Author's Notes: Just a fun little fluff piece to take the edge off all the serious stuff I've been working on lately. Written in about 3 hours after watching "Drive" and being amused by Mulder's restlessness and annoyance with the crap assignments at the beginning.

Spoilers: None really, takes place early Season 6.

Merry Christmas, indeed, Cory :-)

The Fortune Teller
Rated PG
By Suzanne L. Feld

"You believe that, Scully?"

"Me, Mulder? Are you kidding? Me believe a five-dollar fortune teller?"

"I dunno, you seemed pretty into it."

"I was trying to figure out how she was doing it."

They got into opposite sides of the rental Ford, both clicking on their seat belts before Mulder drove out of the dusty dirt lot between rows of parked cars. "She was pretty accurate no matter how you look at it," he finally said. "More than I like."

"She's a cold reader, Mulder, you know what that is," Scully said, staring out the side window at the rows of cars going by. Most were ratty pickups or sour old Detroit iron barely held together with bubble gum and spit. This rural carnival didn't exactly attract the type of people who drove Audis and BMWs; although the agents were in casual clothes and not their FBI suits, they'd still stood out in the crowd. Mostly because they bathed regularly, Scully thought with a mental shudder. The carnie they'd been there to talk to had smelled like he barely had a nodding acquaintance with soap and water, never mind using them on a regular basis. "Please tell me you don't believe a word of what she said."

"She got the things about my past correct, so who's to say I won't meet the woman I'm destined to spend the rest of my life with in twelve hours?" He threw her a cocky grin before turning his attention back to the road as they turned out onto the main drag.

"Bro-ther," Scully muttered, then picked up the case file that sat on the bench seat between them. "So, Terrell's alibi pans out. Who do you want to go talk to next?"

"MacNeal is closest." Mulder answered automatically, but his mind was miles away from the counterfeiting case they were currently investigating under Kersh; it was another crappy make-work detail and he knew it. At least it wasn't the shit patrol, he thought, but it wasn't the X-Files, either. Scully seemed to like his answer and began to talk about the case, though he barely heard a word she said.

His attention returned to the words that the fortune teller had spoken just before they'd walked away from her open-air tent: "The woman you've looked for your whole life, the helpmeet you've been waiting for all these lonely years, she's on her way to you. All you have to do is know her when you meet her before midnight tonight."

The old woman had known a lot about him, some of which he'd been embarrassed to have Scully hear. Regardless, she'd been so accurate that he had to give credence to the fact that she could also see the future as well as his past. It had been five bucks well spent, he thought, despite Scully's open scoffing and immediate disbelief.

Scully droned on, her voice filling the rental car. He muttered 'uh-huh' and 'nope' at the appropriate moments, wondering what his dream woman would look like and how he would know her. Would he literally bump into her on the street, or would they—

"Goddammit, Mulder, you just agreed to come to work tomorrow in a pink tutu," Scully snapped, jolting him out of his daze. "Have you heard a damn word I've said?"

He glanced over at her, unperturbed. "Of course I have, Scully. I always listen to every single word you utter," he said with clear sarcasm. Actually he could count on his eidetic memory to pick up what she'd said while his attention was elsewhere. "You think that Jaye MacNeal is the launderer and that we need to stake out her store to see what kind of deliveries she gets."

"Hmph."

"Or we could go talk to Lara Rittenhaus about where she got the bad bills."

"Okay, okay. Listen, Mulder, you don't really think that fortune—"

"Would you drop it?" he snapped, surprising himself. Then, in a calmer tone, "Tell you what. I'll stake out the MacNeal store and you go talk to Rittenhaus. Then maybe we can get this stupid assignment over with."

Scully breathed a silent sigh of relief. He wasn't so much annoyed with her as he was with their current case, which they both knew was nothing more than an excuse to get them out from under Kersh's feet for a while. Even though he wanted her to do the traveling, she would go along just to keep the peace as she so often did. But it made for a good working relationship and wasn't that much trouble to keep things calm between them.

* * *

An hour later she knocked and then stormed into his motel room waving a piece of paper. "Fly, Mulder? Why in the hell do I have to fly to Richmond?"

"Because otherwise it's a six-hour drive from here. In a Cessna or Warrior you can make it in about an hour and a half." He looked up from the book he was reading, which she could just make out had a picture of what looked suspiciously like Bigfoot on the cover. He was back in a suit and tie, though sprawled shoeless on the narrow motel bed. "Drive if you want, I just thought this would be easier and quicker for you."

"You know I don't like to fly and the small planes are the worst," she grumbled but turned back to the doorway knowing he was right. "You owe me dinner when I get back."

"Fair enough," he said, though he wasn't quite sure why he owed her anything. But he also had no problem with spending the off-work time with her. "Want a ride to the airport?"

"Yeah, save on having to turn in expense slips from a taxi. They always argue about those," she agreed, although at this point she was annoyed enough with him that she nearly refused. "I'll be ready in five."

* * *

In the four hours that Mulder sat outside surveying the small liquor store, he saw no deliveries, only withdrawal after withdrawal, most tucked away in brown paper bags or carried out and lit up. Did they even sell anything other than booze and smokes? he wondered, cracking another sunflower seed between his teeth as he watched a balding, heavyset man in overalls and a ragged brown Carhartt jacket walk out with a six-pack of what looked like Blue Ribbon beer. But, he had to admit, that did make this place a perfect money-laundering base of operations… if they could figure out how the money was getting here. There was too much going through for the customers to be carrying it in piecemeal.

His cell phone rang and, tossing the rest of the handful of seeds into the otherwise-clean ashtray, he picked it up and hit the green button. "Mulder."

"It's me. Our case is over, I'm free of the drudge work, and you now owe me two dinners."

"What?"

"I just happened to walk up to Ms. Rittenhaus' home and look through the window as she was packing a briefcase full of freshly counterfeited bills along with the plates used to make them. She had a setup in her basement, Mulder. I don't know how she was getting them to the MacNeal store or what their connection is, but we've got our counterfeiter."

"Damn, Scully, good work," he said with relief. "You on your way back?"

"I'm here at the airport waiting for you. Come get me; I'm starving and ready for that dinner you owe me."

"On my way." He hit the red button, tossed the phone on the passenger seat. A guy could do a lot worse than to have Scully as a partner, he thought as he drove off whistling.

* * *

"So, you never did find your dream woman, did you?" Scully asked as they sat finishing off a bottle of Sutter Home merlot after a satisfying late dinner. They'd both been surprised to find a decent restaurant in this mid-sized West Virginia town that was open late on a Thursday night, but didn't question their luck especially when the food was good.

Mulder shrugged. "That doesn't mean it still won't come true."

His partner grinned over at him, a sight he didn't see anywhere near often enough and that got his attention. "What, exactly, did she say again, Mulder? The fortune teller?"

"That I'd meet the woman of my dreams before midnight tonight," he repeated. "Why?"

"It's five 'til twelve. Unless you find one of the waitresses attractive, there aren't any other women in here."

He glanced around the small restaurant, realizing that she was right. They were closing soon and there was only one other table, which was occupied by two men. "Ah, hell. I guess I shoulda known better."

Still grinning, Scully said, "Giving up so easily, Mulder? There is another woman here, you know."

He raised a brow at her, sitting back and hooking one arm over the chair's low back. Not quite sure where she was going with this, he asked, "And who is that?"

"Me. And you met me at the airport." Her eyes were sparkling with high good humor and he felt his heart contract at the sight. Often he forgot what a stunningly beautiful woman she was, taking her looks for granted since she was his partner and he saw her day in and day out.

He suddenly sat up straight, staring over at her. "You think you're the woman I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with?"

She chuckled, shaking her head so that her hair brushed the sides of her face. "No, I think your fortune teller knew that we, as partners, would be together by or at midnight and hence you'd believe that her fortune came true."

Narrowing his eyes, he leaned over the table and took her hand from where it rested near the bottom of her mostly empty wineglass. "What if it is you, Scully?"

Oops, she thought. She'd meant to tease him, not have him think that it was her! "Mulder…" she tried to pull her hand away, now frowning over at him, but he was holding it too tightly despite not hurting her.

"You know, Scully, I bet she's right. She didn't say it wasn't someone that I didn't already know; she just said 'the woman of your dreams.' And you're about as close to that as I can think of," he said, looking at her seriously.

"Right. Except I'm about a foot too short and my hair's the wrong color and my figure isn't anywhere near, ah, statuesque enough," she snapped back. "Let go of my hand, Mulder."

"You're perfect just the way you are, Scully," he said silkily, ignoring her request. Instead he leaned over the table towards her, tugging on her hand to bring her towards him. "You didn't believe me the last time I told you that I—"

She yanked her hand out of his grasp despite fearing that she had left some skin behind and jumped up from the table, interrupting him before he could finish the sentence. "I think that this has gone far enough!" she exclaimed, feeling her heart beating almost uncontrollably as she rubbed her now-sore hand with the other. "I'm leaving and if you keep this up, you'll be walking back to the motel!"

He didn't point out that he had the car keys, just picked up his suit jacket from the back of the chair and followed her out since they'd already paid. Without a word he unlocked her door and went around to his side, nor did they speak as they drove the short distance to the usual cheesy motel and went to their separate rooms.

Why did I tease him like that? Scully thought uncomfortably as she kicked off her heels and shrugged out of her blazer in her cramped room. I should know better when he starts with those idiotic ideas. And now, how do I get him to stop looking at me like that?

Mulder, in the room next door, was also undressing but with an unconscious smile on his face. He knew damn well that Scully's panic and flight were because she'd realized that they were both right: the fortune teller had been correct and had meant her. But he was in no hurry. Let her run; he'd stay right beside her until she came to her senses.

When his cell rang about fifteen minutes later he wasn't surprised in the least. "Yeah."

"Mulder, it's me. Look, you can't be serious about this, can you? Don't make things weird between us, please?"

He sighed soundlessly, shaking his head. At this point it was better to concede the battle and win the war later. "Fine, Scully, I was just kidding right back at you. Ka-zing, you got me."

"Good. Fine. That's a relief. See you in the morning, then."

"You got it, Scully." Mulder hung up, set the phone on the bedside table, then laid back and grinned at the cracked ceiling. Let her think it was just his way of getting her back; he wouldn't forget about the prediction and its outcome. He'd bide his time and when the right moment arrived he'd remind her of this day and see what she had to say then.

And if it was anything other than that she was, indeed, the woman of his dreams, he already looked forward to kissing the words right off her lips.

finis