession full of crooks 
and shysters."

	Walt swallowed quickly and squeezed Allison's hand under the table, 
instinctively knowing she'd have more trouble being 'diplomatic' this 
time.  "No more so than any other profession, Ed."  He turned his 
attention to the Lathams.  "Allison's brother owns a construction 
company in Philadelphia.  He's quite good, reliable and honest."  
Walt glanced out of the corner of his eye at Balthazar with the last 
part.

	"Is there any chance he'd come down here for a job?" Mrs. Latham 
asked hopefully.  "Or possibly know of someone local if he couldn't?
"

	   "Avery's first job was down here; I'm sure he'd be happy to take 
a look and give you an estimate."  Walt removed a fountain pen and 
business card from an inner pocket, handing them to Allison who wrote 
down Avery's name and number before passing the card to the Lathams 
who thanked her.  She looked with mischief at Balthazar, "And I 
believe you'd all be out of a job if the world weren't full of crooks 
and shysters, Mr. Balthazar."

	Walt decided he'd had enough of being social and needed to get away 
from one member of 'their party', if only for a few moments.  
"Allison," he said as he rose, "why don't we take a look at those 
desserts.  If you'll all excuse us."

	They made it to the table with only a few glances by the others 
which clearly said they were cowards for deserting the ship.  Allison 
took in the array of choices and conservatively counted sixteen with 
fruit in some form.  And that didn't include the arrangement of 
cheese and fresh fruit.  "That man," she managed to say levelly and 
with a whisper, "is a prickish ass and Shirley has my absolute pity 
and respect for being able to live with him.  No wonder she tries to 
drink champagne at this events, it's probably the only fun she's 
allowed to have."

	Walt smiled deviously as their backs were turned from the rest of 
the people and the servers were currently retrieving more items.  
"Don't keep anything inside, carissima, tell me how you really feel.
"

	She smiled back at him, "I feel stuffed and don't know how I'm going 
to make even the pretense of eating another bite."

	"Yes, well, it was the first thing that popped into my brain."  That 
grin deepened, "Actually, it was the second thing, but I don't think 
the first would have been a good idea."  His eyes shifted 
suggestively to the open pleat.
	
	She purred back at him, "We could always eat and run; invent an 
emergency at home."

	"Except the kids might still be up since it's a weekend."

	"We could take a long limo ride," she finished while reaching for 
two glasses of cold raspberry soup (an appetizer being utilized as a 
light dessert).

	They went back to the table with a silent pact and slowly consumed 
the dessert as it cooled their ardor very slightly.  Half an hour 
later and they were out of there, giggling like a couple of teenagers 
as they hit the back seat, only seriousing up for a second to tell 
the chauffeur to take them slowly home via Annapolis and to use 
secondary roads.

	Walt pulled her onto his lap and pushed off the coat that was 
wrapped around her shoulders.  "It's time for you to take care of 
your man, woman."

	Allison gazed into his mischievous eyes and half snarled back at him.
  "Shut up before you break the mood.  In fact, you know what would 
be lovely right now?  A little music ... why don't you sing for me, 
tesoro."

	He brought her hands up from their activity of opening the studs and 
buttons and kissed them.  "I don't happen to be ready for that just 
yet."

	He moved his hands up to her hair, released the pins and watched it 
cascade down over both of them.  "You do realize I'll never be able 
to put that back up the way it was and the chauffeur will have no 
doubt what we're been doing................"

	Walt pulled her closer and began nuzzling her throat.  "It's a 
highly discreet firm."

		*	*	*	*	*	*

Saturday, December 20, 1997, 12:03am

	They entered the kitchen from the hall still heady and half groping 
each other.  Allison kicked off her pumps and hurriedly shed her 
pantyhose, her disheveled hair touching the floor in the process.  
"Trying to tell me something?"  Walt asked with that supercilious 
grin again.

	"Yes," she quipped, "I didn't get them on right and they were 
driving me insane.  And if you want to do it again so soon after 
those two times in the limo, you've got an overactive libido, Mr. 
Skinner."  She arched an eyebrow sharply at him.  "And another thing, 
if that firm is so discreet, why did you tip him so much?"

	"In case you forgot, carissima, you screamed rather loudly the 
second time.  Loud enough to make him swerve he was so startled."

	Allison swatted his arm, "I believe he swerved when *you* let loose 
that howl from hell."

	Walt raised both eyes at her triumphant expression.  "Well, I was 
hardly expecting you to do that ....... and just exactly *how* did 
you do that from that position anyway?  And more to the point, if you 
knew how to do it, why haven't you done it before?"

	"Tesoro, I'm entitled to keep a few secrets."

	Oh, God, he thought, if she's got more along the same lines, I'll 
die a very happy man...........  "What's money doing on the island?"  
Allison turned and picked up the bills wrapped in a piece of paper.  
She showed the note to Walt with a grin.  In essence it said that the 
children, after viewing Fern Gully (for the umpteenth time), had 
decided to use their money to help save the rainforests.  "And Roz 
asked me if *you* were a Stepford wife, sounds like we've got four 
Stepford kids."

	"Don't worry, they always get inspired after seeing that movie.  
Tomorrow morning their egos will re-emerge and they'll want the money 
back.  Speaking of backs, mine could use some rubs."

	"You're insatiable."

		*	*	*	*	*	*

1:07pm

	"All right, Ian is asleep and the kids are cleaning their rooms.  
What's so earth shattering?" Allison inquired as Walt, sans glasses, 
led her into their bathroom by the hand.  Her interest piqued when 
she saw the boombox balanced on the side of the whirlpool tub.  
"You're going to sing to me in the bathroom?"

	The smile on his face had a charming degree of embarrassment to it.  
"Well, you know what they say about acoustics.  And I can use all the 
help I can get.  Now sit here and try to hold your laughter down till 
I'm finished or else I won't be able to."  She sat where indicated 
and restrained herself to one raised eyebrow.  The man had a 
wonderful singing and speaking voice, but next to no self confidence 
about the former and she was loving every second of his discomfort.  
He punched the play button and she barely had time to recognize the 
tune as the Everly Brothers song Love Of My Life before his baritone 
started in:

			Love of my life
			Come close to me
			Say you will always be true
			
			Are love must be
			Sweet destiny
			Love of my life, I love you

			No other love could thrill me so completely
			No other lips could satisfy me
			Baby, baby don't deny me
			
			My hungry arms 
			Long for your charm
			Love of my life, I love you

			No other love could thrill me so completely
			No other lips could satisfy me
			Baby, baby don't deny me
			
			My hungry arms 
			Long for your charm
			Love of my life, I love you

			Love of my life, I love you.

	Allison wiped a single tear away from her eyes as he unfolded his 
arms and bent to stop the machine.  She strived to find something 
flip to say, knowing he expected it, but her heart wasn't really in 
it.  All she could think of was how much warmth, love and devotion 
he'd poured into the song.  "You, um, just happened to have a version 
of that song without the lyrics?" she weakly tried.

	He sat beside her and took her hand, softly stroking it.  "It used 
to be a favorite of mine; but I never had anybody I truly cared about 
to sing it to before."  Clare not withstanding, he thought, softly 
stroking Allison's cheek.

	Oh brother, she thought, is he ever pouring it on thick now.  She 
took his hand and kissed the palm before standing up.  In quick 
succession she'd locked the bathroom door, retrieved a familiar 
little gold package from the linen closet and removed the top half of 
her sweats and bra.  Allison straddled his thighs and wrapped her 
arms around his neck.  "The song sufficiently 'softened' me up, 
tesoro, so let's skip some of the preliminaries."

	Walt groaned before kissing her, emotions and hormones rampaging.  
He hadn't expected this response, especially since she had to leave 
for work in about a half an hour, but he wasn't about to pass up the 
opportunity when he suddenly wanted her so badly.  She yanked the 
shirt over his head and pressed her ample bosom against his bare, 
fuzzy chest, eliciting a moan of approval.  Walt realized he was 
completely hard and wondered briefly if he'd set a new record.  He 
pulled her head and lips reluctantly away from his throat.  
"Carissima, if we don't slow this down, I'm afraid I might hurt you.
"

	She stared at him, her eyes already at that unfathomably deep ocean 
color.  "Fat chance.  I'm tough, you're not *that* big and I'm hardly 
that tight."  She wet her lips impatiently, "Take me."

	Walt grinned back, knowing he couldn't resist such a proposition, 
especially when she was being so 'charming'.  He glided her to the 
floor, centering her on the diagonally placed area rug and shucked 
her sweatpants and panties before shedding his own jeans and briefs.  


	As tempting as sinking into her warmth straightaway was, her breasts 
beckoned for attention and he felt he couldn't 'disappoint' them.  
Not wanting to be accused of harboring a 'favorite', Walt spent 
arduous moments devouring each mound of willing flesh till she was 
begging him to get a move on, citing the dwindling time.  After one 
very long and passionate kiss, he complied, pulling her legs onto his 
shoulders right after the condom was in place.  A quick check to 
verify that she really was ready brought a thumping of her heels 
across his back while the full thrust brought a sigh of further 
arousal.  Walt gripped her hips firmly, locking his burning eyes with 
hers, his peripheral vision noting how her breasts shifted erotically 
with every thrust.

	Allison grabbed the edges of the rug, fighting to keep her eyes on 
him when she wanted to close them and throw her head back.  It was 
highly carnal this way, though, like they were completely losing 
themselves in the other, becoming one soul.  She was scarcely aware 
of anything but his flaming eyes and the almost deafening sound of 
blood rushing throughout her body; the groans, whimpers and moans 
leaving their lips didn't register at all.

	Suddenly she felt like she was at the top of a very long drop on a 
roller coaster.  Then she was falling, picking up incredible speed, 
the momentum carrying her up another climb and plunging her down a 
few seconds later.  Her eyes closed as the second orgasm roared 
through her and she forcefully strangled the scream that wanted to 
leave her lips.  Walt was only seconds behind her, choking on his own 
attempt to stay quiet in deference to the full house.

	He lowered her legs, still inside her and carefully pulled her into 
his lap, holding her close and kissing her with a still glowing 
passion.  "Call in sick," he murmured on his way to torment her ears.


	"Mmmmmmm.  Can't, too late without drawing egregious suspicions."

	"Do it anyway," he softly commanded, now suckling the side of her 
neck.

	"Aaaahhhh.  What about the kids?"

	He paused long enough to gaze into her hazy eyes.  "What kids?"

	She arched that eyebrow again.  "If you've got so much energy left, 
you could sing to me again.  And maybe do a little dance routine this 
time."  Walt moved his hands south to cup her luscious buttocks and 
quickly spanked her.  "Ouch!"

	He nipped her chin one last time.  "Go to work."

		*	*	*	*	*	*

Christmas Day, 1997, 7pm

	The word 'madhouse' didn't even begin to do the scene at the 
Wright/Skinner household justice.  Various sized bodies were flying 
about the hall and kitchen in states of semi outdoor dress while the 
adult sized ones tried to find the child sized ones they were 
responsible for.  At length, all thirty individuals were standing in 
the kitchen - Roz had been invited to join the festivities since her 
own parents had made plans to take a holiday cruise before they'd 
known she was going to be in the country.

	Once sorted, there were in six groups, five bound for the movies.  
Roz, Alma, Denise, Joy, Johanna and Emily were going to see what the 
guys were disdaining as a 'chick flick'.  Teresa, Mary, Jude, Charlee 
and Amelia were going for the newest Disney release.  Darryl, Charles,
 Andy, Trevor, Anthony and Elliot were geared up for a slapstick 
comedy.  Phil, AJ, Sr., Eric and Thom were checking out the latest 
spy thriller.  Basil and Lois were gratefully, but still with 
reservations, about to enjoy their first date without Betsy, taking 
in a romance.  That left Allison, Walt, Nancy, Avery, Betsy, Ian and 
Aaron staying behind.

	"Are you sure you don't mind watching Betsy?" Lois semi nervously 
asked again.  She'd been relieved at how welcome she'd been made to 
feel but still wasn't altogether convinced that she and Basil should 
be taking advantage of Allison and Walt's hospitality this way.

	"Not at all.  You just go and enjoy the movie.  Basil's got my pager 
and besides, he's the only one who reliably knows how to get to the 
theater," Allison finished with a grin.

	With a few more disjointed comments, the groups headed out, each 
settling into the appropriate vehicle and carefully following Basil.  
The remaining adults settled in the family room, squeezing around the 
table that barely fit in one corner to accommodate the tree.  The 
large screen television, audio cabinet, storage cabinet and rolltop 
desk had been shifted further along the wall and nary a gap could be 
seen between any piece of furniture.

	Avery sorted the cards, tossing the fours through eights aside, 
sending two twos and two threes to Walt for score keeping purposes 
and keeping the nines through aces.  He shuffled the remaining cards 
for euchre while Aaron lay asleep, now in his travel crib next to one 
sofa and Betsy and Ian played with the new toys in front of the tree. 
 Allison returned from the audio cabinet, having tuned in a local 
station for some background music.

	"It's such a shame," Nancy said sympathetically as she gazed at 
Betsy.  "She's such a sweet, trusting little girl.  I almost get sick 
to my stomach when I think of what her father did."

	Allison pursed her lips thoughtfully, knowing that Basil had said no 
substance abuse could be claimed as contributing to the behavior; the 
man was simply cruel.  Walt looked with affection toward Betsy - she 
tended to find her way into your heart almost instantly.  And despite 
the 'love one another' sentiment of the holiday, he knew if he ever 
ran across that particular man, he'd easily crush his skull.  

	Nancy's comment hung in the air a few seconds longer before Avery 
cleared his throat while dealing the cards.  "I can come back over 
Martin Luther King weekend and we can take care of that wall.  I'll 
even bring a portable jack to support the attic, though I doubt it'll 
be a problem for such a short time."

	"That, uh," Walt looked at his hand and hoped for spades as trump, 
"should work out okay.  I'll have enough time to build those 
bookshelves and desks for Charlee and Amelia, get them settled in the 
playroom and get Ian settled in their old room."

	The rest of what he was going to say got drowned out as Ian had 
walked over to the audio cabinet and cranked the volume to an ear 
splitting level, covering his ears in defense as Aaron woke up 
wailing and Avery hurriedly ran over to turn the volume down.  
Allison looked at Betsy with something akin to awe, she hadn't 
noticed anything and had her back to them.  "Avery, turn it back up," 
she said, getting out of the chair and going to Betsy's side as Nancy 
went to try to comfort Aaron.

	"Why?  Got something against hearing for the rest of your life?"

	"Just do it."  The music wailed again and Allison put her hands over 
her ears.  Betsy looked up at her, smiling and mimicked the motion, 
putting her hands down as Allison did, but seemingly oblivious to the 
noise itself.  Allison pulled her into a hug and softly kissed her 
forehead.  "Turn it down, Avery," she shouted.

	"Gladly," he muttered, still rubbing his ears.

	"What is it, Allison?" Walt asked as he walked over to them, his own 
ears ringing.

	She beamed up at him, cradling Betsy.  "I don't think she's mentally 
challenged, I think she's deaf."

		*	*	*	*	*	*

10:30pm

	Allison was just disconnecting the phone from Avery's 'we made it 
safely home' call.  The sounds of many footsteps thumped on the back 
porch before venturing inside.  Several conversations were going on 
simultaneously, independent of each other while all five young 
children had succumbed to the hour and the day's excitement, asleep 
in various arms.  Roz made it inside the door and waved to Allison 
and Walt, thanking them a last time for including her in their 
celebration.  She turned to Johanna and Emily, "I'll pick you two up 
tomorrow morning at nine."

	"What was that about?" Walt asked Joy as she wandered by.

	"Oh, Johanna talked us into staying here till Sunday morning so she 
and Emily can hang.  Roz offered to take them shopping, so much more 
'hip' to be seen with an 'aunt' than your mother, you know."

	"Mommmmmm," Johanna wailed before she and Emily started making plans.


	"How did Betsy do?" Lois asked with the faintest shade of 
apprehension as she sidled up next to Allison.

	"Wonderful," Allison replied, trying hard not to reveal too much.  
"We put her into some of Amelia's pajamas about an hour ago and she 
went to sleep like an angel.  She's up on our bed."

	Lois excused herself and went up after her daughter.  Phil handed 
Anthony over to Walt and Eric similarly took Elliot so the Hoffmanns 
could edge out the door, murmuring goodnights and see you in the 
mornings.  Teresa, Jude and AJ, Sr. left right behind them.  Andy 
disappeared carrying Trevor, closely followed by Thom holding Amelia 
and Walt and Eric.  Mary and Charles yawned their way through 
goodnights, their bodies telling them it was 3:30am.  

	Allison followed Basil as he had Charlee and detoured him into the 
drawing room, forgetting his allergy to the tree in favor of her news.
  "B, I didn't want to say anything to Lois in front of everyone else 
and get her hopes up ....."  She proceeded to tell him what happened.


	Basil sank heavily into one of the sofas and Charlee partly woke up, 
looking at Allison through very sleepy eyes.  "Oh, hi, Mommy."  Then 
she was solidly out again, snuggling deeper into his shoulder.

	"And Frank thought it was possible?" Basil finally managed to ask.

	"Without knowing her full medical history and examining her, he 
can't say anything definite, but she responded to everything he 
suggested as though she was deaf.  And the toys she was playing with 
weren't infant ones, they were appropriate for her age."  She paused 
and took his hand.  "He strongly recommended that Betsy be put 
through a battery of tests when you get back to Sun Prairie/Madison.
"

	A few moments later Lois came down the stairs, carrying Betsy.  She 
paused at the open doors.  "We'd better be going, Basil."

	Allison took Charlee from him as he motioned Lois to come in.  The 
two women passed each other, one smiling confidently, the other 
softly with a touch of wariness.  Allison mostly closed the doors but 
hung around long enough to hear Lois' muffled sob of happiness.

	Allison wandered upstairs as her brother and nephews exited the 
boy's room, all indicating that a snack would go down well before 
they headed off to the hotel.  She rolled her eyes and told them to 
help themselves.  Walt was just tucking in Amelia when she entered 
the girl's bedroom.  "How'd you end up in here?" she whispered, 
laying Charlee down and easing her clothes off.

	"Thom felt awkward about undressing her so we switched.  How'd it go 
with Basil?"

	"He's, uh, cautiously optimistic and shell shocked.  Which is likely 
the same way Lois feels, only more so."

	Walt maneuvered Charlee into her flannel shirt while Allison got her 
into the matching feeted bottoms.  "If you're right, and I'm not 
doubting it, carissima, I'd say this is a Christmas miracle."

	Allison pulled the covers up around Charlee and both kissed her 
forehead.  Walt wrapped his hand around Allison's and brought it to 
his lips.  "Miracles still do happen, tesoro, and what better time 
than at Christmas?"

		*	*	*	*	*	*

THE END.  Next in the series, In The Blink Of An Eye