"Where's Dana?"

The voice was unmistakeable. Even if it were minus the barely-disguised contempt, Mulder would have recognized that whiny twang anywhere. He looked up from the report he was writing.

"What do you want, Colton?"

"I asked where Dana was."

Not, "I asked you where Dana was." I asked where Dana was. Mulder recognized the pattern: he was being talked at not being talked to. It was an old Get Spooky's Goat ploy. But Mulder had seen them all, from the best to the worst, and Colton's wasn't even worth a rating. Since nobody specifically was asked, nobody specifically answered.

"Well?"

Mulder savored the other man's irritation and let it roll around in his senses like a fine wine. "Were you talking to me?" he asked.

"Do you see anyone else in here?" Colton spat.

Dutifully, Mulder scanned the basement office. "Nope."

"Well?"

Mulder gazed serenly back. "Well, what?"

"Have you seen Dana? Do you know where your damned partner is?" Colton stomped in a few steps.

Mulder stared stonily at him, stopping Colton dead in his tracks. "She's up with Blevins, giving her report."

Colton smirked. "On you? She files reports on you, you know."

Mulder didn't deign to refute or confirm the accusation. "Actually, on you."

If Mulder had ordered it, Colton's reaction couldn't have been more satisfying. "Me?" he squeaked out through white lips.

"On the level of cooperation your squad afforded us. On your 'involvement' in the arrest of Tooms."

"You got lucky. He came to you, Mulder."

"He came to Scully."

"Same difference." Colton shrugged, and Mulder wanted to slug him.

"He almost killed her, Colton."

A glimmer of the friend he used to be came through in Colton's eyes. "Is she all right?"

"She's fine." If Scully wanted him to know more, she could tell him.

Almost as if Mulder's proclamation of Scully's good health were a catalyst, Colton's concern turned to bitterness. "This was my case, Mulder," he hissed. "You and Dana stole it from me."

Mulder shook his head slowly, just the tiniest bit amused. "The minute you called off that stakeout, you gave it up. We handed you this guy, and you let him go."

Colton took another step toward Mulder. "You had nothing. No solid evidence. Nothing to back up your claim."

"I had the polygraph results," Mulder said evenly, "and I had fingerprints--"

"Belonging to someone with ten- inch-long fingers!"

"Which were a match with Tooms'."

Colton stared at him. "You're crazy, you know that, Mulder?"

Mulder smiled. "But I'm right."

"You were lucky."

Mulder waved a hand in dismissal. "I'm not going to argue semantics with you, Colton."

Colton snorted. "Because you know I'm right."

"Because I know you're an idiot."

The sight of Colton's ears turning a bright iridescent red tickled Mulder no end. "Look who's talking," Colton sputtered.

Mulder crossed his arms over his chest and nodded his head in approval. "Snappy comeback, Tom. Reinforces my argument quite well." He smiled sunnily. "Thanks." The dangerous glint in Colton's eyes would have sent any sane man ducking for cover. And Colton's approach with fists balled should have had Mulder at least recoiling in defense. Yet Mulder merely looked into Colton's eyes and smiled sweetly.

Colton's eyes widened, and every muscle on his body went rigid. God, this was just too easy, Mulder thought.

The VCS agent took a careful step backward and licked his lips nervously. Mulder considered licking his own in response, but decided that he didn't want the burden of Colton's death-by-heart-attack on his conscience. "Look," Colton said, voice quivering ever so slightly, "if Tooms hadn't followed Dana home, you'd still be on your precious stakeout."

"I don't argue that."

Some of the old swagger returned. "Then you agree. I'm right. It was luck. Pure, dumb luck."

Mulder stood, any particle of his earlier amusement gone. "I don't see anything lucky about my partner being attacked in her apartment. I don't see anything lucky about letting a killer go." Mulder's eyes stabbed Colton's. "It wasn't luck that led us to Tooms' lair; it was hours of solid detective work, sorting through records and interviewing witnesses. And then putting the pieces together until they formed a whole. It wasn't luck, Colton; it was brains. And if you can't see it, then you obviously don't have any."

Colton bristled so much, little wispy chest hairs peeped out from behind his white shirt. "Listen, Mulder, I'm through being insulted by you."

Mulder plopped back into his chair. "Oh, good. It does get a little tiring after awhile."

Colton opened his mouth, then just as quickly closed it. He blew out a breath. "Look, just tell Dana I was by."

Mulder nodded agreeably. "Okay."

Colton started walking out, then turned back around. "It was luck, Mulder."

Mulder looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

The End

I learned long ago never to wrestle with a pig. You get dirty, and besides, the pig likes it.

--Cyrus Ching

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