At least they hadn't seen it, he thought, and breathed a silent thanks for small mercies. There was a still a chance he could manage to solve this predicament himself. Though Agent's Mulder's words from their conversation in the gym still echoed in his brain:

...What is your evil spirit?...

...Maybe it would be more accurate to call it a manifestation of the conflict you've been feeling lately about sex...

...I have a feeling you're not going to solve your problem until you face up to what's causing it...

What a load of bullshit, Mr. Kopeck thought. But even as he thought it, a part of him wondered if it might be true. Nothing in his life had been going right since the day his wife had told him she was leaving him.

For now, he reminded himself, he would have to forget about the psychoanalysis and concentrate on more practical matters, like finding the demon. In forty minutes the football game would be starting, and the school grounds would be teeming with people. A demon loose in a crowd like that -- well, he didn't want to think about the possibilities.

Nope, Agent Mulder's psychological mumbo-jumbo would have to wait. He didn't have time to worry about his sex life or his self-esteem right now. If he could just finish the exorcism maybe that would take care of everything. It was worth a try, anyway. He just had to -

"Oh! You totally evil bastard!" a woman cried with feeling.

He froze in his tracks and spun around, expecting to witness some innocent bystander confronting the demon in horror. Instead he saw only a slim but decidedly curvaceous blonde. She was standing beside a black Mustang sedan that had a flat rear tire, struggling to raise the car on a jack. He set the Bible and the holy water down on the ground, and stepped closer.

She was strikingly attractive, at least from the back. Her hair was a bright golden-blonde and she wore it in fluffy curls. He had always liked blondes. This one was dressed in a tailored white shirt, snug-fitting blue jeans, and chunky-heeled black oxfords. Her small waist and shapely hips would have held his attention even if she hadn't been cursing steadily but cheerfully at the jack.

He could see she was having trouble. He needed to find the demon, but...well, he supposed a couple of minutes wasn't going to make much difference.

As he approached, she finished with the jack and knelt down in front of the flat. "Need some help?" he asked.

She turned her head and smiled up at him. He was pleasantly surprised to see that her face matched the promise of her figure. "Oh, no thank you."

"You're sure?" He took a step backwards, his eyes still on her.

"Yes, but thanks. I've got the situation under control." She picked up the lug wrench and fit it over one of the lug nuts.

"Um..." he said, frowning. He cleared his throat.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Yes?"

"Well..." He stuck his hands in his pockets. "You really shouldn't do it that way. You're supposed to loosen the lug nuts before you jack up the car. The wheel's just going to spin on you, and besides, it's possible you could rock the car off the jack."

A tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows. "Oh."

He came closer, and dropped down on one knee beside her. "You don't really have the jack in the right place, either. See this little plate here?" He pointed to a point on the frame in front of the tire. "That's where it's supposed to make contact."

The crease deepened. "Hmmm."

She smelled great, Mr. Kopeck thought. She was even prettier close up -- clear skin, a slender nose, sweetly curving lips, and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. She looked to be in her thirties; a year or two younger than him, maybe, but no more.

"Maybe you'd better let me do this," he offered. "You look too nice to get all dirty, and it's kind of a guy job anyway."

She sat back on her heels. "That's not politically correct," she said with a twinkle. "You're supposed to assure me that I look capable and undoubtedly I could manage this without you."

"You look capable. Undoubtedly you could manage this without me."

Laughing, she dusted off her hands on her shapely thighs. "That's much better. And now that we've got that straight, I really would appreciate your help, if you're sure you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all," he said with perfect sincerity, reaching out to lower the jack. Beside him, she sighed with what seemed to be relief. Even her sigh sounded pretty.

For the moment, Mr. Kopeck forgot all about the demon.

****

Scully toed off her shoes by the door, then bent to set them neatly side by side. Poor Mulder, she thought. He was taking this harder than usual. His failures always got to him, but this seemed extreme. His shoulders had a defeated set to them, and all signs of playfulness had disappeared from his expression.

"Sorry things didn't turn out quite the way you'd hoped," she said in what was meant to be a light you-win-some-you-lose-some tone. When Mulder's brow creased in apparent confusion she added, "With the case, I mean."

Mulder half-shrugged and tugged at the reluctant knot in his tie. "Whatever. It's probably for the best."

"Really, Mulder? How's that?"

"If I'd have caught it, what would I have done with it? Demons make lousy house-pets." He frowned and pulled at his cuff buttons.

She went over and climbed up to sit on the bed, still dressed. Not that she had any objection to getting busy; she was just a little worried about Mulder. She was beginning to think he might be sinking into some kind of depression.

"Well?" he said impatiently, glancing over at her. "Aren't you going to get undressed?"

"If you're in that much of a hurry, maybe we could institute drive-through service."

He looked up, and his eyes locked with hers. "Sorry," he said. "I guess I can't get anything right these days."

Taking a case to heart was one thing; such blatant self-pity was quite another. "You know, Mulder, we don't have to do this if you don't want to."

She said it gently, sympathetically. She was a little surprised, therefore, when he narrowed his eyes and turned his back on her. "Damn it, Scully," he snarled, "I'm not THAT old."

The words surprised her just as much as the furious tone in which he spoke them. She watched for a moment in silence as he angrily jerked off his clothes, wondering what was going through his head.

"Mulder," she said finally, "do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"Forget it."

"No." She wished he would look at her. "I want to know what's been bothering you." She paused for a moment, wondering which issue to address first. "What did you mean before, when you mentioned my going away?"

"I said forget it."

He was the picture of affronted dignity, even stripped down to nothing but black socks and blue cotton boxers. "No, Mulder. You're going to talk to me. Or, if you aren't, you might as well stop taking off your clothes. I'm not about to sleep with you in this mood."

Peeling off his socks, Mulder wavered, apparently debating with himself what to do -- freeze her out, argue, or put his clothes back on and storm out.

Finally he whispered "Damn," and threw his socks across the room in a gesture that screamed pure frustration. Shoulders slumping, he stalked over to sit beside her on the bed.

****

"I haven't seen you around here before," Mr. Kopeck remarked conversationally, as he finished lowering the car off the jack and went to work loosening the lug nuts. "I thought I knew everybody in town."

The woman looked at him with bright intelligence in her eyes. "I grew up not too far from here, but I just moved to Craftsbury Common. I'm going to be teaching here."

"Here at the Academy?"

"Yes, I'm replacing a teacher who died."

"Mrs. Chernoff," he supplied with a nod. "I teach here, too."

"Do you?" She smiled at him, a frank, inviting smile that made his heart beat faster. "Then I guess we'll be working together."

He repositioned the jack and began cranking the car higher. "My name's Larry, by the way. Larry Kopeck." He stuck out his hand.

"Rachel Thornton," she said, taking his hand and shaking it.

Good lord, she even knew how to shake hands, Mr. Kopeck thought in amazement. It was a dying art. Most women these days gave him one of those limp four-fingered clasps, like they thought his hand was a bowl of Palmolive and they were going to soak in it; or, worse yet, they just stared blankly at his outstretched hand like they'd never seen one before. Rachel Thornton had a great handshake, firm and confident and friendly.

"Until I can find a place of my own I'm staying at the bed and breakfast," she told him, watching him drop the lug nuts one by one into her discarded hubcap. "It's just me and a couple of FBI agents." The little crease appeared between her brows again. "I've been wondering about that, by the way. I thought this place was supposed to be so quiet. What are FBI agents doing around here?"

He lifted the flat off the car and rolled it out of the way. "There was, um...a death at the gym today."

Her smile faded. "A death? Not a friend of yours, I hope."

Mr. Kopeck shrugged. "Not a friend, exactly, but I knew him. A guy I went to school with, Eric Noonan."

"Eric Noonan?" She frowned faintly. "He didn't sell cars, did he? I think the guy who sold me my Mustang in Hardwick was named Noonan."

"Yeah, that was the same guy."

"Oh." She was silent for a moment. "Not to speak ill of the dead, but what an asshole."

Mr. Kopeck had to stifle a bark of laughter. "I always thought so, too." He fit the spare tire on the car and loosely replaced the first lug nut. "Er...not to speak ill of the dead."

She shook her head. "Nothing turns me off more than a smooth operator."

Mr. Kopeck twisted around and gawked at her. "Really?"

"Definitely. Their lines always sound so rehearsed, as if they've used them on a million other women before. Plus I have this theory about them: I think they're just not bright enough to envision rejection."

"If that's true," he said ruefully, "I must be a damned genius."

She smiled at him, her head to one side. It was a warm smile, bright and understanding. "So, what do you teach?"

"World History."

"Really? I minored in history. In college I wrote my thesis on oratory in the Roman Senate."

"You're kidding. Classical Rome is my favorite period. I'm teaching a unit on it now, in fact, not that my students know anything about it beyond what they've gleaned from Little Caesar's pizza commercials."

"Oh, I love history. I teach Civics -- but then, you probably guessed that, if you knew Mrs. Chernoff."

He lowered the car again, then picked up the lug wrench and started tightening the nuts. "Just about done here," he said, a little regretful that their conversation would have to end.

"Wow. You made quick work of that."

He couldn't help smiling when he heard the admiring note in her voice. It had been a long time since a woman had talked to him that way. "It's not hard, if you've done it before."

She clasped her hands behind her back, an oddly engaging gesture. "Unfortunately, I was a flat tire virgin."

He laughed, thinking it sounded like one of the movies his father would have made: "I Was a Teenage Zombie," "I Was a Flat Tire Virgin." With a last turn of the lug wrench he finished the job, and got to his feet. "Just don't drive on the spare any longer than you have to."

"I won't," she said a little shyly. "Well..." She looked down at the gravel. "Thank you. That was very nice of you."

Great googly-moogly, she was pretty, he thought. No wedding ring, either; and she hadn't mentioned a husband or a boyfriend. In fact she'd definitely said that no one but the FBI agents was staying at the bed and breakfast with her.

He felt a nervous flutter in his stomach, and took a deep breath.

"Look," he said. "I'm really out of practice at this. I haven't asked a woman out in thirteen years. I wasn't even that good at asking women out when I was in practice. But I was wondering -- would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

"Dinner?" she asked. "Just the two of us?"

His heart was pounding. "Well, yeah. I mean, we don't have to if you don't want to, but I just thought maybe you wouldn't know anyone else in town, and -- "

"Yes," she said, cutting off his nervous babble. "I'd love to."

He blinked at her. "You would?"

She gave him a blinding smile. "Absolutely. I was hoping you'd ask."

"Oh," he said, and just stood there, too surprised and delighted at his good luck to manage anything more.

She scooped up the jack and the lug wrench, and opened the trunk of her car. He realized he must look ridiculous, standing around grinning foolishly, and helped her by lifting the flat into the spare compartment.

"Thanks," she said again, giving him a definite look of encouragement before slamming the trunk closed.

For the first time in weeks, he felt confidence flooding through him.

He followed a step behind as she went to the driver's side door and slipped in behind the wheel. "I'll pick you up at the B & B at seven o'clock," he said, stooping a little to speak through her car window. "That should give me time to go home and change, and -- "

Oh Good Christ, he thought suddenly as she smiled and turned the key in the ignition. He'd forgotten all about the demon. How could something so important have so completely slipped his mind that way? He had to stop it before anyone else got hurt. "Wait, Rachel, maybe we'd better -- "

"Hmm?"

Just then, as if his thoughts had conjured the diabolical thing, he spotted it -- the demon. There it was. The demon was behind the car, creeping toward him in all its yellow-eyed malevolence.

Mr. Kopeck felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Oh shit..." he breathed.

It was the most coherent speech he could manage. Dimly he realized he'd left the holy water lying forgotten on the grass -- far, far out of reach...

**** End 09/10

Plausible Deniability & Amanda Wilde (MaybeAmanda)
Address: pdeniability@hotmail.com / maybe_a@rocketmail.com