TITLE: "French-Kissed" AUTHOR: Char Chaffin CATEGORY: MSR married, childfic, humor RATING: PG to R SPOILERS: Not really ARCHIVE: Yes, just let me know where! DISCLAIMERS: If they belonged to me, what fun things I could make them do... alas, it's not meant to be. FEEDBACK: YES! I'm not afraid to beg... SUMMARY: An innocent question about kissing goes awry during the answer stage, for one Dana Scully... "French-Kissed" "Mommy..." A tug on her sleeve; spilled flour on the tiled counter as her mother's hand jerked and the measuring cup tilted. A resigned sigh, and a smile on her face as she looked down at the child at her elbow. "What is it, Amalie?" "Mommy, what's it like to french-kiss a boy?" A choking gasp from above; the girl glanced up and saw the look of shock on her mother's face, the rounded 'O' of her mouth, as she digested her daughter's query. Amalie grinned suddenly, revealing a gap front and center of her wide smile; it hadn't seemed like that shocking of a question, but... that was some kind of pale face her mother was sporting... "Amalie, honey... where did you hear that term?" Jesus... only six years old, this child of hers... six going on eighteen. Amalie had an IQ off the charts and her intuitive, inquisitive little mind was a wonder and a miracle, but... she was still only a young child. A small war had been fought over her just four months ago; a war to keep her in mostly standard classes, and out of all the advanced and 'gifted' classes in which her teachers had been hot to place her; children as brilliant as Amalie did not come along every day and her teachers were excited about the possibilities that this child presented them. But her parents wanted their little girl to have a normal life, with normal friends and as normal a progression through school, as possible. Still... Amalie was who she was... and her questions about life in general, more and more adult in nature. French kissing... Jesus. "Mommy... you didn't answer my question, y'know." Persistent, too - just like her father. Squelching a smile at the similarities between father and daughter, turning to hug her adorable child, Dana Scully-Mulder pondered the question with serious intent, just as she had always approached everything in life, including her endless, albeit sometimes frustrating love, for Amalie's father. Another tug from the child put a halt on her reflectiveness; another Mulder trait - impatience in the face of some great truth. "Mom!" "OK, OK, keep your undies on..." A girl-giggle into her neck; Dana smiled and brushed a lock of thick chocolate hair from Amalie's face, and met her intense blue stare. Mulder's eyes, but Dana's blue intensity shining from them. Such a tight balance of us both, in this little package, Dana thought, as she gazed down at the girl. "I believe the question pertained to kissing in the French manner... mind telling me who told you that such a thing exists?" Amalie rolled her eyes. "Nobody told me, Mom - I read it in a book..." Gasp. And then another gasp. What kind of books did they have at that library at school? The thought was voiced, out loud. Amalie shook her head so hard the curls framing her face slapped at her, left and right. "Not a book at school - one I found, up in the attic. It had a picture of a man holding a lady with her dress torn mostly off and she had a lot of yellow hair all wound around his arms and stuff, and her eyes were closed and he had his face stuck on her chest..." Amalie helpfully supplied the information, then peeped up at her mother, in time to see the steam practically shooting from both ears. "Damn, I thought he'd taken all that smut to the Salvation Army months ago..." Third tug, on her sleeve... Amalie was, as mentioned before, very persistent, and quite relentless. Dana sighed. "A French kiss is just the name of a sort of a kiss that men and women give each other, honey." There, that should end it, she thought. Should have known better... after all, this was a Mulder she was dealing with. "Is it nice?" Oh, hell - thought she was in the clear. Dana sighed again, but smiled at her inquisitive child, and nodded. "Yes, love... it's very nice." Ok, that wasn't so bad. She picked up the measuring spoons, and reached for a can of baking powder. "Is it nice when you do it with Daddy?" Shit... taken down, just shy of home plate... Dana found herself emitting yet another sigh - had to be some kind of record; she carefully set the full measuring spoon upon the counter, and faced Amalie, knowing with a mother's basic intuition coupled with years of dealing with a MulderMind, just how long this conversation could likely play out. Was it nice with Daddy... oh, hell yes. It was nice. More than nice... more like a holy revelation, even after years together - Dana sank down into one of the padded kitchen chairs, Amalie perched snugly in her lap, and prepared to answer the child's questions. "Yes, Amalie... it's nice..." Their first kiss, of course, had not been their best, or even their nicest - first kisses seldom were. First kisses were awkward, most of the time; they were tentative and either too dry, or too wet; they were inhibitive and usually smacked of insecurity, with both participating parties worrying about the condition of their anti-perspirant's staying power, their toothpaste's ability to maintain their mouths in a perfect balance of minty-freshness; first kisses were... not easy. Teeth clashed, braces could lock together (in younger participants, mostly), noses and cheeks got in the way... you name it, Dana had experienced it, as had most all of her girlfriends. They would get together in gym class, the morning after one of them had a big date, and they would compare notes with each other. Dana would also get in on the discussions, although her memoirs were usually not as descriptive, or as involved, as her buddies' - and hers never made mention of what a French kiss had been like, for her... and for a very good reason. Dana Scully had never let a boy kiss her and put his tongue inside her mouth, ever. Not in school, and not after she grew to womanhood and graduated from college and entered med school and joined the FBI and began work in the basement, assigned to debunk one Fox Mulder. She couldn't explain her reluctance, not to her friends, not to her sister, who thought she was one brick shy of a chimney, and certainly not to the men she dated. They would all try to kiss her, of course, and usually she had no problem with that. But when they attempted to pry open her mouth, with theirs, well... that's when she pushed them away, and made it plain to them that sort of kissing was unacceptable to her. They all thought she was nuts... a few of them accused her of being frigid. A few figured it had something to do with her Catholic upbringing, and let it slide, but others tried to force the issue... and found themselves clutching their groins and gasping for air, for Dana had one deadly-aimed knee, when the occasion arose. And as soon as their 'occasion' rose, she knocked it down. She didn't like kissing all that much - and she hated the idea of having someone's tongue shoved in her mouth. She supposed someday, she would meet someone so wonderful that the idea of tonguing them might actually not be repugnant to her. So far, it hadn't happened. The few relationships she'd formed had been less than satisfactory, mostly because the man in question never got past a certain point of intimacy with her, unless he was willing to keep his mouth shut. Of the ones who got close enough to try, none found the liaison very satisfying, and Dana never found reason to feel guilty about it. When it was right, she would know. Until then... as she had retorted in response to a complaint one of her dates made to her, concerning her lack of willingness to open up and get 'wet' with him, both above and below: "Tough sliding where there's no ice, buddy..." Much of that changed when she met, and got to know, her partner. Mulder was her friend for a very long time, affording her the chance to get to know him under the best and worst circumstances; to learn his weaknesses and his strengths, come to respect him deeply for his convictions and his unswerving dedication to that which he believed was right and just. She learned early on just how passionate he was, and would sometimes wonder what it would be like to have even one tenth of that passion directed at her. Dana assumed it would most likely eat her alive, that passion and that unrelenting drive of his. She knew he loved her, in his own fashion - as she had come to love him. She couldn't help but love him, as frustrating and imperatively difficult he could be; he was still Mulder, and he was at once her protector, conspirator; the other half of her professional self and rapidly becoming the be-all and the end- all in her personal life. And more and more, she found herself watching him, gazing at his face, his body... those lips. Wondering... Wondering. The day he first kissed her, fully, began as many other days, for them... knee-deep in a nasty case, up to their proverbial armpits in files and slides and yet another tacky motel room. A series of murders, bodies placed with chilling care in positions of religious supplication; kneeling, praying, genuflecting... each body nude, with a rosary wound into their fingers, small votive candles placed almost lovingly alongside them - each body wearing their large intestines around their necks like a garland of gruesome flowers, and the abdominal incision neatly sewn up. Mulder had stared in stony silence, at each one; an anonymous phone call had tipped off the local police; the caller giving concise directions on how to find each murder scene. Ten in all, and it had taken the police hours to locate them, but after the third discovery the FBI had been called, and a day later Mulder and Scully were able to witness for themselves the victims. The trip to the motel had been accomplished in absolute silence; neither of them had the strength to talk about what they'd seen. Dana had stared out the window unseeingly, hands gripping each other hard. This one was going to be bad; she could feel it. Sometimes their cases only made her stronger, even the truly bizarre ones; but a few had shaken her to the core, over the years - and her reaction to a couple of them had been so bad that she'd almost asked to be removed from them. But she never did; she only had to look at her partner, and see the weary droop to his shoulders or the bleakness of his expression, to know she would never leave him in the lurch like that. And even though this new case was beginning to shape up into one whopper of a nightmare... she knew she wasn't going anywhere. A large, warm hand covered both of hers, easily stifling her edgy movements; without turning to look at Mulder she slowly eased up on worrying her poor hands, and let his calming fingers wind into hers. She sighed. The motel was hot and musty, but the beds were clean and there was a window air conditioner which gave out uneven gusts of icy air. Dana dropped her suitcase on the far bed; by mutually silent consent they had asked for a double room, each not wanting to be alone. Mulder closed and locked the door, also dropping his suitcase, and adjusted the fan on the window unit, then turned to face her just as she shrugged out of her blazer and her tired, beaten gaze mirrored his so perfectly that it seemed the most natural thing for them to step into each others' embrace, and hang on tightly, there in the darkened, rapidly- cooling room. She buried her face in his warm neck, feeling him swallow convulsively several times; he brought one hand up to her hair and slid soothing fingers through the satin strands, rubbing at her tight scalp. She breathed in the comforting fragrance of clean starched cotton and a trace of bleach on his tank shirt underneath, combined with his natural skin's essence; it was a smell which never failed to ease her anxieties and calm her. She whispered into his skin, her mouth moving against the firm column of flesh. "Mulder... this one is bad - really bad. The way these people were killed... they were all so young, God... the oldest one was only twenty. Twenty, Mulder! I don't know... I... why is this hitting me so hard..." She stuttered to a stop as he placed a hand over her mouth, shushing her gently. She blew out a shaky breath and pushed her cheek into his hand, as he cradled it against his chest. It rumbled underneath her as he replied, "I know, Scully... it's hitting me the same way as well, and I don't know why. I mean, we have seen far worse, if you really want to analyze it... far worse. Yet this one, God - this one hurts me, deep inside, as if I knew these young victims intimately; knew their pain, their last thoughts before they died... and I don't know why, either..." She wound her arms harder around his back, pressing into him, trying to absorb as much of his hurt as she knew was erupting inside of her; he shuddered into her small frame, and his mouth slid over her cheek and up to her forehead; he kissed her there, softly, in gratitude for her warmth and comfort. She returned the kiss, on his neck; and he smiled into her hair and dropped another kiss, there at the corner of her mouth; the gesture felt right, felt true to her. Dana found herself returning that kiss as well, but in aiming for the edge of those full lips of his, she miscalculated slightly and her mouth met his, and clung - and then they both broke contact, cheeks pink, eyes meeting with a mixture of shy desire and shocked realization that this was, in effect, their first kiss. She gulped, and fought to maintain eye contact even though every inch of her screamed to find a hiding place and find it fast. "Oh, hell... Mulder... I am sorry, I didn't mean to... shit!" Dana couldn't articulate the words; she was too mortified. Subtly, she tried pulling away; Mulder held her easily, and put his mouth right up against her ear. "Scully... stop. If you hadn't done it first I surely would have! Jesus... don't you know by now how I feel about you... how much I love you?" He buried his face in her soft hair and breathed in the lemons and jasmine from her shampoo; she was shuddering in reaction to his words. He pulled away, far enough to see her face, to look deeply into her eyes, hands framing her face, thumbs passing over her flushed cheeks. "I know you don't go around kissing every Tom, Dick and Mulder... I know that about you. I also know you love me; how much I'm not sure, but... you love me. At least a little... I know that." He paused, as he felt her chuckle into his chest, and press a kiss there. "Mulder... more than a little, you know. I do love you, how could I not? Even when you royally piss me off, I love you; even when you push me past the edge of sanity it doesn't affect the way I feel about you. And I probably ought to tell you..." She took a deep breath, wondering if she was nuts for telling him this, but compelled to do so; to be honest with him, no matter what. "Mulder, I'm not what you would call the soul of experience when it comes to love, and romance - most of my relationships have been duds. And it's mostly been my own fault; I have a tough time with physical intimacy. I guess I never found anyone who could really bring out the romantic in me; send me shooting to the stars, so to speak." Mulder laughed softly, and hugged her to him, hard. "So, Scully... you want me to shoot you to the stars? How about I send you to the moon, instead? "To the Moon, Alice! Bang... Zoom!" Her delighted laugh echoed around the motel room. "The Honeymooners, Mulder... I love Ralph and Alice. No, you don't have to shoot me to the stars; I guess my idea of romance has always been a little impractical, for my limitations." His puzzled frown confirmed his lack of understanding; she hastened to explain to him. "I was never comfortable with sex, Mulder, and the guys I dated soon got tired of my limitations, and they would eventually just give up. I learned to live with it, to understand my inhibited side and to accept." She laid her cheek against his chest again, and sighed. "I don't like my body and I have always been on the self-conscious side, so... I usually avoid intimacy." She broke off at the negative shake of his head. Mulder tipped up her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. "Bullshit, Scully... there's a passionate side to you; I have been lucky enough to see it, several times. It may not be sexually driven at this time, but that doesn't mean it's not there." He stroked her hot cheek, and his voice dropped to a velvet-rough whisper, as he continued. "You get passionate about your work, about your family... about protecting me and watching my back. That same passion helps to make you one damn fine agent, and the only one I trust completely, as a friend and a colleague. I would be honored if you'd allow me to take that passion one step further - you must know I want to be with you, begin a relationship with you; it's time for us, don't you think? We're ready now, at least I am... and I think you are as well." Mulder shifted her in his arms, lifting her up until she was on eye level with him; her startled eyes meeting his intense gaze, faces very close. The look in his eyes scalded her; she moaned and shuddered, winding her arms around his neck and hanging on for dear life as he touched his mouth to hers, this time not so hesitant, not so tentatively. Their lips slid against each others', hers closed and his only slightly parted; she felt so tiny in his arms and her mouth was sweet but he needed so much more... He moaned the words, into her skin; reached up a finger to her lips, and pushed at them with feather touches, whispering, "Open your mouth, Scully; let me in... let me feel you, all of you... I want to be the first to kiss you properly..." She was shocked. "How did you know I've never..." "I just knew." And with that soft reply, he covered her mouth with his; tongue touching softly at each corner of her mouth until with one hard shudder she gave in; opened her mouth and let him in. Half afraid he'd overpower her with his lips, and force his way inside her mouth, Dana wasn't prepared for the delicate probing of his tongue; tasting slightly of a mixture of salt and chocolate covered raisins, it slid softly along the inner flesh of her bottom lip, then pulled it carefully into his mouth for a gentle suckle before he released it and gave the same attention to her top lip. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest, almost trying to leap out of her body, as he courted her mouth and tongue with his. So many new feelings... so sensitive her mouth, and the inner sides, and her gums. She was so entranced with the feel of his mouth, she let her own tongue lay curled and dormant, not realizing she could be affording him the same sensations by just moving it a little. Mulder seemed to know he would need to remind her, and he intensified the pressure of his mouth, and his tongue swept inside hers and stroked along the center of hers, tickling at the underside and then sucking on it as he pulled his head back, forcing her tongue to follow his, back into his mouth. A few seconds of this and she finally caught on - with a vengeance. Her little tongue pressed into his mouth, and she clutched at his arms hard as she melted into him, front to front, lips to lips. She licked at his gums and ran her tongue all around his outer lips before allowing him to pull her into his mouth again. They both moaned with the incredible feel of it, unstoppable... unendable... inevitable. Dana sat in her kitchen with her daughter curled in her lap, remembering... feeling again the almost unbearable frenzy of wanting Mulder's kiss had stirred up inside her... how he'd pressed her back until her body hit the wall, and had held her pinned at eye level, kissing her just about senseless. Never had she felt anything like the storming of all her senses, as Mulder caressed and kissed her. She had given as good as she'd gotten, though; their combined moans, sighs and broken endearments had echoed and bounced around the room. She had refused to let go of him, even as they both broke the kiss, and gasped for much-needed air... "Earth to Mommy..." Small fingers snapping under her nose brought Dana out of her trancelike recollection, and she turned startled eyes to Amalie as if just now realizing she was in a kitchen with baking powder and flour all over the counter and a bowl of half-stirred cookie dough drying out under the ceiling fan. The child had a huge grin on her face; it wasn't very often she could catch her mother daydreaming. "What were you wool-gatherin' about, Mommy?" Dana laughed aloud at the antiquated phrase, and gave her daughter a squeeze. "You've been talking to Mrs. McHill again, haven't you?" Their eccentric old neighbor, Mrs. McHill, was over ninety years old and lived with her spinster daughters right next door; the old lady had been a Ziegfield dancer in her youth and had a wealth of colorful stories about her 'glory days' as one of Ziggy's girls... not to mention a plethora of cliches and phrases from the Lincoln administration, it seemed - and Amalie delighted in repeating the ones she found most amusing. "Yeah, I have... she was the one I first asked about French- kissin', Mom..." Amalie paused as her mother almost swallowed her tongue in shock and started choking. "Amalie... you didn't, oh Lord... how could you ask her such a thing!" Dana was beyond mortification - what must the woman think of her, as a mother!! "Well, you weren't around, you were at the store, 'member? I asked you if I could go see Aunt Lavinia and Aunt Stella, and you said sure and so I went over an' I played with their cat you know the smelly one that eats sardines and farts a lot -" her mother's strangled laugh broke Amalie's train of thought, and she wriggled impatiently on Dana's knees, and demanded imperatively, "MOM! I'm tryin' to answer your question; don't interrupt! Anyway I played with Mr. Whiskers and he farted on me as usual but then he licked me while I was laughing an' my mouth was open and he licked my tongue... well, Mrs. McHill said he was French-kissin' me, so of course I had to ask her what that was..." She looked up expectantly into her mother's face, and Dana nodded, bemused by her child's rapid-fire account of the conversation... and still trying to imagine an odiferous cat with fish breath and gastro-intestinal problems having the balls to tongue her precious daughter. "Of course you had to ask..." Dana closed her eyes in defeat, fighting with every breath not to explode into laughter... she really had to hear the rest of this story, and commit it to memory so she could share it with Mulder when he got home. She cleared her throat, and managed, "So... what did Mrs. McHill say?" Amalie sucked in a huge breath, eyes glistening with remembered glee, and Dana mentally steeled herself for the worst. "She told me if I wanted to know about French kissing I'd have to ask you, 'cause if anyone would know about kissing like that you would because you're married to a tasty morsel..." Amalie broke off in mid-reply as she suddenly felt herself, and her mother, sliding from the chair onto the floor in one hugely mortified puddle; she squeaked indignantly as Dana just clutched her tightly to her chest and the giggles she shrieked into Amalie's soft little neck finally started tickling, and mother and child lay in one blended heap on the kitchen floor, howling with laughter - for completely different reasons. "Okay, Scully... spill it." Mulder stood behind her as she brushed her hair, watching with narrowed eyes the graceful movement of her slender arms as they lifted the brush and ran it through her hair. He slid teasing fingers into the loose sleeves of the kimono she wore, and caressed her upper arms. Dana shivered, and her eyes when they met Mulder's in the mirror were hot... but she didn't stop brushing her hair. Mulder expelled a little 'hmm' of unrequited lust, and abruptly grabbed the brush away from her and tossed it down onto the dresser, spun his wife around in a dizzy rush and pinned her to the elegant cherrywood, grinning at her sharp intake of breath. He pressed a hard set of lower extremities into her, enjoying the way her eyes half-closed and her cheeks flushed at the feel of him. "I'm waiting... I know that look on your face; the one you've been wearing ever since I got home. You're bursting to tell me, so... tell already, so we can progress to bigger and better things..." And he pressed himself into her again; she shuddered and actually broke out in goosebumps. "Okay, okay... I'll talk - but let go - and sit over there" - she pointed to the striped armchair positioned by the fireplace, as far away from the bed as she could get him. She knew that look in his eyes... Mulder was primed and ready, and once he started in on her she'd never be able to think, much less talk. Mulder laughed out loud, and took the recommended seat, fully aware of what his by-play was doing to his wife. He reclined gracefully in the chair, and patted his knee invitingly; Dana shook her head and perched on the edge of the bed, pulling her loosened kimono tight around her. Mulder sighed with much exaggeration, and focused on her face instead of her breasts so lovingly outlined within the ivory silk of her robe. "Today, your child asked me a rather startling and downright scary question, Mulder - and there was no putting her off for an answer. I parried, of course - and she thrust, naturally." Dana smiled hugely at the memory of just earlier in the day, when she sat on the kitchen floor and screamed with laughter, Amalie rolling around in her arms, giggling so sweetly. One raised eyebrow from Mulder; she hurriedly composed her face into something a bit more serious, and continued. "Well, seeing as I was trapped, so to speak, by Amalie's inquisitive little self, I answered her as best as I could. Mulder, she asked me what it was like to French-kiss a boy!" Dana turned indignantly-concerned eyes on her husband... only to find him hunched over in the chair, shoulders shaking. She jumped to her feet and strode over to him, dropping to her knees in front of him and grabbing at his arms, forcing him to look at her. "Mulder! This is not really a funny thing - she asked our neighbor Mrs. McHill first, that very same question! We have to let her know she can't just open her mouth and ask things of this nature to just anyone! God, it was bad enough for our six- year old child to be asking me..." Her tirade was interrupted by Mulder's warm hand curving around the back of her neck as she knelt in front of him "So, Scully... what did you tell our little girl about French- kissing, hmmm? Did you relate some tepid tidbit from your youth, from when you were a teen... a sweet little anecdote about the boy next door, who showed you where it was at and what it was for?" His eyes bored into hers, intense and deep, taking careful note of her heightened color and the beginnings of dilation in her blue depths; his hand was rubbing on her nape, and stroking along her delicate collarbone. She was shivering, and her lids closed over her heavy eyes as she swayed in response to the incredibly erotic feel of just one hand. This man had such capacity for playing unending havoc with her nervous system... he knew just how to turn her into one large erogenous zone. She took a deep breath, and with no little effort managed to put enough distance between them to be able to continue speaking. "I told Amalie that French-kissing was nice, Mulder..." She broke off at the sound of his snort of disbelief. "What, it's not nice? What would you have had me tell her, Mulder? That kissing someone with your mouth open and touching tongues is the most privately erotic act, short of oral sex and intercourse, that two people can participate in? That the feel of a tongue causes such a rush of endorphins through the body that it can not only cloud the judgement and the perspective of the participants, but lead to a finality of intimacy best left to persons totally committed to each other? That when not done with tenderness and with the right person it is reduced to a repulsively repugnant act which has the side effect of denial, when remembered as a prelude to sexual relations?" Her heated rush of words, blasted into his face, only made him snort again, half laughter and half disdain. "No, Scully, actually... I would have just said that French- kissing is better than every Fourth of July fireworks show in the history of the world... that it feels as if rainbows are raining down upon the head, and if you close your eyes while it's happening it feels like heaven, but if you keep your eyes open and focused on the person you are kissing, then all the wonders of the universe appear in an aurora borealis of colors and images... I would have said that French-kissing is chocolate and expensive champagne dribbled over the richest cheesecake, lush and thick with sweetness." His voice melted down into a mere thread of velvet rumble, there so close to her face gone pale with sudden, hard wanting; she was breathing with difficulty, her dilated eyes locked with his as he effortlessly brought her to the very edge of release without touching her... with only his words. "I would have told her that the first time I opened your mouth with mine, and ventured inside, was the beginning of my life, that I had never done anything but exist, prior to that day; that to know I could reduce you, and myself, to a baser level just by that small gesture gave me such power over you, and you the same kind of power over me." Mulder leaned in, very close; Dana was panting, unable to catch her breath - and he covered her open, trembling mouth and gave her breath and life; gave her first his lips and then his tongue, as he demonstrated exactly how a French kiss should be dispensed. They kissed endlessly, arms twined around each other, holding on tightly; hands wandering with sweet intent over silk skin and smooth hard muscle. And when they finally had to part, to take in needed oxygen... Dana whispered into her husband's ear. "I forgot to tell you, Mulder... Mrs. McHill thinks you're a 'tasty morsel'..." She smiled wickedly at his suddenly pale face; Mulder hated to be the object of anyone's fancy but hers... "Oh, hell..." She laughed out loud, and bit his bottom lip, then soothed the bite gently. "Hell, yes, Mulder... very, very tasty. I should really mind that she notices these things about you, but... she does have good taste in men..." And she leaned in to taste him again... but before she could place her mouth anywhere on him, a small voice from the doorway had her spinning around, to face Amalie, framed in the doorway, rubbing at her eyes. "Mommy... Daddy? Are you French-kissing now? 'Cause you sure look like the cover of that book..." At the sudden burst of giggles from his wife, Mulder turned a confused gaze upon his teary-eyed wife, laughing helplessly within the circle of his arms. "Book... what book?" "Oh, yes, the book... which reminds me, Mulder... I've got a bone to pick with you..." End Feedback is adored and fed champagne-laced chocolate cheesecake at: fncbc@uaf.edu, and char@chaffin.com Please visit my web site at: http://char.chaffin.com