Scully looked in the mirror and sighed. Her fingers traced the lines around her mouth as she squinted at the dark circles under her eyes. A woman she barely knew was looking at her. Where was the young, feisty scientist? The officer of the law, sworn to protect and defend? Most recently, she'd been sent to find people who didn't want to be found, and had been completely disrespected by almost everyone in her path. Now she was getting dressed for a costume ball she didn't want to attend that was being hosted by people she wasn't sure she wanted to see again. She'd certainly escaped the boredom of her previous existence, but what had she lost?

And where was Mulder in all this? The old Scully was content to be partner and friend to the brilliant, troubled man. The new one wasn't so sure that was possible any more.

In the meantime, Scully had to finish putting on her costume. Her heritage was Irish - she felt ridiculous portraying an English aristocrat and she certainly didn't have any heralded ancestors like Fitz and Mulder did. A few clicks on the Internet and a call to an historian friend helped her to choose a more suitable personage. The blue dress Fitz had sent was restyled to put together a not very accurate approximation of a Victorian suffragette's costume, combined with an Edwardian "Votes For Women" sign and sash.

Her costumed identity was pleasing to her, and she hoped it would be to Mulder, who had promised a surprise for Fitz and Lady Jane as well. He would be meeting her at the Embassy which meant she had to arrive alone. At first this had annoyed Scully, but seeing herself now, looking for all the world like she was ready to storm Parliament, she felt arriving unaccompanied was perfect. The woman in the mirror smiled. She might have a trick or two up her sleeve yet.

A knock at the door broke her reverie. Scully found a young man in a frock coat and white wig who was about to bow. However, upon seeing her costume he stood straight and a broad grin broke out on his face. "Dr. Dana Scully, I presume?" he said.

"Yes. And you are -"

"Aimes, Madam, Warwicke Aimes, private secretary to Lord Fitzwilliam Mulder-Mulder." The grin returned. "I am dressed as my 1780s counterpart to the Mulder-Mulder family. But I see you are not dressed as Lady Charlotte."

"No, Aimes, I am not. Or should I call you Warwicke?"

He closed his eyes and bowed. "Madam, even my parents call me Aimes."

Scully couldn't help but burst into laughter.

xXx

Embassy Row in Washington, D.C. was glittering. Limousines, Mercedes, even Hummers and slinky sports cars slowly made their way to the British Embassy for one of the social season's most anticipated parties. Everyone from Arab sheiks to senators' wives were desperate to see the new British Attache, Lord Mulder-Mulder and, more importantly, his supermodel fiancee Lady Jane Horsey de Horsey. They were even willing to go against the "business chic" D.C. dress code and come in costume.

As Scully's limo pulled up to the red carpet, she was sure she saw Katie Couric from The Today Show dressed as Martha Washington. Was that Senator Hilary Rodham-Clinton as Eleanor Roosevelt? She was positive Daniel Day-Lewis was sporting the correct period clothing and beard to make him Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli.

Aimes came around to the door and opened it for her, again smiling. "Do have a lovely time, despite Lord Fitzwilliam, Madam. The music and food alone will be exquisite."

"Thank you, Aimes. I hope you can slip away for some fun as well."

"Confidentially, Madam," the young man whispered conspiratorially, "Lady Jane's assistant, Heidi, and I are, as you say, blowing this taco stand shortly and going to Polly Esther's dance club for 80's retro night."

Aimes bowed to the watching crowd with a flourish and led Scully down the red carpet. More than one woman saw her and applauded, with one shout of "Right on, sister!" ringing out as she reached the door. Aimes handed Scully's invitation to the doorman and took his leave.

"Dr. Dana K. Scully, Federal Bureau of Investigation, United States," rang the doorman's voice as Scully entered the ballroom.

Aimes had been correct. The air was filled with music and the buffet tables were laden with every delicacy known to man. As Scully awkwardly juggled her protest sign and a plate of candied nuts, she heard a familiar voice. "Dana! Darling! We've been looking all over for you!"

Scully turned to see Fitz and Lady Jane striding toward her, brilliant smiles plastered on their faces. 'And that's not all that's plastered,' Scully thought as she caught sight of Lady Jane's wobbly totter.

"Dearest, whatever have you done! The sash is all wrong with that colour," fussed Jane as she tried to remove the strip of material from Scully's shoulder.

"You first, Jane," puffed Scully as she extricated herself from the Jane's arms. "Tell me who you are."

Drawing herself to her full height of almost six feet, Lady Jane turned her head to the side and lifted a white shoulder. "I'm the fifth Countess of Roxbury, confidant to Queen Victoria and great-great-great grandmother to both Fitz and myself."

"And you, Fitz?"

"Lord Creighton Mulder-Mulder, who had the family home built and began the Micklethwaite hunt." He was studying Scully's attire. "I must say, Dana, I'm a bit hurt that you've changed my vision of Lady Charlotte."

"Well, I did a little on-line research today and found someone a little closer to me. Barbara Leigh Smith Bodichon."

"Ah, the famous campaigner for women's rights," Fitz said, looking as though he'd just eaten something sour.

"She was instrumental in getting people to change their minds about women being seen as property, especially after marriage," Scully said as she straightened her sash. "It's hard to believe there was a time that when a woman married all her wealth, land, and identity went to the husband forever, even if he left her."

"Why, that's exactly how the Mulder-Mulder fortune was born," a deep voice behind an impossibly huge layer cake said. "Wasn't it, cousin?"

All three turned to see none other than Fox Mulder as -

"Robin Hood?" Scully questioned. "You're Robin Hood?"

"The Bold Outlaw of Barnsdale," cooed Lady Jane as she almost licked her chops in admiration of Mulder's tight fitting costume. "Bold, daring and manly - oh, yeesssss, how very Errol Flynn!"

Mulder was wearing a long-sleeved green tunic, deerskin breeches and tall black riding boots. But what was really amazing was the hair. Gone was Mulder's short business cut. His hair was now a little longer than shoulder-length and it certainly didn't look like a wig. Scully hadn't seen him for a few days, but it wasn't long enough to grow that natural-looking hair. Mulder's face sported a closely shaved beard and moustache and a wry smile.

"Was it Lord Creighton that did it first? Married the cash so he could build the castle? You see, Scully, the Dutch Mulders were scholars and craftsmen. Not exactly high-paying jobs. The British transplants decided to just marry the darn stuff to get what they wanted."

Fitz stood straight and tugged on the hem of his coat. "It's not as if we were the only ones who did it. It was tradition."

Mulder moved around the table and walked toward his cousin. "If there's anything Scully and I have learned since joining the Bureau, it's that traditions aren't always just. Marry the rich girls, take off with their money, leave them destitute and take as many mistresses as you please. It's what the Mulder-Mulders did for generations until the laws changed."

Lady Jane began to giggle. "Well, I hope he didn't plan to do that to me!" Her laughter was almost uncontrollable now. "After that last coke bust I had barely ten pence left. Most of the money from my Esme Binoche contract is going straight on court costs and taxes!"

People were beginning to stare at the laughing model and Scully turned to see Fitz looking more than a little concerned.

"My love, whatever gave you such a ridiculous idea! I've supported you through it all, darling, and that won't change." He moved closer to Lady Jane. "How much is 'most' of the money?" he whispered.

Mulder said, ”Fitz only got this posting because of family connections.”

Fitz took a defiant stance. "As always, Fox, you fail to appreciate the great burden of a landed name. One cannot take employment just anywhere -"

"Or in your case anywhere at all," Mulder said as he speared a chunk of salmon with his dagger and held his dagger out to Scully. "Hungry?"

"Famished," she said as she reached for the salmon.

Fitz moved closer, one fist clenched towards Mulder's face, and glared menacingly. "I hope you remember whose birthday this is, and whose guest you are."

Mulder raised his fist in answer to Fitz's, when suddenly a camera flash went off in their direction and a press photographer was seen scurrying away.

"How dare you!" Fitz roared with fury, and set off in pursuit of his retreating quarry.

"Oh, dear," murmured Jane. "I can see the 'Washington Post' caption now: 'US Relations Strained with the UK'."

The band began to play a light waltz. Mulder touched Scully's shoulder and said, "Dance with me."

She smiled and said, "Only if you tell me about the hair."

"This old thing?" Mulder made a show of running his hand through the chestnut locks. "It's from House of Wig. You like?"

Scully bracketed his whiskered chin with two fingers, stepped close and moved his head, pretending to scrutinize the hairpiece. She took a long moment to visually caress his familiar features. The ironic lift of eyebrow and the thick lashes framing his chameleon eyes. His strong nose. The slight curve of lush lips. Yes, she liked. Very much indeed.

She stepped firmly back into her own space. "Not bad. If we ever need to go undercover to investigate a commune reunion, you'll fit right in."

"C'mon, Scully. Let's investigate this waltz."

Miss Elle's dancing lessons came, unbidden, to Scully's mind as she placed her hands demurely atop Mulder's own. Practiced couples dancing had seemed ridiculously old-fashioned during her teen disco years, but now she welcomed the way she could easily pace herself to Mulder's graceful lead.

Mulder bent to her ear, and spoke quietly. "We've got that teamwork thing going again. Dancing is just another form of unspoken communication."

And what was Mulder trying to communicate, Scully wondered, as he embraced her more firmly for a spin around the floor? She could feel the heat radiating from his leaf green tunic and the tense muscles of his back. She impulsively gave his spine a friendly scratch, surprising a chuckle.

"You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours?"

"Maybe later, Mulder. Maybe." Scully smiled at Mulder's shocked expression. "You seemed a bit tense with your cousin, I was just trying to help out."

His lips thinned and he averted his gaze.

"Mulder?"

"Let's just say that Fitz took the Mulder-Mulder family motto a little too seriously."

"What's the motto?"

"Cave canem vulpes venans."

Scully nodded. "Beware of the dog -"

Mulder finished, "- who hunts foxes."

She wanted to laugh, but it died on her lips when she saw the muscle twitch in Mulder's jaw. "You can't mean that Fitz took some Latin throwaway literally?"

"I was young and stupid, Scully. Hard to believe, I know. I expected a long lost family welcome and instead met with a three year stream of Fitz's oiled barbs. Guess the family resemblance and scholarship to Oxford bothered him more than I realized at the time."

"Mulder," Scully lay her hand over his chest, looked into his eyes, "you may look like Fitz, but you are nothing like him. I know your heart."

The music, the room, the others faded away as Mulder suddenly leaned in. Scully's eyes slipped closed as she felt his lips brush hers - then was jolted to reality as she felt a curvaceous body lever between them.

Her eyes popped open as Jane grabbed Scully and muttered, "Please, allow me," inching in for a kiss of her own.

"That's enough, Jane," announced Mulder, peeling the manicured fingers off Scully's arm. "Go find Fitz."

"Dana, darling. Subtle hints don't work with you. What does work?"

Scully blinked. "I'm sorry, Lady Jane. Not interested."

Lady Jane sniffed, eyes bright, then tottered off across the dance floor. Scully was shocked to her straight-arrow soul when she stared into Fitz's lascivious gaze.

She swallowed. "This evening's charm is wearing thin."

"Ma'am, may I be so bold as to ask for the next dance?" The bashful voice belonged to Bobby Orr.

He was dressed cavalier-style as, Scully presumed, D'Artagnan, but he wasn't alone. Behind him were Thomas Orwenyo, Xien Cho, Angelo Panucci and Eldon McCuskey: the three musketeers and Cardinal Richelieu.

All four men gazed at Scully expectantly.

"More admirers, Scully?" sighed Mulder. "It looks like your dance card is full." To her disappointment, the romantic mood seemed to have changed for Mulder and he left her to dance with Bobby, while the other four swimmers sulked at the side of the ballroom.

When she finished her dance with Bobby, Lady Jane sidled up to her, and bent down half a foot so she could murmur in Scully's ear. Her hot breath tickled the back of her neck and Scully flinched as Jane noticeably sniffed.

"I'm disappointed you're not wearing the Black Orchid I sent."

"Sorry, it's not subtle enough for my taste."

"No matter," said Jane airily, not sounding deterred. She looked across the ballroom to where Fitz was gesticulating wildly, and probably shouting at, the long-suffering Aimes. "Poor Fitz, I do feel for him so, and he's such a child when he gets into one of his sulks. Agent Mulder's presence is bringing out Fitz's worst competitive side. Washington is such a wonderful job for him. He was worried he might be sent to the Falkland Islands. It would be such a shame if he lost this posting."

"Perhaps he ought to aim for slightly more diplomatic behaviour," ventured Scully.

"True, his brief time here has not been without incident." Jane honoured Scully with another alluring look. "He told me he thinks you've very beautiful. You wouldn't like to help me cheer him up at the end of the evening? You, me, a bottle of Bollinger and a night in the honeymoon suite?"

"Lady Jane, do you never give up?"

"I've told you before, I'm not used to being turned down," said Jane, looking dejected. ""First Xien Cho, and now you; it has not been a good week. Xien turned out to be a bore, but your lack of interest just makes you all the more appealing. You have this wonderful funereal air of being determined not to enjoy yourself."

"Thanks," muttered Scully.

"If you're not romantically involved with Fox Mulder, why not have fun with Fitz and me? Or have I been reading the wrong signals, and you and Fox are an item after all?"

"No, we're not an 'item', we're partners and colleagues."

"Who happen to attend fancy dress balls and then stare lingeringly at each other's costumes?" Jane raised her eyebrows in mock disbelief. "You're so very different to the members of Her Majesty's constabulary I've had the misfortune to meet."

"Good night, Lady Jane," said Scully firmly, having had quite enough of her supermodel admirer.

She crossed the ballroom and sat wearily on a plush red sofa. Sitting next to her, and clashing violently with the seating, was an elderly woman with a bouffant of yellow hair and a bright pink evening gown covered with frills and diamante. In her hand was a shepherd's crook.

The woman looked disdainfully at Scully's costume. "Nell Gwynn?" she asked.

"Barbara Bodichon, as a matter of fact," said Scully, feeling somewhat offended.

"If you say so, my dear," said the woman peevishly. "With that bosom I had imagined something altogether less virginal."

Feeling even crosser, Scully realized the top front hooks on the bodice of her gown had popped open. No wonder Bobby Orr had spent so much of their dance looking down. Doing them up, Scully scrutinized her neighbour's frilly fro-fro concoction of a gown.

"Bo-peep?" asked Scully.

"No, lost sheep aren't quite my field, but you're close. I specialize in broken hearts and lost loves, just like the woman my costume is based upon: Lord Mulder-Mulder's ancestor the Dowager Duchess of Slough."

"What contribution did she make to British history?"

"She was a delightful eccentric who wandered the streets of the east end of London, looking for couples to act as matchmaker for. She would, for example, see a telegram boy and a flower girl, hook them with her crook, and make an introduction - and voila a marriage was made."

As she spoke, in way of demonstration, she stretched out her crook and caught Mulder.

"Look what I found for you," said the woman with amusement. "Alas, the Duchess of Slough's end was not a happy one. Some say she fell into a canal, others that she became an unknown victim of Jack the Ripper."

"Jack the Ripper?" questioned Mulder with sudden interest.

"But you don't seem to need me, my dear, or my crook. You appear to already have two suitors."

Both Mulder and Mulder-Mulder now stood before them.

Fitz rubbed his chin thoughtfully and looked injured. He adjusted his monocle and cleared his throat.

"Dana, I see you've already met my great aunt, Dame Millicent Cureton, the romantic novelist. She's touring America courtesy of the British Council, to bring a little love into the lives of Americans."

"My intuition tells me this young woman already has that," said Dame Millicent.

"Quite," said Fitz. "I would like to ask you to dance with me, Dana, but this clumsy oaf of a cousin of mine might punch me on the nose."

"Scully is capable of making her own choice of dance partners," said Mulder. "I'll try not to punch you."

"I say, old fellow, why don't I take fox baiting off the menu for the night and we can call a truce?"

Mulder looked for a moment as if he would rather do anything but shake hands, before reluctantly allowing Fitz to do so.

"Friends again, cousin?" asked Fitz.

"Possibly," said Mulder, not bothering to disguise a note of caution.

"Capital, and blood's thicker than water, don't y'know? So why not do us both a favour, and go and have a word with the odious 'Washington Post' photographer over by the buffet table? He took a photograph during our little contretemps earlier, and I was not successful in confiscating the film."

Scully and Fitz danced stiffly together. Fitz might resemble Mulder, but he did not possess Mulder's ease with himself and fluidity of movement.

"Do you need rescuing, my lady?" asked Mulder at the end of the dance. "If you don't mind, Fitz," he added, remembering their uneasy truce.

Fitz stepped aside, sighing as Jane's loud voice could be heard as she emptied her handbag on a table, "Bloody hell, someone's nicked my Ecstasy."

The band leader announced the last dance of the night, Glenn Miller's "Moonlight Serenade", and Scully relaxed once more in Mulder's arms.

Only two couples remained on the dance floor, Mulder and Scully and Dame Millicent and her elderly husband, locked in each other's arms.

Mulder and Scully watched as the elderly couple spun past them.

"I wonder how many years they've been together?" pondered Scully.

"Half a century, maybe. Of course they might have been friends or co-workers before they got together."

"Maybe," agreed Scully, half worried and half hoping that Mulder was back in flirtatious mode. "So, Mulder, what would you choose for a family motto? 'He who wears the best costume wins'?"

"How about 'Slow but sure'?" asked Mulder, looking down at her with unmistakable intent.

Scully swallowed. She had wanted a moment like this, but now that it was here, in a ballroom while in Mulder's arms, it seemed contrived. It was the second time she had sensed he was about to kiss her while dancing, and she didn't want it to happen just because they were swept away by the atmosphere.

"So what's brought all this on?"

"I've come to the conclusion that I had better not wait another five years before I make my move," said Mulder with a teasing smile. "Or someone else will step in. From the swimmers and Sky Turner, to Fitz and Jane, it seems that no man - or woman - can resist you. It might be dangerous to introduce you to any more of my relatives; they might all want to make love to you."

"Well," spluttered Scully.

"Let's get out of here before Fitz's birthday speeches. Self-congratulatory pomp and ceremony aren't really my style."

They backed away from the dance floor and had made it as far as the refreshment table when the music ended and the `clink' of silver on fine stemware could be heard.

Mulder groaned. "Busted."

The crowd quieted and all eyes turned towards Aimes, whose wrinkled frock coat and slightly askew wig hinted at a hasty entrance.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my apologies for the interruption. One last duty almost slipped my mind, which must be tended to before Lord Mulder-Mulder's birthday festivities can begin. The Hay-Adams Hotel has generously donated a weekend package to the attending couple considered to have the most creative costumes. My assistant and I," Scully saw Aimes glance at Heidi, who was smiling up at him, "have been charged with making this difficult decision. Before we announce the winner, I'd be pleased to inform you of the top three finalists."

A buzz rippled through the crowd, with singletons frowning and couples standing closer together, some preening and others adjusting their partners' costumes. Scully eyed the competition, and realized Mulder was also coolly glancing around the crowd. She schooled her face into sober nonchalance but her insides were chattering away. A fancy hotel - Mulder - a weekend package - Mulder. She mentally crossed every finger and toe.

"One of the three finalist couples are Lady Jane Horsey de Horsey as the Countess of Roxbury and Lord Fitzwilliam Mulder-Mulder as his ancestor, Lord Creighton Mulder- Mulder."

Mulder rolled his eyes as the crowd applauded. Scully relaxed. No surprise here. How could they possibly win against the British birthday boy?

"Next are Miss Rebecca Vouillon as Queen Victoria and Sir Robert Laure as Prince Albert, in costume from the 1842 painting by Sir Edwin Henry Landseer."

Scully looked more carefully at the smiling couple. Their costumes appeared to be old-fashioned and somewhat uncomfortable.

"Mulder, do you know anything about this painting?"

"Royal collection. Windsor Castle." He shrugged. "I saw it once when it was loaned to the Tate. They've done a pretty good job of replication."

Aimes smiled slightly. "Lastly, Dr. Dana Scully as suffragette Barbara Leigh Smith Bodichon and Mr. Fox Mulder as the inimitable Sir Robin of Locksley."

Scully turned away from the stares and polite applause. Her hand found its way into Mulder's, and she glanced up to see him grin. "Not busted after all," he whispered. "At least, not yet."

"Before I announce the winner, I'd like to make an observation. I've been welcomed here in Washington D.C., both at a personal and professional level." Aimes smiled down into Heidi's tilted face. "It occurs to me that we are visitors here this evening in the eponymous city of a man who fought to have the inequities of hereditary privilege purged from this nation. Even though we seem to celebrate privilege on occasions such as these."

Aimes continued, speaking slightly louder to be heard over the crowd's restive buzz. "What better reflection of Washington's foundation than to select a couple who embody societal change. Ladies and gentlemen, please congratulate the winners of this evening's costume ball, Dr. Dana Scully and Mr. Fox Mulder."

Scully would swear to herself later that time slowed, each event of the inevitable catastrophe impossible to stop.

The clapping of the crowd timed events like a metronome. Fitz strode forward to shake Mulder's hand. Mulder started back, surprised, and Fitz somehow missed, knocking a bowl of foie gras to the floor. Mulder's black riding boots skidded. His arms windmilled, and he twisted his body in midair like an eel on a hook, to avoid Fitz's giant cake. Mulder's back hit the refreshment table and lobster tails went flying. His elbow sank into a small rectangular concoction which was marzipan and chequered - or at least it used to be.

Time snapped back to normal with Fitz's roar. "DAMN YOU! Mama sent my Battenburg birthday cake straight from Micklethwaite!"

Fitz grabbed Mulder's tunic and shook hard. Mulder regained his balance and warned, "Let go of me."

"Or what?" Fitz shouted, "You'll ruin my birthday party?" He swung at Mulder and they both slipped to the ground, wrestling and throwing punches.

Scully glared at a giggling Lady Jane, stepped around the gathering crowd, and hefted an open bottle of Bollinger's. She was tempted to bean Fitz, who was now on top and appeared to be winning the fight, but no - she might hit Mulder at the last second.

Scully took a healthy swig, stood over them, and dumped the rest of the champagne over their heads in a shower of pricey bubbles.

Fitz and Mulder broke apart, sputtering, and the crowd's clapping turned to cheers. Scully grinned and mock- curtseyed, wishing she had her protest sign at hand. "Well done, Ms. Bodichon," Aimes said, before offering a hand to Fitz.

"Aimes, you're fired," Fitz snarled. He stomped into the crowd, head high, entirely ignoring Lady Jane.

"Yes, sir," Aimes replied blandly to Fitz's back. He winked at Scully before handing her a white envelope. "Here's your prize. You and Agent Mulder deserve it."

"Will you be okay, Aimes?"

"More than fine, Agent Scully. Lord Mulder-Mulder doesn't realize that my position as private secretary is more secure than his own posting. Diplomatic immunity only works outside of the embassy."

He hesitated a moment, before whispering into Scully's ear. "I shudder to think about where he'll be posted after this evening's faux pas. One does not engage in fisticuffs at an embassy function."

Mulder pushed himself to a seated position on the floor. Dark smudges marred his tunic and hand.

"Mulder, are you bleeding?"

"Huh? No, it's jam." He licked his fingers. "Apricot." Mulder started to rise, before sitting back abruptly. "Scully. Help?"

"Mulder," rebuked Scully half-heartedly as she proffered her hand. To her irritation, she found that the exertion of raising the bottle above her head had finally split the bodice of her dress altogether.

"Oh, dear," said Jane as she watched Scully pull Mulder up. "The birthday boy isn't going to be happy about this."

"I'm sure he'll survive the loss of his Battenburg," said Mulder, brushing crumbs from his costume and trying to be discreet as he peeked at Scully's cleavage.

"I daresay he will, but he is very competitive and he had his heart set on winning the fancy dress prize."

"Well, you'll have to excuse me from pitying him, Lady Jane, as it feels good to have bested Fitz at something at last."

"I don't think it's the only thing you've bested him at," smiled Jane, broadly. She glanced at the miserable swimmers. "Isn't that right, Dana?"

"It's possible I should have carried a placard reading, 'I'm not single'," admitted Scully. "But I did enjoy dancing with you all."

"You would make a better diplomat than Fitz, you've rejected us all so nicely."

xXx

"This has been an interesting ending to the evening, Mulder," said Scully, as they walked back to Mulder's car.

"Never let it be said that I don't know how to show a woman a good time. Special Agent Bodichon, it looks as if you have a date this weekend," said Mulder, tapping the envelope with their prize.

"I hope so," said Scully shyly. "But what if Skinner won't come with me?"

"Tell me I'm not going to have to fight him too!" laughed Mulder.

"Well, you remember what Sky Turner said about me? That the years of untapped sexual energy within me must be immense. It looks as if you may find out whether he was right."

xXx

The next weekend was everything Scully had hoped for and more. The bedroom suite at the Hay-Adams was beautiful and romantic, and Mulder and Scully were surprised and pleased to find that most of their initial awkwardness soon dissipated after a couple of glasses of champagne.

Early on Sunday morning, as they lay on the bed stretched out and holding hands, a still flushed Mulder was whispering sweet nothings that made Scully laugh with an abandon she hadn't felt since childhood.

"Practice makes perfect, Scully," he said as he bent over her for another kiss.

"I don't recall having any complaints the first time last night," smiled Scully. "However, shower first and I want you to order breakfast downstairs while I get dressed."

"The room service is very good."

"The balcony view overlooking the White House is stunning," insisted Scully. "We don't want to waste our prize."

***

Not for the first time, Mulder wondered why it took women so long to get ready. He had already had one cup of coffee and a croissant.

Ah, that was why. She wanted to impress him.

Looking out over the balcony, in a 1950s style off-the- shoulder dress, with a pinched waist and floral skirt waving in the breeze, was a vision of loveliness.

He rose from his chair, his hands itching to place them on those curvaceous hips.

Such beauty and now she was his!

He walked up behind her, embraced her and muttered in her ear, "What took you so long?"

"Mulder! What are you doing?"

Ouch, he knew that sharp tone only too well. Scully was annoyed, and what was more she wasn't in front of him but was standing several feet behind him. He dropped his hands guiltily as the vision of loveliness also spun round in surprise and faced him.

Two Scullys. It couldn't be, but it was. Two petite, beautiful redheads, and the imposter had an uncanny resemblance to the original. At least his one looked as if she was going to see the funny side of the situation.

"Mulder, you seem to have stumbled across my cousin from Connemara in Ireland. Allow me to introduce you..."



***

NOTES: Many thanks to our dynamic beta duo: MaybeAmanda and Euphrosyne. Also, thanks to Halrloprillalar for her clever turn of Latin phrase.

Like our Mulder-Mulder family crest? Blame the talented and blue-blooded MaybeAmanda. We plan to order the dinnerware pattern ourselves.

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