Source: Page 125 of White Noise Keywords: "before," "big," "snow," "object"

From: dmstoddardhunt@yahoo.com (dmstoddardhunt) Subject: That Shotgun Shine (XF/Sopranos) MSR, post-The Truth (11/16) Date: 5 Mar 2006 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative

DO NOT FORWARD to Ephemeral/Gossamer. Thanks. TITLE: That Shotgun Shine (11/16) CHAPTER 11: The Uninvited AUTHORS: David Stoddard-Hunt, Paige Caldwell CATEGORY: c/o - XF/Sopranos, post-series mytharc (XF) ADVISORY: maximum strength language, adult situations FEEDBACK: dmstoddardhunt@yahoo.com paigec38@yahoo.com DISCLAIMER: See headers above part 1 NOTE: Chapters 1 - 7 can be found here: http://www.iwtbxf.com/paige/shotgunshine.htm Chapter 8,9,10 can be found by searching "Shotgun Shine" at Ephemeral. (We know, we know, we're working on it.) *** Nuovo Vesuvio Ristorante Belleview Avenue, at Davey Street Bloomfield, New Jersey *** It was a familiar sight, the long, graceful contour of Mulder's back, one Scully had taken comfort in many times. Usually, after making love, he'd roll out of bed and pad gingerly into the bathroom, pausing at the door to look over his shoulder and grin, surveying the splendid disarray of bedclothes with Scully, herself, at its very heart. He'd linger there, mention something about 'warming up the shower' for her, waggle his eyebrows once or twice, and disappear around the corner. Inevitably, no matter how spent, how satiated she felt, this boundless, goofy, passion of his would rekindle the flame within, pull her out of bed and into his arms. In the shower, she would surrender her body to the steamy heat, and her face to the stinging spray, legs wrapped tightly around his hips. And afterward, always, they could barely stand, the hot water long gone cold and dripping from their bodies, all because of a backward glance. Now, though, Mulder's glance back held only confusion, and engendered nothing within her but dismay, sitting like a lump of concrete dross in the pit of her stomach. A commotion down the table drew Scully's attention momentarily. When she turned back, Mulder was across the room, surrounded by the rest of the made guys. "Come on, kid, let's go!" Paulie 'Walnuts' whacked Christopher Moltisanti's shoulder with the back of his hand. "You don't expect us to fuckin' wait while you suck face?" Paulie's expression softened as the object of Moltisanti's affection was gradually released and revealed. "No offense, dollface. Business," Paul Gualtieri said with a shrug. Adriana made a show of pouting, then winked at Paulie, who blushed. "You're one lucky prick, kid. You know that?" Paulie said, as Christopher tucked in his shirt, and straightened his tie and jacket. "Don't I know it!" Moltisanti shook his head in wonder. "She's fuckin' gorgeous, ain't she?" They walked off toward the bar and business, with Paulie cautioning Christopher in a stage whisper to get his head out of his ass and back in the game. Alone now at her end of the table, Adriana waved in Scully's direction. Having not yet been introduced, Scully was taken aback by the apparent forwardness of the gesture. It took her a moment to realize the greeting was for someone else, just behind her. She turned to see Carmela beckoning the young woman down. As Adriana rose, Carm looked up at Scully and patted the seat next to her. "Come, sit. Let the men do their thing. What do we care? I've got someone I'd like you to meet." Scully turned to watch the young moll, who was dolled up head to toe in animal print and lace. Desperately, Scully glanced one final time in Mulder's direction. She wasn't sure which of them had drawn the shorter straw. *** Unmarked Ford Econoline van Davey Street, one block from Belleville Avenue Bloomfield, New Jersey *** In the time it took Joe Iannarulli to spin around in his seat and cross from one side of the van to the other, his partner had begun to tremble uncontrollably. "What is it? Lubes, what do you see? Al. Al! Do you hear me?" Iannurulli shook Lubrano by the shoulders, commanding his attention eye to eye, and partner to partner. "Al," he began evenly, "tell me what you saw, no matter," raising his voice only when Lubrano began to avoid Joe's eyes and to shake his head in violent denial, "no matter what, you hear me? Whoever it was, you tell me. Got it?" Lubrano stared back, his jaw working but not producing sound. He looked frightened. No. No, that wasn't quite it. Haunted. His partner for twenty years, godfather to his girls, 'been there, done that' Albert Lubrano looked haunted. In all their years together working the Organized Crime division, Joe had never seen his partner this bad off. Finally, Lubrano managed, "At first, I thought it was that big-ass new partner of yours, Mister Personality from D.C. But then, when I looked again, oh God, Joe, it was as if he knew I was there. You said he was missing. You told me he was missing! But there he was, looked right at me, as if he knew just where I'd be!" Lubrano began pacing the cramped path between towering banks of electronics. Worse still, he began talking to himself. "Well, of course he'd know, Lubrano, you old jackass. Of course he would. It's procedure." "Who, Lubes?" Iannarulli, fearing his partner was on the edge of a breakdown, struggled to keep his own voice as neutral as possible. "Who looked right at you?" Lubrano forced himself to look through the lens one last time, hoping, Joe thought later, against hope that he'd been mistaken the first two times; that he hadn't actually seen a man he couldn't help but recognize. "You told me he was missing, Joe. You said, Chief's missing, your words exactly." Lubrano's voice sounded plaintively, as if bemoaning a broken promise. Iannarulli, despairing of a straight answer, shouldered past his partner and peered out through the 125 mm lens. Staring back at him, as if from a wanted poster or mug shot or, more appropriate still, a milk carton, was the Chief of the Newark Field Office, Frank Cubitoso, formerly missing and recently listed as 'presumed dead.' *** Nuovo Vesuvio Ristorante Belleview Avenue, at Davey Street Bloomfield, New Jersey *** Adriana's leopard print unitard gave rise to inappropriate, downright catty thoughts, but the ridiculous outfit wasn't the only strain on Scully's manners. The younger woman's eyes were so heavily outlined in charcoal that Scully was reminded of a down-market, drag version of Anne Baxter's Nefretiri. Five-eight in her stocking feet, with the addition of four-inch stiletto heels and enormously teased hair, Adriana was taller even than Carmela, and literally towered over Scully. Carmela remained seated during the introductions, forcing the younger woman to bend in half to kiss her, reaching out to steady herself on the back of Carmela's chair. "Miss Scully? This is Miss Adriana La Cerva, my nephew, Christopher's fiancee." Carmela shot a heated glance toward the dark-wool gaggle of ganders at the bar. "His long-suffering fiancee, I might add." For lack of anything else to say, Scully offered her congratulations on the happy event, and was rewarded with the display of an obscenely large diamond, and Ade's sincere - if polyphonemic - thanks. As the younger women took chairs and faced them in an intimate little circle of three, Carmela finished the introductions. "Ade, Miss Scully and her partner over there, Mr. Mulder, used to work for the government, but now they're going to be doing business with Tony." "That's him over there, your partner?" Adriana gave Mulder a lingering appraisal, and returned to face Scully, impressed. "He's a long, tall drink of water, huh?" Adriana, Scully thought, ought to stay away from vowels. Be kept away, if necessary. "So, partners, heh?" "Mmm, hmm. Nine years, officially. Mulder had already made quite a name for himself, when, um, when I was assigned to him." Scully said. "Was it love at first sight?" Adriana leaned toward Scully, excited by the very prospect of the first blush of love. Scully hesitated in embarrassment, though whether at the prospect of disappointing the eager Adriana or because she herself couldn't really define, after all these years, what their relationship had been at first sight, she wasn't sure. "No," Scully said, finally. "The Bur... the, um, government frowns on romantic relationships between partners." A memory long-filed slipped its mental folder and appeared before Scully as if happening all over again. "Oh, isn't it nice to be so highly regarded?" Mulder, so cocky, then, and utterly unconcerned with others' opinions; living by his own rules, as if he had absolutely nothing to lose by doing so, except his youth. His youth - those glasses! The only thing she ever really liked about Mulder's slide shows - an occasion for the wearing of the glasses. "Ah, ha!" Carmela clapped her hands together, and grinned. "I knew it. There must have been something there, Miss Scully. You're blushing." Adriana joined in Carmela's delight. Scully was defensive at first, but relented easily. "Well, no matter what regulations might warrant, I wasn't blind, or dead." She looked up and smiled with their laughter. "In the early days, Mulder could drive me to frustration or fury in a quick second but even then, mmm, he was always nice to look at." There was a pause, and then all three broke into gales of laughter. *** Unmarked Ford Econoline Van Davey Street, one block from Belleville Avenue Bloomfield, New Jersey *** "I gotta stop him. Al! He's walking toward the restaurant. Right into the meet. I gotta stop him. Gotta save him." "Save him? Chrissakes, listen to yourself, Joe!" "Chief doesn't know what he's walking into." Iannarulli vacillated between mumbling and frightened outbursts. "What if he does, man, what if he does?" "Then, he gets himself killed and, worse, brings innocent civilians down with him. Don't you see, Lubes? Don't you see?" Iannarulli turned and moved quickly, trying to unlatch the lock to the sliding panel door. Lubrano, moving just as rapidly, ripped his partner's hand from the latch before he could turn it one-half twist. "Don't be an idiot, Joe. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! You can't go out there." "I have to, Al. It's the Chief! Fuck's sake, Al, Frank Cubitoso hired me, plucked me out of the sewer of the Newark P.D., changed everything for me, man. No more stakeouts DownNeck trying to sniff out petty hoods, or pimps with attitude. Changed my godforsaken life. Cubitoso did that, Al, for me. Now, tell me I shouldn't go out there. Tell me I don't owe that poor sonofabitch every damn thing I have?" Lubrano swore under his breath. How to convince someone of that which they don't want to convinced? "Joe, the Chief has been missing for almost a week. A guy in his position don't just disappear. It stands to reason: Chief was on the verge of undermining o.c. activity in the northeast for years to come and, suddenly, he goes missing. Joe, boy, listen to me, and listen good. There's a reason they've listed him as 'missing, presumed dead.'" "Jesus God, Lubrano! You're the eyes of this outfit, right? You said it yourself. Well, trust your own eyes, why don't you? There he is, right across the street. Frank Cubitoso, big as life, on the verge of nothing except walking into a fucking trap! You saw him. I saw him. Alive! Who knows how? Who cares? He could have been wandering the streets the past six days, finally ended up here, out in Bloomfield, obviously dazed, probably concussed. It's him, right outside. I'm not making this up. You know it!" Lubrano took in a couple of deliberate draughts through his nose, not looking directly at his partner, but ready to block him from going at the slightest hint of movement from his feet. "I only know one thing, brother. Frank Cubitoso's gone. Whoever, whatever it is, out there, it ain't him." "What's wrong with you, Lubes?" Joe Iannarulli cried. "It's him all right, and it's a straight-up miracle he happened to be wandering the same street we were staking out. It's fate, man. Can't you see that? I owe him. And, now, I have a chance, a chance, mind you, to help him back. So. I'm going out there to pull him back in." "Look again, Joe. Please." Lubrano grabbed his partner's forearm with the force of a pair of vice-grips. "Before you go out there, look at him again!" Lubrano led his partner to the telephoto set up. Iannarulli hesitated by the camera, bent quickly and glanced through the viewfinder before standing bolt upright. "It's him, alright. I'm going. You can either help me, or you can get the fuck out of my way; either way, you're not going to stop me." Iannarulli moved deliberately toward the door, but Lubrano moved with him, blocking his path. "Joe, I've known you how many years, what, eighteen, nineteen? Hell, a long time anyway. So. Please, I'm begging you. For that reason alone, just listen to me a second. Even if that is Frank Cubitoso - and I ain't saying it is - he's walking straight into an old-fashioned O.C. pow-wow at a known borgata hangout." "So?" "So, what's that tell you? He knows, man! He knows exactly what he's walking into." Lubrano's voice rose, and his chest heaved. "Hell, as a rookie, Chief put the red pin in map for the old Vesuvio. That's why he got the honor again after the fire, when they rebuilt the place. He knows damn well what's going on in there: a sit-down dinner for the entire family, if your surname happens to be Soprano. It's invitation only, and the government ain't welcome. Chief knows that. Better than any of us." "And I say again, Lubrano, so what?" "Aw, for cryin out loud! Are you ugly *and* stupid? Joe, as ludicrous, as out of character as this is going to sound, what if the Chief went missing on purpose?" Iannarulli stopped trying to push his way past his partner. "Just what are you trying to say, pal?" His voice had taken a menacing tilt. "What in the hell are you trying to say?" Lubrano stood his ground admirably. "He's turned, brother. Doughnuts to dollars, he's turned, gone over to the dark side. Frank Cubitoso is one of them, now." *** Nuovo Vesuvio - bar Belleview Avenue, at Davey Bloomfield, New Jersey *** Mulder shifted so that he wasn't jammed shoulder to shoulder between Silvio and Hesch. To the latter, he said, "So, in return for the use of your union guys, switching out the FEMA vaccine for a placebo at Robert Wood Johnson and at U.M.D.N.J., here's what I propose in return." "Hold on, hold on." Mulder turned to see Tony elbowing his way toward them. "Just hold your horses, Agent. Time enough for the details later. We're agreed in principle, you help us with information on our problem, we help you with logistics for yours. The rest? Is just fine print, hey, Hesch?" Mulder knew the devil lay in that fine print, but was also fully aware that the devil's own stood in front of him, and so raised no dissent. Tony clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Relax. Time enough for all that. For now, how 'bout just helping me with the glasses?" Behind the curved mahogany bar, flanked on either side by leaded glass windows, stood a backlit cupboard. Without a backward glance, Tony started passing small brandy snifters to Mulder. After five pair had been passed out, Tony turned, did a quick head-count and retrieved one more. Then, from beneath the bar, in a locked cabinet to which, much to Mulder's surprise, Soprano held a key, he withdrew a squat, dusty bottle on which the letters x-o were stamped. "My private stash," Tony said as he uncorked the bottle. He handed Mulder a snifter, and poured a measure into it. Mulder held the glass to his nose, as Tony gestured for someone to hand him another one. "Cognac?" Mulder asked, as Tony poured his own measure. "Armagnac. A little different, earthier. I like it better." Mulder took a second sniff. "Thirteen hundred dollars a bottle, this." Tony's pronouncement caused Mulder to jerk with alarm, sloshing a drop over the side. "On the open market, that is," he amended, with a shrug. He pointed to the hand in which Mulder held the precious liqueur. "I know you shouldn't drink before the toast, but I'm not going to say anything, y'know, if you don't want to waste that drop there." Mulder looked at his hand, and grinned. As politely as possible under the circumstances, he licked the droplet from his finger, then raised his glass to join Tony's. Mulder saw that none of the other capos even held a glass, let alone received a share in the cordial. He looked curiously at Tony. "This deal, even though the whole family benefits, is between you and me," Tony said evenly. "Man to man. Whatever problems arise on my side, I'll take care of; whatever problems you run up against, you do the same. Whatever it takes to get this deal done. No hold-ups, no excuses. On my word, and yours. Fair?" Calmly, Mulder drew himself to his full height. Although he was taller than the don by several inches, somehow they seemed to be on the level. "Fair enough," he said. Tony gave him a satisfied smile, and touched his snifter to Mulder's. "Salud." Mulder nodded, and sipped. At this, there wasn't so much a commotion as a general relaxation and a resumption of muted chatter among the made men. "Hey, Tone." Silvio gave the boss a scowl, and held out his glass. "C'mon." "All right, all right. Jesus, already." Tony said. Then, with a genuine grin, he told Sil to pass the bottle around. Tony picked up his snifter and turned back to Mulder. "I don't know why, but we're still waiting on the cigars." Something occurred to Tony that he hadn't even considered as a possibility a moment before. "You smoke?" "Not as a rule, no," Mulder said. "Huh. Well, try one of these anyway, when they come out. Honest-to-God Cubans. One won't kill you," Tony said earnestly. "It's different, cigars. I've never smoked cigarettes. Well, not since a couple of times during high school, anyway. The nuns caught me and nearly skinned me for it. Don't know whether that's the reason why, but I never liked smoking 'em. Turnin' a profit off 'em, sure. But, anyway, like I said, cigars are different." "Different," Mulder echoed. Tony nodded, waggling his eyebrows in a gesture Scully would have found frighteningly familiar. Both men sipped from their snifters. "So, you and Agent Scully, how long you been together?" "Ten years. She wasn't out of the academy more than a year when the higher-ups assigned her to keep an eye on me." There was a story there, Tony knew, possibly an interesting one. But that wasn't what he was after. "No, I meant the two of you. How long?" "Oh." Mulder hesitated, then downed the remainder of his glass, and looked around for the bottle, to get a refill. "It's that kind of story, heh?" Tony asked. At that, it was Mulder's turn to shrug sheepishly. When the bottle came back around to the two men, it was empty. Tony looked around the restaurant, and located Charmagne Bucco standing just outside the doors to the kitchen. Holding the bottle aloft, Tony waved it to get her attention. "Hon! Hey, Charmagne!" he called out. He shook the empty back and forth, signaling for a fresh bottle from the cellar. "Oh, and hey, Hon?" Tony flashed his most roguish grin. "How 'bout those cigars we ordered, heh?" Charmagne Bucco just glared at him, and plowed through the swinging doors, back into the kitchen. *** Nuovo Vesuvio Ristorante Belleview Avenue, at Davey Bloomfield, New Jersey *** "I and Christopher been engaged for two years now. When you love each other, time don't matter. Still," Adriana leaned in confidentially and laid long, brilliantly red nails gently over Scully's arm, "a ring *is* nice." When Ade smiled, Scully could smell cinnamon on her breath. "You two," Carmela said. "Real comrades-in-arms, aren't you? The Anti-Marriage League." Though disapproval curdled Carmela's tone, Adriana laughed. She got up and bent down behind the older woman's chair, throwing her arms around Carmela's shoulders."Have you ever seen someone as young and beautiful as this act like such an old fart?" Scully suppressed a laugh. Even Carmela struggled to maintain her annoyance, slapping lightly at one of Adriana's hands, smiling. "Go ahead, make jokes. Call me old-fashioned, but," Carmela paused for a moment, at a memory perhaps, relived in the space of an instant, yet sufficient to cause her cheeks to flush with anger, and her chest to heave with the exertion of expelling it. "Flouting Church law is no laughing matter. You! You young people, you call yourselves Catholics." People nearby, even those not part of the family, dared to stare, and listened in on the outburst. Scully sat rigidly still in its aftermath, and Adriana simply hung her head, as if scolded. Carmela noticed, and struggled to regain her composure. Craning her neck, she turned to look at Adriana. Carmela touched the young woman's cheek, and said, "marriage has got to be based on more than just love. There's got to be mutual respect. And trust. Marriage is a commitment, to each other and, God willing, to a whole family. Trust, respect, commitment. Each is just as important as love. At least, it should be. It's got to be there, for things to work. You've got to insist on it. Got to. Because, if you don't, no one else will." Carmela's petition, Scully realized even if Adriana did not, was a naked plea to the younger woman, directly concerning her fiance, Carmela's own nephew. Clearly, a lot more was at stake for Carmela Soprano than some dry defense of Church doctrine. Carm turned back in her seat. When she spoke, her voice fell, almost to a whisper. But, her tone was no less intense, and, this time, it was directed solely at Scully. "Now, not to judge! I don't know you personally, Miss Scully. I'm sure there are extenuating circumstances. There always are. But the Church in which *I* was raised, people got married." The conversation had lost all pretense to the harmless, if surreal, girl talk from just moments before. Scully paused to gather her wits, before responding. She knew that gaining Carmela's respect was perhaps just as important to their bargain as it was for Mulder to gain the respect of her husband. "Mrs. Soprano, I'll admit, I've had my problems with the Church. As a doctor, I have real concerns about the serious health consequences of the Church's antediluvian attitudes toward sex and procreation." "Well, I don't know what "antediluvian" means, Miss Scully," Carmela said, testily. "But I do know that Church doctrine is sacred. If more people adhered to it, I believe the world would be a *better* place, not worse." "I apologize," Scully said. "I've offended you. I didn't mean to. I *was* going to tell you, though I do have my issues with the Church, my attitudes towards marriage, and commitment, and fidelity are very much like those with which I was raised, those of the Church." At the mention of the word "fidelity," Carmela flared. Scully took note, but kept her expression neutral. She smiled, and said softly, "You know, I haven't talked with anyone, in a long, long time, about my relationship with the Church. I think I might enjoy having that conversation with you, sometime, a things quiet down a bit." Scully looked up and saw surprise fade quickly from Carmela's eyes, replaced with quiet satisfaction and pleasure. "But that isn't what you're really asking of me, is it, Mrs. Soprano?" Satisfaction and smile disappeared just as suddenly from the Queen's face. *** Lubrano's garage Watchung Avenue Roselle Park, New Jersey Early morning, Saturday, October 19, 2002 *** On the monitor, the date stamp read 10.18.02, 21:42. The surveillance footage was just three hours old, and quite raw. On the darker side of the gray scale, the exterior of Nuovo Vesuvio and Davey Street seemed calm, in spite of the commotion going on behind the camera. The heavy sliding door was opened and then shoved closed, followed by the shuffling of feet, and the grunting of men in hand-to-hand combat. The world was suddenly knocked sideways, and the video shot to snow. Before the picture returned and the world righted, the door scraped open once more. "Joe. Joe! For the love of Christ, get back inside the van," Lubrano could be heard whispering in the background, "Jeeeeezus Christmas." On the video feed, the back of Iannarulli's head and the top of his shoulders filled the frame, blocking the view of the street just outside the van. "Joe!" Iannarulli took two quick steps out onto Davey Street, flipping his partner and the camera the bird. "Chief!" Iannarulli's voice was a hoarse whisper, only halfway due to the piss-poor speaker on the monitor. It was not the way either one remembered it, Joe's voice echoing off the buildings all along Davey. "It's me, Joe Iannarulli. Remember? Chief Cubitoso, please don't go in there alone. It's not too late! Let me call for back up." "Well, you got his attention, partner. Good going. He's pissed, too! Now what? Krazy Glue his phone, or tie his shoelaces together?" If he heard Lubrano, Iannarulli gave no sign, but stood stock still for several long seconds. Then, turning part-way round, he asked his partner, "What's he looking at? Al, can you see? The Chief, he's spotted something, I just can't tell what. No, wait. There's a person. Al, are you getting this? There's someone out in the street, a civilian. No. No!" For the first and last time on this tape, Iannarulli's voice rang clearly. "Gun!" "Frank, get down! Shooter in the field. Chief!" A breath and a heartbeat later, the report of a shot ripped the quiet of the nearly deserted street. The video feed blurred as Lubrano reset and refocused in the vicinity of the shot. Before he was done, a second report thundered. "Is he all right? Al, the Chief! Is he all right?" "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!" "What do you mean you don't know? Al?" On the video, Iannarulli turned to face the van, walking straight up to, and then eclipsing the video port. "Joe, get out of the goddamn way, so I can see!" Iannarulli hopped out of frame, and the video zoomed out across Davey Street, searching. "Al? Al?" Iannarulli could no longer be seen in the frame, but his voice rose to fill the audio track. "Okay, okay. Got it." The camera refocused on the person across the street. As one voice on the audio, the partners said, "Who the fuck is that?" *** Nuovo Vesuvio bar Belleview Avenue, at Davey Bloomfield, New Jersey *** "Hey, hey! The Man, himself. Artie, you didn't have to do this. I asked Charmagne, but she coulda sent somebody." Tony Soprano had been friends since childhood with Artie Bucco, had spent summers sitting on stoops, eating Italian ices and talking about the futures they each wanted to come. That their expectations were never met, not even close, Tony would tell him one day, had never stood in the way of their friendship. Artie had no official standing within the family, but was held in high esteem by all in management, Tony in particular. It was a trust Artie valued, and had only been shaken once. Their friendship was still in recovery from that incident. Artie shook his head. "Nah. I should have seen to this personally, Tone. My apologies. Here's the Cubans, and here's some more of that cheap hooch you like." Artie snickered at his own joke. Tony, interested mainly in opening the box of cigars, ignored the jibe. The paper wrapping surrendered to Tony's attack, and fell at his feet. He opened the box, brought it up to his nose, and inhaled deeply. Satisfied, he turned toward Mulder. "C'mon. One won't kill you." Mulder took the proffered cigar with a polite smile. "Artie!" Tony pulled the other man close. "I know it's not regular, but nothing about this really is. So, join us, heh? Have a smoke and a shot, with old friends." "Well, Jesus, Tone." If he were expected to demur, Artie rose in defiance. "It's about goddamn time I got invited inside!" "It's just for this toast, Artie. From there, how 'bout we see how it goes?" Artie shook his head slowly, theatrically, then looked up, grinning. Tony snorted. "Maddon'! You're messin' with me. Jesus, Artie. You got some sense of humor." The made men around them laughed, mostly out of relief. As penance for his practical joke, Artie did the honors, pouring drams of the precious liqueur into everyone's glasses, handing Tony the bottle containing the last draught, which, ceremoniously, the don would drink to consummate the deal. Tony raised the bottle toward Mulder, and the group grew silent. "To our new business venture. For all our sakes, let's hope business is booming." From the assembled capos, there was a muffled `here, here' in response, and as one they raised glasses high. Then, there was loud crack, followed instantly by the sound of breaking glass. In the next moment, the bottle of armagnac shattered in Tony's hand. *** Nuovo Vesuvio Ristorante Belleview Avenue, at Davey Bloomfield, New Jersey *** Though she didn't raise her voice or harden her tone, neither did Scully back down. "You want to know about my relationship with Mulder, and our commitment, our fidelity to each other. More to the point, I think, you'd like to know about my fidelity to him." Impatience welled up in Carmela, her need a hard, long polished glint in her eyes. "It's complicated," Scully said, "at least insofar as the legal formalities go. I won't tell you why - it wouldn't be safe - but, we can't risk putting our names into any government record. Not even the lowliest county clerk's." She paused, and snorted in amusement. "As for a religious ceremony, well, that's complicated, too, for more traditional reasons." Carmela no longer looked impatient, just confused. "It would be a mixed marriage," Scully explained. "I'm religious, he's not." To Scully's relief, Carm laughed. "To be honest, the other obstacles have been and are so great that neither one of us has bothered to have the little conversation you and I are having. So, I'm not really sure where we'd stand, there. However, there is one thing I can tell you, Mrs. Soprano, with absolute certainty, about our relationship." Now, it was Scully who leaned in confidentially, to drive her point home. "After all we've been through together, professionally, personally, I wouldn't know how to have a life with anyone else. I wouldn't want to. It's as simple as that." The set of Carmela's lips softened, and she glanced, just for a moment, over at Tony. "Y'know something, Miss Scully? Dana?" Carm said tentatively, "I think I understand." "I thought you might." Carmela reached over and, taking both of Scully's hands in hers, gave them a gentle squeeze, sealing their own, personal accord. "I still think he should get you a ring," Adriana said. Both women turned toward her in surprise, and began to laugh. Adriana, though unsure what the joke was, joined in, heartily. Interrupted by the sound of breaking glass, all laughter and conversation in the dining room ceased. "Mulder!" Scully was already out of her chair and moving toward her partner when the second report blew out the remaining shards in the leaded glass pane behind the bar. -end (11/16)-

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