I Say Obsessive, You Say Compulsive by Mish mish_rose@yahoo.com Classification: S, MSR, third party POV Rating: PG-13, for language Spoilers: Signs and Wonders, slight one for Folie a Deux Summary: Kosseff vs. Mulder - one analysis, seven minute time limit. Distribution: Yes, go for it, just let me know where, okay? Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and Karen Kosseff (spelled it right this time ) are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. Takes place approximately one month after "Orison"; "SUZ" is in the distant horizon in this little universe. Sequel to "Intuitive Reasoning" - I recommend reading that one first; otherwise, this may not make much sense. Give my counter a workout, yeah! Author's notes at end. I Say Obsessive, You Say Compulsive "It seems Mulder passed the ‘test of righteousness,'" Dana finishes, punctuating the last word with a sip of her iced tea. She blinks at the noonday sun and leans back against the bench with a sigh. "Thank God." "Is he okay?" She filled me in on the snake attack just minutes ago. I shudder just to think about it. She glossed over its seriousness, as usual, but I've picked up a bit of information here and there, mostly around the water cooler. He was very lucky. "Yeah, he's good as new," she replies quietly, then turns her head with a quizzical look. "Karen?" "Hmm?" We haven't really delved into much of anything today, not yet anyway. Dana and I are apparently suffering from an early bout of spring fever. I mimic her move, my head lolling over my right shoulder, my neck popping as the tension of the workday ebbs just a bit. Ah, relief. "I know I asked you to meet me here today, and I really appreciate it, but I'm not...." She breaks off, biting her lip and squinting against the bright sunlight. "Up to discussing anything else today?" I sit up a little straighter, but not too much. It was her idea to meet at the reflecting pool today for lunch, and I took it as a good sign. I've not had much success lately with getting her to open up to me. So when she suggested we have an outdoor lunch, I jumped at the chance. So far, we've engaged in polite conversation. I don't want to scare her off by putting it into second gear just yet. Right now we're just idling. Dana laughs shortly. "I don't think I've ever told you, Karen, but you're really good at this." She's surprised, like she never thought anyone could see past her defenses. But I'm not offended. Rather, I take it as quite a compliment, coming from what I consider one of my greatest challenges. "Of course I am. It's my job." Smiling, I reach over and hand her the remains of my tuna sub. She takes it without hesitation, then stops and questions my act of authority with a look I've long since gotten used to. For most people, that raised brow would be intimidating. I'm not most people. "Since we won't be talking shop, so to speak, you have trash duty." Another laugh. This time, it's born from her soul, not just her mind. "Okay, Karen. You're the boss." I watch her economical movements as she gets up and walks to the nearest receptacle. She may say I'm the boss, but we both know better. No one tells Dana Scully what to do. I imagine that even Mulder, technically her superior, finds that difficult. Stretching slightly, I wait for her to return and thank the stars above for this break in the weather. Sure, it's still fairly cool. And there's dampness everywhere; the murky snow-melt puddles lay in wait for those that succumb to the pull of the warm sunshine. Of course, Jamaican sunshine would be even better, but I don't think my checking account could stand the pain of withdrawal. So this musty bench will have to do. Dana breaks through my reverie with a look of confusion. "Karen? Something wrong?" "No - I was just thinking of Jamaica," I reply. She smiles and closes her eyes. "Oh, yeah. Pina coladas, warm, white sand, and... golden skin," she murmurs, then jerks back to awareness with a flush of her cheeks. "Sorry. Guess I got carried away." This is interesting. "That's okay. We wouldn't be human if we didn't lose ourselves in fantasy now and then, Dana. It's actually good for you, you know." Oh, I wish the clods who snicker behind her back could see her now. I've heard it all. Cold, heartless bitch... married to the morgue... Mrs. Spooky. Actually, that one doesn't bother her, I think. Then there's Doctor Headfuck... oh, wait a minute. That one's mine. "I know," she replies softly. "It's nice, isn't it?" "It certainly is." We let ourselves wander for a few seconds more, then she picks up her briefcase. Looks like our lunch is over. "Karen, I have a meeting this afternoon. I'm afraid I'll have to run. Would you like to walk back with me?" She feels obligated; always striving to please, Dana feels she's wasted my time today. There's nothing more to talk about, certainly not while my flabby legs struggle to keep up with hers. With a wave of my hand, I tell her to forget it. We have plenty of time; I know this snake handling case was only her second case back in the field and I don't want to take up her time with idle chitchat. "Go on, go on. I think I'm going to stay awhile, though, and enjoy a bit more of this beautiful weather." "Thanks, Karen. I'll call you," she says, then with a small nod of goodbye, walks away. Actually, since Dana was reinstated, she really doesn't have to see me anymore, unless she wants to. So far, she hasn't made a move to end our talks - I can't really call them sessions anymore - and I'm reluctant to deny her a sympathetic ear when she calls. I like to think our relationship has progressed past the strictly professional into something more friendly and personal. We're not best friends, by any means. But she's a lot like me; career-driven, almost to the extent of neglecting all other personal relationships. Of course, I don't have the luxury of a safety net like Fox Mulder. Speaking of which, it seems rather rude to keep him glued to the trunk of the tree behind me. Really, though, I told Dana the truth. This sunshine is warming my bones and I don't want to leave. But I know he won't until I do. "Agent Mulder?" I call out. A hissing scrape, followed by a muffled, "Shit!" is my only answer. Then total silence. He thinks I'm deaf? I try again, louder this time. "I know you're there, Agent Mulder. And I'm not leaving, so you may as well come and join me." One of the many joggers out today gives me a long glance as he passes by. Yes, I'm talking to myself, sir. At least until Agent Mulder answers me. "You can't follow her right away, you know. She'll know you've been spying on her, so you may as well talk to me." "I wasn't spying on her." I catch a pair of muddy black shoes out of the corner of my eye. "I wasn't eavesdropping on her, either." No, I don't believe he was, though I can't be sure. I caught him out of the corner of my eye, moving closer just as Dana was leaving. If he'd been there all along, she would have sensed his presence. Their awareness of each other is that powerful. Through her, I would have felt him, too; I've become accustomed to the ebb and flow that is Dana Scully. "Suffering from a bout of separation anxiety, then?" "I'm not suffering from anything, Doctor. And I wasn't stalking her, if that's what you're getting at. I would never invade her privacy." No, I don't believe he would. But he has a reason for being here and I'm damn well going to find out what it is. Tilting my head slowly, I look up from the shoes into a pair of indignant eyes. "Okay. Let's call it... assuring her safety." I pat the seat next to me. "Please, join me. I'd really like to talk to you." Warily, he takes a step forward. "What is it? Is something wrong with -" "No, no," I assure him. "She's fine. Getting better every day, actually. I've just never had the opportunity to speak to you, and I'd like to, very much." So would every other counselor in the Bureau. ‘Spooky' Mulder is considered the Holy Grail of the EAP; figuring out what makes him tick would be like solving the mysteries of the universe. That's not why I want to speak to him, though. Aside from the fact that he was watching us, I'm also curious about the man that Dana holds in such high regard. There are so many things I don't understand about Dana; unraveling Mulder could be the key to unlocking the doors in her mind that are bolted against me. He pulls his left hand from his coat pocket and checks the time, then squints against the sunlight. After a few moments, he sighs and sprawls in the seat next to me, holding his coat closed with his hands back in his pockets. Any further away, and he'd fall off the end. He may appear nonchalant, but I sense him ready to spring up at any moment. Especially if I pry a bit too much. So, we'll start out with a bit of humor. "Relax, Agent Mulder. I'm not going to have you thrown in a straitjacket and committed, you know." His head snaps sharply in my direction. If the daggers he threw with those eyes were real, I'd be dead now. "Just how much do you know about me, Doctor?" he growls through clenched teeth. "Enough to know I've just put my foot in my mouth." I must have been on vacation that week. Damn. Mulder in a straitjacket. Interesting. "I meant no offense, Agent Mulder." He gives his dental work a rest at my sincerity. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired, that's all." If anyone deserves a break, it's this man. "I'm sure you are." Those eyes stab at me once again. "Don't patronize me, Doctor." "I wasn't. If that's what I implied, I apologize." He gives me a disbelieving look and gets down to brass tacks. "Okay, enough already. Let's cut the crap. Are you going to tell Scully?" "Tell her what? That I caught you following her around?" His jaw tightens once again. "I wasn't following her around." "Tell you what, Agent Mulder. *You* cut the crap and tell me why you felt the need to hide behind that tree, and I'll tell you if I'm going to tell Dana." Although I already know that I won't. Part of my job is keeping secrets; I don't believe Mulder's motivation would be harmful to Dana. On the contrary, he's just worried about her. And he's taken the awfully big risk of pissing her off to ease that worry. He sighs and looks away, his anger fading. "I'm... worried about her, that's all." "Why? Do you know something I should?" My heart beats just a tiny bit faster. Now I'm getting worried. "No," he replies, meeting my eyes. "That's the point. Scully hasn't... she doesn't... it's not like we ever really talk about...." His voice dwindles and he flushes with embarrassment, suddenly interested in the dot of mustard on his tie. "I know." "You do?" he asks quickly, the spot forgotten. "Of course you do. She tells you everything." Nice way to avoid the issue, Mulder. "Not everything, Agent Mulder. Only what she wants to. Believe me, I understand your resentment." He says nothing, just sighs in acceptance. The man is a psychologist, after all. But he's also human, subject to his emotions. "You have no reason to resent me, Agent Mulder. I'm here to help Dana, not take her away from you." "I don't...." He breaks off. "Trust me? It's okay, I don't expect you to. Trust should be earned, you know that." "You seem to have earned Scully's trust." "But that doesn't mean she trusts me more than you," I answer quietly, dipping my head to catch his eye. "Don't you trust her to handle this on her own, Agent Mulder?" His eyes freeze in an instant. "Scully is the only one I trust." Now why do I not doubt that? This man has "Lone Wolf" written all over him. Well, alone except for Dana, obviously. "Good, then you'll believe me when I say that she knows what she's doing, Agent Mulder. When she's ready to talk to you, she will. Don't force it; all you'll end up doing is scaring her away." "When I want your advice, Doctor, I'll ask for it," he says smoothly, then stands up, casting himself in a dusky silhouette, his back to the sun. His question comes from the shadows of his face with cool precision. "Now, are you going to tell her?" "No, but only if you do me a favor." "Oh, I get it," he murmurs. "I spy, you blackmail." "So, you admit you were spying?" "If you admit to blackmail." "Fair enough." Oh, he's not going to like this. "All I want is ten minutes of your time, Agent Mulder. Please, sit." His eyes narrow into slits. "So you can analyze me, Doctor? Run back to EAP and tell everyone there how you dissected Spooky Mulder?" "I'd just like to have a pleasant conversation with you, Agent Mulder. Is that too much to ask?" His gives me his profile as he thinks it over. I see him worry his bottom lip with his teeth, then he says, "Five minutes." Negotiation? Why not? "Eight." "Six." "Seven." "Deal." With a flourish, he takes his place at the end of the bench again. "Okay, Doctor. You have seven minutes. Make the most of them. Except you'll have to forgive me if I'm not very talkative today - I don't like it when people corner me." "Understood," I say. "Now, what shall we talk about? Oh, excuse me, what shall *I* talk about?" "Well, since you seem to be so interested in me, why don't you start with that?" he says quietly, confidently. "Here's your chance. Analyze me." He's serious. He thinks I'll back down. Goodness gracious, he's practically daring me to turn tail and run. Thank you, Sigmund. Okay, so I'm not a Freudian. But I should thank someone for this gift. Not a gift, a challenge. I never could resist a challenge. Folding my hands in my lap, I strap in for the duration. "Let's see... Oxford graduate, top of your class at Quantico, never been married...." He gives me a sarcastic smirk at the last. It makes me pause; I've seen his personnel file. I'm positive he's never been married. Or has he? We'll save that topic for our next seven minutes. If there even *is* another seven minutes, which I doubt very much. "Go on," he says, mirroring my pose with a cross of his legs. His well-manicured hands deliberately match my own, slowly linking in his lap. He's good. "Devoted to the X-files, to the search for your sister...." "Everyone knows this, Doctor -" "Devoted to Dana," I finish quietly. A sigh, followed by a faint tic of his cheek. "They know that, too." I could easily pounce on that statement, and really, the temptation is almost overwhelming. But I let it go, for now. "Do you want to hear more, Fox?" Oh, yes, I already knew that, too. "Mulder. Just Mulder. You surprise me, Doctor. I thought that little tidbit was common knowledge." "It is. But calling someone by their last name is distancing, and surely you know that if I'm analyzing you, that's not the effect I'm looking for." "If your goal is to cultivate a sense of familiarity, *Karen*, then you must know that's the oldest trick in the book." "Possibly. But I suspect it still works." Any second now, he's going to bid me adieu and leave my annoying butt here on this bench. But the gauntlet has been tossed between us; his eyes light up with anticipation. "Continue." One beat, then two. "*Karen.*" You won't piss me off, Fox, so you may as well give up. "You're very distrustful of others, with the exception of Dana, of course. Very few people intimidate you yet you let others make fun of you without comment. Why is that?" "Un-unh," he says, shaking his head, "it's your question. You answer it." "Well... you were raised to be polite," I say, "and, despite your lack of belief in organized religion, you tend to subscribe to the ‘turn the other cheek' philosophy of dealing with hurt and humiliation." "I'm rarely hurt or humiliated, Karen. I really don't care what people think of me." "Except for Dana." "Well, that's a given, don't you think?" "Yes, I agree," I reply, my soft tone matching his. "Shall I continue?" "Please do." We could be sitting here enjoying afternoon tea, for all the good manners and pleasantries we're exchanging. Though I don't expect this camaraderie to last much longer. "I suspect you're very good at getting people, victims or perpetrators, to open up to you. You inspire trust with those very old eyes of yours." Those old eyes catch mine, softening just a tiny bit. "Yeah, everyone except Scully," he mutters. "I think Dana trusts you, Fox." "I know she does, Karen. But she apparently doesn't trust me enough to talk to me." "Trust is a major issue with you, isn't it Fox?" "You're just figuring that out?" Now he's looking at me like I'm stupid. "No, of course not." I brace myself for the fireworks. "The real question is - why do you keep asking it of Dana when you're so unwilling to give it to her?" Well, not exactly fireworks. More like a seismic ripple. I see it roll under the surface of his skin, first in the twitch of his hands, then in the tense of his neck and jaw. "I just told you that Scully is the only one I trust." "Then why did you follow her here?" Silence. Then a sidestepping compliment. "You know, Karen, you're a very good interrogator. You should have become an agent." "No, thank you, Fox," I reply, smiling at his diversion. "I detest guns." Although swordplay has its merits. Thrust, parry, lunge. Maybe I am a Freudian after all. "Too bad," he murmurs, then checks the time once again. "We still have another few minutes. Anything else you'd like to add?" "Not anything you'd want to hear," I mumble under my breath. "What's that?" "Nothing." His eyes light up again at my comment. "So... we've established that I'm a loner, unwilling to trust others - except for Scully, that is...." he pauses to make sure I hear *that.* "Willing to follow one of the tenets of a God I don't believe in, to the point of backing down when provoked. Oh, and that I inspire trust, which is too bad, since I can't seem to reciprocate. Other than Scully." There it is again. Why don't you carve it in stone, Fox? He can feel my frustration simmering just below the surface. "That about it?" he concludes quietly. "Would you like to hear more?" I could go on for hours, but I really wish I could get *him* to talk. "Nah. If that's the best you can do, no thank you." Arrogant pup. No way will he get the best of me. I glance at my watch. "You still owe me three minutes, Fox." I point at the dial and ignore his grimace at the use of his first name. "Okay, Karen," he purrs, his eyes becoming as soft as a kitten's. Charm can be an asset in his line of work and he definitely knows how to use it to his advantage. "Let's talk about you for a change." "I'm ready, Fox. Give it your best shot." How many more times can I call him Fox and get away with it? Until the cows come home, I imagine. No way is he backing down now. He hesitates, and suddenly this picture of him sporting a silver goatee materializes in my mind. As if on cue, his fingers give his chin a brush. Don't laugh, I tell myself. Stay focused. "You graduated from the University of Chicago, though not at the top of your class," he begins, and I let the little dig slide right by. "You joined the Bureau as a social worker in the EAP in the late seventies or early eighties, which would make you... oh, forty-three, forty- four?" "Actually, I'm forty-seven," I correct him. "I was a late bloomer." I could have said that not all of us were fortunate enough to have rich parents, or scholarship money, but I don't. Socio-economic status has never mattered to me, personally or professionally. "Go on." He nods, processing the glimpse into my past. "You continued with your education throughout your career at the Bureau, obtaining your masters, then your doctorate. Doctor Karen Kosseff, as of oh... 1990? Congratulations." He lets a small smile escape with the sentiment. "Thank you," I nod, accepting his smile for what it is - genuine admiration. "But, like you said before, Fox, all of that is common knowledge. Tell me something you don't know." I lean forward, careful not to invade his space. "Tell me something *I* don't know." In my imagination, he fingers the monocle over his left eye. Not a good look for him, actually. "Okay. You're slow to anger and tenacious as a bulldog. You pride yourself on your intelligence and self-control. I'll bet nothing angers you more than a loss of composure." "My business requires patience, Fox. You know that." "Okay, I concede that," he replies. I think he would like to expand on that topic on a more personal level, but he doesn't. Probably because he doesn't want to hang around for the time it would take to break me. And he would love to break me, I can tell. "You like order in your life," he continues, "but not to the point of being obsessive-compulsive." "You should see my apartment, Fox. It's a mess." I look pointedly at his muddy shoes. "Speaking of obsessive-compulsive... I'll bet those really bother you." "Actually, no, Karen. I'm a slob." Somehow I think his definition of ‘slob' differs from mine. Slobs don't wear designer suits. "But let's get back to you." Damn. "You also inspire trust. Like I said before, Scully trusts you. Which is a compliment to you, actually. In our line of work, there are very few people we can trust." "Thank you." "I said that Scully trusts you. I didn't say I did." "I know," I reply with a smile. "I'm not that naive, Fox." "Just checking, Karen." "I wouldn't expect anything less, Fox." He waits a second or two, then continues. "You don't place very much value in material things," he says, giving my suit a once-over. Low blow, Fox, but expected. "I also don't believe that ‘clothes make the man,'" I reply, returning the inspection. He nods slowly in acknowledgment of my comeback and wades ahead, the words dripping from him like honey. "You're not married, never have been. You have a cat. No, wait - two cats, and you hide chocolate in your lingerie drawer. From your mother, perhaps?" "My mother doesn't live with me." "No, but she likes to visit and rag on you, am I right?" My eyebrow drifts upward. This time his smile is smug, but still genuine. "I'm impressed, Fox," I admit, "but not surprised. I have no wedding ring, not even the faint white memory of one on my finger. No matter how hard I try, I can never get all the fur off of my clothes." I stop to brush at the stray orange and white hairs on my black coat. "And, like many other people I know, I have a snooping mother. Is that the best you can do?" I take the half-eaten Nestle's Crunch from my sagging pocket and have another fix, much to his delight. He laughs, a short, hearty sound that I think he doesn't do very often. I don't know why, it so obviously makes him feel good. "Karen?" "Yes?" "Does your mother know what else you have in that drawer? Or do you keep that little secret in your night stand?" Shit! There goes my last candy bar, straight into a puddle of water. I recover quickly, though. "Now, Fox, that wasn't fair." Where the hell is my handkerchief? I know I picked up one this morning... they're in the drawer right on top of my.... Great, now I'm blushing. "You're right," he says quickly, ruefully. "It was rude. I apologize." He produces a pristine handkerchief from his coat pocket. "Here." He watches as I wipe away the last traces of chocolate spit. "There's nothing wrong with owning a... a -" I stammer. "Nope." "Masturbation is a natural and harmless way of expressing sexuality." "I totally agree." It's my turn to snap a deadly look his way. Dammit, he's grinning. Against my will, I find myself losing it. "You little shit," I blurt out, then cover my mouth with the hanky. Although I curse quite a bit in my mind, I've always thought it to be useless in conversation. Not vulgar, just unnecessary. A copout, if you will. A hand drifts to his chest in pleased surprise. "Why Karen, I'm amazed. Something tells me I may even get to hear ‘fuck' before our seven minutes are up." "Not a chance, Fox." My dignity is restored in a heartbeat. He's not going to beat me. After sniffling into it, I give the soiled white flag a ‘want it back?' wave. His nose wrinkles with disgust. Ha - I knew it. "Tell you what, you keep it. I really am sorry about that, you know. I meant no disrespect." "I know you didn't. You just couldn't resist it." "Yeah, guess I'm a prick that way," he says quietly. "Truce?" Miraculously, a Snickers bar is waved under my nose. Taking it, I say, "Don't tell me - Dana likes chocolate, too?" "It helps to have some around." He's definitely a keeper. Next time I see Dana, I'll be sure to - no, I won't. Much as I'd like to tell everyone of my seven minutes with Mulder, I can't. I consider this a session like any other. Counseling Dana via Mulder. "Fox?" I think he's getting used to it, because he doesn't even raise a brow that time. "Yeah?" "I'm glad you and Dana are... involved." Uh-oh. ‘Fox' may no longer be taboo, but it appears that this subject definitely is. His smile fades into a narrow-eyed glare. "Who says we are?" "Okay," I concede. It's not imperative that I know, but I'd be lying to myself if I didn't admit to some curiosity. "Let me put that another way. I'm glad you have each other. Dana relies on you, more than you realize, I think." "You've got that backwards," he says quickly, leaning forward to grimace at his feet. "It's me that relies on her. Too much, sometimes." I breathe a little easier; he cares enough about her to let me broach the subject. That's a relief. "That's good, Fox. You may not think so, but it is." "How so? Please explain it to me, Karen, because I think I'm an asshole to her most of the time. On second thought, don't explain it to me. I think we'd better quit while we're ahead." He hangs his head a little lower. "God, she's gonna kill me if she finds out I was here today. But I had to do it." I've never seen Dana angry, but something tells me she comes by that red hair honestly. "You're concerned, Fox. Concerned people do foolish things. I have to call my brother the minute I get home from visiting him and his family. God forbid I ever forget, I'd never hear the end of it." I see the corners of his mouth turn up. "I'll always be his little sister. You'll always be Dana's best friend." "I hope so." He rubs his face with those spotless hands, then catches the time. "Jesus, I'd better go. Scully's gonna have my ass if I'm late for the meeting." Come now, Fox. Dana's gonna have your ass tonight anyway, am I right? I want to ask so badly, it's making my tongue itch. "Fox?" He rises, stretching just a bit. "What?" "Don't worry about Dana. She's going to be okay, really." I get up myself, brushing the remaining crumbs from my skirt. "I know she will," he replies simply, with a proud smile. "She's Scully." As if the sun rises and sets in her eyes, I imagine. "It doesn't stop me from worrying about her, though," he adds quietly. "I hope it never does." He nods, a small, thankful gesture that warms my soul. Seems I've made a crack in the mountain they call Mulder. All it took was a few hairs from my neighbor's cat and a candy bar. And a little humble pie. Does my tenacious heart good. Speaking of which.... "Mulder?" I call out, hoping the use of his last name will make him turn around. It does. "Yes?" He give his watch another half-hearted glance. "A piece of advice - stop with the ‘no touching' policy. It's a dead giveaway." My goodness, a more expressionless face I've never seen. His eyes look to the side slowly, then come back to me. Here comes the lie. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Like hell you don't." At least it wasn't ‘fuck.' "Oh, and Mulder?" "Yes?" "Don't worry. I won't tell Dana you were following her." His neutral face breaks into a brilliant smile. "What's to tell? I wasn't." My goodness, what would it take for him to admit it? Rolling my eyes, I open my mouth to let loose with one final protest, and it comes out as an exasperated, "Mulder, you are such a poor liar." "You know, I came here today over Scully's protests. She doesn't really go for all the subterfuge," he says. "Subterfuge? You mean - she knew you -?" He laughs at my question, then sobers in a heartbeat. "Let me explain, Doctor. I may be a poor liar, but my peripheral vision is excellent." What the hell does that mean? I feel my eyebrows come together just as I tilt my head to one side. "It means - I saw you watching us outside of Scully's apartment a month ago. It means that I wasn't following or eavesdropping on Scully today. I was following you." Shit. He moves closer, his voice lowering. "It means I followed you with the intention of finding out if you suspected what I think you've suspected." His eyes become steely. "It means I'm going to leave now with your promise that you will never speak a word of this conversation to anyone." I've been had. Big time. My curse-filled thoughts gel into an emphatic nod. He backs off immediately. "You were right, you know." "I was?" It comes out as a faint squeak. "About...?" The better question is - why the hell did I ever want to know? "Very few people intimidate me. But I can and do fight back when provoked, especially where Scully's concerned. And especially when she's not around. Keep that in mind, okay?" "I will, Agent Mulder," I say, thankful I'm an ethical practitioner. In the Bureau, they're few and far between, and he knows it. "Well, then, it seems our seven minutes are up, Karen. Good day." He turns and strides away, then pauses, looking back with a smirk. "And Karen?" "Yes, Fox?" I'm not easily intimidated either, buddy. Well, not since I got the feeling back in my weak knees a second ago. "Scully didn't agree with my little game of ‘I Spy.' Said she would put out feelers, eventually get around to asking you herself. She's so uncomfortable talking about some things, you know. "Then I pointed out that I didn't agree with her ‘no touching' idea, either, but I couldn't say no to her." I feel my lips begin to turn up. "I happen to live for touching Scully, Doctor. Guess you could say I'm obsessive that way. Or does that make me compulsive?" With one last smile, he walks away. "Neither, Mulder," I whisper to his back. "It makes you a man in love." But he doesn't need me to tell him that. He already knows. END Author's Notes: Sincere thanks to my betas once again - Alicia, Audrey, Brooke, hap, and Renee. Most special thanks to Galia, for reminding me of a kinder, gentler Mulder. I am most definitely not a psychologist and I don't mean to make light of OCD. Please accept my apology if I've offended. Of course, this is where I say that I'm not finished. That's right. Not finished. I think Karen and Mulder are due for some angst, don't you agree? Hello. My name is Mish and I'm addicted to feedback. mish_rose@yahoo.com Thanks for reading!