Title: Blasphemy?
Author: Mary Parker
Rating: PG, I suppose
Spoilers: none.  
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine.  Chris Carter's, Fox's,
1013's.  No profit for me.  Also, the Bible isn't mine.
Summary: Mulder has some strange dreams.  
Author's Notes: The end is fluffy.  The rest?  Who knows?

In the dream he was wearing some kind of freaky hippy sandals.
Mulder had his share of grungy flipflops, but he was sure he'd 
never owned a pair of sandals like this.

"Scully," he said, wanting to know if this was her doing, if she'd 
drugged him up with cheap Chinese food and made him buy them 
while he was on an MSG high.  A Kung Pao conspiracy.  He 
swore there was something in that.  He'd been saying it for years
but she liked pretending chopsticks made it a real meal, the two
of them eating out of boxes in her room.  "Scully," he said again, 
stretching out one foot to survey his long toes under the twisted 
rope of his sandal straps.

Scully stared at him blankly.  She was wearing a poncho made of
very rough fabric.  It reminded him of her suits from the first couple
of months of their partnership.  She'd had better taste, lately. 
Perhaps she too had fallen victim to the tawdry thrill of beef with
broccoli.  If she was eating beef these days, anyway.

"Who is Scully?  Are you prophesizing, lord?"

"What?" he asked, more startled than he could ever remember 
being.  Rationally, he thought, most of the times he was startled
were immediately followed by more alcohol than was reasonable
to intake at one sitting and this was something altogether 
different.  This was a crisis of ill-advised footwear.  He tried to 
check his pockets for fortune cookie slips with "in bed" jotted 
at the end and realized he wasn't wearing any pants.

"Jesus," said Scully.  It sounded like a question.  She gave him
the eyebrow.  Mulder tugged at his robes and wondered what 
she was looking at anyway; she had medical license to undress
him if she wanted an excuse to stare.  He didn't think she could 
see anything anyway.

He needed a haircut.

There were a lot of people hanging around, he realized suddenly.

Oh.  

Jesus.  

Right.

"You aren't going to kiss me, are you?" he asked Scully.  She 
looked confused.

"Lord?" she said gently.

"Be my rock," he tried.

She smiled like an angel and handed him an apple.  He stared at
it, mesmerized, until the jingle of metal attracted him and he saw
Diana advancing, a ripple of silver coins on a chain around her 
waist clinking as she sashayed toward him.

"Hello," she murmured.

He tried to turn his face away and her lipstick smeared across
his face like a wound.  Her dark hair smelled like cigarettes.

Doggett was there as doubting Thomas, and Monica as 
eager Matthew.  Skinner played a stolid John and polished
his glasses on the end of Scully's poncho.

"Having fun?" rasped an unpleasantly familiar voice, and 
Mulder turned to see the old man on a pale horse.  

"I think you're in the wrong book," he said.  "Anyway
nothing you could tell me would be a revelation."

"Be that as it may," said the old man mildly, "I was 
thinking of retiring anyway.  I can't keep up with you
and your iconic faithful Magdalene anyway.  You ought
to learn to keep your disciples straight, boy."  

He yanked the horse's head around and trotted off into 
the sunset, followed by Krycek in his leather jacket
looking lean and hungry.

Mulder stared after them.

"Jesus!" a voice said sharply beside him.  "Move over,
Mulder, your feet are cold."

"Scully?"

"When I said for better or for worse, I didn't mean I was 
going to put up with this.  I'll take you right back to that 
church and have this annulled."  

In the dim of their - their, now that was a revelation - bedroom
her smile was luminous.

"Considering the events of the last few hours, I don't think the
Church would go for it," he said.  "Not even the temple, and you
know how much they hate to see a good Jewish boy lost to
gentile clutches."

"Good thing you're not a good Jewish boy," she murmured, and 
pressed against him.  "Come to think of it, I may have figured 
out why your feet are cold.  Seems to be a trick of the...mmm.
Circulation."

He ran his hands over her joyfully in the unthreatening dark.