My Funny Valentine

My funny Valentine,
Sweet comic Valentine,
You make me smile with my heart.

Your looks are laughable -
Unphotographable,
Yet you're my favourite work of art.

Is your figure less than Greek?
Is your mouth a little weak?
When you open it to speak
Are you smart?

But don't change your hair for me
Not if you care for me
Stay little Valentine, stay
Each day is Valentine's Day

The Chet Baker imitator sings quietly into the microphone as a jazz quartet plays softly in the background.

A few couples are swaying in the middle of the darkened dance floor. The small club has been decorated with silk roses and streamers. The effect is compromised by the noisy Irish bar next door, but it's clear nonetheless what day it is.

He was still surprised she had accepted his invitation. After trying so long to get her attention - the flirting, the propositions, the unexpected visits, he wondered what it was that had finally changed her mind. Was it curiosity, or the loneliness? Was she tired of waiting for Mulder to pay attention to her? Intrigued by the idea of going out with the bad boy for once? Or maybe she just couldn't say no to the lure of jazz and chocolates. Valentine's Day did strange things to people.

They had said little besides ordering drinks, until the sultry vocals began.

"Care to dance?" He asked her, holding out his hand.

She looked up at him with eyes that revealed a warmth mere words could never do, a hesitant smile playing on her crimson lips. Her small white hand slid itself into his thick calloused one. Her nails, manicured and painted, glistened in the dim light, as he drew her near.

Awkward at first, he is unsure where to put his hands, and doesn't want to draw attention to his artificial limb. She solves his dilemma by manoeuvring herself into the embrace of his prosthesis, while holding onto his real hand.

He hasn't danced since his brothers wedding, but the slow rhythm of the double bass and piano is easy to move with.

Her dress whispers as they turn, a small flourish of dark silk that delights the eye. It is simple and elegant, the colour of a fine merlot. He loved how it looked--the way it clung to her hips when she first walked into the bar. For his part, he'd dressed mostly in his trademark black, a deep red shirt his concession to the day.

She moves closer to him, laying her head on his shoulder.

He breathes in the perfume of her hair, a heady mix of Scully and a fragrance that is faintly reminiscent of apple. He closes his eyes to concentrate on the feeling of her body pressed close to him. Amazing. Agent Scully isn't wearing a bra. He can feel her taut nipples and the swell of her breasts as she presses herself against him. Every inch of this woman is intoxicating, and he finds himself drunk with sensation.

Nothing in the world could take him away from this moment. Not the aliens, not the old men, not even Mulder with a gun aimed at Krycek's head. That thought bothers him. He hates tiptoeing around the issue of her absentee partner. He never asked her where the elusive agent was, and why he hasn't got plans with her. She never talks about him, and Alex is beginning to think she does that for her own benefit as much as for his.

She looking up at him with those intense blue eyes and he wonders what she sees there.

"For a dangerous assassin and double agent you're quite the romantic ... Alex." She stumbles a little, the use of his proper name almost an afterthought. It hard for her to separate the man she sees before her and the man she knew as 'Krycek' - something Mulder always managed to say as if it were a curse word.

"I hate to disappoint you," He breathes into her ear. "But I'm not the enemy you want me to be." He brings his hand up to her head and strokes her hair.

Left empty, her hand slides up to his shoulder. They move in time to the rhythm and slowly she moves it upwards tracing her fingers along his smooth cheek. "I'm not so sure that you're the enemy anymore." Her voice sounds a little sad but her eyes speak of desire.

Her eyes move away from his, trailing down his face to his lips, where they linger, watching his hot breaths come fast and shallow.

Seeing the hunger there, he finds himself drawn downwards to meet her kiss.

He inclines his head moving in especially slow. If she wants to back away he gives her every opportunity.

She surprises him by pressing forwards. Her open mouth moves forwards onto his. A tiny hand captures the nape of his neck, drawing him closer, and he moves his hand to her cheek. His tongue gently brushes the inside of her mouth. He can taste her - warmth, with a hint of the Southern Comfort she was drinking earlier. They take it slow, enjoying the sensual moment while they can.

The music comes to an end, and he breaks away first, smoothing her hair, and praying to himself that they can continue later

She's smiling contentedly at him. "Happy Valentine's Day, Alex."