From: Dianora2 Date: 3 Nov 1998 05:29:29 GMT Subject: NEW: "Shot Through the Heart" by Dianora 1/3 (XF/Cupid) "Shot Through the Heart" by Dianora 1/3 An "X-Files"/"Cupid" Crossover Finished 10/29/98 Rating: PG13 Category: C Sub-category: R Spoilers: Oblique references to "Tunguska/Terma," "731" and "Piper Maru," as well as "Post-Modern Prometheus." This story assumes that the ending of that particular episode was a fantasy on Mulder's part. Keywords: MSR Archive: Yes Please! Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters depicted in this story! Not a one. Sad, but true. No copyright infringement intended. Summary: In effect, a "Cupid" episode with Mulder and Scully as the guest couple. Feedback: Please e-mail me at Dianora2@aol.com. Visit my webpage at http://members.aol.com/dianora2/main.htm You do not have to have seen "Cupid" to understand this story - at least I hope you don't. All you need to know is that Trevor Hale believes he is a mortal incarnation of Cupid, who has been banished to a mortal existence on Earth until he can successfully pair up 100 couples. Claire Allen is the psychologist assigned to him by the court to make sure that he is able to function in normal society. (If you're not watching this show, you're missing one of the best, smartest, most romantic shows on TV, IMO!) You also don't have to be familiar with classical mythology, but it helps... :) Thanks to MD1016 for her help with this, and for loving "Cupid" as much as I do. You big sap. Also thanks to Lorie for telling me the original idea was brilliant when I pitched it to her. Flatterer. "So I'm wondering if I've been going about this all wrong," Trevor Hale said as he fell into step beside Claire Allen on her way up Lakeshore Drive toward her office. "Having problems dressing yourself again, Trevor?" Claire asked smoothly, not breaking stride. "I could recommend a group for that." "Hey, I'll have you know I was the fashion king of Olympus," Trevor protested. "No one, I mean no one, wore designer togas like I did. I was runway material, baby. You should have seen the hissy fits Bacchus threw when I got all the attention at parties. No, I'm talking about my methods for getting couples together. I've been doing the whole metaphysical gambit, trying to match people up with their soulmates --" "Now there's a piece of mythology if I ever heard one." "-- looking to create that intangible magic, those lusty fireworks, and it hasn't always been getting the job done. I have to step up the tempo, Olympus is calling! So maybe I need to consider outside areas of influence." "Haven't we been over this, Trevor? Your brain is scrambled enough without pharmaceuticals making things worse." Claire took another sip of coffee as she walked, willing the caffeine to course through her system to help her deal with her most aggravating patient. It really wasn't fair to expect her to verbally tango with a mentally disturbed individual first thing in the morning. "Aww, you're sweet, always thinking of me. A paragon of altruism," Trevor said, raising his voice and spreading his arms wide. His leather jacket flapped in the strong Chicago wind off the water. "But I'm talking about aphrodisiacs. Spanish fly, oysters, Barry White. Maybe the secret lies in the external -- after all, when I had my bow and arrow, I was pairing them up, two by two, like... like..." Claire looked at him askance, shocked that for once Trevor was unable to come up with an appropriate metaphor or obscure reference. "Like Noah on the ark?" He looked at her in disgust. "Please. Everyone knows that's just a story." Claire sighed and speeded up again, glancing at her watch. "Is there a reason you're sharing this with me, or am I experiencing karmic retribution for the spider I killed last month?" He quickened his pace to keep up with her. "Oh, Claire, you know you're my very own karma chameleon, in colors like my dreams. I'm telling you because I want you to be a guinea pig, with me, tonight at dinner. My place. Oysters, chocolate, maybe some soft porn if you're really, really good. I've got Zalman King's greatest hits on DVD." "This conversation is over, Trevor," she said in exasperation. He gave up, stopping in his tracks as Claire continued on her way. "I bet you wouldn't say that to Barry!" he called after her, then ran off - no doubt to go buy oysters. "Scully, I'm glad I caught you." Fox Mulder appeared at his partner's side seemingly from out of nowhere, matching her steps with his own and giving off an excited energy that Dana Scully knew all too well from years of experience. She looked up from the file she was reading, but didn't halt her rapid progress down the hallways of the J. Edgar Hoover building. "What is it, Mulder?" she asked warily. Her quick glance at his face confirmed that he had that Look in his blue-gray eyes, the one that never meant anything good, as far as she was concerned. "I have to go out of town for a few days. Something's come up, and you won't believe what it is." "I don't doubt it," Scully murmured. "Okay, Mulder, I'll bite. What's so important that you're willing to leave work?" "A friend of mine from Oxford - well, she was only there for a semester, but we've kind of kept in touch since then - anyway, she's a psychologist, and she's tipped me off to an amazing case." "She?" Scully stiffened, but Mulder didn't catch it. "Yeah, Claire Allen. She dated half the men in my dormitory, and now she's Chicago's premier counselor on romantic relationships, which is an X-File in and of itself. She's been telling me about this patient of hers, this guy, who believes that he's a mortal incarnation of Cupid, the Roman god of love, and that he's been banished to Earth by the gods of Olympus until he can match up 100 couples." "I see. How close were you two?" Scully asked, not bothering to keep the jealous edge out of her voice. He never seemed to notice anyway. "Who, me and Claire?" Mulder responded with predictable oblivion. "We were pretty good friends, I guess. So this guy -" "The god of love." "Right. Normally I'd say the guy's just mentally ill, but there have been indications that he just might be who he says he is, so much so that even Claire herself sometimes wonders about the possible veracity of his claims. But she doesn't want to believe, so...she came to someone who does." He shrugged with a slight hint of self-deprecation and checked her face for a reaction. "You can't possibly be serious," Scully said. They reached the elevator and she pressed the down button. "I know -- it's out there. But how can I pass up something like this? Just in case? I'm only going to be gone for a couple of days. Want to come with me?" Scully shot him a look. "As tempting as it sounds - no." The elevator doors slipped open and she stepped inside. He followed. "You think I'm crazy." How to put this? "Mulder, I stopped attempting to pass judgments on your mental state a long time ago." Well done, Dana, nice and vague... "Thank the gods for small favors," he muttered as the doors slid shut. For some reason that Trevor couldn't fathom, Claire didn't sound happy to hear from him. It was only the third time he was calling that day. "Make it quick, Trevor." Trevor cradled the phone between his neck and his shoulder as he put the final touches on the chocolate cake he had spent the past couple of hours constructing. "Tom Jones." "What?" "Tom Jones. Explain him to me. Pudgy, middle-aged guy, looks like someone you'd catch groping Aunt Irma under the mistletoe, yet he drives women wild. What's his secret? Pheromones? Animal magnetism? Alcohol?" "I don't know. Why don't you ask him?" Claire's voice was beginning to take on the especially nasal quality that occurred whenever she was seriously ticked. Ticked as in tick tock time's running short little buddy. "Well, surprisingly enough, he's not returning my calls," Trevor countered. He stuck a finger in the icing on the cake and then sucked it off. Wow. If Midas had known about this stuff, gold would've been the last thing on his mind. "I'm hanging up now," Claire said sweetly. Or not so sweetly. Semi-sweetly? Hmm, maybe next time he should use the semi-sweet chocolate chips... "My dinner offer still stands. You don't know what you're missing." "Actually, I have a very good idea. Goodbye, Trevor," she said firmly. "Sayonara, my rigid one." He hung up the phone, went back to studying his chocolate handiwork. "Oh yeah, she wants me," he said to no one in particular. Mulder shoved the last of the files he was taking with him into his suitcase and realized the manila folders were taking up more space than his clothes. He knew Scully had noticed it too, but luckily she was keeping her mouth shut. "Like I said, I'll be staying at the Marriott on Michigan Avenue, and I'll have my cel phone turned on in case you need to reach me --" "I'll be fine, Mulder," Scully said dryly, cutting him off. "It was your idea to go to Chicago, remember? Precisely because there's nothing urgent happening here? I think I can hold down the fort for a few days." Mulder finished shrugging on his trenchcoat and gave her a sheepish grin. "I know. I'm just..." "A workaholic," she finished. "Point taken." She smiled at him, sending his heart careening up past his rib cage to somewhere around the base of his throat. "You sure you don't want to come with me?" he asked, his mouth suddenly dry. She sat down on the edge of his desk and folded her arms across her chest. "I'm sure. Especially when this isn't official business." "Then think of it as a vacation," he entreated. "I am thinking of it as a vacation," she retorted. "A vacation from you, not with you." She said it sternly, but the corners of her mouth quirked upward. "Scully, you wound me," he pouted. Two could play her game. But why did he always feel like she was the one making all the rules? She shook her head with what he assumed and hoped was rueful affection and walked over to him. "Go find Cupid, and tell him my mother has a few things to say to him on my behalf," she said. "No requests?" he asked, trying to make his tone light. She eyed him with a look he couldn't quite read, but which was definitely promising. "No. I think I have it covered on this end." Promising indeed. "Anybody home?" "Fox!" Claire Allen got up from her desk and enfolded Mulder in a warm hug before welcoming him in to her office. "It's so good to see you. I can't believe how long it's been." "Years," Mulder agreed. "Thank god for e-mail." "No kidding. I don't think I'd talk to anybody these days if it wasn't for that, I'm so busy with work," she said with an odd mixture of pride and exasperation. "So what do you think?" she asked, gesturing to her cozy office. "Nice place," Mulder said approvingly, looking out the window at the view. "A big improvement over that hellhole flat you lived in at Oxford." "Don't remind me," Claire said. "I still have nightmares about centipedes." She sat down behind her desk as Mulder took the seat across from her. "You look great." "So do you," Mulder said, meaning it. Her dark hair was in an attractive chin-length style, pulled off of her fine-boned face, and she looked completely at home in her chic yet casual suit and stylish shoes. The professional life seemed to agree with her. It was difficult to reconcile the woman before him with the free spirit he had known at Oxford. She smiled brightly at him. "Thanks. Unnecessary for you to say, but thanks anyway." She smoothed her skirt self-consciously. "I have to admit I'm a little surprised you flew out here so quickly. I hope you won't be disappointed." "Well, this case is very intriguing," Mulder said. "And the man himself is downright fascinating," Claire said, visibly shifting into doctor mode. "But I hope you're not harboring some fantasy that Trevor really is Cupid. He's delusional, Fox. I just thought you'd get a kick out of the situation, considering your interests." "It is a bit out there even for me," Mulder admitted. "So much so that I couldn't talk Scully into coming with me. There are extreme possibilities, and then there are..." "Impossibilities," Claire finished. He grinned at her. "Exactly. But I never rule anything out completely." "Which is why I'm infinitely glad you have Dana to keep you in line," she cracked good-naturedly. He gave her a sneer in kind, just like the old days. "Okay, look," she said, getting serious once more, "I think the best thing for you to do is come to one of my singles group therapy sessions. I'll introduce you as a friend from college -- which is more or less the truth -- who's looking to meet his perfect match. Trevor will be all over you in a matter of seconds, believe me. He loves the smell of fresh meat. You can take it from there." Mulder swallowed hard. "Do I have to...uh...say anything at this meeting?" Claire leaned back in her chair and smiled comfortingly. "Just get up, say your name, what you do, and tell them that you're lonely. That'll sum it up." "Right," Mulder said, suppressing a groan. It certainly does sum it up, he thought dismally. The lengths he would go to for a potential X-File...maybe it was a good thing Scully had stayed behind after all. He didn't need any extra witnesses to his humiliation. When Claire and Fox arrived at the singles meeting that night, it was to discover that Trevor had already handed out a slice of homemade chocolate cake to every member of the group. The chocolate high in the room was palpable as Claire's patients scarfed down Trevor's latest ploy to grab attention and undermine her authority. "What is all this?" she asked the culprit. "Food for the lonely heart," Trevor answered, shoving a plate in her face. "One bite and you've got a one-way ticket to euphoria. Here, try it." Leaning in closer, he said in a low tone, "Think of it as me warming them up for you." Claire shot him a dirty look, but took the plate. Who was she to turn down free chocolate? "Hey, Trevor, where's the milk, huh?" Nick yelled out. "What do I look like, a one-man Dairy Queen? A cow?" Trevor said. As he and Nick continued their war of words, Claire turned around to find that Fox had already taken a seat in the back of the coffee shop. Apparently all that FBI training hadn't gone to waste: she was impressed by his stealth. She walked over to her usual perch up at the front of the room and tentatively took a bite out of Trevor's cake. It was fantastic. Not that she planned on letting Trevor know it. She set the plate down on a nearby table and cleared her throat to bring the group to attention. They gradually quieted and faced front, although she could still hear the clink of forks against plates as they continued to stuff themselves. Trevor looked extraordinarily pleased with himself. "Before we begin tonight," she said over the tinkling of silverware, "we have a new member to welcome to our group. Fox, would you like to stand up and introduce yourself?" At the sound of his name a snicker ran through the crowd, but Fox valiantly ignored it -- he certainly had to be used to it by now. He stood and waved hesitantly at the gathered singles. "Uh, actually, you can call me Mulder," he said. "My name's Mulder, I'm uh, an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and, I...want to meet that someone special." He visibly winced at how he sounded. "I hope this group will help," he said quickly, trying to make a save. "I always knew that Feds couldn't get laid," Nick cracked, and various members of the group laughed. Fox gave him a strained smile that indicated he was not amused. "Nick, please," Claire said firmly. "Thank you, Fox - I mean, Mulder, now --" "So what do you want in this someone special, huh? Who's the type of gal to make a G-man's heart go pitter patter?" Trevor piped up, craning his head back to look at Fox. "Janet Reno? Donna Shalala? La Femme Nikita?" The rest of the group tittered. Claire spoke up. "Trevor, Mr. Mulder doesn't have to answer that question. Mulder, you don't have to answer that if you don't want to." Fox chewed on his lip nervously. "It's okay," he said, apparently willing to continue the charade. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath. "Let's see. I, uh, I guess, it would have to be someone I can trust. That's the most important thing to me. Umm...someone beautiful, and brave, and smart. Someone who knows what I'm thinking before I say it. Someone... someone who's a part of me, but the better part." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then sat down, speech over. Claire suppressed a grin, realizing that Fox's description of his perfect mate bore more than a slight resemblance to the way he often described his partner, Dana Scully. A glance at Trevor told her that his brain was already shifted into high gear, no doubt trying to figure out if Fox was indeed talking about someone specific in his life. He could be so damn perceptive about that sort of thing sometimes. Claire realized with a start that she did not want Trevor meddling in Fox Mulder's life. Her friend had more than enough problems as it was. She hoped she hadn't made a mistake telling Fox about Trevor in the first place. "Thank you, Mulder," she said, pushing away her doubts and taking control once more. "Tonight we're going to talk about compromises..." Trevor didn't give his usual 110 percent effort to break up Claire's singles group that night; he was too intent on that fed guy Mulder, trying to get a handle on his story. He'd recognized the look Mulder had gotten in his eye during his little speech, and it was the look of a man with some Samsonite-sized emotional baggage. He had a feeling there was already somebody in this guy's life, but he hadn't told the woman in question how he felt about her. If he got Mulder to admit his feelings to this woman, would that count as a match? Why not, right? He'd be responsible for bringing them together, even if the feelings were already there in the first place. When the meeting finally ended, he bolted over to Mulder before the guy could leave. What he didn't expect was for Claire to do some heavy duty boltage of her own. "Listen, buddy," Trevor began, "I feel your pain, okay? Hot mama doesn't know you exist, all you want is for her to take you home and make you her apple pie. We can fix that." Yeah, that was perfect, this guy obviously had some major Oedipal issues, although he was a lot better looking than Oedipus, Oeddie had had that awful unibrow action going on, and -- "Trevor," Claire said, taking the guy's arm -- taking his arm, what was this, a bad Jane Austen period piece? -- "Fox is a friend of mine from college, which means he is not to be subject to your delusion. Practice someplace else for now, okay?" "Friend?" Trevor said. "Friend? Can we define exactly what kind of friend? The epitome of Platonic love, or dorm room fuck buddy, 'cause you know, I've never been to college myself, but I peeked in on many a frat party, not that there was much love going on, but I liked to think of it as research into mating rituals, and --" "Friends, Trevor. Just friends," Claire said firmly. Was he supposed to believe her? Had she =seen= Mr. GQ standing right in front of her? The guy was a chick magnet. Trevor couldn't believe the man needed any help finding a babe. Maybe the gods would give him extra credit for this one on that point alone. "Trevor, Claire's told me a lot about you," GQ put in smoothly. "I was actually hoping we could talk." He glanced at Claire, and Trevor got the impression that the fed was surprised that Claire was being so territorial. Nevertheless, Trevor's radar went off. "Fellow headshrinker?" he accused. Mulder hesitated. "I have a PhD in psychology, although I'm not a practicing psychologist." "Right, you're a Fibbie, so you said. You're not like that chick on 'Profiler,' are you, with the woo-woo stuff, 'cause she freaks me out, you know that shit she does with her eyes, it gets my jockeys in a twist, cuts off the blood flow to my brain." "I've never seen the show, sorry," Mulder said. "Then I take it you're a drinking man. Taggardy's it is, let's go, you and me." "Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly," Claire said sourly. "You're welcome to join us," Trevor told her. "Two is company, but 'Three's Company' was a pretty kinky television show." Claire visibly underwent a mental struggle of Herculean proportions, or at least of Bellerophonic ones. "I'll be fine," Mulder assured her. "Okay. But call me tomorrow," Claire said. "We'll have lunch," Mulder replied. "Lunch, yes! The third most important meal of the day," Trevor said. "Now moving right along..." To be continued. >From dianora2@aol.com Fri Jan 1 11:50:36 1999 "Shot Through the Heart" by Dianora 2/3 An "X-Files"/"Cupid" Crossover All info in part one. Feedback: Please e-mail me at Dianora2@aol.com. Visit my webpage at http://members.aol.com/dianora2/main.htm As the two men talked over beers at Taggardy's, Mulder admitted that he had to hand it to the guy: he seemed to be psychotic, but his psychosis was so pervasive that he never broke character. Then again, maybe he wasn't crazy at all...? Extreme impossibilities, he reminded himself. "So, G-man, you want love, I'm going to give you love. What's your poison?" Trevor bellowed over the blaring jukebox. Mulder thought for a minute that Trevor was referring to his preferred drink, then realized he was talking women. "You mean, blondes, redheads, or brunettes?" "That's a place to start," Trevor said after a swallow of beer. "Hair color is very important." "Right." Mulder looked around the bar, let his gaze wander over the collected drunken crowd. Water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink, he thought wryly. "Trevor, if you're really the god of love, shouldn't you just =know= my preferences without my telling you?" Especially if I don't want to talk about it in the first place? he added silently. The dynamic man scratched absentmindedly at the edge of his receding hairline. "Ah, in the good old days my friend, it would have been like taking topical cream from a prostitute, but these days my methods are a bit more crude. Part of my punishment. I am without bow and arrow and the omniscience that comes with it, so you're going to have to help me out if we're going to find you the woman of your dreams." "Why don't you tell me more about Olympus instead," Mulder suggested. "Olympus. Sure. Nectar and ambrosia, all party, all the time, more fun than pay per view and public access combined. But you're changing the subject." Trevor drained his beer and jumped behind the bar to pull himself another draft of Harp. "Find someone in here, anyone who catches your fancy, I'll hook you up," he said magnanimously. "I already looked," Mulder said. "I'm not interested." "I see." Trevor took Mulder's half-empty beer mug and topped it off before handing it back to him. "Is there someone at home you're hiding from me?" "What? No. I'm not seeing anyone." "That's not what I'm asking you. Mulder, tell me again about your ideal woman." Mulder opened his mouth to protest, then realized that if he wanted to find out more about this guy, he was going to have to play along for the time being. "My ideal woman." A vision of Scully popped into his mind, but he willfully pushed it away. "Someone I can trust with my life. Someone who won't take any shit from anybody, but with a warm, caring heart underneath. A strong, brave woman who on the surface might look like she couldn't swat a fly but in actuality could take on the Chinese army single-handedly. A woman who's smarter than I am, with a smile that lights up a room and blue eyes the color of a Caribbean sea. An equal. A soul mate." "A partner?" Mulder's head jerked up. "What are you implying?" "Mulder, what's your partner's name?" "Scully." "Parents can be so cruel. Not that I should talk, look at what Venus saddled me with." Mulder shook his head. "No, Scully's her last name. Her first name is Dana." "Dana. Celtic goddess, know her well. Great body but such a temper! Used to drive Zeus crazy because she just wasn't interested in the slap 'n tickle, if you know what I mean. My point, G-man," he said, actually pointing at Mulder with an accusatory finger, "is that your partner is a she. And I have a feeling that she is the very she you're describing. Tell me I'm wrong." "You're wrong." "You're lying." "I thought you said you weren't omniscient any more." "I'm not, but I'm very perceptive. It's the gift that keeps on giving." Mulder bowed his head in defeat. "Let's say it was my partner. She's my partner. I can't go there with her." "Why not? Love goes anywhere it wants to, my friend. You can't command it to only go some places and not others. Not unless you have my bow and arrow, which, I might point out, you don't." "How does your bow and arrow work, exactly?" Mulder asked, trying to put the conversation back on track. "Didn't you ever read Ovid at college? I aim, I shoot, bam! Instant love connection. More effective than beer goggles and much longer lasting. Plus no hangover the next morning." "But it's only a bow and arrow in the metaphysical sense, right? I mean, you're not actually shooting arrows into people's chests." Mulder placed one hand over his heart to punctuate the statement. Trevor looked at him like he was an idiot. "Of course not, you idiot. It's all noncorporeal to you mortals, but to us gods, it's as real as this beer." He took another swallow, then leaned his forearms on the bar, his face close to Mulder's. "In this life, there is only one brass ring worth grabbing, and that's love. Grab the brass ring, G-man." Mulder met Trevor's stare. "I can't," he said miserably. Trevor leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. "That's what you think. What's your favorite fantasy about your partner?" Mulder flinched. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked harshly. He'd be damned if he'd share his sexual fantasies with this guy, god or no god - "Whoa, hold on there, Elliot Ness. I'm not looking for anything improper, although I certainly wouldn't stop you if you wanted to share. But don't you ever dream about doing anything wildly romantic with Dana? There must be something. Moonlit walks on the beach, carriage rides, you know, all the sappy stuff they sing about in heavy metal ballads. Tell me your dream so I can make it come true." Mulder was suddenly very glad that he didn't have a tendency to blush. "I really don't think I'm comfortable discussing this with you." "Come on. If you can't tell these things to the god of love, who else are you going to tell?" Mulder realized he should probably continue to play along, and tried to think of something he could tell Trevor that wasn't X-rated. "Well, I...I did have this one, idea, once. I don't know that I would call it a =fantasy...=" "Lay it on me, fibbie." Mulder took another swallow of his drink, blamed what he was about to say on the beer. "I had this...daydream, I guess you could say, about us dancing. I've never danced with Scully, she'd probably think I was nuts if I even suggested it." He shook his head. "It's stupid." "You see stupidity, I see a chance for love," Trevor said triumphantly. "Just wait, G-man. Leave everything to me." Mulder eyed him dubiously. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I." "Regret is such an ugly word," Trevor replied. "So what about you, Trevor?" Mulder said, determined to not be the only uncomfortable one in this conversation. "Don't you think it's bad PR for the god of love to be single?" Trevor suppressed a belch. "It's a little more complicated than that. If I have sex with a mortal woman, I lose my immortality. I may be horny, but I'm not =that= horny." And Mulder thought =he= had avoidance/denial issues where sex was concerned...this guy took the cake. Chocolate cake, apparently. "That doesn't seem like a fair trade," he said. "Well, no one has ever accused the gods of Olympus of being fair. All- powerful, fickle, temperamental, and devastatingly handsome, sure, but fair?" He shook his head. "Not in the vocabulary." Mulder nodded and drained the rest of his glass. Trevor immediately took it for a refill. "So what about Claire?" Mulder asked nonchalantly. Trevor slid Mulder's fresh beer across the bar. "What about the good doctor?" "I thought I sensed a certain...sexual tension between the two of you." Mulder grinned when Trevor visibly squirmed. About time someone else was on the hot seat. "That's just her uptight, tightly-strung, everyday, run-of-the-mill tension that you're feeling," Trevor said firmly. "Believe me, the last thing there is between me and Claire is sex." He laughed, but it sounded forced. "Me and Claire. Sexual tension. Nope, sorry, G-man, this isn't 'Remington Steele.' None of that will they, won't they crap going on here." "If you say so," Mulder said, making it clear that he was not convinced. "I do. Don't question a god, you may find yourself turned into something inanimate later. Now -- how do you feel about oysters?" Scully wasn't surprised when the phone rang. Mulder had been gone nearly twelve hours and hadn't called yet, which was unusual for him. Unless, of course, he was trapped in a Russian gulag or throwing himself on top of a speeding train or running around Hong Kong. "Please don't let him be trapped in a Russian gulag or throwing himself on top of a speeding train or running around Hong Kong," she murmured quickly before pressing the talk button on the phone. "Hello." "Scully, it's me." "Are you in Chicago?" she asked, sitting down on the couch and bracing herself for bad news. "Yeah, just sitting in my hotel room," Mulder said. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Had my first meeting with 'Cupid' tonight." "Oh? How'd it go? Did he make you fall in love with a poodle as a demonstration of his godlike powers?" He chuckled into her ear, sending delicious shivers down her spine. "Not even close. To tell the truth, I'm reserving judgment on him at this point." She pulled her legs up underneath her on the couch, getting more comfortable. "Reserving judgment? That seems very conservative of you." "What can I say, Scully, you've had a bad influence on me." "There's a left-handed compliment if I ever heard one," she said bemusedly. "Better a left-handed compliment than nothing at all. Anything come up at the office today?" "Not a thing. Mutants and aliens must be taking a holiday." "Right." Pause. "Well, I guess I should get going." "Right." Silence on each end, neither of them wanting to hang up. "You sure you don't want to come out here?" he asked finally. Well, he was persistent, she had to give him that. And she was tempted. But...there was just no point, was there? "Good night, Mulder," she said, smiling into the receiver. "I'm sure I'll talk to you tomorrow." "Good night, Scully." "I have come up with a Plan," Trevor announced. Champ didn't seem impressed. In fact, he looked downright suspicious. "You're going to try to drag me into another one of your crazy schemes, aren't you." Trevor placed another pancake, hot off the griddle, onto his roommate's plate. "Why do you always insist on thinking the worst of me? I'm hurt. I really am." "There's no other reason you'd be making me breakfast," Champ said around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "Look, Trevor, I'm really busy this week, I have a bunch of auditions lined up--" "All I need is a couple of hours of your time," Trevor said quickly. "I need someone with your special talents." The actor eyed him balefully. "I wasn't aware that being your patsy qualified as a special talent." Trevor reached over to pat his roommate on his bald head. "Don't underestimate yourself, buddy. I'm not looking for Patsy Cline, just vintage Champ Terrace. Play a little piano, sing a couple of songs --" "Are you crazy?" Champ protested. "Wait, never mind, I already know the answer to that one. Why do you need me to sing? And how do you know I play piano? I don't recall ever mentioning it." "Sure you did, you just didn't think I was listening," Trevor said smoothly. "I need you to sing, Champ, in order to help the cause of true love. Is there any better reason?" "Yeah. Money." He looked at Trevor expectantly. Not for the first time Trevor wished that Venus and Mars had set him up with a trust fund. "I'll cook all your meals for a week." Blank stare. "I'll do your laundry this weekend." Not enough. "Okay. I'll clean the bathroom." "Including the toilet?" Trevor sighed a sigh of defeat. "Yes, including the toilet." "And you'll cover for me at Taggardy's, once a week, for the next month." "You drive a harder bargain than Atalanta, you know that?" Champ shook his head in exasperation. "Whatever. Do you want me or not?" "I want, I want. Okay, I'll do it," Trevor grumbled. Never had he missed those helpful wood nymphs more. All they ever asked in return for a favor was a night of sexual bliss, and that was payment he was always more than happy to remit... Champ nodded in satisfaction. "Then you've got yourself a singer. For a couple of hours, anyway." "I don't know what to think," Mulder told Claire over lunch at an outdoor cafe. "The scope of his delusion -- if it is indeed a delusion -- is staggering." "Oh, it's a delusion, Fox, make no mistake about that," Claire said, pushing her pesto pasta around on her plate. "Well, if it is, it's one of the most convincing I've ever seen." "Don't let his questionable charisma fool you," Claire said. "You're a profiler -- what's your profile on him? Treat him like you would any other psychotic felon." Mulder grinned. "You're starting to sound like Scully," he teased. She speared a piece of penne with her fork. "I take that as a compliment." He leaned back in his chair. "Maybe after tonight I'll have a different slant on this," he said. "I'm hoping he'll answer some more of my questions." "You're seeing him again?" "Yeah, I'm meeting him at Taggardy's in a few hours." "How...how did things go with you last night?" Claire asked hesitantly. "I mean...he didn't get too personal, did he? I know how he can be. I was worried about you." Mulder shrugged, took a sip of water before replying. "I may have told him a little more than I'd intended, but I needed to play along so that he'd keep talking." "Is he going to try to set you up with someone?" she asked. "To be honest, I'm not sure what's going on his head right now." "Join the club," Claire snorted. "I just want to make sure you don't get hurt." "Why would I get hurt?" he asked. "I don't know," she said quickly. Too quickly. "You want dessert?" "You're changing the subject, but I'll let you since I don't want to talk about it either," Mulder said with a grin. "But what's the deal with you and Trevor?" "What do you mean?" "You seem very attached to him. Maybe...more than a doctor would ordinarily feel for her patient?" Claire toyed with the napkin on her lap. "Trevor is...well, somehow in spite of his aggravating qualities, he's become a friend. But that doesn't mean I have any improper feelings for him," she asserted. Mulder just smiled knowingly and called the waiter over to their table so they could order dessert. To be continued. >From dianora2@aol.com Fri Jan 1 11:50:45 1999 "Shot Through the Heart" by Dianora 3/3 An "X-Files"/"Cupid" Crossover All info in part one. Feedback: Please e-mail me at Dianora2@aol.com. Visit my webpage at http://members.aol.com/dianora2/main.htm "Federal Bureau of Investigation." "Dana Scully, please." "One moment." Trevor sang along to the Muzak version of "I'm a Believer." "Scully." He started at the husky voice that greeted his eardrum, but recovered quickly. "Agent Scully, hi, you don't know me, but I'm out here in Chicago with your partner, and I think he needs your help." "Is something wrong? Is Mulder all right?" she asked worriedly. Oh, he was so on target with this. Bullseye. "No, he's fine," Trevor assured her. "But he really wants you to come out here. Needs you here, actually. Says he'd ask you to come out himself if he could work up the nerve." "Mulder said that?" she asked skeptically. "I just spoke to him last night, and he seemed fine. Who is this?" "The god of love," Trevor said automatically. Click. "Hello? Hello?" He pressed the receiver button a few times, but the connection was lost. Why was that always such a conversation stopper? He hit redial. "Dana Scully, please." "Scully." "Don't hang up. Listen," he said over her aggravated sigh, "I know you think I'm crazy, and that's okay. Your partner can't seem to decide if I'm crazy or not, and that's okay too. But I'm trying to hook you up here. I want to help you. Both of you." Pause. "Wait a minute. Did you say, 'the god of love?'" she said finally. "The one and only, at your service." Another pause. "He really wants me to come out there?" "Dana, he needs you here. He's up against the greatest challenge of his life, but is too afraid to ask for your help." "Are you sure?" Hmm, maybe he was taking the wrong tack. "He'd call you if he could," he reiterated. "It's urgent that you come out here immediately." Another pause, then: "Okay, Mr. Love. Tell me where to meet you." Mulder felt a sense of growing apprehension as he walked into Taggardy's. There was no one else in the bar. The chairs were empty, the tables looked forlorn, and the piano that had been set up on the small stage awaited a performer. What the hell was going on? "Anybody here?" he called. "G-man, you made it, excellent," Trevor said as he bounded out from the back office. He was followed by a tall, slim, black man, who looked distinctly less than happy to be there. "I'd like you to meet Champ Terrace, your entertainment for this evening. He's a Tony Award-winning performer." "Student Tony," Champ murmured, but he seemed to brighten at the compliment. "Nice to meet you...Champ." He shook the man's hand warily. "Trevor, what's going on?" "Linda's letting me use the place for an hour," Trevor said, referring to his boss. "Private show for you and your lady love. Take a seat." He pulled out a chair. Mulder sat down reluctantly as Champ took his place at the piano. There was a platter of oysters sitting in the middle of the table. Mulder stared at it blankly. "Lady love? What are you talking about?" Champ trilled a few chords, then began singing with a rich baritone. "You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh..." Jesus Christ, Mulder thought. How the hell did I wind up in the middle of a cheesy old movie? "Trevor, what -" "Shh," Trevor said, putting a finger to his lips. "She's here. Right on time. Ciao." And he slinked out of sight once more. "What --?" Mulder frowned, then realized that Champ's gaze had traveled above his head to the back of the bar, although his singing didn't waver. Mulder turned around to see Dana Scully coming toward him, a puzzled expression on her face. Scully? What...how...? She looked like she had come straight from work, judging from her tailored pin-striped pantsuit and sensible heels. She looked gorgeous. She reached his table, and he stood, feeling clumsy all of a sudden. "Mulder? What's going on? I got here as soon as I could --" "What do you mean?" he interrupted her. "Who told you to come here?" She folded her arms across her chest. "Your god of love. Made it sound like an emergency." "Trevor," he whispered fiercely. Oh, god or no god, he was going to wrap his hands around the man's neck and squeeze... "Why did he want me to meet you here?" Scully wondered. Suddenly it hit him. The dancing. The "fantasy." Shit. "Scully, I'm sorry. It's Trevor. This is what he does, he tries to put couples together and I think we've just become his next victims." "Couple? You mean us?" "Well...yeah. I don't know where he got the idea," Mulder lied before he was embarrassed any further. "He seems to think...I don't know what he thinks." They just stood there, looking at each other, neither of them sure what to do or say, until they slowly became aware of a faint hissing noise from somewhere behind them. They both turned to see Trevor poking his head out of the office door. "Dance," he stage whispered. "Dance, remember?" He twirled his hands around to indicate a waltz - at least, that's what Mulder assumed he was doing. He looked down at Scully, who had raised an eyebrow at Trevor's shenanigans. "What is he talking about?" she asked in a voice tinged with uncertainty and horror. Mulder opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for a response. A cold sweat broke out on his back and his tongue felt like a slab of lead. Trevor was still whispering exhortations while Champ continued to sing "As Time Goes By." Total insanity. "I...I can't do this. I'm sorry," he muttered, and fled the bar, leaving Scully to stare after him in shock. What the hell was that stupid fibbie doing? Trevor ran out from his hiding place even as Champ abruptly stopped playing. "And once again, Trevor makes a crucial error..." he commented, sportscaster-style. Trevor spared him a dirty look before rushing to Dana's side. The FBI agent looked less than pleased, her arms crossed over her chest and one foot tapping to a tune that was definitely =not= "As Time Goes By." "What happened? What went wrong?" he asked. She looked him up and down appraisingly. "Let me guess. Trevor." He smiled his best winning smile and extended his hand. "At your service, fair maiden. And when I say maiden, I mean that in a complimentary sense, not as a reflection on your sexual status, whatever that may be." The icy stare she gave him froze his balls. Medusa would have serious competition from this woman. "I thought you said Mulder needed me. Urgently." He pulled his hand back. "He did. He, uh, just wasn't aware of it." That glare again. "You led me to believe that Mulder was in some kind of trouble. I flew all the way out here, on a moment's notice, leaving behind a pile of paperwork at the office, suspending my life, all so I could rush out here to my partner's aid, and you just wanted us to =dance=?" Her voice raised higher and higher until Trevor winced at the final word. "You're a piece of work, Cupid," she snarled, making his name sound like a curse. "Go play with your bow and arrow somewhere else." She turned on her heel and walked briskly out of the bar. "I don't have a bow and arrow any more," Trevor felt the need to call after her. She didn't even look back. "Way to go," Champ said, getting up from the piano stool and cracking his knuckles. "I was giving a hell of a performance too, if I do say so myself. Too bad it ended up being for nothing." "This is all wrong," Trevor said, shaking his head. He picked an oyster up off the platter and contemplated it. "Maybe I should have gone with the mussels." Mulder leaned deeper into the pillows and stretched out more fully on the bed, his eyes on the tacky desert landscape painting adorning the opposite wall of his hotel room, deep in thought. He had just hung up with Claire, who had apologized vociferously for the actions of her patient, and he was trying to figure out what the hell to do next. Scully hadn't tried calling him since he left Taggardy's a couple of hours ago; she had to be really pissed off at him right about now. Not that he could blame her. What Trevor didn't seem to understand -- what he couldn't possibly understand -- was that Mulder's relationship with Scully was entirely too complicated to be solved with some romantic dancing. There was too much at stake; too many issues lurked between them, hiding from the light. To bring them all out into the sun would take an enormous effort on both of their parts. Was he willing to take that on? Was she? His musings were interrupted by a tentative knock on the door. He sighed, knowing who it was, and went to answer it. "Come on in, Scully." She gave him a hesitant smile and entered the room. She had changed from her work clothes into jeans and a dark blue v-neck sweater that looked like it would be soft to the touch. Mulder tried not to think about it. "How did you find me?" he asked, needing to have something to say. She gave him an unreadable look. "You told me where you'd be staying, remember? I showed the desk clerk my badge and he told me what room you were in. Occupational perk." She sat down on the bed, folded her hands in her lap. "So what's going on here, Mulder? I think you owe me an explanation -- that is, if you can even give me one." Mulder closed the door and then leaned against it, fighting the urge to bang his head against the wood. "It's Trevor. I can't say that he's convinced me that he actually is the god of love, although I have to hand it to him, his delusion is so pervasive that it's beyond the reach of anything I've ever seen before." "And this delusion is solely responsible for his telling me that I needed to come out here immediately?" "Yes?" he answered hopefully. She glared at him. "Okay, here's the deal. In order to get Trevor to talk to me, I had to pretend to be actively looking for a relationship. Somehow your name came up, and he assumed that I was looking for a romantic relationship with you, and the next thing I knew you were in that bar, and..." He trailed off, shrugged. "I didn't know he was going to get such a mistaken impression and follow up on it, Scully. I'm sorry." His heart was beating fast, the way it always did when he told a whopper of a lie. He was surprised she couldn't hear it from where she was sitting. "Is that all?" she asked, not looking at him. "What else would there be?" "For one thing, why did Trevor want us to dance?" "How should I know?" Mulder snapped, then relented. "Sorry. I...I don't know," he lied. Now she did lift her head to look at him, and her gaze was steady. "Mulder, please don't lie to me. The one thing I always rely on you to give me is the truth." He licked his lips nervously. "Scully, I...I guess maybe, I might have said something to give Trevor some idea about the two of us dancing as a...a fantasy, or something. I know, I know, it's dumb, but he was grilling me, and I had to say something..." He trailed off, afraid of digging himself any deeper than he already had. She nodded, paused for a moment, then got up off the bed and went over to the small clock radio on the dresser. She turned it on, surfed the stations until she found a slow Motown tune. "So let's do it," she said softly. Mulder stared at her, panic rising in his chest. What the hell was she doing? "I flew all the way out here, Mulder," she continued in that same husky voice. "I think the least you owe me is a dance, don't you?" She walked over to him, stood close. Very close. Her eyes were calm, but he thought he could sense a flicker of nervousness there. Unable and unwilling to disobey, he gingerly placed one hand on her hip and drew her to him. She pressed her body up against his, settling one hand on his shoulder, taking his hand in the other. They started to move together slowly to the beat, stumbling only when Scully started to lead. "Sorry," she muttered, embarrassed. "Holdover from school dances, when you had to teach the boys how to dance." He laughed softly into her hair and pulled her closer. He was amazed at how comfortable it felt, holding her like this. Her slender body was warm against his and she smelled faintly of that Ralph Lauren perfume she liked so much. "I'm really sorry you got dragged out here," he said contritely. She stirred in his arms, tilted her head to look up at him. "I'm not," she whispered. Her gaze moved down to his lips, which parted as if from her unspoken command. His head swam as he tried to come up with what to do next. Her eyes wouldn't leave his mouth, and she was beginning to move in closer. Grab the brass ring, G-man, Trevor's voice sounded in his head. Mulder swallowed hard and leaned in toward her until his lips finally, finally brushed hers. She allowed him that one tentative caress, then stood up on tiptoe and covered his mouth fully with hers, slipping her tongue between his lips, shocking his system and plunging him into a pool of fire. Without thinking he deepened the kiss further, bringing both of his hands up to clasp her face. She tasted sweet and tangy all at once and it was enough to send him reeling. They kissed long and slow, surprisingly leisurely, and when their lips finally parted they just looked at each other for a long moment. "Wow," Scully whispered after a beat. "Wow," Mulder agreed. They stepped apart in unison, as if by some unspoken agreement. "So...now what?" he asked. She inclined her head, considering. "One day at a time, Mulder. One day at a time. Right now, let's go get some dinner." He smiled and nodded, then pulled her back to him and kissed her again, wanting to be the initiator this time, loving the way her body tensed against his, not out of anxiety, but from arousal. This time when they parted he placed a tender kiss on her forehead, and she smiled at his touch. As they left his hotel room she took his hand in hers as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Which, Mulder supposed, it was. "So, Scully, maybe Trevor is the god of love after all," he said casually, wondering if the dopey grin would ever disappear from his face. Her answering Mona Lisa smile made him dizzy. "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he just knew what we needed better than we did ourselves." Trevor paced the length of his room, mind whirling with possible scenarios of love and seduction. "Those two are obviously made for each other. This should have been a snap. Money in the bank," he grumbled to himself. He glanced up at his string of 100 beads, noted grimly how few of them were currently on the "love" side. He had to come up with something, and fast. And then, just when he was about to try giving Mulder a call, one of the beads shook. He held his breath and waited - and then it moved, slowly, from one side of the string to the other. Over to the "love" side. "Well I'll be Pluto-ed," he murmured. "It worked after all. Thanks, guys." Claire made her way through the gathered throng at Taggardy's until she found Trevor serving drinks at the bar. "Have you seen Fox?" she asked. He grinned and jerked a thumb toward the back of the room. "Check it out." Claire followed his line of vision to see Fox and Dana huddled in a booth, sipping from mugs of beer but eyeing only each other. Fox reached out to brush a strand of hair out of Dana's face, and Dana smiled shyly. When Fox leaned in to give his partner a quick kiss on the lips, Claire's jaw dropped. "I can't believe it," she said, stunned. "That is why you fail," Trevor said in his best Yoda voice. "You need to have more confidence in me." She rolled her eyes as she took a seat on an empty bar stool. "That's the =last= thing I need." He wiped down the bar and shook his head in amusement. "Face it, Claire, I did good. Those two are obviously soulmates. In fact, they've made me see that when two people are meant to be, you don't need any kind of fancy food or funky music or illegal drugs. It's just =there,= waiting to be brought out into the open. All it takes is a gentle nudge in the right direction. Or maybe not so gentle, but what they do in the privacy of their bedroom is none of my business. Unfortunately." "Trevor, once again, you don't get it. Even if they are meant to be together, you have no business meddling in their lives," Claire said stubbornly. "Haven't you been paying attention?" he asked. "Love =is= my business. I'm the god of love. It's all part of the package." Claire sneaked another look at the two agents. "Okay, Trevor. This time, you did good," she admitted. "But don't let it go to your head," she added as he started flexing triumphantly. He stopped and shook out his arms and head, loosening up. "Sorry, we gods have never been too good at the whole humility thing. Cramps our style." Without warning he clambered up on top of the bar, displaying an agility that never ceased to surprise her. "Listen up, people!" he yelled to the gathered drinkers. The noise level dropped a notch as all eyes turned toward him. "A round on the house in honor of love!" he called out, pumping his fist in the air. The bar burst into cheers and applause, not so much as a tribute to love, but at the prospect of free beer. Trevor was going to be in deep trouble when Linda found out - good thing for him that she wasn't in tonight. Although Claire did spot Champ shaking his head disapprovingly from his bouncer post at the front door. Before taking care of the crowd that was quickly assembling at the bar, Trevor poured Claire a fresh beer, then lifted his own mug and clinked it against hers. "To...me," he said. She fought a smile but lost the battle. "To love," she corrected him. He shrugged. "Same difference." Claire shook her head in affectionate exasperation as Trevor turned away and started filling drink orders. The jukebox blared Chrissie Hynde in the background, she had free beer, and her friends were happy. Sometimes, life was good. End.