This is a fairly skeletal Scully/Pendrell mind candy 
piece. Rated PG at the worst. UST galore, most of it 
with Mulder's name on it. I kinda like Pendrell; please 
don't kill me. I don't know his first name, sorry, so 
he's Scott to me. Emphatic enough feedback will produce 
results: I'll write you the sequel you want to see (short 
of killing Pendrell), or something else, or I'll stop if 
you want that. 

Summary: Scully gives Pendrell his chance.

Disclaimer: The characters and situations contained herein 
are the property of Chris Charter, Fox, and 1013 
Productions, and have been used without permission. No 
copyright infringement is intended.

FOLLY

November 2, 1996
12:08 pm

"She can get me access, I know it," Mulder said, the eternal
optimism each new hint evoked in him plain on his face.

Scully didn't respond. "Yeah, access to what exactly?" 
seemed a little too catty. She turned instead to her report,
willing Mulder to wait to enthuse until she was done.

She sighed. Jealous much? How silly. Natural, perhaps, since 
he was the only available man she knew, really, but still 
silly. Oh, she was sure he'd be good in bed -- any Phoebe 
Green graduate would have to be -- when he was =in= a bed, 
instead of being chased, hunting some killer or beastie or
combination thereof, or just being generally absent without 
leave. And hospital beds don't count. He'd undoubtedly be 
sweet and attentive -- 10% of the time. Hostile or 
indifferent the rest of the time, when she'd be in his way. 
Come to think of it, that pretty much described their current
relationship, except that she wasn't getting laid.

They were both damaged goods. Unfortunately, similar parts 
of each of them were missing; they could only reinforce each
other's gaps. She longed for stability, patience, indulgence,
someone who'd keep dinner warm for her. She longed to look 
at a nice guy without getting a crick in her neck.

A knock on the door interrupted her reverie. "Come in," she 
said, curious as to who'd beard the Spookys in their den.

"Agent Scully?" Pendrell smiled waveringly at her. Mulder 
smirked at him.

"Agent Pendrell, hello. What can I do for you?" He flushed. 
=Am I picking up Mulder's habits of innuendo? Hate to have
a harassment claim filed against me.= She tried to emanate
nonthreatening camaraderie.

"I, uh, had some more thoughts about the protein sequencing
from those samples you took from our arms. I've been doing 
a little extra research ... got some of the other guys in 
Research to give me more samples. We might be able to 
correlate inoculation dates with changes in the protein to 
get an idea of how the 'tag' was changed sequentially." 
Mulder was doodling ostentatiously, however that was 
achieved, while Pendrell spoke.

"That's wonderful," she said, giving him her cheeriest 
smile. He looked almost ill. "Shall I come by later, when 
you're done with lunch?"

"Oh, well, I have the preliminary results with me, if you 
wanted to look them over -- there's some interesting stuff 
here --" he moved to put the file on her currently 
overwhelmed desk, and she made a decision.

"Why don't we go over these in the cafeteria? I need to 
eat, and I imagine you do too."

"I was going to get us subs," Mulder protested.

"You can still get one yourself," she chided. "But it'd 
do my wallet good to eat in for once." =After all, I'm not 
the one in exile, Mulder.=

"Won't help your stomach any."

Pendrell was watching the exchange warily. She focused on 
him. "Would the cafeteria be ok, or would you rather go 
somewhere else?"

He stared at her. "The cafeteria would be fine." He was 
actually easy on the eyes when he wasn't so rabbityİnervous, 
Scully mused. And he was the right height. She stood.

"Let's go. See you in an hour, Mulder."

"Don't rush on my account," he said, crumpling the paper 
he'd been doodling on and executing a perfect threeİpointer 
into the wastebasket across the room. Wouldn't want to leave 
a caricature of Pendrell with horns and a mustache where 
Scully might find it.

Lunch in the cafeteria was nice, though she found herself 
blinking mentally and literally as they came out of the 
spiritual and physical darkness of the basement into 
brightly-lit, squeaky-clean FBI territory. She had a lowfat 
yogurt and a cream cheese bagel, while he went for a salad 
and fries (perhaps they would cancel each other out).

The DNA results were suggestive; unfortunately, the 
computing power necessary to run the correlations, and the 
samples from other parts of the population necessary to 
verify their theories, were going to be hard to come by. They
 rainstormed ideas for a while; when Pendrell suggested that 
they flood the IRS building with sleeping gas, freeing up 
the computers there and giving them a range of subjects 
("always assuming that they're actually human, of course"), 
and doing America a favor to boot, Scully realized that she 
hadn't relaxed in another's presence like that in weeks.

She looked at the clock regretfully. "I'm sorry, I've got 
to get back to paperwork. Skinner will have my head if we 
don't make the 4 o'clock deadline." As they stood in line to 
return their trays, she turned to him. "You know, Agent 
Pendrell," -- "Scott," he interrupted -- "Well, then please 
call me Dana. I really enjoyed this. We should do it more 
often."

"Are you free tomorrow night?"

The poor man looked like he couldn't believe his own words. 
Before he could begin to stammer or retreat, Scully seized 
the chance. "That would be very nice. What time?" =Even if 
I had plans, I'd ditch them to honor that bit of bravery.=

"Uh ... seven?"

"Seven would be great." She gave him her address, along with 
a spine-straightening smile that left him gaping. Really, he 
was quite flattering. She kept thinking that he must be 
reacting to some other woman.

*	*	*

November 3, 1996
7:00 pm

Scully had agonized over the dress far more than she should 
have. It was cream-colored; the top was lace lined with a 
satiny fabric which continued to a flowing, knee-length skirt. 
She wore her highest matching heels. 

Pendrell was prompt, which came as a bit of a shock after years 
of waiting for Mulder. After she opened the door, he just 
looked at her for a minute. He'd brought her a yellow rose, 
which he handed to her in silence. She had to force herself not to
fidget or reach up to her hair as he stared.

"You're beautiful."

She looked down. "You don't need to say that."

"I thought you were searching for the truth." Her mouth quirked 
up, but she refused to return his gaze. "Dana ... who could
possibly think otherwise?"

Now she looked, and what she saw in his eyes made her heart 
drop four stories. "Let's go," she said, almost desperately.

*	*	*

"... Of course I envied them, all the tall, popular girls. But 
at the same time, even when I was being jealous, I didn't 
really want to be like them. It wasn't worth the time."

"I know exactly what you mean." They smiled at each other. He 
was so comfortable to be with. So different from Mulder; the 
easy silences she shared with her partner were the product of 
long and painful rubbing away at each other until they were 
ground down enough not to chafe anymore. Pendrell -- Scott -- 
was a shy, cerebral man with a passion for scientific 
investigation that matched her own. He came from a small, 
stable family; his parents were alive and living in California. 
He was a bit more interested in hardware than in biology, but 
that allowed her to learn from their conversation and gave her 
a chance to show off her own expertise.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"That I like you," she replied. "Scott ..." she continued
helplessly. "I don't know if I can be fair to you. I don't 
think I'm a very nice person anymore. Too much of me is 
missing. I can't promise you anything. I can't promise to be 
there if you need me."

"Then let me be there for you, when you need me. I promise not 
to ask for things you can't give."

She reached across the table and took his hand. "I'd like that 
very much. It's just ... I don't know where I'm going, or what 
I'll be when I get there."

"I'd like to be in on the journey, if you want me to be. Dana, 
this isn't about Agent Mulder, is it?"

"Not in the way everybody thinks. The X-files are, well, all-
consuming. And so is he."

"So you aren't ... involved?"

"No. Just being with Mulder -- it's like living under an acid 
drip. Every day more of me disappears, I think. If we were 
lovers there'd be nothing left of me at all."

"Does that mean that if he asked, you'd say no?"

A confused rush of thoughts and images made her pause. A 
pretty forward question for a first date, but fair, after 
what she'd just said, and also perceptive. "I don't know," 
she said, looking past him. "He wouldn't ask."

He let that answer stand, and concentrated on entertaining her 
with anecdotes about techno-illiterate higher-ups who 
constantly wanted improbable things done. Researchers were 
looked down upon, sad to say. Scully found the requests he
recounted sadly plausible: Can you fix it so I can get my email 
and my voicemail together? Tech support says it's not possible, 
but you guys are the =real= computer experts, aren't you? Soon 
they were laughing together again.

They sat after coffee and dessert for nearly an hour, still
talking, until the maitre d's dirty looks drove them off. She 
let him pay without comment. The drive back to her home was 
nearly silent; she reviewed the night's conversation and was
surprised and relieved at how easy it had been to spend time 
with another man. 

She was even more surprised when he walked her to her door 
and turned to go. "Scott?" she asked, insecure and nervous. 
He turned back, and she took hold of his jacket as gently as 
was practical for balance, stood on her toes, and brushed her 
lips over his. A thrill ran through her when he responded, 
then quickly released her, blushing.

"We'll do it again, soon," she promised him, and he smiled. 
He was so open, so unmarred. =I won't hurt him, I swear,= 
she thought, not sure to whom she was making the promise.

*	*	*

November 14, 1996
Waterloo, Iowa

They were checking their bags at the Waterloo airport after 
another snipe hunt. Mulder was leaning over the counter, 
flirting with the cornİfed ticket agent, when her cellphone 
rang.

"Scully," her clipped tones carried to him. Then she said
"Hi," in a different tone entirely: shyly, tentatively. He
stiffened in shock and whipped his head around to see her 
smiling. "Eight o' clock, unless there's a delay ... That 
would be nice ... Lasagna sounds great ... No, no answers, 
as usual. I'll tell you all about it ... Yeah, me too. See 
you soon."

Me too? Me too, what?

"Scully?" he asked, as teasingly as he could manage, though 
he suspected that it came out sounding more frightened than
lascivious. She didn't seem to notice. Instead, she blushed. 
"Who was that?"

"Scott Pendrell," she said, squaring her shoulders and 
assuming her best professional demeanor.

"Scott?"

"Yes ... we've been spending some time together," she said to 
the plane schedule posted behind his head.

"Will you need a chaperon tonight?"

"Mulder, your idea of being a chaperon is probably to 
initiate a threesome." She sounded a little irritated, but
bantering was a good sign -- covering affection with 
irritation, Scully-style, right? Same old Scully. Same old 
Scully, only dating someone.

He raised his eyebrows. "Is that an invitation?"

"I'd be bored and you'd be confused," she said, ending the
conversation by heading toward the minuscule gate area. He 
turned back to the nowİslightlyİmiffed ticket agent (=things 
are tough all over, my dear=) and collected the tickets, 
then followed.

*	*	*

November 15, 1996

Scott brought wine for dinner, and regaled her with Skinner-
among-the-agents stories that she'd missed, being out of the 
loop or out of the office. He had a keen eye for detail and 
a dry wit, both of which she appreciated, especially after a 
day of loopy theories. And the more time they spent together, 
the more he revealed himself to her as a decent, caring man.

The phone rang as they were finishing dinner. "Mind if I get 
that?"

"Please go ahead."

It was her mother, calling about Thanksgiving. Bill, Jr. might 
make it, and her mother was going in with a neighbor to create 
a big event.

"Do you want to bring a guest?" her mother asked.

"Yes, I think so," she said, then cupped her hand over the
receiver. "Would you like to have Thanksgiving dinner with 
my family? I mean, if you're not going home ...?"

His face lit up. "I'd be honored."

She let her hand fall from the phone. "Yes, I'll be 
bringing someone."

"Fox?" her mother asked hopefully.

Pendrell saw her face change and understood what her mother 
had asked. He looked away, embarrassed for both -- maybe all 
three -- of them.

"His name's Scott," she said firmly, dignified as always. "We 
work together."

"Oh -- well, I'm looking forward to meeting him, honey. Call 
me later when you have a chance, ok?" =So you can pump me for
details.=

"Sure, Mom. I love you. Goodbye," she hung up, then sighed
explosively and began collecting plates. "Scott ... I know 
everyone and my mother thinks that Mulder and I are together, 
or want to be."

"Dana, I don't want to come between you two."

"How many times do I have to say it? We're =partners,= that's 
it. No more. It's a close relationship, closer probably than 
most lovers, but not the same." He didn't react. "Scott?"

"Mm-hmmh?"

"Why are you being so, well, patient and nice about this? I 
know I'm not the most --"

"Dana, don't say anything about yourself. You have to 
understand that I -- well, I've wanted to get to know you 
better for a while. And however far that takes me, it's
great to be with you. I couldn't be anything but thrilled 
by your presence."

"I just think you must be confusing me with some other woman."

"Really? How many red-headed gun-toting alien-fighting 
doctor/FBI agents do you think there are in the DC office?"

"Ok, so it's a limited field. I mean, thanks, Scott. Thanks 
for being here."

"The pleasure's all mine, I assure you."

While the dishes soaked, they retired to the couch. They'd 
been taking things very slowly; she offered him every chance 
to back out before she increased the intensity. Now that 
they'd hit the extremely pleasant making-out-like-teenagers 
stage, she was entirely happy with the speed and direction 
of the relationship.

While he was kissing her ear, he finally put a tentative hand 
to her breast. She purred and rubbed against him, and he bent 
to kiss the exposed skin of her neck. As he unbuttoned the 
first button on her blouse with shaking fingers -- a 
phenomenon she found both endearing and arousing -- the phone
blatted, making them both jump.

They looked at each other, knowing who it had to be.

"How does he know?" she asked him, laughing. "It's almost ...
spooky." And immediately felt guilty. Scott pulled back, 
allowing her to go for the phone.

"Scully."

"Pack your bag again, Scully. We're heading for Stephen King
country."

"Maine?"

"Five sightings in the past three days, in a little town an 
hour outside of Bangor. We leave at ten tomorrow."

"You couldn't have told me this at work?"

"Just got off the phone with the airline. Lone Gunmen called 
me an hour ago -- emailed me some great stuff! There's a 
picture --"

She sighed. "Mulder, show it to me tomorrow."

His voice grew suspicious. "Scully, are you alone?"

"No, I'm not," she said, annoyed. Sure, she'd given him 
plenty of reason to expect that she'd always be available 
whenever he called, but everything changes. It wasn't as if 
he didn't =obviously= have the hots for that Uniblonder. Who 
came well past his shoulder.

"Ah, ok," he said. "Tell Pendrell hi. And don't do anything 
I wouldn't do İİ on second thought, don't do anything I 
=would= do."

She hung up on him.

"Where were we?" she asked with forced cheer.

"Sure you're still in the mood?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Is it that obvious? Sometimes ... it's like he can't decide
whether he's a big brother or a ... or not. It gets confusing," 
she admitted, relaxing back into the couch. He put a tentative 
arm around her, and she settled into it.

"I imagine he's pretty confused, too."

"Scott, Mulder and I have something that's both indefinable 
and irreplaceable. I won't be put in a position to choose 
between him and" (=you=) "the rest of my life. But I invited 
you over, not him, because I wanted to be with you. One of the 
nice things about being with you is that you remind me that 
there's a Dana in here, somewhere underneath all the X-file 
dust and slime."

"So I should shut up about it?"

"I would say, more like, shut up and kiss me."

He complied with gratifying eagerness.

*	*	*

November 16, 1996
Reading, Maine

Maine quickly lost its fall-foliage-enhanced charm. New 
Englanders take UFO hunters less seriously than any other 
group in America, and they don't have much truck with FBI 
agents, either. After a fruitless day of interviews, even 
Mulder conceded that there didn't seem to be evidence of 
real visitation, as opposed to the dazed imaginings of drunk 
and stoned teenagers. They agreed to head back in the 
morning, after one last interview with the almost parodically
inarticulate trooper who'd responded to the witnesses' 
panicked reports of blinding lights in the sky.

Scully was in her blue pajamas, reading a journal article, 
when the familiar knock on the connecting door came. "Come 
in," she called out.

"Scully?" he asked, as tentative as she'd ever seen him. His 
usual pout was exaggerated by the worry that tightened his 
face.

She put the article down. "What is it, Mulder?"

"It's ... it's nothing, it's stupid ..." She scowled at him. 
"It's just that ... I worry about losing you." He stared at 
her feet.

=Funny,= she thought, =we're all going through a 
relationship-transmitted epidemic in which the main symptom 
is inability to maintain eye contact.=

"You're not losing me, Mulder. I'm right here. Come over," and 
she patted the bed, scooting over to make room for him to sit. 
He sat so that only inches separated them.

"Am I still the only one you trust?" So needy.

"To keep searching for the truth, to come after me no matter 
what happens? Yes, you are."

"But you trust Pendrell in other ways?"

"You trust Skinner to yell at you, don't you? It's different. 
Scott ... he's something that's not difficult, not demanding. 
He lets me breathe. When I'm with him, =I'm= the odd one, the 
one who needs to be humored and pampered. And it's nice." 
=Scott reminds me of the difference between chivalry and
sensitivity. But there's no need to kick you when you're down.=

"I'm sorry I'm such a burden," he said, standing up again.

"Mulder, sit the hell down!" She waited until he had resumed 
his place. "You're not a burden. The weight that you are ... 
is the ballast that keeps me from giving up my grip on the 
world and just floating away. I like how you challenge me, 
and I wouldn't want to be without it. Ever. And for now, I 
also don't want to be without Scott."

She put her hand on his arm, and they stared at each other. 
His hazel eyes told her, =I could make you choose ...= and she 
tried to send the message that he could ask her, and he'd  
win, but that things would never be the same. =Give me this, 
just this, it's not that much, and I can survive the rest ...=

"Can I stay on the couch in here tonight?" he asked huskily, 
after an eternity had passed. "I know it'll be a bad night,
otherwise."

"Of course." 

She helped him set up the blanket and pillows, and said no 
more about it.

*	*	*

November 20, 1996
Georgetown University Hospital

Scully had been chasing down one of Mulder's leads on a local
serial killer when she got shot. Mulder had just been down the 
hall -- there in time to fall on the killer in a rage, nearly
strangling him, stopping only because Scully was bleeding; in 
time to hold the wound together until the paramedics came. But 
not in time to protect her in the first place. So once again he 
sat with her in her hospital room, waiting for her to wake up.

When Skinner demanded an explanation of what clue or 
inspiration had led Mulder to the killer's Georgetown row 
house in the first place, he had to leave her for a few hours. 
He was tempted to tell his questioners that he did it with 
dowsing rods just to shut them up. He was out of the door 
before Skinner finished dismissing him, heading back to the
hospital.

Mulder strode into the room, aiming for his chair next to the 
bed.

His chair was occupied. By Pendrell, who was holding her hand. 
A haze obscured his vision for a second, and his hands 
clenched involuntarily at his sides.

Pendrell regarded him steadily.

"I was sitting there."

"You left."

"I'm back now."

"Are we going to have to take this outside?"

He glowered. Obviously, nasty looks were not going to get rid of
the techno-nerd. "Pendrell ..."

"Agent Mulder, do you want to date Dana?"

Dana. He remembered the way she'd repeated the name, 
incredulous and a little angry, when he used it after her 
father's death. No, he didn't want to date Dana. And he refused 
to alter the terms of the question any. He shook his head. 
"It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"I don't understand why you don't want her to be happy."

"With =you=?"

"If I can. Is there really no room for someone besides you in 
her life?"

"Scully's ... mine." Not what he meant, but what words were 
there?

"Agent Mulder, I don't want to be your enemy, but that's the
dumbest thing I've ever heard you say. And you're usually a 
smart man. If you wonder why Dana needs to see someone besides 
you, you should think carefully about what you just said."

Mulder glowered at him. Pendrell glanced down at the pale 
figure on the bed and smiled tenderly.

"I'll go now," he said. "But not forever."

"When she wakes up, she'll want to see me," Mulder said
vindictively.

"But I'll be there when she comes home."

Even more furious at the other man's unflappability, he pushed 
past Pendrell to take the vacant seat. He stared down at 
Scully, but he wasn't seeing her.

Pendrell made it to the hallway before he had to lean against 
the wall, shuddering. He didn't want to get into a war with 
Mulder. Dana would hate them both for it and, honestly, he 
was hardly an alpha male like Mulder. He drew in a long, 
careful breath. If Mulder truly cared for her, he'd have to 
accept her needs. =Yeah, right,= an inner voice said, =he's 
exactly the well-adjusted type who wants only what's best for her.= 
Ok, scratch that thought. He hoped that, for all their sakes, Mulder 
could be reasonable. Or that Dana would break it off gently.

*	*	*

November 30, 1996

Scully rose from her desk to go to the cafeteria. The miracles 
of bed rest and plentiful transfusions had once again worked 
their magic, at least to the extent that she was fit to do
paperwork. Now that she was seeing Scott, she left Mulder to 
eat takeout at his desk alone. She'd never invited him to the
cafeteria, and he wouldn't have gone. Even if she weren't 
going to meet Pendrell, all that hostility and ridicule threw 
him off his feed.

"What do you see in him, anyway?" he asked suddenly.

"He tells me I'm beautiful," she said softly.

He opened his mouth, but she held up her hand. How regular and 
even her nails were, he thought, as compact and smooth as the 
rest of her.

"He tells me I'm beautiful, not 'hot.' He doesn't joke about it. 
He tells me sincerely and simply, and he believes it." She 
walked away from her desk and left the room, distant and 
dignified as Athena.

The door clicked closed.

"You're beautiful, Scully," he told the empty air. There was 
no irony whatsoever in his voice.

END