"Mulder, do you think I'm attractive?"

His head shot up from what he was reading to stare at Scully across her desk. "I, uh... what?"

She smirked at him. "Have you heard anything I've said in the last five minutes?"

"Heard but not processed." He stretched in his chair. Looked at the wall clock. By his estimate, he had not looked up from his papers for about three hours. His back protested the cruelty of it all, and Scully, apparently, had taken advantage of his distraction to ask him God alone knew what.

"Let me give you the rundown," she said, crossing to him. "You admitted you have unholy yearnings for farm animals, that you thought that Cindy Crawford movie was fine cinema, and that you like to rub yourself with peanut butter."

"Even without paying attention, I got two out of three right," he grinned. Hah. Let her try and figure it out. She paled a little and stepped back. Mulder rose from his seat and took full advantage of his height, looming over her with a sinister scowl. "And yes," he said, "I do find you attractive. Very attractive."

"Mulder," she squeaked, backing away further.

"Scully. Can I have one question?"

"Okay."

"Do you prefer chunky or smooth?"

She emitted a sound that was suspiciously squeal-like and socked him in the gut. He oofed and stepped back. "What's up with you lately?" she asked him.

He raised an eyebrow. "You mean right now, or in general?"

"Henderson was right about you, Mulder. You are a pig."

Mulder put a hand over his heart and faked a stagger. "Mortally insulted!"

"Are you going to answer my question?"

He sat on the edge of his desk and regarded her. How much could he tell her? How much could he get away with leaving out? He decided to hedge. "What do you find alarming about my behavior, Scully? Taken in context, that is."

She sighed and sipped her coffee. "It's not alarming. Just... weird. For you. You've been almost... cheerful."

"You think I'm dour, most of the time?"

"Well, I wouldn't describe you as gleeful, that's for sure. I mean, it's none of my business, I know that--"

"You're my best friend, Scully. It's your business."

She shot him a look. "If it really is something to do with farm animals, you can save it, okay?"

"I met someone," he told her. He felt so shy with her suddenly. But this was Scully, for Christ's sake. He had told her things a lot stranger than this and she had barely blinked. Granted, sometimes it seemed she had more empty beer bottles around the apartment than others, but there was no reason to assume that was his fault.

"When? Oh my God, Mulder, it isn't that waitress in Ponoka, is it?"

"No! No." He took a breath. "It isn't somebody I met, really. Somebody I already knew." Why was he dragging this out?

The spark of challenge was in her eyes. "Agent Desmond, in forensics?"

He frowned. "Who the hell is that?"

"Agent Corman?"

"It's Skinner."

Scully's first laugh erupted from her like a hiccup, helplessly. The laughter that followed was almost hysterical in volume, and she couldn't stop, tears streaming down her face faster than she could wipe them away. In seconds, she was doubled over, howling.

Mulder stared at her. Have I ever seen her laugh more than once? Have I ever seen her laugh once? He raked his hands through his hair. "I'm not feeling a lot of support here, Scully."

After a moment she managed to compose herself enough to look at him. "The worst part is I know you aren't kidding." She hugged him. Mulder stiffened, just for a second, before hugging her back tightly. "It's just like you to do something like this, Mulder," she said into his chest. "You're always trying to sabotage yourself. You might as well have had an affair with the president."

"It doesn't feel like sabotage," he said, quietly.

She craned her neck to look at him. "Well, I can't refute the evidence. You're happy. Probably it only scares me because I've never seen it before."

"Like when Spock was infected by the alien flower pods and fell in love with that chick in the ugly jumpsuit."

"Uh... sure. How is Skinner with this?"

"He's okay. He seemed okay."

She pulled out of his arms. "When did this happen?"

Busted. "The night before you had the flat tire," he said, meekly.

"That was over a week ago!"

"Well..."

"I can't believe you've been hanging on to this for ten days, Mulder."

"You didn't notice until today that anything had changed."

"Yes I did, I just hadn't planned on saying anything. Have you been with Skinner since then?"

"No. I mean, we didn't have any meetings last week, and then you and I went to Madison, and then he had to fly to Boston..."

"Have you talked about this?"

"No."

Scully let out a breath and combed her hair back from her face. "So help me God, Mulder, if he hurts you..."

"That'd be quite an exciting end to your colorful career, Agent Scully." He grabbed her coat. "Don't worry about me. Worry about where I'm taking you for lunch."

"I can't eat any more Grand Slam Breakfasts, Mulder. I have a doctor's note."
 
 

Fox Mulder felt a strange rush of pleasure when he leapt off the diving board and into the bureau swimming pool. No matter how many times he did it, he still felt that same sense of euphoria, that same lack of control that was the only one he enjoyed. His body hit the water and he was submerged, surrounded on all sides by warmth and silence. It was an uncommon enough experience that he tried to milk it for all it was worth.

It wasn't until he had already jumped again that he saw Walter enter the room. Mulder's swan dive segued clumsily into a cannonball and he hit the water with a humiliating splash. It didn't feel all that great. But his thoughts weren't on his skin. It was the AD's skin that had captured his attention. Walter was wearing a swimsuit almost as revealing as Mulder's. That body, that gorgeous, honed, gleaming body, was revealed to him almost in entirety, and was now burned into his brain. Oh, man. He was a goner.

He kicked his way to the surface and came up coughing.

"Agent Mulder, are you all right?"

Mulder sluiced water from his face so he could properly ogle the man who was bent over the pool. "Yes, sir. I'm fine. You startled me, is all."

Walter extended a hand. "Let me help you out."

"No, that's okay. Thanks, anyway. I think I'll just lap for a while."

He raised a brow. "In the diving pool?"

Son of a bitch. The man was just as heartless on a personal level as he was professionally. He had to know why Mulder was so reluctant to get out of the pool in front of him. His swimsuit didn't afford him much in the way of modesty, and ordinarily he had no problem with that, but at times like these...

"No competition for lane space."

"If that last dive was any indication, I'm not surprised people avoid you." He glared at the older man. Walter knelt beside him. "You know, Agent Mulder, you don't have to hide from me. Not that you could, in that thing," he smirked, gesturing at Mulder's Speedo. "I'm just glad Agent Desmond isn't here, or she'd be on you like rednecks at an Elvis sighting."

"Who the hell is Agent Desmond?" He said, for the second time that day.

Walter straightened. Mulder could see from his very stance that the man felt he had finally gotten the last word in one of their encounters, without question. Mulder quickly hauled himself out of the pool and came to stand in front of his boss, a wicked smile on his face. Walter glanced down at the heavy bulge in Mulder's trunks. The agent's smile never faltered.

"Now look what you've done," he accused, letting out a disappointed sigh.

"I'd apologize, but..."

"Yes?"

The AD glared at him, frustrated. He licked his lips. "Have dinner with me tonight."

"Dinner?"

"I wouldn't want to make any overtures, operating under... assumptions."

"Very diplomatic of you." He made a show of looking around. "Are there cameras in this joint?"

"No."

"Kiss me."

He looked startled. "What?"

"Go on. If you make me make the first move all the time, I'm going to get a complex."

"Someone could walk in."

"So what? You've got a gun."

"Mulder..."

He moved forward, standing so close now that their bodies rubbed together torturously. Walter's breath was coming out of him in shallow bursts. Mulder wrapped his arms around the AD's waist and pulled their hips into full contact. He barely stifled his moan.

"Just a little one. It's been almost two weeks. I was beginning to think you'd decided to spurn me."

Walter laughed. "The way you parade around my office, practically begging me to grab your ass?"

"You surprise me," he said, running angel kisses along Walter's neck. "What would Scully say?"

"Stop it," he said, sounding unconvinced.

Mulder licked his ear. He shuddered. "One kiss. Then you can do whatever you want."

"You always have to give things the most suggestive spin possible, don't you?"

"It makes up for my lackluster love life." He began rocking his hips almost imperceptibly, back and forth, still sucking and licking at Walter's ear. The older man groaned softly. Mulder smiled.

"You'll stop?"

"I'll never ask anything of you again, as long as I live."

"Some promise from someone as reckless as you."

"Kiss me, Walter. Please?"

The AD buried his hands in Mulder's hair and tugged gently, until their mouths were less than an inch apart. Mulder could smell the mingled coffee and muffins on Walter's breath. He could almost taste the man already. But he didn't so much as twitch as he waited.

Suddenly Walter descended on him, his tongue thrusting roughly into Mulder's mouth. The agent moaned helplessly, swept away on sensation. He kept his arms locked around Walter's waist, rocking his hips against his lover's a little more openly now, mimicking a more intimate act. He could feel Walter's own hips bucking against him, and all traces of worry left him. It was okay. This was okay.

More than okay, actually. Walter pulled back as suddenly as he'd come, and Mulder released him without complaint.

"Where did you want to go for dinner?" Mulder asked.

The AD smirked. "How about our place?"

"Our place?"

"We can't go anywhere popular, and I don't feel like going out of town tonight. And I can't cook. You?"

"Nothing that doesn't say Swanson or Chef Boyardee on the package."

"All right. Our place it is."

"How romantic," Mulder said. "If I was involved with the elusive Agent Desmond, she'd dump me for taking her to a Denny's. I probably couldn't even get away with Sizzler."

Walter sighed. "In another time..."

"Another sexual orientation..."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Better you and Denny's than Battlestar Orgasmica and a bag of Doritos."

"That's probably supposed to be flattering, isn't it?"

"Agent Desmond dumps me again."
 
 

Their Denny's outlet was considerably more crowded that evening than it had been the last time Mulder and Skinner had eaten there, its occupancy bolstered mostly by the hour. No-one paid them particular attention as they entered the restaurant. The place was peopled mainly by businessmen, salesmen, and teenagers who would rather be eating something that might someday kill them than while away an evening at home with the folks.

The pair were seated quickly. Neither of them had spoken on the drive over, and neither spoke now. The hostess placed them in a booth in the center of the restaurant's non-smoking section. Only a narrow strip of acrylic separated them from the squabbling teenaged couple beside them. Mulder examined his menu for as long as he could. It was at times like this that he most cursed his eidetic memory. Not when he would rather forget a scene or a few carelessly spoken words, but when he needed an excuse to piss around, and it was obvious to everyone that no such excuse existed. He knew every item on the menu by rote, every variation, every special. Finally he could stand the silence no longer.

"I told Scully about us," he said, peering at Walter over his menu.

The AD dropped his own menu, looking up sharply. Mulder watched, fascinated, as his lover's mind worked to formulate a response that wouldn't have the younger man out the door in a hot second. It was quite a show. "You trust her?"

"More than anyone."

Walter nodded and reopened his menu. Mulder waited. "Of course," the AD finally said, "You trusted Mr. X, too."

"Yep."

"And Jeremiah Smith."

Mulder met his eyes. He wasn't smiling. "There are people you trust because you have to, and you only trust them so far--"

"You even trusted Krycek for a while, didn't you?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Walter, how can you compare Scully to Krycek?" Mulder raked his hands through his hair. "As I was saying, there are people you have to trust, and then there are people you trust because you can. You feel it. You know it."

The AD put his menu down again. "I trust you, Mulder. Not because I have to."

Mulder smiled at him. Nailed him with his eyes and savored the answering spark he received. "Scully isn't much for breathless gossip. If anything, she'd be calling me up in the dead of night to talk about reliable prophylactics."

"Remind me not to answer your phone."

He relaxed, unbent a bit. He hadn't been sure how Walter would react to what he'd done. But above all, Mulder was an intensely paranoid man, a man whose mind worked out every possible outcome of a situation almost before the situation arose. He knew he could have kept this from Scully for a while, but he knew just as well that she would have found him out eventually, probably in the worst possible way, and that she would have shot him somewhere important when it happened.

"I trust you too, Walter." He smirked. "For what it's worth." He gestured at Walter's menu "What do you think?"

"I'm leaning toward the country fried steak."

"It's a little-known fact that Elvis Presley enjoyed something called Fool's Gold Loaf."

"I don't want to hear this, Mulder."

"I think you need to. His cook would carve out the middle of a loaf of French bread, and fill it with peanut butter, jelly, and something like a pound of bacon."

Walter's expression was priceless. The man had done a tour in Vietnam, he'd worked in Violent Crimes for the FBI, and he spent his days looking at crime scene photographs from all manner of heinous shit. None of these things had ever inspired the thoroughly nauseated expression he wore now. He was about to reply when the waitress appeared.

"You boys ready to order?"

"I'll have the Eggs Benedict, with white toast, please."

Walter swallowed. "Caesar salad, thank-you." He glared at Mulder but said nothing, obviously saving his choice remarks for the departure of the waitress. "Do you think I need to lose some weight?"

Mulder frowned, taking a good look at his lover, considering.

The man was in impeccable shape. And he was toned, something Mulder had never been all that sticky about, but he had found a new appreciation for it now that he was allowed to touch. Just thinking about Walter's nude body was enough to make him squirm these days. It had certainly added a new dimension the the AD's tirades.

"Uh..." his voice was barely there. "No. No, you look okay."

"Then why do you put so much effort into destroying my appetite?"

He grinned. "Personal enjoyment."

"I figured as much." He sipped his iced tea. "This is the first time I've had you to myself since..."

"That Fateful Night?"

"Did you honestly think I intended to spurn you?"

"It crossed my mind. Right around the time you called me a self-obsessed, egomaniacal goose-chaser."

Walter winced. "One of my finer moments."

"You were upset," Mulder said affably. "Anybody else would have forgotten about it by now."

"There had to be a drawback to this."

"Just the one, hm?"

"I hadn't counted on my jealousy."

That was interesting. "I can be kind of flirtatious," he admitted.

"And you're the same prickly bastard you always were."

Mulder snorted. "Don't tell me you were hoping to tame me."

"The idea hadn't occurred to me." He met the agent's eyes. "Now, however, it has a certain appeal."

"Forget it, Walter. I'm not falling for this twice."

"What?"

"Alzheimer's coming a little early for you? Think back. Your bedroom. Your supposed b&d paraphernalia. Volare."

"Still a fantastic song."

"Right up there with Copa Cabana and Billy Ocean's entire career."

"There is no poetry in your soul, Mulder."

"Yeah, well, there ain't no taste in yours." He rubbed his neck a little. He would rather have let Walter do it, all things considered. The man had good hands. "What do you want to do, Walter?" He purred it. "You want to tie me up? Spank me with a whiffle racket? Eat papaya from my orifices?"

He raised a brow. "Spank you with a whiffle racket, Mulder?"

"You don't think there are people in the world who dig that?"

"If I've met one, I didn't know about it."

"It's an underground community," he assured the AD. "Some of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet--"

"Stop right there." His voice was harsh.

Mulder frowned. "What's the matter?"

"When you come into my office and tell me about how a number of strange disappearances are actually linked to a warren of cave-dwelling mutant nightcrawlers, I listen, do I not?"

"Uh, yes. You're very accommodating, actually."

"Right. When you take up the better part of my afternoon rambling on endlessly about the demonic possession of common household appliances, I lend you my time."

"I had three witnesses on that one, Walter."

"I don't care if you have photographs of Jesus Christ, Marilyn Monroe, and the Amazing Bat Baby together at a cocktail party, Mulder, I do not want to talk about people who like to be spanked with whiffle rackets."

"All you had to do was say so, Walter." Mulder dug into his eggs like a starving man. Mid-chew, he shot his lover a devious look. "Walter?"

"What?"

"You want to hear what they do with the whiffle balls?"
 
 

Mulder was a little anxious about admitting Walter into his apartment. The AD had seen it before, but just about every time he had dropped by, he had had his gun drawn before he even crossed the threshold. This was new terrain for the both of them.

"I think I've got some Hawaiian Punch left over, if you're interested."

"One day you're going to have to abandon your childhood, Mulder."

"I already did. You think my mother is going to let me drink shit like that?"

Walter reclined on Mulder's sofa and gave him a look. "You blame your mother for your poor dietary habits?"

"Absolutely. I eat Lucky Charms because she always stuck us with Weetabix. I drink Hawaiian Punch because the most subversive thing she gave us was Kool Aid."

"And you have approximately--" he looked around-- "Seven empty Doritos bags lying around because she fed you... what? Liver and onions?"

"With Brussels sprouts as the major vegetable."

"If I'd known you came from an abusive background, I would have been more careful of you. You really should have said something sooner."

He faked a pout. "I always thought it was implied by my actions."

"Hardly. You carry yourself like a spoiled cretin, most of the time."

"Ah, the faint echo of Agent Desmond."

"The message she leaves on your machine after that whole Sizzler thing."

"That sounds about right." Mulder sat down beside him on the sofa, careful to sit close, but not close enough to touch. "Eventually, you understand, we're going to have to try to get through a conversation without pawing each other. If we want this to work."

"I thought we were doing that now." Mulder said nothing. "Or were you hoping I would paw you?"

"It couldn't hurt..." He rolled his shoulders invitingly. "I know I would really appreciate it."

The AD pushed Mulder forward and began slowly kneading his shoulders. Mulder had been right about his hands. They were gentle, forceful, but never rough. It was the touch of someone who was doing it as much for his own enjoyment as for the recipient's.

Mulder leaned into his touch with a sigh. He felt so languid, so... impressionable. Forget about mind control, he thought. Another few minutes of this and he would be telling Walter anything he wanted to know. He would make things up if he had to.

Walter looked at his watch. "I can only stay for another five or ten minutes," he said, his hands venturing into Mulder's hair, stroking his scalp.

"Wha... why?"

"National Geographic looked pretty good."

"Oh Christ, Walter, I'll tape it for you if you want. I'll buy you a subscription."

His hands slid down Mulder's spine to commence a heartless manipulation of his lower back. He groaned helplessly. "I'm getting the impression that this is enjoyable to you," Walter said.

"Take my shirt off," Mulder said.

"You want it off, you take it off. I'm only one man."

"Don't sell yourself short, Walter," he murmured, his hands going to work on the buttons of his shirt. "Those are not the hands of the same man who's always waving his finger in my face and shouting obscenities at me."

"They certainly are," he said. He took advantage of a downward sweep to tug Mulder's shirt from his shoulders. "That's why you like me so much."

"Get over yourself. I'm just using you for-- ooh, God..." Walter had positioned him in such a way as to give himself free access to his back, and was now running kisses across it. Nipping some spots, licking others, he left Mulder's skin awash in sensation. They had all night. They had all weekend, if he played it right. And innumerable weekends thereafter. Still...

"I want to do everything, right now," Mulder said. "Do you feel that?" Walter's hands abandoned his back and slid around him to stroke his erection through his slacks. His hips came up off the sofa to meet them, and he was quiet at last, unable to say a thing. The AD maneuvered himself now so that he sat behind Mulder, his own hips brought flush with Mulder's ass. Every push forward brought the agent into exquisite contact with his lover's hands; every pull back was rewarded with a moan or a sigh when his ass connected with Walter's groin.

"I feel it," Walter said, finally. "If I didn't think I'd die trying..."

Mulder didn't waste his breath encouraging his lover to remove his pants for him. He fumbled with his belt, unwilling to relinquish Walter's touch even for a second. He resented the necessity to concentrate on anything else. But things could progress no further unless he did so. He pulled away and stood, shakily, stepping out of his slacks. Walter remained where he was, watching Mulder with smoldering eyes.

"If you think I'm going to undress you after everything you just put me through, think again." The AD stood and crossed the room to him, still silent. "Are you having a stroke?"

"I've noticed," Walter said, beginning to strip, "that the only time you ever shut up is--"

"When I'm caught up in the throes of my primal passion?"

He blinked. "Until just now, I thought that shelf of Harlequin romances I saw in your office must belong to Scully."

Mulder smirked. "Maybe you'd like to explain how you recognized them on sight." He dipped his head, running wet kisses along Walter's chest, working on his slacks as he did so. "What do you call it, Walter?"

"What do I call what?"

Mulder looked up. Walter's head had fallen back. His eyes were closed. "Given your extensive bodice-ripping background, " he murmured, slipping a hand inside Walter's briefs, "you probably know any number of terms for it. I've always thought 'pulsating manhood' was the best."

His eyes snapped open. "And you think I have no taste."

The agent sank to his knees, taking Walter's briefs along with him. "Blue Fruit O' The Looms tonight. What a rebel."

He sighed. "What's more important to you, Mulder? My underwear or my body?"

"You say that like it's a toss-up." He shoved the offending briefs under his sofa. "Why not just ask me if I'd rather go to bed with you or be burned at the stake?" He stroked Walter's thighs, let his hands slide around back to cup his ass.

"I know what you're planning. I wouldn't, if I were you."

"The hell you wouldn't. You're the one with the faulty memory."

"I don't think I can last..."

Mulder took the head of his cock into his mouth, just intending to tease him a little. As soon as Mulder's lips closed around him, Walter surged forward heavily, helplessly, moaning incoherently.

Mulder gagged and tried to withdraw, but Walter was having none of it. His next thrust was more shallow, but no less forceful. His hands were clenched painfully in Mulder's hair. The agent tried to relax his throat and sucked experimentally. He was rewarded with an ecstatic moan and something rather less than a death grip on his head.

"Mulder..."

The younger man worked his mouth as best he could, bringing teeth and tongue and hands into play in equal measure. Walter's thighs were trembling. he had been right. He wouldn't last long. Mulder stroked his ass, considering, and finally pulled away.

"What the hell did you stop for?"

"I can't stop thinking about that whiffle racket."

"How many times can you lose Agent Desmond in one night?"

"She's so fickle. Come on," he said, getting to his feet. "You still haven't seen my b&d paraphernalia."

"I'm actually willing to believe that you have some."

He shot Walter a look. "If anything, I'm more b than d." He led Walter to the bedroom and switched on a light. "Welcome to the Tunnel of Looove."

The AD looked almost insultingly surprised. "This isn't as horrifying as I imagined it."

"Have you been fantasizing about my boudoir, Walter?"

"It had more lava lamps in my imagination." He pulled Mulder back into his arms, kissing him hotly. Mulder explored him with his tongue, sliding one hand between their bodies to stroke Walter's cock.

"I want to get inside you," he said. "So far I forget my own name."

"As often as you sustain head injuries, odds are you would have forgotten it at some point, anyway."

"This is way more fun than a fractured skull."

"Right. And you'd rather be with me than be burned at the stake. Are you making the same connections I am?"

"You're avoiding the issue."

"Which is..?"

"I'm just curious..." he walked Walter backward, toward the bed. "Do you prefer to be topped, or to be the top?"

"I don't have a clear preference."

"Are you saying you'll take it any way you can get it?"

Walter fell back onto the bed, taking Mulder with him. "I'm saying that what I want is entirely dependent on my mood at any given time."

Mulder found his tube of Astroglide and squeezed some into his hands. With tremendous care he began to prepare Walter, stretching him gently, doing everything he could think of to ensure the man would soon have nothing more cutting to say than "takes one to know one." He rolled Walter onto his stomach and slid a pillow under his hips. Slowly, so slowly, he thrust his cock inside Walter's welcoming body.

"Not me," he gasped, gripping his lover's hips. "I'll take it any way I can get it."
 
 

He woke the next morning to the unusual but pleasant sensation of Walter wrapped around him. Their legs were entangled, one big arm thrown carelessly across Mulder's stomach, the AD's head resting on his chest. Mulder smiled contentedly. He had never been much for overnighters, but this was okay. Walter didn't yammer on endlessly after sex like some people did. He just passed out, as if that said it all, giving Mulder permission to do the same.

In a lifetime of possibilities, he would never have imagined that he and his boss might have much in common. Without the evidence before him, he might not believe it now. But there it was. Walter was the only person he knew apart from Scully who took him in stride and refused to back down. The idea that he might possibly have something lasting in Walter both frightened and excited him. A friend. A lover. A companion.

Walter stirred, his hand squeezing Mulder's side. "Hm... strange apartment, strange bed, strange man..."

"There's nothing wrong with my apartment."

He gave Mulder a sleepy smile. "I shouldn't let you see me like this."

"I told you before that you don't need to lose weight."

"I'm... languid. I can't properly intimidate you."

"Man, if I had a nickel for every time I said that..."

He fumbled for his glasses and slipped them on. "I thought we'd established that you didn't want to be tamed."

"I don't. I can't say I haven't tried it, but..."

"But..."

"I don't see why it has to come down to controller and controlled. I don't want to be mastered, and I don't want to master anyone. I kind of like lover and loved."

"Doer and done to."

"There you go again with the Clive Barker references." He sat up and stretched extravagantly. "I didn't see any of his stuff on your shelves."

"You snooped in my library?"

"You're the one who can sleep through the night, not me."

He frowned. "You slept last night. Didn't you?"

"Yeah. Must have been the novelty."

Walter slid out of bed and headed for the bathroom. "Do you have plans for today?"

"You, me, a bathtub full of tapioca pudding..." He collapsed on the bed, smiling to himself and just generally pleased with life. "Hey, Walter?"

"What?"

"I know you didn't do it for me, but I want to thank you for taking such good care of yourself."

The AD poked his head out the door. "How do you know I don't do it for you?"

A grin built slowly on his face. "I don't, actually."

"I'm about to start a shower, Agent Mulder, and you have a duty as a patriotic American to conserve water any way you can."

"I'll say this for you, Walter: as pick-up lines go, you don't fall back on the old standbys."