NEW: Temptation
Date: 12 Oct 1995

Standard Disclaimer: Everything in this story except Jeff Andrews
and the Devil are the sole products of Ten Thirteen Productions,
20th Century Fox and Chris Carter. No infringement of any rights
is intended. No permission has been granted, but I'm asking, if they
are giving. Don't sue me, I work in a building with a lot of lawyers,
but they're too busy to take my case since I don't have any money
and couldn't pay them anyway.

STORY NOTE: This story takes place a week after "Contact" (or
the second season premiere). No sex, but some adult discussion,
some bad language and some throwing up, so be warned! Oh and
for those of you who have read my other story, NO ROMANCE,
or marriage, even. This is not a sequel to Unto Which of the
Angels, but you knew he had to run into the other character
somewhere. Ying and Yang, Good and Evil, Chicken and Noodles.
.

TEMPTATION
by Vickie Moseley vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

FBI Headquarters
4:45 pm

Fox Mulder was deeply engrossed in his personal definition of
hell. He was transcribing 45 hours of survelliance tape that he had
sat through once already--while he was taping it. He had been at it
for almost 8 hours straight and he was definitely feeling an affinity
to the women in the typing pool just one floor below him.

In addition, while trying to decipher the Brooklyn accent on the
tape into readable English, his mind was also occupied on his most
recent bout of self-pity. This assignment was about as far down as
he could get. It was meant solely to humiliate him. Firing him
outright would have at least been the honest thing to do, but the
Assistant Director seemed to find more pleasure in torture in the
extreme. He was sure a clause in the Bill of Rights would apply--
cruel and unusual punishment, that was what it was, plain and
simple.

At least his partner, *correction* EX-partner, Dana Scully, had
gotten off with a slap on the wrist and her old job assignment back.
She was teaching forensics back at Quantico. When he talked to
her on the phone or they got together for lunch, she said she was
miserable. But secretly, Mulder harbored the thought that at least
she had been able to extract some small measure of dignity from
their breakup. When he would allow himself the luxury of jealousy,
he would immediately fill with remorse. Scully didn't deserve
jealousy. He was glad that she was safe from the kind of agony he
was experiencing.

It was this inner conflict that he was engaged in when a shadow
fell across the desk. His ears were occupied with listening to the
tape machine and the headphones effectively blocked out all other
sounds of the office. After a moment, a hand waved in front of his
eyes and he looked up. The face he greeted was a jolt from the
past.

Jeff Andrews had been a classmate of Mulder's at the Academy.
Following graduation, the two were assigned to Violent Crimes
Section under the late Reggie Purdue. Reggie had the great fortune
(or misfortune, depending on point of view) to ride herd over some
of the brightest young minds in the Bureau. These fresh young
agents were also commonly referred to as 'the nursery school'
because of their collective ages and the fact that they were almost
always getting into some kind of fix or other. It was Reggie's job
to turn these little geniuses into real agents and he had done a
stellar job. With the exception of Mulder, all the agents from that
time were ASACs or better, rising up the ladder toward the top at
warp speed. It had been two years since Jeff had been transfered to
the St. Louis regional office and he was quickly climbing that
ladder.

Mulder took off the headphones in time to hear "could use a
drink!" come out of Jeff's mouth. A sly smile crossed Mulder's
face.

"You came all the way from St. Louis to get me drunk? Is life
that boring in the midwest, Andrews?" Mulder asked.

"I'm out on business, dolt! I just thought since you look like a
poster boy for pay equity that I would take pity on you and get you
sloshed. You up for it?" Andrews replied.

Mulder quickly saved the screen he was typing and shut off the
tape machine. "I've been 'up for it' since 8:15 this morning." He
stood and pulled on his jacket and followed Andrews to the
elevator.

They ended up at the same watering hole everyone in the
Bureau went to. It was just a block or so from the Hoover
Building, and nobody really knew it's name because it had changed
hands so many times. Everyone just referred to it as, 'get a drink.'
The rest was understood. Mulder felt a little uneasy walking in the
place. He did not fail to notice the stares and even snickers at his
expense, but Andrews had always liked the little bar, so he went
along for the ride. Mulder was able to direct Andrews to a table in
the back, relatively distant from the cluster of agents at the bar. He
didn't know who might be listening, and he didn't want his own
dishonor rubbing off on his friend.

They ordered beers, two each and were half way through the
first when Andrews looked across at him. "So, Mulder, what the
hell did you do to get yourself in so much shit?" Andrews had a
way of being painfully direct.

Mulder smiled wryly. "Oh, just being myself, I guess," he said,
taking another swig that emptied the bottle.

"Cut the shit, Mulder. I want to know, goddamn it! I want to
help!" Andrews had obviously heard about the events of the recent
month, although probably not all of them, and was showing his
concern for an old and trusted friend.

"I did just what Reggie always thought I would do--I stuck my
nose in where it didn't belong. End of story."

"Reggie never thought that of you, and you know it. He always
said you were the brightest of all of us. And Mulder, he's got to be
rolling over in his grave to see you like this! Good God man, isn't
there some way to get out of this? I thought you had some
*friends* tucked away on the Hill somewhere. That's how you
wrote your ticket to mess around in those goofball cases you like so
well in the first place." Andrews was not going to let up.

"Are you trying to get me drunk or push me to suicide, here,
Andrews? Coz you are dangerously close to the latter. Can we
talk about something else, please?"

"OK, how many women you stringing along at the moment?"
Andrews asked.

"Next subject," Mulder replied.

"No, no, say it ain't so! No sex life, either! No wonder you're
close to suicide! Now, on top of getting you drunk, I gotta find
you a woman! This is going to be a long night!"

"Andrews, reign in a little, fella. I, well, I'm not much in the
dating mood right now."

"Who said anything about *dating*? I meant *one night
stand*!"

"Oh, I'm sure your loving wife, Kathy, would just be tickled pink
to hear you say that, Andrews! By the way, how is Kath? How are
the kids? How many kids you got now, anyway, 10? 12?"

"She's fine and we only have three kids, Mulder. Well, three and
one on the way, but it's still a far cry from 12!"

Good, a topic Mulder could feel safe talking about. "So, what's
it like? I mean, you guys have been married, what, 5 years now.
Do you still like it?"

"We've been married 6 years, Mulder, and yeah, I still like it! I
mean, Kath is great, the kids are, well they're terrific. And Josh
starts soccer in the fall. We're like a real, normal family! It's weird!
We have a house in Creve Cour. I go to work in the city and Kath
stays home with the kids and teaches piano on the side. I mow the
grass on Saturdays and get up and take the family to church on
Sundays. I have become my parents, Mulder, and the really far out
thing is, I'm actually enjoying it!" From the blissful look on his
face, Mulder could tell his friend was telling the truth.

"Well, at least one of us turned out alright," Mulder said,
smiling. "You really go to church, Andrews?"

"Yeah, I really go to church! It's important to me. It's like an
anchor. Everybody needs an anchor, Mulder, even you!" he added
pointedly.

"Well, guess what, I agree with you. And I happen to have an
anchor, although the upper reaches are doing their damnest to keep
us apart."

"Wait a minute! Stop the presses! You just told me there were
no women in your life. Now you're telling me you have an anchor.
Explain yourself, Mulder."

"I am not *stringing* any one, Andrews. That much is true.
But I have a really good friend and she is my anchor. We were
partners until this little mess I've gotten us in. They've reassigned
her back to Quantico, but we still have each other's phone numbers
on speed dial, for God's sakes. She's there when I need her."
Mulder put down the second bottle, now empty like the first.

"You're talking about, oh, what's her name, Sully or something"

"*Scully*," Mulder smirked. "*Dr.* Dana Scully. Yeah, I'm
talking about her."

"How do I tell you this, Mulder," Andrews said with concern on
his face. "She was sent to, well, you know, *spy* on you to
Blevins, man. I don't think she can be trusted." His tone was
sympathetic, but suspicious.

Mulder all but laughed. "I know that, dolt! Good God, I
accused her of it the first day we met. There was only one
problem: she didn't see it that way. She thought she was assigned
there to solve crimes. Boy, let me tell you, that really put old
Blevins personal parts in a wringer! No, you don't know her like I
know her, Andrews. I trust her with my life. Hell, I trust her with
my soul!"

"Well, don't trust *anybody* with your soul, man," Andrews
said, mysteriously. "That's an area you have to defend yourself."

"Is this personal experience we're talking here?" Mulder asked,
suddenly intent on their topic of conversation.

"Geez, Mulder, it's not like it's an X file! Now it's my turn to
change the subject. Are the Capitals ever going anywhere in the
Stanley Cup? I mean, my God, how long has it been?"

Another round of beers and Mulder's head was starting to
pound. His stomach was getting queasy and his thoughts were
solidly turning in the direction of home and his couch. Making a
lame excuse about having an early basketball game in the morning,
Mulder begged off bar hopping, and left his friend, vowing to call
more often. By the time he made it in the door of his apartment, he
went directly to the bathroom and lost the contents of his stomach.

"Just what I need, I get sick on the weekend!" he muttered to
himself and went to lay down on the couch. He didn't get a chance
to get comfortable because no sooner did he attempt it, he was
back in the bathroom. It went on like that for over two hours and
in the end, he was weak and shaking. In desperation he lay down
on his bed--it was fewer steps to the bathroom.

Mulder wanted more than anything to fall asleep. Acutally, he
was sorry he hadn't been more drunk so he could have passed out
by this point. But the churning in his stomach would not let him
rest. At some point he realized how thirsty he was and he stumbled
into the kitchen for a glass of water. It quenched his thirst, but it
didn't stay with him long enough to help. He couldn't remember the
last time he had been this bad. He didn't want to remember. He
just wanted to sleep.

Mulder thought about calling Scully. She was a doctor. She
should know what he could do to ease the pain in his stomach. But
if he called her, she would want to come over. It didn't matter that
it was the middle of the night, she would drive across town and
probably start sticking thermometers and who knows what else in
places he didn't want to think about. No, he admitted to himself,
that wasn't what really bothered him. It was too much like running
to mommy and he was a big boy. He could get through this. Of
course, if he was still this sick in the morning, that would be
another matter.

Somewhere between 3 and 4 in the morning, exhaustion and
dehydration succeeded where sheer will had previously failed. He
drifted off to a troubled sleep. His usual nightmare about losing his
sister Samantha was replaced by snippets and snatches of all the
horrifying experiences of the past two years. Eugene Tooms, the
worms found in the Arctic, the soldiers burned beyond recognition
by ioinized radition, all flooded his dreamstate eyes and threatened
to smother him. Some small part of his brain tried to tell him that
this was a dream induced by fever, but it did not make it less
frightening. Now that he was finally asleep, he wanted to wake up!

He woke up in a sweat and stared disoriented around the room.
He had heard a sound. It had sounded like a short laugh, or a
snort. He tried to clear the sleep from his eyes and listened closely
again. Again, he heard the laugh, coming from his living room.

He had the presense of mind to reach over on his nightstand and
search for his gun. He realized with a start that he left it out in the
living room. The night had started out a nightmare and was turning
into sheer hell. He had no idea how close the comparison actually
was.

Mulder walked hesitantly out into the living room. His stomach
was cramping furiously and his head was pounding. He was certain
he had closed and locked his door, but in his haste to make it to the
bathroom, it was possible that he had left the door open. He hoped
that he could find his gun, before the intruder saw him.

By some stroke of luck, his Glock was sitting on the kitchen
table. He didn't remember leaving it there, but that didn't matter.
He gripped it in both hands, clicked off the safety and walked into
the darkened living room.

The intruder was sitting on the edge of his desk. He was
watching the television, which was not on at the time. He seemed
to be laughing at something, but all Mulder could see was blank
screen. Mulder took a deep breath and raised his gun.

"That won't help you, Mulder," the man's deep bass voice
echoed off the walls of the small apartment. "You can't hurt me
with that. It is useless."

Some part of Mulder's mind lashed out in fury. He fired the gun
twice, directly at the intruder's head. The man sat on the desk and
laughed out loud. It was a vicious, hatefilled laugh. "Well, I guess
some people just won't listen, will they Mulder. Now put that
stupid thing down and sit. I have an offer for you!"

"Who are you," Mulder demanded, not moving from his spot or
lowering the gun.

"Oh, I have a lot of names, Mulder. I'm like you, though. I
really don't care for any of them. Let's just say I am someone who
you know, but more important, I have come to know you," the
intruder said, again punctuating it with the horrifying laugh.

"This isn't real. I've got a fever. I'm delusional. You are a
dream!" Mulder shouted at him.

"Believe what you like, Mulder. I'm here. When do you think I
come to people? In the middle of the afternoon by the Washington
Monument? I love the dreamstate. It's one of my realms."

"I'm going back to bed," Mulder said in a defiant tone. He
turned to leave the room, but was hit by a gut wrenching cramp
that threatened to knock him to his knees. His legs started to
buckle and he just barely made it to his couch, where he curled up
in a ball and whimpered. "I have to call Scully! This isn't funny
anymore!" he mumbled. He started over toward his phone but
recoiled when he saw that the intruder was now a woman!

"Sorry, Mulder, am I breaking societal stereotypes?" she purred.
"I know you've always talked the *equality line* but I also suspect
it was just that, a *line*. There are those who think of me as a
woman. There are some who believe my, ah, opponent, is a
woman, too. But then, you don't really believe in them at all, do
you?"

"What are you talking about, *them*?" Mulder asked, trying to
gain some understanding of the dream he was trapped in.

"Oh, come on, Mulder. I may be a vixen, but I don't drop
names! You know very well who I'm referring to. You may be an
agnostic, but I've caught you considering their existence on several
occasions. But enough of this banter, I came here with an offer.
Do you want to hear it?"

"I want to call Scully," Mulder retorted.

"Why just call her? Accept my offer and you can be with her!
You would be there, in her bed, Mulder, instead of this little hole
you have here. And the best part is, she would want you there. I'm
talking sex with Dana, Mulder, just like all those little wet dreams
you're so embarrassed by in the morning. I can give you Scully,
Mulder. She would be yours!"

"No one can give me Dana but Dana! She is her own person!
And if you are who you imply you are, she wouldn't even talk to
you! Now get out of my apartment so I can be sick in peace!"
Mulder fumed and buried his head in a sofa pillow.

"Won't deal for Dana, huh? Well, it was a long shot. But then,
I really didn't want to pull out all the stops in the first round. What
fun would that be?" Mulder looked when he heard the voice. The
intruder had changed shape again and was a completely different
man than the first one.

"Are you one of the *Brotherhood*?" Mulder asked weakly.
His stomach had not stopped cramping, and the activity of talking
was becoming more and more of an effort.

"Nah, I came from here, Mulder," the intruder said, pointing to
his head. "At least, that's what they taught you at Oxford in all
those psychology classes, isn't it?"

"That's what I thought! Then leave me alone!" Mulder shouted,
and had to gasp for breath as another round of cramps assaulted
him.

"But Mulder, I've haven't had a chance to really make my pitch.
I must say, you seemed to be a much easier sell. Anyway, here it is:
the X Files. You and Scully and all those fascinating case studies in
the basement! No more interference from above! You can chase
aliens and shapechangers and liver-eating mutants to your hearts
content. You can do it until you retire from the Bureau, for all I
care! Now you have to admit, it's tempting!" The voice was a silky
baratone now.

"No dice," Mulder whispered, still clutching his middle.

"Mulder! You are a tough one! But I'm having a hard time
understanding all this hostility! I mean, it's not like you believe in
the other side, after all. As I remember it, you tend to think of them
as vengeful and uncaring, when you think about it at all. Why
worry about it? You aren't even sure you have what I want!
You're not convinced of the existance of your soul, so why not
trade it for something you want?" The intruder's voice was
insistent.

"Just because I don't know what is there, doesn't mean I don't
believe!" Mulder said, trying to figure out if that sentence made
sense. "I do believe there is something beyond life, and I have no
intention of trading my eternity for a short term happiness!"

"OK, here's my best shot," the intruder spoke again. This time
the voice was an alto, belonging to a young woman who looked
very familiar. "How about if I gave you Samantha?"

"What do you mean? That's not in your power!" Mulder
exclaimed. Between the pain and the confusing conversation, he
felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

"How do you know, Mulder? I have a *money back
guarantee*. You've read about my little encounter with Daniel
Webster, you know the score. I don't offer what I can't deliver,
Mulder and I can deliver Samantha. She would appear at your
door within the next week, safe, sound, happy. And then all the self
incrimination, all the overwhelming guilt, all the nightmares that
keep you an insomniac, all that would end. You could be blissful.
You could rest. Come on, Mulder! At least consider it! You'll
regret it if you don't!"

Mulder caught a breath. The pain had gotten worse. He
wanted rest, he wanted peace. At that moment, he wanted to die.
But then, another thought forced itself into his mind. He heard it in
Scully's voice, although he knew the thought was his own. Fighting
through the pain, he turned to the intruder, who was now taking the
form of Samantha at the age of eight.

"I'm too tired to say all of it, but only one part applies here,
tonight!" he said evenly. ". . .and lead us not. . ."

"Ah, Mulder, low blow! Coming from an agnostic, too! How
will you face your psychologist friends, now. . ." the intruder
teased.

". . .into temptation, but deliver us. . ." Mulder continued the
prayer, eyes closed, not wanting to see the image of his sister so
close to him.

"Well, it's your loss, Mulder! She could have been returned to
you, but you blew it," the intruder's voice was fading.

". . .deliver us from evil. . ." Mulder said, slowly losing
consciousness.

"Hey, Mulder, I will be back. See you next time," said the
intruder, very softly, very distantly.

". . .deliver us. . ." were the last words Mulder got out before he
was enveloped in blackness.

Washington General Hospital
Sunday, 10:44 am

Mulder groaned and slowly opened his eyes. He wasn't in his
apartment and that startled him at first, until he saw Dana's smile
directed at him from the edge of the bed.

"Hey, sleepyhead, are you feeling any better?" Scully asked,
gently taking his hand.

"Where am I? I mean I know it's a hospital, but how . . .?" he
croaked.

"You're in Wash. Gen.," she said in a soothing voice. "I came
by your apartment yesterday morning. You had promised to help
me shop for a new VCR, remember. Anyway, you didn't answer,
so I let myself in. You were burning up with fever and you were
obviously dehydrated. I called the paramedics. When we got here,
half the sixth floor bull pit was already in the emergency room.
What did you eat for lunch Friday, Mulder?" Scully asked.

"I stayed in the office and got something off the cart. Egg salad,
I think," he said, trying hard to remember but his mind was still
fuzzy.

"Bingo! It *was* the egg salad! Mulder, you have food
poisoning! You were the final variable, but you also get the award
for being the hardest hit, so we couldn't ask you what you ate while
you were out of it. You just solved a public health crisis, Mulder!"

"I am deeply honored," he said weakly. "Scully, I had such
weird dreams," he said after a moment.

"That's normal, Mulder. You're basal temp was 104.6 when we
brought you in."

"No, I mean *really* weird. I think the devil was in my living
room trying to *buy* my soul!"

"OK, you win. That is too weird! What did he offer you," Dana
asked, playing along.

"First she offered you," Mulder said, slightly embarrassed.

"*She* offered *me*? The devil was a she, Mulder? Did you
take her up on it?" Dana asked, getting interested.

"I said no, and don't be so sexist, Scully. The devil was a she.
But she changed into a he. And then he offered the X Files, back,
without interference."

"And what did you say, Mulder," Dana asked, feeling a little
alarmed.

"I said 'no dice'. Even I know hell for eternity isn't a good
prospect," he replied, closing his eyes.

"Then what," Dana was now totally intriqued by the dream her
partner had.

"Then he became Samantha, and offered to return her to me,"
Mulder said, eyes still closed and his voice drifting off.

"And what did you say, then," Dana asked urgently, hoping to
get the answer before Mulder fell asleep.

"I said 'lead us not into temptation," Mulder replied sleepily.

"You quoted the Lord's Prayer, Mulder?" Dana asked, totally
surprised. "That's pretty strange, for an agnostic."

"That's what she said. And then she went away." The next
sound was Mulder, softly snoring.

Dana sat on the bed for a minute, watching him sleep. He was
the strangest person she had ever known. He was also her very
best friend. She reached up and unclasped the small gold cross
from around her neck. Gently, she pressed it into his open hand.
Somehow, she thought, he would be needing it more than she
would for the next day or two. She could get it back from him
later.

The end