"Like a switch has been flicked," Scully muttered.

The engine's thrum reverberated in the tiny cabin and Mulder was busy scratching a circle round the bandage on his arm. "What?"

"Never mind." A flying cow, when pigs fly. Airborne animals were pretty obvious portents for change, but Mulder seemed to be busy ignoring the signs. The hints. The offer to share her bed that he'd casually turned down. She leaned forward in the small space and tapped the pilot on the shoulder. "How long before Kansas City?"

"Another twenty-three minutes, ma'am."

Mulder nudged her shoulder and silently mouthed, "Ma'am."

Scully sighed. "Stop scratching, Mulder."

He deadpanned, "Yes, ma'am."

Scully decided to ignore him, leaned back into her seat and smiled to herself at her ample leg room. As cases went, a rural weather-controlling meteorologist was a pleasant change of pace.

The weather. She opened one eye and looked out the tiny side window. Clear skies as far as she could see into the fading dusk.

Scully gripped the arm rests as their plane landed on a side runway, nodded at Mulder's sympathetic look. Eagerly, she hopped to the tarmac and offered Mulder a hand.

He ignored it. "Goodbye, Kroner," he muttered under his breath.

"And hello, Kansas City," Scully added. She turned to the pilot. "When's the next flight?"

He unloaded their bags from the miniscule storage area at the tail. "You can check at the main terminal, but I don't think there's anything direct until tomorrow. You could probably catch a night flight to Dallas and then overnight to DC if you're in a hurry."

"I'm not in a hurry. Are you in a hurry, Scully?"

She turned around, noticing the outline of flat roof and flat landscape beyond, the encroaching gloom, and the brisk wind tugging at her jacket. "I'm not in a hurry for a Ma and Pa Kettle motel either."

He picked up her bag and hefted it with his, began to stride towards a line of taxis at the far-off main entrance. "Only the best for you, Scully. There's a Motel 6 room with your name on it."

Scully hurried to keep up. "Are you sure about staying in Kansas City? Its nickname is Cow Town, you know."

Mulder exaggerated a shudder. He told the taxi driver to take them to a hotel near the airport - one at least three floors high and away from any cattle. Scully choked back a laugh at the driver's sudden wariness.

Ten minutes and only fifteen miles over the speed limit later, they were deposited in front of an Airport Hilton.

"Nice," Scully murmured as they entered the lobby. Then stopped. Mulder bumped into her. "Sorry. I was surprised."

"Ha ha." Mulder stepped around her and the life-sized fibreglass cow to the check-in counter, turning his back on them both.

Scully swallowed down every expression except professional neutrality. Held out her hand at the offered room key, and asked, "Restaurant in an hour?"

The check-in clerk's name tag read Ella Morse. "There's a special performance in the Cowpoke Lounge you might enjoy. Same menu as the restaurant."

"Mulder?"

Mulder nodded. "Thank you, Ms. Morse. We'll give it a try."

"I'll see you there," Morse smiled. "I've been practicing."

"Practicing what?" Mulder complained, when they were in the elevator.

"Yodelling? Trick roping?" Scully leaned against the wall and lifted her feet, one at a time, rotating her ankles.

"Oh well, if it's rope tricks..."

Exactly sixty minutes later, Scully stood at the entrance to the Cowpoke Lounge. A bar, really, with booths around the edges and tables and chairs stacked against the back wall, creating a large open space in the centre. She heard Mulder's unmistakeable stride and deliberately positioned herself in front of the sign advertising tonight's dance. Yesterday, she'd swayed on the sidelines with Mulder at the Kroner reunion. Time for a change.

Scully could feel the tension in her shoulders melt as she sipped her beer, the top bun from her burger decorating her plate along with some uneaten fries. Mulder's cheeseburger was long gone, his second beer and his eyes at half mast, but they both straightened suddenly as a loud voice declared, "Comma ti yippity yi yeah, Cowboys and Cowgirls, and put your hands together for the one and only Cow Town Swing Dancers!"

Yeehaws and stamping feet greeted the influx of costumed dancers. Scully caught Mulder's eye and shrugged, and Mulder - who had looked ready to flee the room - relaxed back in his seat. He politely returned Ella Morse's enthusiastic wave as she strutted around the circle in time to the music.

The tempo was lively, the dancers adept, the toe tapping infectious, and soon many of the audience were joining in the fun. Mulder leaned closer so Scully could hear him above the noise. "Cowboy swing music? Who'd have thought?"

"This whole case has been a surprise. Come on." She tugged on his arm, and he stood. And stopped when Scully grabbed his hand. She looked up at Mulder and realised that there was something in his eyes, quickly hidden. Something she couldn't begin to interpret.

But she could retreat if Mulder wasn't on the same page. An old answer, but a comfortable one, so Scully loosened her hold to make a comical twirl that earned a smile.

They stepped to the dance floor at last. Mulder held her loosely in his arms, swaying to "A most peculiar cowboy song. It was a ditty, he learned in the city - "

Dance was a ritual, Scully knew. Unspoken communication, and more. It was on their third turn around the floor when far-away Kroner's mysterious weather reasserted itself. A howl of wind, the bar's double doors slammed open - and Scully was blown sideways. Except for Mulder, she would have been flattened. Except for Mulder, who caught and steadied her, the rescue smoothing into a complicated dance step so uniquely Mulder's own that Scully shuddered.

Mulder bent low and whispered, "Let's get along, little doggie."

Scully whispered back. "Good idea."

Mulder's sweet smile. And his warm hand on her back as they walked to the hotel elevator.



***

Notes:

Thanks to MaybeAmanda, an absolutely moo-velous beta.

The story's title, character name, and quoted music are all from Ella Mae Morse's "Cow Cow Boogie." Her 'most peculiar cowboy song' remains as infectious today as when she first recorded it in 1942.

"In March the wind
Blows down the door"
- Maurice Sendak