*Warning* This an explicit body of work. If you are a minor or are easily offended, please do not continue reading.

I knew about halfway through writing this short story that I'd have some serious explaining to do. Number One: forgive my sappiness. I was on the rag when I wrote this, and so whenever I pictured this two-some my vision got all rose tinted.

Some may say I took liberties with the characterization. Hell yes, I did -- who's writing this? This is an architypical meeting, when both agents are psychologically naked, nerve to nerve. I've tried to reinforce this with primary use of their first names. Literally, it is like a dream, and so they feel they have the permission to show their secret sides. I feel like Dana (as opposed to "Scully") would be a closet sensualist, a willing participant in shared pleasures, a bit naughty, but still commitment-shy. She makes herself promises that she won't get emotionally attached, yet by the end finds this impossible. Likewise I feel most strongly that burning beneath John's intense gaze is an immense loyalty, an unmeasurable capacity for love and tenderness, and a soul for poetry and art. The control natural to Scully is a carefully assumed mask for him -- while his emotions aren't tumultuous, they *are* incredibly powerful. By no means do I intend to un-man Doggett's rough Southern-boy exterior -- on the contrary, I feel the depth and breadth of character I show here could only reinforce him, make him "more than" man -- or at least what I believe an ideal man should be.

I love this pairing and all the possibilities inherent in it. This is definitely a stone-and-fire relationship -- my absolute favorite. Yin and Yang, light and dark, very Freudian, but with a warmth and depth that I can only fumble to convey.

Therefore, I defend my story. Normally I have less of a Rambo attitude about my darlings, but this one seems to be especially close to my heart. What can I say? Robert Patrick shows David Duchovny a thing or two about sizzle on the screen. Gillian Anderson comes through as our favorite red-headed you-know-there's-a-sexpot-in-there-somewhere superego. I think this season has been a revival of a dying series, certainly a breath of fresh air, with the only raw spot on this rosy bloom being that Duchovny still has top billing (and wages, I assume). I hope that stories like this, and an outpouring of support and love from fans will be the sign needed to keep Carter, Anderson, and Patrick guiding this long strange trip for a few more years.

The Vault