TITLE: Mezzo Luna
AUTHOR: Michelle Kiefer
E-MAIL ADDRESS: MSK1024@AOL.COM
DISTRIBUTION: Archive if you like--just
tell me where.
DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully belong to
1013, Chris Carter, and to the X-Files. 
All other characters are mine.
SPOILER WARNING: Nothing specific.
RATING: R
CONTENT: Case File, MSR
CLASSIFICATION: X
COMMENTS: Takes place 7th season. This is
a very loose crossover with the book "Like
Water For Chocolate" by Laura Esquivel. You
don't need to be familiar with the book at all to
follow this story. Please see author's notes at end 
for acknowledgments.

Visit my other stories at:
http://members.aol.com/msrsmut/MichelleKiefer.htm

Mezzo Luna (01 of 03)
by Michelle Kiefer

A cloud of white puffs up as she slams the
ball of dough onto the flour-covered
table. With a grim smile, she punches her
fist down into the dough, imagining it is
his soft, white belly. 

"Sonofabitchbastard," she mutters under
her breath. "Old fool."

She pounds and pounds the dough against
the wood. She feels the bitter fury in her
chest course down her arms and through
her fingers as they knead and twist the
floured mass.

"Carmela, the ravioli's gonna be tough as
a shoe, you keep pounding like that,"
Dominic calls out from the kitchen
doorway, and he turns back to resume his
conversation. 

She hears brassy laughter and slams the
dough again. "Old goat." Slam. "Dirty
putana." Punch. "Stupido." Thump.

She turns the chastised dough into a large
bowl and covers it with a clean towel. She
flicks her fingers under her chin in a 
rude gesture, but the effort is wasted
against Dominic's back. Only the pale, quiet 
man bent over the ledger book on the desk 
in the corner seems aware Carmela's actions.
 
****************

"I don't know what to tell you. I know Fat
Tony since we was kids. All of a sudden,
I'm so mad, all I want to do is knock that
stupid smile off his face." Angelo
Ciaffone looks down at the dried blood on
his knuckles. He can feel his own nose
swelling from the one good punch Tony
Recupero landed before Angelo began his
assault in earnest. 

He can see the look of disbelief on Officer
Balga's face across the scarred wooden
table of the New Haven police department 
interview room. "Run this by me again,
Angelo. You had no dispute with Mr.
Recupero, but you felt the uncontrollable
urge to beat him up. Angelo, you put him
in the hospital."

"Like I said...I don't know what to tell
you."

***************************  

This was truly the most congested highway
Dana Scully had ever seen. Mulder had told
her that Connecticut's I-95 corridor was 
notorious for snarled traffic, and he
certainly hadn't exaggerated. They had
barely budged in more than half an hour. 

"So tell me again why a rash of violence
in urban New Haven indicates an X-File,"
she says, craning her neck to see what is 
keeping them stationary.

"Eleven assaults or acts of vandalism in a
quiet Italian neighborhood and none of the
assailants is less than middle-aged. It's
a definite anomaly, Scully. Decent, law-
abiding people who erupted in violence and
can't explain why. It doesn't make sense."  

She hears the excitement in his voice and
smiles a little. This year has been so
hard for him, and it amazes her that he 
has weathered it all. He is her favorite
puzzle: fragile and resilient, arrogant
and self-effacing. She wonders if she will
ever figure the puzzle out.

"So one of the arresting officers
concludes possession and calls you?
Mulder, you're developing a reputation." 

"I think the black leather jacket gives
people the wrong impression. I'm really
not that kind of boy. Here, I think this
is the exit."

Mulder maneuvers through city streets made
narrow by the cars parked at the curb. She
finds herself marveling at Yale's ornate,
ivy-covered stone buildings as she and
Mulder make their way past the university
area to the police station. A shiver runs 
down her spine as she spots the stone
gargoyles crouching along the building
tops.

They find Officer Balga with a minimum of
trouble and soon are sitting around his
desk, drinking burnt-tasting coffee from 
styrofoam cups. The urban police station
swirls with activity around them.

"So, none of these people had a history of
violence?" Mulder asks Balga. 


"Agent Mulder, these people will argue for
hours over anything from how long to cook
the macaroni to which politician is the
most crooked. But violence? Most of them
have never even had a parking ticket."
Balga shuffles through the incident
reports.  

"Here...Lucy Bavalocco, age 54. Threw a
brick through the window of Napoli Fish
Market. Said they charged too much for
calamari. Her family has never even heard
her raise her voice. Yet she was
screaming, pardon the expression, like a
fishwife in front of the market."

"What led you to believe the people were
possessed?" she asks, trying to keep the
skepticism out of her voice. 

"It has to be something like that. This is
a big city, and we have our fair share of
violent crime, believe me. But not from
this crowd. It's just not normal."  

"Officer Balga, we'd like to interview
some of the arrestees." Mulder glances at
her, and she nods agreement.  

"Sure, I'll get the information together
for you. Charlie Del Pino, the stabbing
perp, is still in the lockup. You can use
that room across the hall."

Scully thinks as Del Pino is brought into
the interview room, that he looks about as
dangerous as her Aunt Olive. Short,
overweight, and balding, Del Pino is
fighting back tears when he glances down
at his handcuffed wrists.  

"Mr. Del Pino, you've admitted stabbing
your brother-in-law with a steak knife.
Can you tell us what happened?"  

"My wife's brother lives with us. He's
supposed to be looking for a job, but I
sure ain't seen him with any want ads.
Anyway, my wife and I got back from dinner
and there he is, sitting in my kitchen,
drinking my beer, and eating my food, and
suddenly, I'm so mad I can't see straight.
Next thing I know, I got a knife in my
hand, and he's bleeding all over the
linoleum."  

Del Pino is crying now, his voice shaking.
"My wife won't even bail me out. She said
I could rot here. I swear to God, I
don't know why I did it."

"Mr. Del Pino, can you tell us what you
were doing earlier that day? Did anything
unusual happen? Can you recall when you
started to feel angry?" Mulder's voice
softens, and he sits forward a bit in his
chair.  

"Everything was normal. I went to work, I
came home, we went out for some dinner. I
don't remember feeling anything strange at
all until I got home and saw that bum in
my kitchen." 

They draw the interview to a close and
walk the two blocks to St. Ignatius
Church to see the parish priest. Mulder
has a maddening little smile on his face,
and she resists the urge to kick his shin.

"Okay, so what is your theory?" she asks
as they dodge a couple of students
carrying backpacks.

"Don't have one yet. I don't think it was
possession, though." His hand curves
around her back, guiding her around some
broken pavement.  

They pass the Gothic-style stone church
and, ring the bell to the rectory.
The old woman who answers the door sternly
tells them to wait when they ask to see
Father Gregorio. She thumps off in leather
mules, calling out in Italian.  

"Oh yes, come in, come in," the elderly
priest beckons them into a small office.
"You are from the police?"

"Father, I'm Agent Scully, and this is
Agent Mulder. We're with the FBI, and we'd
like to ask you some questions about the
night before last."  

The priest's face shows scrapes and a
bruise along the jaw, and these seem so
incongruous on such a soft-spoken man.

"Sir, I understand you had an altercation
with a young man who was attempting to
open the poor box in the church. Can you
tell us what happened?" She notices the
gentle priest's bruised hands as he 
wrings them together.  

"I had gone over to the church to lock up
after the choir had finished their
practice, and found the man prying the box
open." Though his English is perfect, he
speaks with a lilting accent that Scully
finds soothing. "Something came over me, a
fury that I cannot explain, and I leapt at
him. Imagine that, an old man like me, but
I hit him over and over." The priest's
voice has become choked with emotion. "I 
should have treated him with compassion,
tried to counsel him. I cannot imagine why
I acted in violence."

"Sir, do you know Charles Del Pino?"
Mulder pulls his notebook out of his
breast pocket. "How about Lucy Bavalacco?"  

"They are both parishioners here. You
know, I saw Charlie that night at dinner."   

"Where was that?" Mulder's voice is
humming with excitement.

"A little neighborhood restaurant . Mezzo
Luna on Wooster Street."

*********************

"Yeah...uh huh...okay, and what did they
have?" Mulder flips his cell phone closed
and, lounging against the car, watches
Scully as she walks back to the car.  

"Well, Del Pino's brother-in-law is in
stable condition." She leans against the
car, shoulder to shoulder with him. He
loves when she stands close enough that he
can smell her perfume. "Tony Recupero, one
of  the other victims, has been released
from the hospital."

"That was Balga; he checked with the other
arrestees. Three guesses where all the
subjects had dinner that night." 

"The restaurant Father Gregorio
mentioned?"

"Yup and they all had ravioli." He turns
and unlocks the car door. "It's not far
from here." 

Wooster Street has a number of Italian
eateries, and parking is tricky. They have
to walk several blocks to the charming, 
brick-faced restaurant.  

"Mezzo Luna ... half moon," Scully says with
a creditable accent.

"Hey, I thought German was your language,"
he says, and then wishes he hadn't as her face 
clouds over with the memory of the last time 
she spoke German. Another case. A bad one.

"I spent the summer before medical school
backpacking through Italy. It was my first
serious rebellion against my parents."
Seeing his confusion, she goes on. "I went
with a guy." 

She smiles as if enjoying the memory, and
a little flicker of jealousy passes
through him.

The restaurant is quiet between the lunch
and dinner crowds. The dining room holds
no more than fifteen tables, and the decor
is understated and rather elegant. A
waitress sets tables for dinner, her
movement languid. With an exaggerated
wiggle in her walk, she leads them back to
the kitchen to see the owner.

The kitchen buzzes with activity, in
contrast to the sleepy atmosphere of the
dining room. A small woman in a white
apron stands at an industrial stove,
cooking what smells like garlic and onion
in a large frying pan. One man sits
counting money at a desk in the corner,
while another rolls napkins around bundles
of cutlery.

"Can I help you?" The man rises from the
table where he was rolling the napkins.  

"I'm Agent Mulder with the FBI, and this
is my partner, Agent Scully. Would you be
the owner?" 

The man inspects their proffered
identification and nods. "I'm Dominic
Caselli. What can I do for you?" Dominic
shakes both their hands, lingering over
Scully's a little too long for Mulder's
comfort level.   

"Sir, are you aware of several violent
incidents concerning diners at your
restaurant?" Scully's voice has a nice
hard edge to it that pleases him, especially
when Dominic drops her hand and registers
surprise. 

The woman at the stove pours plum tomatoes
from a bowl into the hot pan, a hiss of
steam floating up. She stirs the mixture
with an odd, too-quick movement, her
attention never leaving Dominic and the
agents.

"Are you saying people were poisoned at my
restaurant?" Dominic's voice rises in
pitch, and his face is flushed.

The woman in the apron has moved to a
large work table and begins slicing an
eggplant. She appears to be in her late
thirties. Her straight dark hair is pulled
back in a simple braid, and her nose is
long. She slices through the purple skin
with a jerky motion, the taut sinews of
her arms standing in relief. Mulder
notices the look of panic in her dark eyes
at the word "poisoned." 

"Sir, eleven normally law-abiding citizens
were involved in acts of violence the same
night they ate ravioli in your

establishment. We aren't sure what the
correlation is, but it certainly bears
investigation." 

Mulder is content to allow Scully to
handle Dominic, who seems unnerved by the
authority in her voice. Mulder loves to
watch when her eyes flash blue death rays,
and her body seems to grow several
inches higher. He forces his attention
over to the woman who continues to slice
eggplant; she trembles like a small
animal. The other man has left the desk
to move closer to the woman, and she
seems to calm slightly.

"Were you the cook on duty the night
before last?" He tries to keep his voice
soft and non-threatening; this woman is
already frightened enough. She nods her
head warily and starts another eggplant.
The man moves a little nearer to the cook
and nods his head at Mulder.  

"I'm Enzo Caselli, and this is Carmela
Arcangeli. What do you need to know?"
Enzo's skin is pale, and he looks oddly
drained for a man who can't be much older
than 40.

"Yes, I make the ravioli, but I swear I
don't put anything bad in it." Tears are
rolling down her cheeks, and she wipes
them with the back of her hand. "Please
don't arrest me; I haven't done anything."

"Carmela, no one is going to arrest you.
Look, why don't you fry the eggplant. It's
starting to turn brown." The man helps her
scoop the slices into the colander, and
she brings them to the oil-filled pan 
waiting on the stove.  Enzo turns to 
Mulder.

"Listen, we got the dinner crowd in here
in less than an hour. I was here while she
made the ravioli. Let Carmela finish her
cooking, and I'll tell you all I know.
Okay? She's not going anywhere tonight."   

The pale man leads Mulder and Scully out
to a table in the dining room that affords
a view through the open kitchen door.

"How long has Ms. Arcangeli been cooking
here?" 

Enzo's expression softens at the sound of
her name. "She started cooking here a
little over a year ago. My brother enticed
her away from the last restaurant she
cooked for."  

"Was Carmela angry or upset when she was
cooking that day?" Mulder notices that
Enzo's eyes seldom leave Carmela as he 
watches her move around the kitchen.

"Yeah, I guess she was steamed at Dominic.
He was paying a lot of attention to Connie
over there." Enzo jerks his head in the
direction of the waitress. "I swear, I was
with Carmela the whole time, and she
didn't put anything in the ravioli that
isn't supposed to be there."

"We'll be back later to talk to Carmela."
Mulder nods at Enzo and looks at his watch. 
"We'll be back around 9--please be sure 
she is here." 

Scully notices that Mulder can barely keep
the smile off his face at her puzzled
expression. "What was that all about,
Mulder? Why did you ask if she was angry?"  

"I'm working on my theory." 

************************* 

The New Haven Marriott is a welcome change
from the miserable motels they stay at in
the various fly-speck towns across the
country. She has to admit that Mulder tries to
books them into nice hotels in larger 
towns when he can. They are using the time
until they can speak with Carmela to check
into the Marriott and have a pleasant--if
uninspired--dinner in the hotel
restaurant.  

"You still working on your theory?" she
asks with what she hopes is a
dispassionate air.  

"I don't know if I want to tell you my
theory. You'll only shoot holes in it."
His tone is teasing, and she has a sudden
urge to lob a forkful of mashed potatoes
at him.

"Mulder, I promise not to laugh. Go ahead."  

"Okay. I think Carmela's emotions were
carried through the food she cooked to the
people who ate it. She was angry when she
made the ravioli, and the people who ate
it became enraged." He sits back and folds
his arms, as if daring her to take her
best shot.

Scully takes a sip of her club soda and fights
a smile.

"You know, Mulder, I think you've outdone
yourself. No, this one was good.
Imaginative. Really, I'm impressed."

"Scully, it makes sense. Enzo Caselli was
watching her while she cooked and can
verify both that she didn't tamper with
the food and that she was very angry."

"Mulder, Enzo may have looked away for a
minute, or she could have applied
something earlier to the ingredients.
Besides, I think he's crazy about her, so
he's not exactly an unbiased witness." One
part of her had really hoped he was
kidding with this wild idea. But as much as 
she tried to hide it from him, another part of
her was intrigued with the concept.

"Actually, I've read of other cases like
this. A pretty famous one happened around
the turn of the century in Mexico. A woman 
named Tita was forced to take care of her
mother while her sister was given in
marriage to the man that Tita loved.  She even 
had to bake their wedding cake. Apparently, 
the people who ate the cake became ill, though 
she swore nothing went into the cake ingredients 
except for her tears."

"Was this documented in any way? It sounds
like a fairy tale to me."  

"One of the woman's descendants wrote an
account of it. There were other occasions
where Tita's emotions affected the food
she cooked." He looks at his watch and
motions to the waiter. "We should get back
to the restaurant."

They return to Mezzo Luna to find the
place in an uproar. Scully can hear loud
voices, and an anxious Enzo motions them
into the kitchen.  

"Thank God, you're here. Dominic has
locked himself in the storeroom. He keeps
shouting that something is trying to get
him." Enzo seems paler than ever.

"Dominic, honey, nobody's going to hurt
you!" Connie is yelling through the door
in an annoyingly high pitched screech,
and Scully wonders if she is what Dominic
is afraid of.

Mulder's lockpick makes short work of
opening the door, and Connie rushes in to
embrace Dominic, who cowers in the corner.
None of this activity is lost on Carmela,
who stands by the work table, away from
the commotion.

Connie leads the whimpering Dominic out of
the kitchen, tossing a triumphant look at
Carmela. "I'm going to take Dominic home 
so he can lie down."

Carmela pats Enzo's arm and looks into his
eyes. "Why don't you go home, too. I'll
lock up after we finish our talk."

"I worry about him," she confesses after
Enzo leaves. "You want coffee?" 

When they nod, she brings cups and a
coffeepot from the stove to a small
table. She pours the coffee and goes into
the restaurant bar, returning with a
squarish bottle of clear liquid. She pours
a healthy dollop into her own cup.
"Anisette?" 

Scully holds out her cup for Carmela and
smiles a little at Mulder's surprise. The
scent of licorice fills the room, and 
Scully is swept back to an evening in
Tuscany. She forces herself  into the
present, somewhat reluctantly, when
Mulder's cell phone rings.

She sips the rich, flavored coffee and 
watches Mulder pace around the
kitchen as he talks on the phone. He 
concludes the call and returns to the
table.

"That was Balga. There were three other
reports of people having panic attacks.
They were all brought to Yale-New Haven
Hospital. I told him we would stop there
tonight so you can take a look at the lab
work." He has that smug look on his face
that drives her crazy. "And, yes they all
ate here tonight. Eggplant parmesan."

"Carmela, did Dominic eat any of the
eggplant?" she asks, knowing what the
answer will be.

"He make himself a sandwich with some of
the leftovers." She covers her mouth with
a shaky hand. "You think Dominic got sick
on my cooking?"

"We're not sure what is happening. We'll
need to take whatever is left of the
eggplant for testing." Scully takes a long
sip of the strong coffee. It's likely to
be a long night, and the caffeine will be
welcome.

"How long have you been a cook?" Mulder's
voice is as rich and soothing as the
anisette.

"I been cooking my whole life. My parents
had a little trattoria near Palermo. I
start cooking there when I was a little
girl; Mama was sick a lot, and they needed
me. About 10 years ago, Papa got sick, and
we had to close so I could take care of
him. When he die, I come here." She seems
fascinated by the dregs of coffee left in
her cup. "I work in another restaurant
until I meet Dominic. 'Oh,' he say,
'Carmela come cook for me and I make 
you happy.' I think Dominic make a lot of
women happy. That bum. His brother Enzo is
worth ten of him."

"Carmela, I think when you were angry with
Dominic, your anger was passed into
the food. And when we came to the
restaurant today, you were frightened. I
saw how upset you were. I think your
emotions are affecting the people who eat
your cooking."  

"You gotta be crazy. How come this never
happen before?"

"I don't know. I just want you to promise
me that you won't cook anything until we
can check all of this out."  

Carmela nods her assent and, opening the
large commercial refrigerator, produces 
a plastic container that holds the
remaining eggplant parmesan.

***********************

"Mulder, are you ready to go?" Scully asks
as he opens his hotel room door. 

She's wearing her ubiquitous black suit,
but, he is pleased to see, she wears a
muted purple blouse under it. He was
afraid he was never going to see her in
anything but black and white again. 

"In a minute," he says as he struggles
with his tie. "Did you hear anything from
the lab on the samples?" Their evening was
busy after leaving the restaurant. Scully
had consulted with the emergency room
doctor and made sure the correct lab tests
were ordered.

"Here, let me." She takes over tie duty
with the ease of a woman with two
brothers. 

"The analysis of blood and urine for the
three panic victims showed nothing beyond
what I would expect from someone who had a 
panic attack. No foreign substances or
hormones. I expect word on the eggplant
sample later this morning. There . all
done," she affirms as she pats the knot, 
her hand lingering a little longer than
necessary on his chest.

"I want to go back to the restaurant. I'm
more convinced than ever that Carmela is
inadvertently causing this, but I still
can't figure out why it is happening now,"
Mulder says as he locks the hotel room door 
behind them and guides her down the corridor.

"I'll admit she doesn't strike me as a
poisoner, but I still can't buy this
emotional transference idea. I'd like to
take some samples of the food and spices
for testing." 

"You think her oregano has gone bad?" he
says with a chuckle.

They arrive back at Mezzo Luna after a
light breakfast and find only Enzo in
attendance. He leads them back to the
kitchen where he had been working at the
desk.  

"Do you and Dominic own this place
together?"  

Enzo smiles at Scully's question. 

Scully has brought a testing kit she
picked up the night before from the
health department, and she inspects the 
various jars and bottles in the kitchen, 
taking samples. She sheds her jacket while 
she works.

"No, Dominic is the older brother, and our
parents were very old-fashioned; in
Italian families, the older brother
inherits. I'm just the bookkeeper." Enzo's
eyes do not leave Scully as she goes 
about her investigation.  

"All this great food must be a nice perk."
Mulder gestures to the chalkboard with the
daily menu selections.

"Funny thing is, I can't eat most of what
we serve. I have a heart condition. Still,
Carmela is the best cook we ever had; the
place is packed every night since she
started."

Scully has finished her sample gathering
and is packing up the testing kit when her
cell phone trills. Mulder enjoys the view of
the curve of her back in the thin knit
material of her blouse as she carries on her
conversation.

"Well, the sample of eggplant parmesan
tested negative for any foreign
substances." She has that little purse to
her lips that he finds incredibly
distracting. 

"That means Carmela's in the clear?"
Enzo's voice is hopeful. Mulder notices
that Enzo's face takes on an entirely
different look whenever he talks about
Carmela.

"Enzo, does Carmela know how you feel
about her?" Mulder knows he is the last
man on the planet to give relationship
advice, but this situation seems painfully
obvious, even to him.

"I ... I don't know. I hope not." Enzo's
smile is wry. "I could never tell her ... I
have nothing to give her."

"Carmela doesn't strike me as a material
girl. I don't think she cares if you own
this place. I think she cares a great deal
about you."   

Enzo appears to be near tears at this.
"It's not that. She's been used her whole
life; her family didn't treat her very
well. She spent too many years taking care
of sick people and working like a dog. I
couldn't put her through that again."
Enzo's eyes burn with a sadness that hits
Mulder like a punch to the abdomen.

"Your heart condition," Scully says in
understanding and watches as Enzo gives a
solemn nod. "Mulder is right. I think you
should tell her."

"I can't. I don't want to saddle her with
an invalid husband. She deserves so much
better."

"Sometimes, the people who think they have
the least to give, have the most to offer. 
Tell her." Scully speaks the words to
Enzo, but her eyes lock on Mulder, and her
meaning is clear.

Enzo looks first at Scully and then to
Mulder. "I ... I don't know. I'll think
about it."

************************

Her steps are heavy as she walks the
length of Wooster Street. Thoughts swirl
in her head like leaves in the wind. If
she couldn't cook, how could she live? It
frightens her to think that her out of
control emotions are harming the people
around her. 

When she arrives at Mezzo Luna, she finds
that Dominic is at once wary of her and
angry when she tells him she cannot cook
today. *How like him*, she thinks. He
cares nothing for her beyond her ability
to work and serve and bring in customers.
She has always known this, but lately,
something nags at her. Is there no value
to her beyond the kitchen?

It is Enzo's eyes that bring an answer to
her question. One look into them, and she
sees a reflection of herself that she has
never before dreamt of. He is waiting for
her in the kitchen and, taking her hand,
he draws her to the table. He calls her
"Cara" and brings her work-roughened hand
to his lips as if it were the hand of a
queen. She knows then in that one instant
what it is to have someone love her
without any expectations.

"I have nothing to offer you. I can't
promise you a comfortable life. I can't
even tell you we will have many years
together. I can't tell you anything except
that I love you." He barely speaks above 
a whisper but with more strength than she
has ever known.

"My father used to call me 'his little
gallina'. Said I was scrawny like a
chicken, and no man would ever want me.
Said I better get used to hard work. I
believed him. Enzo, what you can't give me 
doesn't matter; you've already given me
more than I ever thought I could have."
Her hands cradle his sweet face, and she
leans forward to touch his lips with her
own. "I love you, too."

**************************

Mulder can see Yale's old, sun-warmed
buildings from the bench as he waits for
Scully to finish up in the New Haven
Health Department. He might have gone to
school here if the scholarship to Oxford
had not materialized. Still, Yale would
have been far too close to home.

He remembers wandering New Haven as a
teenager when he had lived with his mother
in Greenwich. She had been far too
preoccupied to offer much supervision, so
trips to New York City or New Haven had 
offered lots of diversion. His favorite
destination had been Toad's Place, where,
depending on his timing, he could see
anything from the best of local garage
bands to the Rolling Stones.

Scully emerges from the building, and he
watches with open interest as she makes
her way down the steps. That skirt is his
favorite because it is the shortest one
she owns.

"Mezzo Luna has passed all its inspections
for the last 10 years with flying colors.
I really don't expect anything to turn up
on the samples I collected today. Nothing
can be proven as far as food tampering, so
I don't think we can tell them not to open
for business tonight." She closes her eyes
and leans back against the headrest.

"I'm glad you said that. Enzo just called,
and it looks like our little push worked.
He spoke to Carmela, and I think things
are going to be all right. He said they
were planning on opening for dinner. I 
told him we couldn't stop them. As a
matter of fact, he asked us to come for
dinner on the house...as a thank you."  

Her eyes fly open at this. "Mulder, I
don't know...."

"Enzo said that Carmela is very happy.
Now, what can happen beyond an outbreak of
good spirits? Besides, I didn't think you
believed any of my theory. Come on, she's
making osso buco."

"I said your theory couldn't be proven,
not that I didn't believe it. Well, I suppose it 
couldn't hurt to stay one more night." 

********************************

He watches her small, strong hands wield
the knife, mincing onions. He is amazed at
how quickly she can reduce each onion to
tiny, perfect pieces. She looks up at him,
and her smile takes his breath away. He
thinks her face has changed just in the 
last day. He has always thought she was
beautiful. Now she looks as if she
believes it, too.

He stands behind her as she works at the
table. His hands rest on her shoulders,
and he can feel her muscles move under his
fingers as she uses the knife. She leans
her head back and nestles her face into
the crook of his neck. His lips seek hers,
and he kisses her deeply. She parts her
lips for him, and he can taste coffee and
apples.

"Enzo, I ... I have to get the veal ready,"
she says between kisses. She has finished
the onions and takes stalks of celery out
of the vegetable basket. His hands travel
down her shoulders and follow the line of 
her back as she chops the celery. He spans
her waist and slowly brings his hands up
to cup her breasts through the fabric of
her shirt. She continues chopping, though
more slowly as he drops tiny kisses on the 
back of her neck. 

"I want to love you in every way that a
man can love a woman," he murmurs into her
ear as he slips his hands under the
waistband of the slacks to rest on the
warm curve of her belly. 

"Storeroom," she gasps.

"What?" He grunts out. "You want something
from the storeroom?"

"No...the storeroom locks from the
inside."

*****************************  

Mezzo Luna is bathed in candlelight
tonight, and Mulder's skin seems even more
golden. They sip wine and find themselves
smiling over everything and nothing. Opera
music plays softly in the background, and
even Connie's brassy voice seems a little
sweeter as she guides a young couple to
their table.

They were warmly greeted when they arrived
by both Caselli brothers; Carmela
herself brought out their osso buco. She
had seemed radiant, and Scully marveled
at the change in her. She smiles and
wonders if Mulder noticed, too.

"I can't believe how good this is." He
closes his eyes as if in ecstasy. 

She has to agree; the veal is perfect. It
is easy to see why Carmela is so highly
prized as a cook.  

An older couple at a nearby table captures
her interest. Dominic had brought them a
bottle of wine earlier; apparently it was
a special anniversary for them. The couple
holds hands and gaze at each other so
tenderly that Scully wonders if they know
other people are in the room.

She smiles into her wine glass as she has
a sudden impulse to remove her shoe and
follow the seam in Mulder's slacks from
the ankle all the way up to...*Where the
hell did that thought come from?* She
gives her head a tiny mental shake. 

She wonders if the wine is going to her
head; she feels flushed and unfastens the
top button on her blouse. Mulder's
attention seems riveted to the skin that
is now revealed. She traces her fingers
along the notch in her collarbone, and
another button is opened. The tip of
Mulder's tongue darts out to moisten his
lower lip.

Just then, Enzo comes to the table and asks 
them if they would like dessert, but they 
make their farewells and find themselves
hurrying for the car. Before Mulder can
get the door unlocked, she does something
she has always dreamed of doing. Wrapping
her fingers around his tie, she yanks his 
head down for a fierce kiss.

She takes the keys out of his hand and,
scrabbling around, finds the lock and
pulls the door open. He is kissing her
again, with such intensity that all
coherent thought is gone. She falls back
onto the car seat, pulling him after her.
His hands roam everywhere, but they don't
stay anywhere long enough. She wants to
scream, "Pick a spot and stay with it!"
but she is too busy trying to pull his
shirt out from the waistband of his
slacks.  

"Wait!" he gasps. "Hotel." He pulls back, 
and the sound of heavy breathing fills the
car.

"Good idea. You drive." She wants to have
her hands free.  

He scrambles behind the steering wheel,
and the car roars to life. She can see a
car parked across the street bucking and
bobbing in a gentle but energetic manner.
As their headlights illuminate the car,
two heads rise above the window. Mulder
and Scully both laugh as the tousled gray
heads of their romantic neighbors drop
again from sight.

**********************************

The first thing he realizes upon waking is
that her incredibly round, smooth bottom
is nestled against his rather impressive
morning erection. His eyes follow the curve
of his arm around to find that his hand is,
indeed, cupping her breast. *Dear God,* he
thinks, *I fell asleep holding Scully's
breast.* He lays very still because he is
quite sure that when she wakes up she will
kill him.

Memories of the night before flood back
with stunning clarity. He thinks the
memories should be fuzzier, but he can
recall each precise detail. He can
remember the ride back to the hotel, 
Scully's hands driving him crazy as they
roamed and touched and finally settled in
exactly the right place. He is rather
proud of the fact that he didn't send the
car careening into oncoming traffic.  

He can remember their disheveled and
hurried trip across the hotel lobby and
the smirk on the desk clerk's face. He
can remember the urgent kisses in the
elevator, discovering with glee that
Scully had thigh-high stockings on
underneath her skirt. He would write a
thank-you letter if he knew who was
responsible for that amazing invention. 

He remembers her hands unbuckling his belt
and sliding his zipper down as he
struggled with the damned electronic key.
Seven swipes before the indicator light 
turned green and the door swung open.

He remembers barely having time to slam the 
door shut before he found himself on his back 
on the hotel room floor. He remembers the way 
her breasts felt in his hands when he unbuttoned 
her blouse and got the clasp at the front of her bra 
open. Another inventor to thank.

He remembers his amazement at how easily a
pair of silk panties could tear, and how
incredible it felt to slip into her. How
very appropriate for them to make love for
the first time, still partially clothed in
their FBI facades.

Now, the morning light floods the room.
She begins to move under his hands, and he
braces himself for whatever happens. He
can feel her body stiffen. She pushes
herself up suddenly, and he can see that
the memory of the previous evening has
come back to her.

She hops off the bed and paces around the
room, completely naked. He takes this as a
good sign. Finally, she returns to sit on
the edge of the bed.

"I guess I was wrong when I said that the
worst thing that could happen was an
outbreak of good spirits."  He hopes humor,
his old pal, won't let him down.

"You think this happened because of
Carmela's cooking?"  

He feels his chest tighten at the serious
tone in her voice.

"Scully, we have to find out if anyone
else was affected. The couple at the next
table...."

"It doesn't matter."

"What do you mean, it doesn't matter?
This could be serious."

"Mulder, did you do anything last night
that you didn't want to do?"

"No."  The truth was, he wanted last night
more than he can say.

"Did you do anything last night that you
hadn't fantasized about?"

"No." Not more than a million times.

"Well, neither did I," she says with a
smile that stops his breath.  

It occurs to him that winning this
argument would be the most stupid thing he
had ever done. If anything nonconsensual
had happened, they would certainly hear
about it. He thought about the romantic
older couple and wondered what the morning
after was like for them.

"So, check-out isn't until 11," he says
as he pulls her to him.  She holds his
face between her hands and slants her lips
over his in a kiss that leaves him breathless.

"Don't let me forget. I want to stop at a
medical supply house and buy the biggest
box of latex gloves I can find for
Carmela," she gasps out.  She is begins
to moan as his lips trace a path along her 
collarbone and down between her breasts.

"I thought you didn't believe my theory." He smiles
up at her before continuing his journey downward.

"Just in case your theory has merit, I
don't want the birth rate in this neighborhood 
to shoot up because Carmela found true 
love. Oh . yes, right there."  In a few short 
minutes he predicts her capacity for coherent 
speech will desert her.

Maybe he's won the argument after all.

***********************

End (03 of 03)

Author's Notes:

Many thanks go to Kestabrook for beta help
and loving support, to Jodi for beta and great
advice and to Jennifer for encouragement and
archive magic.  Like Water For Chocolate is a
wonderful book by Laura Esquivel and I highly
recommend it.  It is the story of Tita who I mention 
briefly.   A wonderful movie was made from
this story. 
 
I played fast and loose with the layout of New Haven, 
but I promise, I put it all back when I was done.
The health department is back where it belongs--
nowhere near Yale.