Title: FOWLEY'S  LEFT  TIT
Author: D. Dayton Wilson [MrManD210@aol.com]
Classification: H/some A/some MSR, but not much
Rating: R
Keyword: Fowley/Mulder
Spoilers:  Biogenesis

Summary:   Diana Fowley is in Mulder's apartment.  What goes on while Mulder 
sleeps in the next room? 

Distribution: Please ask for permission first — and please keep my name
attached.

Disclaimer: the characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Diana Fowley
belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Prods. and Fox, Inc.  And I am using them for
this story without permission.  So sue me.  No disrespect toward the actress 
Mimi Rogers is intended.  I'm sure she is a fine person.

Dedication: This story goes out to everyone who threw things at their 
television sets at a certain moment that fateful night in May - especially
Heidi.

Feedback: If the mood strikes — I would love it at MrManD210@aol.com 


FOWLEY'S LEFT TIT

Sighing, she looked at herself in the mirror to freshen up. Not bad for an
old broad, she thought. Well, maybe not THAT old.

But the myriad of wrinkles framing Diana Fowley's otherwise attractive
features told another story. How typical to believe in the younger version
of herself, when it was, in fact, the so-called older version calling the
shots. She mused, 'If you don't believe in your younger self, who will?
Besides, I am sure I look younger than my real age'. She deludedly smiled
her toothy full-faced shit-eating lips-above-the-gumline smile. Was it
possible to be frightening and welcoming at the same time? 'Repulsively
fascinating' would be too strongly put, however, on quite the right track.

Consciously or not, Diana found herself using the palms of both hands to
pull back the skin at the sides of her face, instantly smoothing out the
wrinkles and making herself look 10 years younger. She was unaware that the
tension also smoothed the fine lines on the back of each hand. She let
loose and her face resumed its normal appearance. So did her hands. She
rolled her eyes.

Sun damage? Yeah. Too many afternoons at the beach. Too many topless
Sundays on the rooftop. Too many daytime skinny dipping parties in the
1970s.

But that was many years ago. It was even before the time she met Fox Mulder.

Fox! She checked the bedroom. There he was, at last sleeping like a baby.
'Geez', she thought. What a time of it Fox was having. It disturbed her to
see him like he was days earlier. Holding his head as if plagued by
imaginary voices all simultaneously screaming commands at him. But now he
was resting. In his apartment on  2630 Hegal Place right here in
Alexandria, Virginia. 'To sleep, perchance to dream, I think,' Diana was
unsure of the quote.'Anyway, sweet dreams, Fox Mulder. Only the best
thoughts for you, oh foxy one.'

She noticed the saliva at the corners of his mouth catching the dim light.
Somehow, she found the possibility of him drooling in the bedroom sexy and
loaded with unspeakable but not unthinkable possibilities. Smiling at her
thoughts, Diana furrowed her brow as a sharp pain focused her mind on her
left breast. A sudden slight twinge caused her to adjust her left bra
strap.

Leaving Fox to dream of most likely, Dana Scully, she flicked on the
bathroom light and lifted her brown pullover. She looked at her breasts,
cupped in her nurse-white and oh-so-sexy utilitarian brassiere. Slight
yellow stains tinted the sides of her bra underneath her arms. She
unfastened it to look at herself.

What caused the pain? Cancer was damned serious but unlikely. It did not
run in her family and she was religious about her checkups beginning at age
thirty. Some even called her paranoid. Her heart? Healthy as a horse and
besides, her heart was not near the nipple area of her left breast which is
where she decided the location of her discomfort was.

Yet, here she stood. In the harsh light of Fox Mulder's apartment bathroom,
both large breasts bared. Diana looked down at herself. Her shoulders
slumped down. Both nipples stared downward, too. For an instant Diana
looked beyond her body and examined her right big toe. The toenail there
was recovering from a fungal infection and was, although on the mend, still
a yellow, thickly encrusted, flaky mess.

She cupped her left breast in her hands, examining it closely. Okay. It was
all there. Unharmed. Maybe it was just a muscle spasm. She shrugged her
shoulders, dressed and hit the light switch squarely with the palm of her
hand as she left the bathroom.

She went to the living room, plopped herself on the sofa and turned on the
television. Ignoring Fox's stack of unmarked videotapes, Diana amused
herself by flicking the remote from station to station. She was alarmed to
notice that the FX cable channel was running six nights of making war jokes
not love in a M*A*S*H marathon. Hawkeye, Trapper John, HotLips Houlihan!
All funny, wartime doctors. The mirth! The merriment! The scalpels!

They reminded Diana of a certain Dana Scully, an object of derision in her
mind but a definite object of affection to Fox. 'Dana Scully! What kind of
a name is that for a person? Dana! Wasn't that a MAN'S name? And SHE
certainly wasn't nearly as amusing as the M*A*S*H doctors. Always so damned
serious. What a pill! Makes you wonder what had gotten into her! Maybe a
visit from one of Fox's space aliens. What a pain in the neck! Fox deserves
so much more. He was a certified hottie. Scully was a certified bore!
And at least Hawkeye and crew operated on people with lives left to save.
Young soldiers with girlfriends and their lives before them, if only they
could regain their health. Scully was comfortable with people obviously
more heartfelt to her: dead people. Well Fox has a lot of life left in him
and what he needs is a real woman, not some organ hound. What he needs is
someone like me. Hell, what he needs IS me! OUCH! DAMN!'

Diana Fowley angrily clutched at her left breast again and lunged towards
the bathroom and slammed the light on and almost ripped her pullover as it
came off. Her left breast fell as she loosened it from her bra. She studied
it intensely. No sign of anything unusual. It was her breast. It was her
nipple. It was all hers. The real McCoy. No plastic pieces added or bags of
saline solution to give her ample size any aid. No help needed, thank you
very much. Her breast was home grown.

Puzzled, she fixed her tousled hair in the mirror, tucked in her blouse
and left for the kitchen. But not before she checked on Fox. He was still
sleeping soundly in bed. But he changed body positions from the last time
she checked him. He was sleeping on his back with the covers pulled to
cover him up to his waist. One arm was raised up, crooked at the elbow, his
hand covering his forehead. His naked chest was lightly dusted with hair
and heaving as he snored, his mouth slack. Yep, a definite hottie!

Diana smiled and went to check the fridge. Mood change. Leftover spaghetti.
A half-eaten leftover apple turnover. A slice of combination pizza
carefully wrapped in microwaveable plastic wrap. A half full bottle of
unfiltered apple juice, which Diana always had a problem with because it
always looked so unappetizing. 'How could Fox survive on this crapola?' She
checked the expiration date before grabbing a carton of lowfat milk and
pouring herself a glass. She wasn't a microbial bacteriologist but she knew
how to avoid botulism.

Looking through the cupboards she found a bag of Mother's cookies. The kind
with the pink and white icing and multicolored sprinkles that she adored
especially during those times when she needed that extra special something
that nobody else could give her. Moral support? A hug? A hearty laugh at
someone else's expense?

Who cared? Diana sat squarely in front of the television again with her
milk and cookies and was determined to pass the evening until it was time
to remove Fox Mulder from the premises. But she couldn't think about that
now. Now was the time for milk and cookies and... and... Animal Planet!
'Jaws and Claws' was the program and Diana was in the mood. Bring it on,
baby! Bring it on!

As she stared, wide-eyed at the lioness ripping away at the abdomen of the
still twitching zebra, Diana tore into the bag of Mother's iced animal
cookies and absent-mindedly devoured at least eight in the several seconds
it took for the lioness to get to the zebra's spleen. These cookies were
small but tasty! A drop of milk landed near Diana's chin and she deftly
licked it off while the lioness lapped at the zebra blood that splashed on
her paw. 'Yummy! Those 'Born Free' lions never had it so good. Mmmm, baby!
What goes great with zebra? Milk! What goes great with cookies? Blood!'
OWWW! OUCH!

Diana let out a little yelp. Hurriedly, she went back to the bathroom,
flicked on the light, and repeated her previous actions. Again she stared
at her left tit and noticed absolutely nothing except a nagging doubt as to
the exact geographical location of where her breast was aching. Maybe
it was a little cold. Maybe it was a little red underneath from rubbing
against her bra. Maybe it was a little red from her handling it a little
more than normal. Maybe it was a little red from being angry, like she was,
at not being able to pinpoint the problem.

Unsatisfied, Diana left the bathroom, pausing in the bedroom to watch Fox
continue his sleep and to change into her lavender bathrobe. It was in her
overnight bag on a chair near the bed. If the bra was the problem, or if
any of her clothes or underwear were causing her pain, her fluffy,
terrycloth robe and fuzzy slippers would surely give her comfort. And
speaking of comfort...

Aha! Diana searched in her bag and found the special bottle of Southern
Comfort she kept for times when just milk and cookies wouldn't do and the
endorphin rush of chocolate, even the good stuff, wasn't enough. She took
some Snapple Ice Tea from the fridge and mixed some Southern Comfort in it
and poured herself a tumblerful.

Bringing the bottle with her, she repositioned herself on the sofa to watch
a full evening of Animal Planet. The only light came from the television,
and that's the way Diana liked it. Animal upon vicious animal devoured
unsuspecting creatures while wide-eyed and blurry-eyed Diana drank away her
troubles and ate her cookies. She paused only to refresh her tumbler with
the occasional splash of Southern Comfort, and to burp.

Soon, she was drifting in and out of sleep, or was it a drunken stupor, as
her relaxed hand dropped the empty tumbler which made a discernible knock
on the living room rug as it landed. Diana's robe fell open revealing her
left breast to anyone who happened by.

Fortunately, the flea which was hiding underneath her breast out of the
light, noticed the illumination from the television set and hopped forward,
casting a long shadow which followed the breast's contour. It had made a
temporary home in Diana's bra and was fixing to launch another attack on
the underside of her breast close to her nipple, when the bra was suddenly
removed and it had to scramble for cover. It noticed the coast was clear
now and opened its little mouth and prepared for its own starring role in
'Jaws and Claws II', a live, pay-per-view mini-event!

But the audience-of-one and the only one who would really care if only she
could crack open her eyelids long enough to see, was fast asleep. Cookie
crumbs, Southern Comfort, and Snapple Iced Tea mixed with the remnants of
her scab-colored lipstick to form a strangely sticky amalgam which unevenly
filled the fractured hairlines outlining her thin, tired lips.

FIN