Title: Let No Star Shine 
Author: Taffy Northwood
E-Mail: soccermom@earthdome.com
Summary:  As the bard said, the course of 
true love never did run smooth  
Spoilers:  Season 6 
Rating:  PG (for now)
Category:  MT, MSR (don't worry, it's coming!)  
Archives:  I'd be honored.  
Feedback: I'd be thrilled to pieces.  My family would 
think I was crazy if they knew I was doing this, so it 
would be nice to know that someone out there thinks I'm 
not. Please let me know if I should keep going.
Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, Fowley and any other XF characters 
are being borrowed only.  
Author Notes:  I've had this story in my head for a long 
time, and I finally got up the courage to write it down.  
I dedicate this story to all the great authors who have 
inspired me.  I don't want to name names because I'm sure I'll 
forget someone, but I thank each and every one of you who 
helped me fill the long gap between Sundays, and who helps 
me keep going now that Sunday is just another day:(

 

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 1

Scully loaded her suitcase and carry-on into the trunk and checked 
her watch.  She didn't want to miss her flight.

She had an hour to pick up Mulder and drive to the airport.  They 
were attending a conference in Myrtle Beach.  She knew it wouldn't 
be as interesting as most of their cases, but it would be safe, 
clean, and maybe even fun.  She could deal.

Sometimes Mulder would be waiting for her outside his building, but 
not today.  Luckily there was a parking space right in front, so it 
wasn't much of a problem.  She just hoped he hadn't overslept or 
something.

As she rode the elevator up to the fourth floor, Scully wondered if 
she'd be able to persuade Mulder to take advantage of the recreation 
at the Plantation Beach Resort.  Even if he turned down golf and 
tennis, she was sure she could talk him into a walk on the beach, or 
maybe a swim. 

Of course he wasn't used to the fierce southern sun.  She'd insist 
that he use sunscreen.  She'd spread it herself, to be sure he was 
well-covered.  Come to think of it, her pale skin would also need 
protection.

Dana, stop! she admonished herself.  You're attending a professional
conference with your professional colleague.

On the other hand, they were friends as well as colleagues, and 
swimming was good exercise, and sunscreen was important.

She wiped the grin off her face when she got to his door.  Brushing 
a speck of dust off the jacket of her new Donna Karan navy blue 
suit, Scully hoped Mulder would like the way it clung to her curves.   
She knocked and  waited, but he didn't answer so she knocked again.

"Mulder, are you ready?" she called.

Maybe he did oversleep.  She knew Mulder could get himself up and 
out in seven minutes flat, so she wasn't really worried about the 
plane.  What did concern her was why he might have overslept.  She 
hoped it wasn't because nightmares had disturbed his sleep.  Poor 
Mulder was tortured by dreams of his sister.  Scully would hear him 
toss and turn in his motel room, sometimes crying out his sister's 
name.  Sometimes he called out Scully's name too, and she was sure 
he was reliving all the times he almost lost his partner.

She took out the key he had given her, but she didn't need it.  
The door was unlocked.

"Rise and shine," she called as she entered his apartment.

But he wasn't asleep and he wasn't alone.  The first thing she saw 
was his legs, sprawled out in front of his couch.  At least she 
assumed they were his legs, since she recognized the black Bruno 
Magli wingtips and the charcoal Armani trousers. The rest of him 
was undoubtedly on top of the couch, but she couldn't see it, 
because there was someone else on top of him.

Someone with long dark hair.

Scully could only stand and gape as Mulder eased the woman off his 
lap.

Diana Fowley.

Scully felt as if a dagger of ice had sliced through her heart.  
She raged at herself for being a blind fool.  And Mulder was a 
blind fool too, if he couldn't see that Diana Fowley was as deadly 
and sinister as a sidewinder.

Mulder stared back at Scully, his face frozen with guilt.  The only 
one who didn't seem at all uncomfortable was Diana.  She smiled at 
Scully, her face blotchy from being kissed and her hair messy and 
wild.

"Good morning, Agent Scully.  Fox didn't tell me that he was 
expecting you," she said, sweeping her long hair back from her 
face.

"S-scully," Mulder stammered.  "It's okay.  I'm ready to go."

Scully couldn't force enough air out her throat to speak above a 
whisper.

"Wash your face," she said.

"I'm ready," he repeated, as if he hadn't understood her.

Diana laughed and patted his arm.

"Go wash your face, Fox.  You're covered with my lipstick," she 
said.

Mulder's hand shook as he raised it to his smeary lips.  He looked 
horrified as he staggered to his feet and raced to the bathroom.

"Silly boy," Diana said fondly.  "Why don't you go on ahead, Agent 
Scully?  I'd be glad to drive Fox to the airport."

Scully nodded dumbly and all but fled from the apartment.  It seemed 
to take forever until the elevator arrived, but it might have been 
only seconds.  She just didn't know.

As she rode down to the ground floor, she formulated a plan.  First, 
don't cry.  Second, get to the airport.  Third, find a way to live 
through the conference.

But when the door slid open, there was Mulder, his face clean of 
lipstick but still branded with the same expression of horror.  He 
was breathing heavy from running down four flights of stairs.

"Scully, you said you'd drive me," he said, gasping for air.

"Diana will take you," Scully managed to answer.

"But, Scully, we need to prepare for the conference," he said.

"We'll have plenty of time on the plane," Scully said, but that 
was a lie.

If she couldn't find a way to switch her seat, she would pretend 
to be asleep for the entire flight.

*****

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 2

Still panting, Mulder chased Scully out onto the sidewalk.
All he could do was watch her stride to her car, as she shot
him an angry look.  He was pretty sure there were tears in her
eyes.

"Scully!" Mulder called out as Scully pulled out of the parking
space.  She didn't look back at him as she drove off down the
street.   Mulder's throat burned like fire from all his heavy
breathing, and his heart was pounding like a drum.  He leaned
against the side of the building as he caught his breath,
watching Scully's car disappear from sight.  He almost jumped
when he felt a warm hand on his arm.

"Oh Fox, I'm afraid I've caused you a lot of trouble."  Diana's
voice was gentle, her eyes full of concern.  He just couldn't
figure out what had happened back in his apartment.  One moment
Diana was sitting next to him on the couch, saying she had a
case she needed help with and the next moment, she was on his
lap.  He'd been shocked, barely registering her hands bracketing
his face as she locked her lips on his.

"Diana, what came over you?  Why did you kiss me like that?"
he asked.  She had startled the hell out of him when she climbed
into his lap, but he had to admit he had a moment of curiosity
at whether he still felt anything for her after so many years.
He'd once believed he was in love with Diana, that he wouldn't
be able to live without her.  Hadn't time proved that wrong?

"I know what I saw when you looked in my eyes, Fox,"  Diana
smiled.  "It made me think of old times."

Mulder wondered how Diana could have misread him so badly.  He
didn't even remember looking into her eyes.  All morning, his
mind had been on Scully.  It was her turn to drive, and he had
promised himself that he'd be ready on time so that he wouldn't
make them late.

"Please, Fox.  Don't tell me you've forgotten the way it used to
be," she pleaded.

"Oh, Diana," Mulder sighed, touching her hand.  "I remember, but
that was a long, long time ago."

"Maybe I just wanted to bring you a little happiness, before you
went off to that dreary conference," she said.

Mulder wondered if Diana remembered how much he usually hated
conferences.  He had tried to sneak out of a couple of them when
he and Diana were partners.   But he was kind of looking forward
to this one.  Sure, there would be the usual grief from the other
agents and the whispered cracks about Spooky Mulder and his little
green men. But there would be one saving grace, something that
made him smile every time he thought about it.

Scully in a bikini.

If Scully had any idea what he was thinking, she'd probably shoot
him again--but lower this time.

He'd never seen the suit, but he'd heard her chatting to a
girlfriend on the phone.  It was a two-piece Catalina.  Not
practical for serious swimming.  Too skimpy, really, to take
along to a conference.  But when else would she get to use it?

Then she had looked up and caught him staring at her, but instead
of letting him have it, she had smiled.

He'd actually been picturing Scully in that tiny little swimsuit
when Diana had thrown herself on top of him.  Diana's breasts had
been smashed against him, as she thrust her tongue between his
startled lips.

"Fox?"  Diana said, as if she had been trying to get his attention.
"You can try to deny it, but I know what I felt when I pressed
against you."

Oh God, it was true.  He'd been hard as a rock, but was it because
of Diana or because he was picturing Scully in her teeny little
bikini?  No matter what he said, Diana was probably going to be
convinced it was her kisses that made him hard.  He blushed
furiously and decided to change the subject.

"Diana, we'd better leave now, if I'm going to make my flight."

Diana was smiling at him, stroking his arm with her hand.  "Of
course, Fox.  I don't want to make you late."

He shook his head to clear it.  "No, I definitely don't want to
miss my plane."

Pushing himself away from the bricks, he went back into the
building.  Diana caught up with him as he pushed the button
for the elevator.

"Surely, you can explain this to Agent Scully.  I'm sure she'll
understand."  Diana stood so close, Mulder could see the fine
lines around her eyes.

"I hope so, Diana. I sure hope so."  He was pretty sure Scully
wasn't going to be easy to convince.  She looked so hurt back
in his apartment.

The elevator doors slid open and he and Diana got in.  "You
never did tell me about the case," he said as the elevator
lumbered up to the fourth floor.

"Oh, yes.  I almost forgot.  You know, I think I left the file
back at the office."  Diana chuckled softly as the doors slid
open.  "I'm such a scatterbrain sometimes."

Mulder shook his head as he walked into his apartment.  He
hadn't locked the door behind him when he'd dashed out before.
Scatterbrain was the last word Mulder would have used to describe 
Diana.  In fact, she was one of the most methodical people he'd 
ever met.

Diana never forgot things.  When they had been together, he'd
always been the one who forgot his keys or lost his sunglasses.
Diana always put her keys on a hook by the door and never lost
her good Waterman pen.  It just didn't make sense that she'd 
come all the way down to his apartment and forget her file.  
If he didn't know better, he'd think she had come over here 
to try and get him into bed.

Diana didn't come on to him on the way to the airport, but she 
did annoy him by suggesting that they stop for coffee.

"You know I'm in a hurry," he said irritably.

"Fox, we're making great time.  You're not going to miss your 
plane," she said.

She had a point.  On some days the traffic was disgusting, and 
you had to allow hours to get to the airport, but today it wasn't 
bad at all, and he was going to be early.  The thing was, he 
wanted to be early.  He wanted time to make things right with 
Scully.

"Just get me there," he said.

"The conference will be a great opportunity for you," Diana said.
"You'll have a chance to meet a lot of important people."

"Politicians don't impress me," Mulder said.  "Anyway, they 
won't show up until the end."

"That's what I'm talking about.  The conference dinner dance."

Mulder normally avoided stuffy affairs like the dinner dance
that capped the conference.  But this time, Scully would be
there and he hoped he'd get a chance to hold her in his arms
on the dance floor.  He wondered if Scully would dance with
him after the scene in his apartment.  Mulder kept picturing
the look on her face and the tears in her eyes as she drove
away.

They arrived at the airport early, as Diana had predicted.

"I'll park the car and then we can have that coffee after all," 
she said.

"You don't have to do that.  Just drop me off," Mulder said.  She 
looked a little miffed as she pulled the car over to let him out, 
but he didn't have time to think about that.  With a nod of thanks, 
he grabbed his suitcase and carry-on and hurried into the terminal.

Because he had the time, he decided to surprise Scully with a cup 
of her favorite Starbucks Caramel Frappucino.   Balancing the 
cardboard cup holder, he made his way to the airline counter.  
He spotted Scully right away, because she was there at the counter.  
She was facing away from him as she approached the ticket agent.

"Hi," he called as he reached the counter.  Scully turned, and he
couldn't read her expression.

"Mulder," she said, but without her usual warmth.  It made Mulder 
feel a terrible lonliness that he hadn't felt in a very long time.

"Scully?"   Very tentatively he lifted his hand a fraction to show her
the Starbucks Caramel Frappucino.

The change in Scully's face was as subtle as his gesture, but it gave
him a ray of hope.  He'd remembered her favorite drink, and she would do
him the honor of enjoying it in his company.

Before he could move closer and pass the cup to her, he felt a hand on
his arm and turned with a start, almost dropping the tray of drinks.

Diana.  Again.

"You see, Fox, we did have time for coffee," she said, removing one of
the cups from the holder.  Her smile was bright as she pulled the 
little tab from the lid.  "Oooh, my favorite.  I'm so glad you 
remembered."

The light in Scully's eyes seemed to flicker out as she turned away from 
Mulder and handed the ticket agent her papers.  Her knuckles were white
as she gripped the edge of the counter.

"Diana, I told you to drop me off," he said.  He glanced at Scully,
hoping she was getting the message that he hadn't invited Diana 
along.  If only Diana hadn't followed him into the airport.  He
had no idea what kind of coffee she drank--he hadn't shared a cup
with her in years.  If he didn't know better, he'd think she was
trying to cause problems with Scully.

Diana started to argue with him, but he didn't listen because the ticket
agent was talking to Scully, and he wanted to catch what he was saying.

"Ms. Scully, instead of just changing your seat, we can offer you an
upgrade to first class.  After all, you are a frequent flyer," the
ticket agent said.

"Thank you," said Scully.  She took the tickets, clutching them 
tightly in her hand.

"You can board right now," said the ticket agent.

Scully didn't even look back at him as she went to board the plane.

"Hey, I'm a frequent flyer too," Mulder told the ticket agent.

"I'm sorry, sir.   We'll announce when it's your turn to board."


To be continued in part 3....

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  Part  3

Tears blurred Scully's eyes as she tried to find seat 4C.  Damn
Mulder and damn Diana along with him.  Scully had been so sure
she and Mulder were moving toward a closer and more intimate
relationship.  She'd hoped they would finally come together on
this trip, but that hope had been smashed into a million little
pieces by the sight of Mulder and Diana making out.

Scully found row 4 and sank into the plush leather seat on the
aisle.  She signed raggedly, hoping to keep the floodgates of her
tears from opening up.  While Mulder was probably still stuck in
line, she really didn't want to be sobbing in front of the other
first class passengers.

"Dana?" a mellow voice asked. "Dana Scully?"

Blinking back her tears, Scully looked up into familiar warm
brown eyes and a handsome smiling face.  There were a few laugh
lines on that face now, but the good humor and kindness were
still there as he showed her his boarding pass with seat number
4D.  What an amazing coincidence--her old friend had the seat
next to her on a day when Scully really needed a friend.

"Hugh!" she exclaimed, rising from her seat.  "Hugh Davis!
I haven't seen you in ages."  She embraced the tall, well-toned 
body of her old friend. He slipped past her to the window seat 
and they both settled in.  "I can't believe it.  Are you
vacationing in Myrtle Beach?"

"No, actually I'm speaking at a conference at the Plantation
Beach Resort."

"I really can't believe this now," Scully said, reaching into
her purse for a tissue.  "I'm going to that same conference."

Hugh watched her as she dabbed at her eyes with the tissue.
His expression was still delighted surprise, but now tempered
with concern.  "So, the prospect of being bored by my speech
has you in tears, Dana?"

"It's nothing, really."

"Oh yeah, I buy that.  Dana Katherine Scully, who faced down
misogynist anatomy professors and bucked the 'old boy network'
of pathology, in tears over 'nothing'."

"Let's just say nothing worth crying over and leave it at that."

"Okay.  But you know how curious I've always been.  I'll worm
it out of you before the conference is over."

"You were pretty persuasive, if I remember correctly.  How
are you, Hugh?  How is Dominic?"

"Dominic is no longer...in the picture."  Hugh said, ruefully.
"He's in someone else's picture these days."

"I'm so sorry," Scully said.  "I know he meant a lot to you."

"It's much better than it was.  I was a mess.  Feels like I'm
finally resurfacing after being underwater for six months.
What about you, Dana.  Anyone special in your life?"

"Nope.  At least no one who thinks I'm special."

Hugh sighed.  "Hence the tears?"

They both looked back at a bustle of commotion behind them.
"Sir, your seat assignment is back in coach.  You can't go
into first class."

"Scully!  Scully, please let me explain," Mulder called out
as he pushed past the flight attendant. His face was pale,
and he looked frantic.  "Please come back and sit with me."

"I'm quite comfortable where I am, Mulder," Scully said,
doing her best to quell the shaking in her voice.

"Dana, do you need help?" Hugh asked, fixing Mulder with a
stern look.  Her partner looked surprised at Hugh's
involvement.

"No...no, Hugh.  This is Fox Mulder, my partner.  Mulder,
this is Hugh Davis, an old friend from med school."

Eyes narrowed, Mulder extended his hand cautiously.  Hugh
smiled, teeth flashing.  As he leaned forward to shake
Mulder's hand, he slipped his arm around Scully's shoulders,
pulling her close.  She glanced at Hugh, wondering what
he was up to.

"Pleasure to meet you, Agent Mulder," he said, cheerfully.
"Dana and I have been catching up on old times."

"I can see that."  Mulder nodded his head, slowly.  His
eyes seemed to bore into Scully's soul.  She felt the
warm weight of Hugh's arm around her as he casually
caressed her shoulder.

"Sir, you need to find your seat," the flight attendant
said firmly, as she came up behind Mulder.  "We'll be
taking off in a few minutes."

"Scully..."

"Sir, you need to find your seat, NOW."

With one last searching look in her direction, Mulder
turned and stalked out of the first class area.  He
roughly pushed the curtain aside and disappeared down
the aisle.  Scully watched the curtain settle back in place.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please be sure your seatbelts are
securely fastened and..."

"This is very interesting, Dana.  I take it he's the reason
for the sniffles?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," she said, glancing back at
the curtain.

"He's cute.  And straight as an arrow, I'll bet."

"Oh he is that, all right," she agreed.  Too damn
heterosexual for his own good.

Hugh sighed, shaking his head mournfully.  "The
good-looking ones are always straight."

She giggled, finally overcome by the absurdity of
her whole day.  "You know, Hugh, most women would
argue that point with you.  It seems to us that all
the cute ones are gay."

There had been a time back in school when Scully had
had a crush on Hugh.  His good looks and brilliance
had attracted her, but his warmth and genuine kindness
had cinched the deal.  It had been with great regret
that she'd learned his sexual preference.

But a strong bond had been formed.  Their paths had
crossed periodically through the years, consulting
on tricky murder cases.  Hugh was one of the country's
leading pathologists now, famous enough to be sought
after as a speaker at a major FBI conference.

"He's crazy about you, Dana," Hugh said, taking her
hand.

"No."  Scully shook her head, sadly.  "You're wrong
about that, Hugh.  He cares about me, but only as a
friend.  I'd hoped it would come to more than that,
but...well...I don't think I'm his type."

"What makes you think that?"

"Let's just say, I've seen his type.  I've seen how
differently he acts with..."

"Ah.  Another woman."  Hugh sighed, patting the back
of Scully's hand before releasing it.  "You...er...caught
them?"

"Oh God," she said, closing her eyes.  "Please, Hugh,
let's talk about something else."  Scully just couldn't 
bear to relive that awful moment.  She didn't understand
why Mulder allowed things with Diana to get that hot when
he knew Scully was coming to pick him up for the trip.
Mulder was impulsive, thoughtless sometimes, but never
cruel.  If he was involved with Diana, he'd have the
sense to be discreet.

But she couldn't argue with what she had seen.  And Diana
waltzing up and taking the frappucino out of Mulder's hand.

Scully sat forward, her eyes widening at the realization
that Mulder had not bought the drink for Diana.  In fact,
he'd been annoyed at Diana for following him into the
airport.

"Dana?" Hugh asked, concern in his voice.  "What's the
matter?"

"I'm all right.  Thanks.  I just realized something,
that's all."

Scully could readily believe that Diana was up to no
good.  There was something predatory about the woman.
But Mulder trusted her--wouldn't hear anything against
her.  Diana protected the work, he'd said, in spite of
Scully's suspicions to the contrary.

Perhaps it would have been different if Mulder had told
her about this woman from his past.  Diana had obviously
been important to him.  Despite the other woman's lack
of loyalty, Mulder didn't harbor ill feelings against
her.

Scully hadn't thought Mulder was still interested in
Diana in a sexual context, but the fact was, she really
had no basis for judging the connection between Mulder
and Diana.  As long as Mulder kept his feelings to
himself, Scully would have to rely on what she'd seen
with her own eyes.

Unfortunately, the evidence was there as plain as day:
Mulder had been aroused when Scully had walked into the
room.  The bulge in his slacks had been unmistakable.

Scully was going to have to be very careful or her heart
could get broken.

Hugh kept her occupied for the rest of the flight.  They 
reminisced about med school and discussed the latest in
autopsy equipment.  In no time at all Hugh was on his 
favorite topic, tennis.

"Plantation Beach Resort has the best courts in North 
America.  That's why I agreed to speak, even though the 
FBI couldn't meet my usual fee," he said.  "Did you pack 
your racket?"

"Obviously you don't remember the time you tried to teach 
me to play tennis," Scully said.

Hugh laughed.

"I'll be nice this time.  Come on, Dana, you'll enjoy it.  
Besides, it's a great way to meet people."  He winked.

Mulder did not attempt to breach first class again.  Scully
wasn't sure if the flight attendants had tied him down,
or if he'd just given up on talking to her.

The plane landed in Myrtle Beach, and as soon as it reached 
the gate, the first class section was allowed to disembark.  
Scully and Hugh walked to the luggage claim area.  She kept 
glancing around, wondering if Mulder was still waiting to get 
off the plane.

"I have a car arranged, Dana.  Why don't I drive you to
the Plantation Beach," Hugh said after they had retrieved 
their suitcases from the conveyer belt.

"I...um..."  she began.

"Scully!" Mulder trotted across the terminal, arriving at
her side out of breath.  "I thought you'd left."

Mulder looked terrible, all clammy and practically green.  He
was wearing his suitcoat over his undershirt, which made her 
wonder what happened to his shirt.  The sour odor that clung 
to him made her wonder even more.

"Mulder, are you all right?  You never get airsick!" she said.

"I didn't, Scully.  I felt fine until the toddler in the next 
seat threw up all over me," he said grimly.

Scully tried not to feel guilty.  After all, the same thing 
could have happened even if she'd been sitting in coach with 
him.

"There's my bag," Mulder said suddenly.

"I'll get it," Hugh offered, since he was so much closer to the 
conveyer belt, but Mulder lunged for it.

He should never have tried it from so far back.  He tripped and 
tumbled onto the moving belt.  Scully grabbed him, and with Hugh's 
help she pulled him back to his feet.  Another helpful passenger 
rescued his suitcase.

"Not your day, is it, fella?" Hugh asked sympathetically.  "Come on,
I'll drive you to the resort."


Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  Part  4


Some days it didn't pay to get out of bed, and this had been 
one of them.  Mulder's morning had begun with such promise, 
looking forward to this trip with Scully.  He never imagined 
how wrong the whole day would go.

He probably should have seen this coming; nothing ever worked 
out for Mulder.  If he didn't screw it up himself, fate would 
see to it that disaster struck him down.

He stood by the window in his hotel room, squinting into the
bright sunlight at the sparkling water of the swimming pool.
He'd pictured sitting by that pool, rubbing SPF 90 sunscreen
into Scully's milky white shoulders.

No doubt Scully's old friend, Hugh, would be the one applying
the sunscreen from now on.  Mulder could hear them talking
in Scully's room.  She was laughing, the sound musical.
Mulder was sorry they had adjoining rooms for the conference.  
He didn't want to hear Scully getting hot with Hugh.

Mulder decided that he had the worst timing in the history of
civilization.  For so long he'd wanted to do something to let 
Scully know how he felt about her, but the longer he waited  
the harder it became to do it.  

Some mornings he'd wake up and tell himself, this is it. Today 
I'll show her, or tell her, or just hit her over the head and 
drag her back to my cave.  But then he'd get to work, and he 
couldn't even get up the nerve to ask her over for pizza.

He used to think that she returned his feelings, but now he 
didn't know.  His whole world changed when he barged into
first class and found Scully cuddling with the King of 
Pathology.  The guy looked like he spent eighteen hours a day 
working out, but obviously he had plenty of time to write, 
lecture, slice corpses, and play up to Scully.

Maybe Scully got tired of waiting for Mulder to make a move, 
and one day she decided to look up her old friend.  Or maybe 
Hugh made the call.  However it happened, Dr. Handsome was 
back in Scully's life.

She'd never even mentioned that he existed.  For all the times 
she tried to make Mulder feel guilty because he hadn't told her
about Diana, she never warned him that she had a man in her past
who might reappear and make himself part of her present.

He thought Diana had ruined things by pinning him to the couch 
and ramming her tongue down his throat, but the damage was 
already done.  Even if Scully had found him home alone, the 
bikini and the sunscreen were never going to happen.

Mulder sighed deeply, catching a whiff of himself as he inhaled.  
He still smelled like puke, and his undershirt was damp from 
his efforts to clean it.  He felt icy cold and he wanted to 
puke himself.  He shivered in the bright sunlight streaming
in through the window.

The little vomiting brat started out in the seat behind him.   
If Scully had been there, she would have found the words to 
make it stop kicking him in the back without using the word 
bastard.  And then he wouldn't have had to apologize and agree 
to let it sit next to him.  Maybe Scully would have explained 
to the parents that it wasn't wise to give your little brat 
a cookie every time it screamed "Cookie!" at the top of its 
lungs.

The brat smelled like it needed a new diaper, but its mother 
glared and said it was "just gas."  Mulder was feeling nauseous 
long before the little bastard exploded from all those cookies 
and emptied its stomach onto his shirt.

The memory made his gut clench.  Stalking into the bathroom, 
he stripped off his clothes, hoping a hot shower would rid 
him of the chills as well as the sour odor.  He turned on the
taps full blast, he stepped under the water.  A wave of 
dizziness passed over him, and he had to lean against the
cold tile for a moment.  

If anything, he felt worse after the shower.  The icy ache 
that had let up when he was under the hot water returned in 
the cool air.  He couldn't shake his queasiness.  

Thinking about the ride from the airport made him even more
nauseous, remembering Hugh at the wheel with Scully riding
shotgun. Dr. Wonderful had rented a Lexus, the same model he
drove at home, he'd told them both.  Mulder could attest to
the fact that the rear seats, while beautifully upholstered 
in soft, rich leather, were totally without legroom.  His 
knees had been sandwiched up to his chin.  And the ride 
wasn't all that smooth either.

Mulder dressed hurriedly, hoping to stop the shivering.  He
no longer heard voices or laughter from Scully's room, and
he wasn't sure what that might mean.  The wine and cheese
reception was scheduled for five, but maybe Scully had left
early.

Hugh probably had a much nicer room than Scully's.  He probably
had a whole suite.  Maybe Scully had gone there.  No, he could
still hear her moving around, opening and closing drawers.

Bending down to tie his shoes made Mulder light-headed.  He sat
down on the bed, wondering what was going on. It was like Scully
had taken away his strength when she pushed him aside for Hugh.

At that point he wanted to crawl into bed, but he couldn't miss
the reception.  Hugh was a featured speaker, and he'd be busy
shaking hands and getting his ass kissed.  Mulder would have a
chance to talk to Scully, maybe his last chance.

He was ready except for his tie.  He took one from the suitcase
and started to put it on, but then he had a better idea.  He took
a second tie and carried them both to Scully's door.  Not the
connecting door, which now seemed like an awkward reminder of
how close they had been just a few days before.  He went to the
regular door in the hallway.

Mulder knocked on her door, rehearsing silently.  He was going 
to ask her to help him pick out a tie.  It wouldn't be the first 
time he'd asked her, although it was certainly the first time 
he'd ever gone over to her room for the purpose.

The door opened.  Scully was stunning.  She wore a sleeveless
Harve Benard slack set in navy and gray silk.  A silver
cuff bracelet caught the light as she reached up to tuck a
strand of hair behind her ear.  She looked sleek and elegant,
and far more relaxed than he usually saw her.

"Mulder," she said, stepping aside to let him come in.  She 
wasn't angry or hurt.  Actually, she looked quite happy.

Mulder entered, holding up the ties, trying to remember what 
he'd been planning to say.

"I don't know why she did it.  She said she needed help with a 
case, but I didn't invite her.  I didn't want her to kiss me, 
I don't even know how it happened.  You left me there, so I 
had to let her drive me, but I didn't want her to come in and 
I didn't want her to take your frappucino," he blurted.

"That is really none of my business, Mulder."  Scully's tone
was cool, her eyes shadowed.

"You need to believe me, Scully.  I didn't know Diana was
going to do that."

"I do believe you," she said, quietly.

"You do?" he asked, relief expanding in his chest.  "You do."

"Yes.  I believe you didn't initiate the...contact.  But, can
you honestly tell me you weren't a willing participant?"

"No..." he started, remembering the scene that morning. Had he
encouraged Diana?  He shook his head.  "I mean yes, I didn't
want her to kiss me."

He trailed off, realizing the little moment of hesitation had
been his downfall.  Scully was shaking her head and walking away.

"You're telling me you didn't enjoy it at all?" she asked, turning
to face him. "I was there, Mulder.  I saw the evidence of 
your...disinterest."
 
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

Scully looked into his eyes, the hurt evident once again.

"When a man is interested, physically interested, there's an 
obvious biological response," she said.

"Scully, you're a doctor.  You're angry about something that's 
out of my control.  She took me by surprise.  By the time I 
realized what was happening, you'd walked in the room.  I'm 
trying to be honest here, Scully."

"Honesty.  Now that would be refreshing, Mulder.  Because you
haven't been very forthcoming about Diana.  She walks back
into your life, acting like she has every right to be there 
and you don't say a thing."

"That's rich, coming from you," he shot back.  Okay, she had
a point about his reticence concerning Diana.  He wasn't
entirely sure why he hadn't told Scully about his previous
partner.  But she'd been no better about her own past, had
she.

"What are you talking about, Mulder?" she asked.

"You complained that I never told you about Diana, but you
have your own secrets don't you?"

Scully's mouth was open, her eyes flashing annoyance. 
"Secrets? That sounds awfully dramatic."

"Did you tell me about this old friend of yours? Huh? No,
I chase after you and find this guy's hands all over you.
You know, it's all making sense to me now.  Now I understand
why you were so gung ho to come to this conference.  Didn't
matter whether I wanted to come or not. You couldn't
wait to get together with old friend, Hugh, could you?"

The annoyance in Scully's eyes evolved into full-fledged
fury.  Mulder knew in the back of his mind that he'd gone too
far, but he was distracted by the flash of her beautiful
eyes, the heightened color in her cheeks and lips.  Scully
was always beautiful, but there was something amazing about
her when she was angry.  Granted, he enjoyed the sight a lot
more when the anger wasn't directed at him.

"You...you..." she sputtered. "You've got some nerve, Mulder.
Yes, I wanted to come to this conference.  It was an honor
to have been asked, not that you care about things like that.
Well, maybe I still care a little bit about my career.  You
act like it's a crime to make connections with people who
could do us some good.  And I had no idea Hugh was going to
be here, not that that's any of your business."

"So why didn't you ever tell me about him?" Mulder knew he
was treading on thin ice, but he couldn't quite help himself.
"This guy feels comfortable enough to paw you, yet you never
even mention his name."

"It never came up, Mulder.  No, I haven't told you about
every old classmate or former co-worker.  I also haven't
told you about my best friend from Camp Sunapee when I was
twelve.  If you're trying to use this as an excuse for
not telling me about Diana, it doesn't wash.  She
entered *our* lives, Mulder.  She affected our work and
divided your loyalties, and you never told me about her."

"Oh, Diana is your business because she affects our work.  
And Hugh is none of my business because he doesn't.  And 
you can do whatever you want with him, because it wouldn't 
matter to me, because it wouldn't affect our work, and 
that's all we are, Scully, two people who work together!"

He was screaming in her face, and he wouldn't have been 
surprised if she'd slapped him.  Instead she took a step 
backwards.

"Oh my God," she said.  "You're jealous."

For a second, Mulder was speechless, but then he found his
voice.

"Don't flatter yourself," he said in his snottiest voice. 
"And don't try to change the subject.  We were talking 
about how this old friend just moves in and takes over
your life.  And you let him!"

"Not even a tiny bit jealous, Mulder?" She was trying to 
bait him, but he was determined not to bite.
 
"I'm just concerned about your self-respect.  In a 
partnerly kind of way," he said with great sincerity.

"So he won't think I'm easy," Scully said.

"Exactly.  'Cause you're not.  Actually, Scully, you're
what I'd call difficult."

"Easy would be coming to your apartment uninvited and and
trying to jump you.  Difficult would mean holding out for
some tiny scrap of encouragement first," Scully said. 
 
"Um...we were talking about you," he stammered awkwardly.

Scully touched his arm.

"We were talking about jealousy," she said.

Mulder shrugged helplessly.

"I'm your partner," he reminded her. 
 
"I didn't think I had to tell you, but I see that I do. 
Mulder, you are more than my partner.  Much, much more.

"Me too," he said idiotically.  "I mean, you are also 
much more than my partner."  He felt defensive, but full 
of hope.

"I'm glad we finally got that out," she said.  "Mulder, 
I wish I didn't have to run, but Hugh has some people 
he wants me to meet."

"Do you have to go?" he asked desperately.  "Couldn't we
just stay here and watch TV or something?"  Alone.  
Without Hugh

"Mulder, we don't do enough networking within the bureau. 
More to the point, *you* don't do any networking."
 
"I'm really not feeling well," Mulder said.

"Uh-huh."  He could tell she didn't believe him.  "Nevertheless,
as a personal favor to me, will you show up at the reception and
be utterly charming?"
 
He didn't feel charming.  He felt as if somebody had lowered the
temperature and turned up the gravity.
 
"Look for us at the reception, and I'll give you the complete 
history of my relationship with Hugh."
 
"What?"  Why were they talking about Hugh again?  Why was she 
talking about a relationship with Hugh?  If he and Scully were 
more than two people who worked together, how come everything 
she said was about work?
  
Maybe he had misunderstood her.  Maybe he had only heard what he 
wanted to hear. 

Mulder's brain was in overdrive, but his thoughts were coming out
in slow motion, like a chase scene in a horror movie.  Scully
was smiling as if everything was back to normal, as if she
hadn't just ripped out his heart and tossed it in the trash.

Scully pushed past him, hurrying off for her drink with Hugh.

"See you downstairs," she said.  "Remember, 5 o'clock."

He stood in the empty room, trying to figure out which was 
was up.  Scully must have turned the air conditioning to 
maximum, because he was shivering, and his brain hurt from 
thinking.

What the hell just happened.

He went back to his room.  Too early for the reception, but 
not enough time to take a nap.  He turned on the TV and lay 
down on the bed.

Mr. Rogers was explaining that everyone was special. Mulder 
fell asleep wishing he could live in Mr. Rogers's neighborhood 
for real.  Mr. Rogers liked him just the way he was.


Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 5


Scully sipped her shiraz and surveyed the room.

Mulder was not going to enjoy this.  She had urged him 
to attend the reception as a favor to her because it was 
important to keep up good relations with others in the 
law enforcement community.  Unfortunately, there were 
many people here who had already made it clear that 
they had no use for Mulder or the X-Files.

"Dana!" exclaimed a voice from the past. "It looks like 
you've finally been exorcised!"  The man wormed his way 
through the crowd to stand face to face with her.

"I don't think I understand," said Scully coldly, although 
she was quite sure she did.  Tom Colton made no secret of 
his contempt for Mulder, even after Mulder solved his case 
and apprehended the killer.

"I don't see any 'spooks' around," Colton continued, 
blithely unaware of her rising anger.

"My partner will be here shortly," she said.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Colton said, backing away.  "I heard you 
were here with Dr. Davis, so I just assumed Spooky Mulder 
was history."

"You make a lot of assumptions, Tom," Scully said.  
"Excuse me."  She started to turn away, but he put his 
hand on her shoulder.

"Okay, we won't talk about Mulder.  But I want to warn 
you about Dr. Davis.  There's something you may not know 
about him," Colton said.

"Please keep your gossip to yourself," she said curtly.

"Not gossip, Dana, facts.  Do you know how many times he's 
testified for the defense?"

"Hundreds of times, I'm sure," Scully said.  "What is your 
point?"

"You don't have a problem with that?  We work our tails off 
catching the scum, and he comes into court and gets them 
freed?"

Scully couldn't believe she had ever considered this man a
friend.  Was she blind to his behavior or had he simply gotten
more obnoxious over the years?

"I'm curious, Tom.  Any idea why you were invited to this 
conference?" she asked.

"Oh, my AD arranged it.  He signed me up for the workshop 
on the criminal justice system.  Bor-ring!"

Scully smiled.

"Pay attention, Tom.  I'm sure there will be a quiz when 
you get home."

Again she turned to make her escape and once again Colton 
touched her arm.

"We could sit down," he suggested.

She shook her head.  Colton's overconfident smirk faded
slightly as her rejection finally sunk in.

"Oh look, there's Dr. Brant.  He's an expert on rats and 
other animals that gnaw on corpses," she explained, walking 
away before he could reattach himself.  She hoped Colton
had a weak stomach and wouldn't try to follow her.

Scully had read Dr. Brant's work but never met him.  He 
turned out to be quite interesting, and Scully was sorry 
Mulder wasn't there to join the conversation.

After an hour of mingling, she found herself unable to 
think about anything besides Mulder's absence.  Scully
checked her cell phone, making sure it was on and that
she hadn't missed any calls. She found a place to sit 
where she could watch the door, and soon Hugh joined 
her there.

"You and Mulder have a lot of fans among the entomologists.  
I take it you've described several species that no one else 
has ever seen," he said.

"Described.  We never manage to collect a specimen," she 
said ruefully.  Her eyes strayed back to the door, and she
sighed deeply.  "Poor Mulder.  He hasn't managed to hold 
onto much in the way of evidence of the paranormal."

"Must be pretty discouraging," Hugh remarked. 

"All in all, he hasn't let it get him down.  He really does
have the most indomitable spirit."

"You're crazy about him, Dana. A blind man could see that," 
Hugh said gently.

"He's very special to me," she said.

"Well, he's crazy about you too," Hugh continued.

She shook her head sadly.

"Then why isn't he here?" she asked softly.  "I know he 
didn't want to come, but I asked him to do it as a 
personal favor."

Hugh put a comforting arm around her.

"I want to ask you a difficult question, and I want you 
to think before you answer me.  Is this guy, Mulder, 
really good enough for you?"

"Mulder is the best man I know.  The best straight man, 
anyway," she said, trying for humor.

"Then why do you look so sad?  And why isn't he here?" 
Hugh asked.

"I guess he just doesn't like wine and cheese," Scully said.

"Why do I feel a sudden urge to find him and insert a wedge 
of cheddar where the sun don't shine?"

"Not funny," she said.

"I can see that.  But from your air of resignation I have to 
wonder if this is a pattern with him."

Scully was almost shocked by the accuracy of her friend's 
insight.  Hugh was always such an intuitive person.  She 
wondered if her emotions were apparent to anyone else.

"Maybe it is.  Whenever we start to grow closer, he seems 
to get frightened and pull away.  It's ironic, because it 
happened before in Florida, and it was also over wine and 
cheese."

"Maybe he was frightened by a wheel of gouda when he was a
baby," Hugh joked.  "Seriously, Dana, if he's really the 
best man you know, maybe you should meet more men."  

"I meet a lot of men: big-bellied rural sheriffs, starry-eyed
lab geeks, serial killers, liver-eating mutants, sideshow 
performers."

"Sideshow performers?"

"Remind me sometime to tell you about the Conundrum."

"That sounds like a topic better discussed over dinner." Hugh
rose and held out his hand to lead Scully out of the reception. 

"You obviously have never met the Conundrum.  He's definitely 
not appropriate dinner conversation," Scully said, as they left 
the room.

Hugh led her to the Italian restaurant in the hotel. Scully 
ultimately told him the story of the Conumdrum and Dr.
Blockhead and poor Mr. Nutt, though she left out some of the
details out of deference to the lovely shrimp scampi they were
served.  The description of the tattooed man eating the raw fish
wouldn't have been very appetizing.

Hugh kept her talking all the way through dinner.  As they 
sipped coffee and enjoyed their tiramisu, she regaled him with 
the story of Eddie Van Blundht Sr's mummified corpse.  Only 
another pathologist would hang on every detail of striated 
muscle tissue and caudal appendages.  She conveniently omitted
the part about Eddie Jr and the bottle of wine.

Scully knew what Hugh was doing, making her recall their cases, 
hoping she would examine her partnership with Mulder. The 
problem was, for every memory she had of Mulder ditching her
or dismissing her theories, there were two of him showing his
esteem and trust.  For every time he brushed off one of her
concerns, she could remember half a dozen moments of the 
deepest caring and love. 

"...but what the black bag really contained was the skeletal
remains of a Llaso Apso named Mr. Tippy."

"And the town pediatrician was..."  Hugh sat forward, 
fascinated.

"A transvestite.  I swear, Hugh, I couldn't *make* this 
stuff up."  She sipped her coffee, smiling at him over
the rim.

"And what was Mulder's theory for the odd behavior?"

"Some kind of planetary convergence.  I'm not sure I can
remember the specifics.  Let's just say the stars were 
aligned just right for all hell to break loose."

"But you didn't believe that."  Hugh propped his head on 
his hand, his expression rapt.

"I don't know.  Part of me wanted to, I guess."

"I don't understand," he said. 

"Ah...the locals weren't exactly the only ones exhibiting
unusual behavior.  Mulder and I acted pretty...strangely.
I think I'd rather chalk it up to 'planetary alignment'."

Better that than rampant, pathetic jealousy.  Scully 
winced at the memory of the bleached blonde detective laying 
on top of Mulder and was painfully reminded of the awful 
scene at his apartment that morning.  Was it really only
hours ago that her whole world had fallen to pieces?  
 
The chirp of her cell phone startled her, and she fumbled
it out of her pocket.  She didn't like interrupting 
dinner conversation to answer her cell phone, but it
was probably Mulder, explaining his absence from the 
reception.

"Excuse me, Hugh.  I need to answer this."

He nodded his agreement. Scully flipped her phone 
open, silencing the ringing.

"Where have you been?" she hissed into the phone.

"Agent Scully?" The caller's voice was smugly cool. "I
haven't heard from Fox, and he's not answering his cell 
or his room phone."

"He's not here right now, Agent Fowley," Scully said, 
her voice tight.  She was loathe to admit she didn't know 
where Mulder was, hating that the other woman probably 
surmised that from the way Scully answered the phone.

"Well, when you see him, could you remind him to drag 
himself out of the pool long enough to give me a call?"

"I'll be sure to do that, Agent Fowley."  Scully snapped
her phone off angrily, looking up to find Hugh watching 
her with complete fascination.

"Now why do I suspect this Agent Fowler isn't one of those
big-bellied sheriff types?"  

"It's Fowley.  Diana Fowley.  And no, she's not a sheriff
type."

"And what 'type' would Ms. Fowley be?"  Hugh asked, greatly
amused.  "Agent Mulder's 'type'?"  

"Diana Fowley was Mulder's partner before I was assigned
to work with him; she was there when he found the X-Files. 
You asked if she was his type.  I guess you could say so--she's 
got a background in the paranormal.  She believes in the same 
things Mulder does.  Or at least, she claims to."

"But you doubt her?"

"I don't know.  There are things that don't add up.  She
was this perfect fit for the X-Files--right up her alley.
She had Mulder and a job that perfectly suited her abilities
and education.  Yet she left Mulder and the X-Files to take 
a 'legat' assignment in Europe.  Why would they offer her 
such a position--there must have been dozens of agents with 
better qualifications.  And why would she leave?"

"Maybe they broke up and she needed to get away," Hugh 
suggested.

"Broke up?  I never said they were..."

"Yes you did.  You said she had Mulder and the X-Files.  Dana,
you're as transparent as glass.  You don't like this woman 
because she was Mulder's lover."

"No.  No, it isn't that.  I don't know any details about their 
relationship in the past.  I don't care to know, really.  It 
*isn't* personal, Hugh," she insisted a little too vehemently.  

God, she must sound pathetic.  She was in serious danger of 
losing her cool and saying too much.  There were things she just 
didn't want to get into, things too humiliating to discuss.   

"Okay, okay," Hugh said, laying a gentle hand over hers.  So, 
it isn't personal.  But what is it?"

"My distrust of her is purely professional.  There were things I 
found out about her--things that didn't add up.  Mulder didn't see 
them as a problem.   I don't know why, but he seems to believe in
her completely.  She's as trustworthy as a snake, but Mulder can't
see it."  Or won't see it.

"Dana, could you be wrong about this woman?  Could she really 
have Mulder's best interests at heart?"

Scully sighed.  Hugh was playing devil's advocate, as he had
in college when she'd complained about an unfair grade or 
harsh professor.  

"I've asked myself that question a hundred times.  When she 
first showed up, I wondered if maybe Mulder would have been
better off with her--with someone who believed as he did.  
Maybe I'd held him back."

"Have you held him back?" Hugh asked.

"Mulder doesn't think so.  Last summer, I told him I thought
he'd be better off without me."  Scully closed her eyes as she
remembered that moment when she'd stood with Mulder in his hallway,
and knew by the look in his eyes that Mulder loved her.  Perhaps
even was in love with her.  "I won't...I won't go into what he
said, but I believed he valued me and that he didn't want anyone 
else as his partner."

"At least he isn't a total idiot," Hugh laughed.  

"He's far from an idiot, Hugh.  At least when Diana Fowley isn't
manipulating him."

Scully took a sip of her coffee.  Suddenly, it was all so clear--
the scene in Mulder's apartment that morning, the little drama
with the frappucino at the airport.  Diana Fowley was up to no
good.

"That's it," she said, raising her eyes to meet Hugh's.  "She
set this whole thing up to make trouble.  Diana's trying to get
between Mulder and me."

"Is she going to be able to?"  Hugh asked.

"Only if he lets her," Scully said as she gathered her things and
stood. 

"And that worries you," Hugh said.

"Mulder doesn't have a good track record in seeing the truth about
Diana.  I had a great time, Hugh, but I'd better call it a night."

She gave Hugh a peck on the cheek and opened her purse to pay for
her dinner.  Hugh waved her hand away.

"I'll get it, Dana.  It's been so good to catch up."

"Good night, Hugh."

She walked through the lobby, still keeping an eye out for Mulder,
and took the elevator to her floor.  As she passed Mulder's door,
she debated on trying to speak with him.   It was after 10 PM, and
she was tired, but it would be good to clear the air.

She knocked on the door and called out his name.  She waited for
Mulder to answer, picturing him in the t-shirt and sweats he usually
lounged around in.  He'd probably be barefoot and drowsy, clothes
rumpled from laying on the bed and watching TV.  In other words,
sexy as hell. 

After a few minutes of knocking, Scully turned away. Mulder 
obviously wasn't in the mood to talk, not to her or to Diana.  
Maybe he was finally starting to see the light, but he needed to 
work it out on his own.  After all, he'd trusted Diana for so 
many years, it would be painful for him to realize the truth.

He'd been so upset about Hugh, and how Scully let him "paw" her on 
the airplane.  She almost laughed out loud at the very idea, but it 
had been real to Mulder.  Threatened and jealous, he had started a 
screaming match that had led to some very hopeful revelations.

"More than just a partner."  What did that mean to him?  Was it 
enough to scare him off?  Way down deep, under the brilliance and 
passion and integrity, was Mulder just another guy with a phobia 
about commitments?

Scully wasn't willing to play that game any more, not even with 
Mulder.  If he needed time alone to figure it out, she would give 
it to him, but then she had to have his decision.

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  Part  6

He awoke with that feeling of deep confusion that usually meant
he'd been hit on the head, and the dull ache seemed to confirm it.
He was in a bed, which was probably good.  He was fully dressed,
which was probably bad.

He heard people talking, but that didn't alarm him,  It usually
meant he'd fallen asleep in front of the TV.

A deep voice kept repeating "Frio," while a squeaky voice insisted
"Caliente."

Mulder remembered being very "frio" last night, but now he was
definitely "caliente."

Gingerly he checked his head with his fingertips.  No obvious
injury. Damp, but not sticky.

"Hugh."

First the name appeared in his thoughts, and then sadness, and
lastly, the meaning.

He opened his eyes, looked at his watch, and groaned.  6:00.  If
only it was the 6:00 that meant he was an hour late for the
reception, but he knew better.  It was the 6:00 that meant he'd
slept through the whole night and missed the reception.

Scully would be pissed.

God, he hoped Scully was pissed.  What if she hadn't even noticed?

His jacket rang, and he had to turn on his side to get the phone
from his pocket.

"Scully, I'm sorry," he said.

"I'm sure you should be," said a definitely masculine voice.

"Sir!" said Mulder, forcing himself to sit up.

"Behavioral Science was looking for you at the reception last 
night," Skinner said.  "They've set up a training session on 
crime scene investigation and they want you to run through it."

"It's 6 o'clock," Mulder said.

"The class starts at 9.  They want to check for glitches before 
the students arrive."

On the TV, "Frio" and "Caliente" continued to argue.  "Frio" 
had shaggy purple fur and a yellow scarf, while "Caliente" 
wore polka-dot trunks and a snorkel.

"They had months to plan this," Mulder complained.

"I know it's unreasonable.  I need you to look things over to 
make sure nobody gets hurt."

While Mulder tried to think of a good excuse, Skinner continued
talking.

"Last year they located their 'crime scene' 50 feet from an
elementary school.  The year before they had 20 participants
tramping through the woods in the middle of hunting season.
Now that they've screwed it up two years in a row, nobody
wants any involvement."

"Sir, there must be someone besides me who could--" Mulder 
tried to protest.

"They were looking for volunteers at the reception last night.  
Too bad you weren't there to turn them down."

"This sucks," Mulder observed.

"The agent running the class is a new boy. McCloskey."  Skinner 
hung up before Mulder could offer up more objections.

If Mulder had made it to the reception, he could have talked his 
way out of this lousy job.  He believed that Skinner's concern 
was for the safety of the public and the participants, but he 
had dark suspicions about the guys in Behavioral Science.  They 
were looking to make a fool of him.  They would douse him with a 
bucket of cow's blood, or shove a fistful of maggots down his 
pants.  Something disgusting and horrifying, and then Scully 
wouldn't allow him to kill them.

A knock at the door reminded his headache to reassert itself.
Mulder opened the door to a compact, muscular young man with a
crewcut.

"McCloskey.  Come in," he said.

"Wow.  You are good," the man said.

"Skinner called," Mulder explained.

"Yeah, but still..."  The young agent was studying the room, 
his eyes taking in every detail.

"I'll be ready in a minute."  Mulder was willing to skip the shave,
but he had to brush his teeth.  Even with the bathroom door closed
and the water running, McCloskey wanted to strike up a conversation.

"Sir?  I'm really honored to work with you.  I've studied all your
old cases," the young agent called. "I conducted prison interviews
with Cecil L'ively and Edward Van Blundht."

Mulder ambled out of the bathroom, nearly knocking him over when he
opened the door.  It didn't give him a good feeling about the kid's
brain power.

"You okay?" he asked.

McCloskey was flustered, but he tried to cover it with more
babbling.

"I'm new to the bureau, but I had five years with the Wichita
PD.  I know I have a lot to learn, but I think I have a lot to
offer, too,"  he said.

With only had a few hours until the class, they didn't have
time to chew the fat.

"Where did you set up your crime scene?" Mulder asked.

"Well, you see, sir, I was instructed to stay away from
instructional institutions, hunting grounds, and places with
motor vehicle activity," McCloskey said.

If the kid had set up his fake crime scene somewhere in the
hotel, Mulder would be a happy man.

"I wasn't able to obtain a real cadaver," the kid added
apologetically. Mulder refrained from volunteering Dr. Hugh
Davis.

"Okay.  Let's go have a look," Mulder said.

"I had to use a mannequin, but I got a load of pig guts from
a butcher shop, and I spread those out on top.  Pretty gross,"
McCloskey said proudly.

Mulder could hardly wait to see it.

"I wish I could have had more time.  I didn't know about this
assignment until we got here," McCloskey said.

Behavioral Science was a tight clique, and the kid was not 
only new but a bit of a geek.  Mulder felt sorry for him.

"I wanted to add some flies, but I didn't know where I could
order them," the kid told him regretfully.  "I don't think 
it will look very realistic without flies."

"Maybe you'll get lucky," Mulder said.

"I hope so, sir."

The kid led the way to his crime scene.  It was not indoors,
as Mulder had hoped.

"McCloskey, you didn't put the body out on the beach, did
you?" Mulder asked.

"Would that be bad?" The young agent sounded nervous.

Mulder sighed.  So far nobody had stumbled on McCloskey's
ugly project, but it would be quite a scene when the class
convened.  Mulder scanned the beach for a tarp.

Even at this early hour, there was a scattering of people
on the beach.  Mostly joggers and walkers, but a few 
swimmers as well.  The morning sun was pitilessly bright, 
hurting Mulder's eyes.  Nevertheless, it was quite chilly.  
Mulder had been uncomfortably warm inside the hotel, but 
now he buttoned his suit jacket and jammed his hands in 
his pockets.

"I don't get it," McCloskey said.  "It's gone."

"I guess somebody from the resort took care of it," Mulder
said.  "You can't expect them to leave a bloody mannequin
lying around to frighten the tourists."

"But I left it on the rocks, and even the rocks are gone!"
the kid wailed.  "The whole damn beach shrunk!"

"Spend much time around the ocean, McCloskey?" Mulder 
asked as he gazed at the water lapping at the sand.

"Oh, crap.  The tide rolled in, didn't it, sir?" the kid
asked.  "I've read about that."

"I guess that wasn't a problem back in Kansas," Mulder
commented, but then he regretted it.  The kid looked
utterly miserable.

"They wanted me to screw this up, and I guess they'll get
their way," the young agent said angrily.

"You've got a few hours.  You can rig some kind of crime
scene in one of the rooms," Mulder said.

"I used up all my pig guts, sir."

Mulder's outraged stomach didn't want to think about it.

"Improvise," he managed to choke.

"Are you feeling all right, sir?"

"Peachy."

Mulder felt far from all right as he trudged back to the 
hotel.  All he wanted was to finish up with McCloskey so he 
could go back to bed.

They rounded the glittering pool, deserted at the early hour.
A hotel employee was wiping dew off the tables and chairs.
The smell of chlorine was strong, turning Mulder's stomach
yet again.

"Sir, would you be able to get me a cadaver?" the kid asked.

Mulder was almost ready to volunteer himself.  He had to stop 
and rest.

They were passing the outdoor bar, not yet open, and Mulder
dropped into one of the chairs before addressing his unwanted
protege.

"Use another mannequin."

"It won't be as good without the guts," he said mournfully.
"I want it to look like a real crime scene."

"Crime isn't always about mayhem.  Use poison, or suffocation,
or hanging.  Come on, McCloskey, they must have taught you
something at Quantico."

"I have the book," the kid offered.

"Great.  Copy one of the scenes from the book."

McCloskey brightened.

"I could do autoerotic asphyxiation," he said.

Mulder shook his head.

"Pick something else.  You don't want to give them any ideas."

Strange but true.  No matter how much you lectured about the
dangers, too often someone in the class would decide to give
it a try.

"Good thinking, sir," McCloskey said, nodding his agreement.
"Poisoning, then.  I know a way to make fake vomit."

Mulder handed him a card.

"Call my cell when you have it set up.  I'll look it over for
you."

"I don't know how to thank you, sir."

The "sirs" were pushing Mulder's annoyance level into the red
zone.

"You don't have to call me sir.  'Mulder' is fine."

"Mulder."  McCloskey gave him a big, grateful smile.  "And you
can call me Tim."

"Tim," Mulder said, nodding and smiling.  The kid stood up but
he didn't leave.  Mulder knew he didn't have it in him to be
kind much longer.

"Sir--Mulder?  Would you like some help to get back to your
room?"

"No, course not.  Go ahead, Tim.  You have a lot of work to
do."

Finally the kid took the hint.  When he was out of sight,
Mulder rose from the chair, fully intending to go back to
his room.  Then he thought of the lounge chairs.  They were
close and comfortable.  He selected a sunny one, still
craving warmth.  It would look a little odd, sunbathing
in a business suit, but for the moment he didn't care.
Mulder lowered himself into the chair, groaning as he swung
his legs up.  His back ached and his joints were screaming
for him to take some aspirin and lay down.

A man in white shorts and a Hawaiian shirt emblazoned with
the name "Cabana Bar" rounded the pool. As he approached, he 
eyed Mulder with raised eyebrows.

"Rough night, pal?" he asked as he passed by.

"You have no idea," Mulder mumbled as the man unlocked the
door to the little hut that housed the Cabana Bar.  Mulder
rubbed his stubbled chin, glancing down at his rumpled suit.
He probably did look like a bum.

The bartender raised the louvered shades on the bar, preparing
for the day.  Mulder watched idly as the man began to slice
fruit for drink garnishes.  He felt drowsy again, lying in the
comfortingly warm sun.  Lulled by the tinny sound of a radio,
Mulder fell asleep.

He dreamed of Scully, encased like Snow White in a coffin of ice.
But instead of the blank stare he remembered from the alien ship,
Scully gazed at him with the same hurt expression she wore in his
apartment the morning before.  Mulder pounded on the glass,
shouting as he tried to break through.

"Agent Mulder!"  A voice came through the fog in his mind. "Agent
Mulder, are you all right?"

He opened his eyes to find Agent McCloskey standing over him, two
large tumblers of gin in his hand.  Liquor dripped from the rim of
one of the tumblers, splattering on Mulder's thigh.

"Jeez, Tim.  Kind of early to be hitting the bottle."  Mulder
brushed at his slacks, wrinkling his nose at the odor of gin.
God, he hated that smell.  His throat burned as he fought the
rising nausea.

"Oh no, sir.  I needed alcohol for my crime scene and he wouldn't
sell me a bottle.  Said it had to be by the glass.  Hope it
doesn't stain."

McCloskey placed the glasses on the glass topped table beside
Mulder's lounge chair.  "You must have been dreaming, sir.
You kept mumbling something about 'it isn't what you think.'
What isn't what I think?"

"Never mind, Tim."  Mulder squinted up at the young agent, shading
his eyes from the sun.  "So what crime did you decide on?"

"Forced alcohol poisoning.  The gin is part of the window dressing."

"I'm sure it will be very effective," Mulder mumbled, draping an
arm over his eyes.  "Call me when you're ready for an inspection."

"Is everything all right, Agent Mulder?  You look a little green."

"I'm fine, Tim.  What time is it, anyway?"

McCloskey looked at his watch, his eyes opening wide.  "It's
almost 8:30, sir.  I better get a move on.  I'll call you as
soon as I have the finishing touches in place."

Mulder waved his hand idly, watching as McCloskey hurried away
as fast as a man carrying two tumblers full of gin could walk.
His head was pounding, but the sun felt good against his chilled
bones.

The bartender appeared to be counting money, probably verifying
the cash box before the day began.  He shot Mulder occasional
cautious glances.  Mulder knew he looked somewhat ragged, but
damn, that didn't mean he was going to turn to a life of crime.

He closed his eyes, mind drifting as he listened to the nearby
radio.  Maybe he could sleep a little more and escape the misery
of his throbbing head and queasy stomach.  He closed his eyes
and thankfully drifted into a dreamless sleep.

"Mulder?"

Someone was gently shaking him awake.  Mulder opened his eyes,
squinting up at Scully's worried face.  Her blue eyes were
wide with concern as she leaned over him.  Her hand remained
on his shoulder.  It felt warm through the fabric of his jacket.

"Scully.  I...um...must have fallen asleep," he said, appalled
at his own inanity.  She removed her hand and he felt cold again.

"I can see that," she said, shaking her head sadly.  "Oh Mulder.
Is this where you were last night?"

Shit, he thought.  The reception.  He'd almost forgotten about
sleeping through the whole thing.  What on earth was going 
through Scully's mind right now?  She was looking at him with 
the same expression she had years ago, when she thought he 
needed protection from Phoebe Green.  Fond, caring, and 
disappointed.

"I can explain, Scully," he said, struggling to get off the
chaise.  The outdoors was tilting wildly as he got to his feet
and his stomach threatened to revolt.  He scanned the pool area
frantically, finally spotting the restroom behind the Cabana
Bar.  He ran, hitting the men's room door like a battering ram.
He barely make it to the porcelain throne before vomiting.

He felt marginally better after emptying his stomach.  Leaning
over the sink, he splashed cold water over his face.   Mulder 
caught sight of himself, wincing at the puffy eyes and day-old
stubble on his face, not to mention the pallor underneath the
whiskers.  Jesus, he looked like his own father.  He looked 
like his father used to look on new year's day.

"Can't you kids keep quiet?" he grumbled experimentally.

Scully was waiting on the other side of the men's room door.
If anything, she was even sadder as she took in his trembling,
wretched self.

"Let's get you cleaned up, Mulder.  You missed the first session,
but you might be able to make the 11:00 one."

She still expected him to attend the next class?  Why wasn't
she insisting he go back to bed?  Why wasn't she taking his
temperature?  Surely he had a raging fever.

"I slept through that, too?" he asked.  "I'm sorry, Scully.  I
don't feel very well."

"That's certainly understandable, Mulder.  Does your head hurt?"

"Everything hurts," he said.  Scully looked sympathetic, but
pensive.  Her hand curved around his upper arm as she gently
drew him away from the pool and back to the hotel.  He found
himself leaning a bit into her touch, more out of desire for
comfort than need of support.

"You'll feel better after a shower.  And some aspirin.  When
did you eat last, Mulder?"

"I don't remember.  On the plane?  Yeah, must have been that
crappy bag of peanuts."  The lousy snack he had while Scully and
Dr. Marvelous probably had lobster thermidor in first class.

"No wonder you feel so terrible," she said, shaking her head.
"I'll get you some orange juice while you take a shower."

"Okay," he replied.  Orange juice didn't sound too bad.  It
made him feel better to know that Scully still cared about him,
even though she might be dazzled by Hugh Davis.  It probably
made him pathetic, but he'd take her pity if that was all she
could offer him.

He felt as if he was wearing ankle weights as Scully pulled him
along.  She'd glance back at him from time to time, always with
an expression of worry.  He almost lost whatever else was in his
stomach when the elevator lurched to a stop.

He unlocked the hotel room door after he fumbling with the
electronic card key several times until the indicator light
signalled green.  His bed beaconed, inviting him to rest his
weary bones, but Scully pointed in the direction of the shower.

The phone rang before he could make it to the bathroom.  He
dropped heavily onto the bed as he picked it up.

"Mulder," he said.

"Fox, I've been so worried.  You weren't answering your phone
last night."

Mulder grimaced slightly at Diana Fowley's voice on the other
end of the phone.  He didn't want to hurt an old friend, but
the truth was, her pursuit was beginning to make him
uncomfortable.

"I...uh...I've kind of been on the run, Diana.  You needed
to reach me?"

At the mention of the other woman's name, Scully blanched.
She turned, one hand on the doorknob.  Mulder stood, a little
too quickly, motioning her to wait.  The room spun around
him as he tried to concentrate on what was happening.

"Just wanted to see how you were doing, Fox.  I missed you,"
Diana purred into the phone.

There was a time when he longed to hear those words, but 
that time was over years ago.

"I'm going to be late to my next session, Diana.  I'll talk
to you when I get back to DC."

He hung up and turned to Scully.  Her arms were wrapped
around her midsection, and Mulder didn't need his training 
as a psychologist to read her body language.  Sure, Diana 
was being a pest, but how was that his fault?

"Scully, I can't just tell her to fuck off," Mulder said.

"And why not?"

Mulder couldn't believe she was asking that question, and he 
sputtered as he answered it.

"Because she cares about me a lot more than I care about her, 
and I'm not going to use that against her!"

Scully looked at him like he was some toxic slime on on of her
microscope slides.  Her jaw was clenched and he could hear the 
breath hiss through her flared nostrils.

"I'll get you that orange juice, Mulder," she said.

"Scully, what's wrong?"

If he didn't know better he'd think Scully was jealous.  But 
you can't be jealous of someone unless you're interested, and 
Scully's romantic intentions were clearly focused on 
Dr. "My other car is also a Lexus" Davis.

"Nothing's wrong," she answered coolly.  "Diana was trying to 
reach you last night.  She called my cell phone while I was at 
dinner."

So that was it.  She just didn't like Diana interrupting her 
on a date with Dr. Terrific.

"I'm sorry she bothered you," he said woodenly.

Scully seemed to soften.  She approached him and sat next to 
him on the bed.

"I'm just wondering, Mulder.  Her pursuit of you is rather. . .
determined."

"Scully, there's a lot of history between us..."

"I know.  I've seen some of the dynamic between you two.  
Mulder, Diana Fowley has  an agenda, and frankly, I don't 
think your well-being is high on that list.  Can't you see 
that she's *trying* to cause problems?"

"You're wrong, Scully.  Diana wouldn't hurt me on purpose. 
She's just having a little trouble accepting that the past 
is over."

"You said Diana came over unexpectedly, jumping on your lap
right before I came to your apartment.  I think she engineered
the whole scene, Mulder.  Not to mention her little performance
at the airport."

"She wouldn't do that to me."  He hated the doubt that was
creeping into his mind.  Would his old friend go that far to
try and rekindle an old dead romance?  He shook his head.
"She just wouldn't," he said with finality.

Scully sighed deeply, turning away.  "Go take your shower,
Mulder," she said with resignation.

*******

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 7a

Even after a shower and a change of clothes, Mulder looked like 
hell.

Scully couldn't help feeling sorry for him, which was ridiculous.  
After all, he had only himself to blame.  He'd been so frightened 
by her declaration the night before that he'd run away to hide in 
a bottle.  And all she'd told him was that he was more than a 
partner to her.

The puzzling thing was, she'd been sure that was what he wanted to
hear.  He'd been upset about Hugh, covering his jealousy so badly.
Mulder had practically begged her to declare her heart, but he'd
been unable to handle even the merest hint of her feelings.

She loved him with every cell in her body, with every fiber of her
being.  If he knew the depth of how she felt, he'd probably fly off 
to join the foreign legion.  If she thought about their situation 
too long, she'd probably start bawling.  Loving Mulder was only 
going to bring her pain, but it wasn't as if she had a choice.

She couldn't help loving him, which was why she had forced him to 
get cleaned up and come to the seminar.  Mulder would really have 
his ass in a sling if he skipped every class.  Even with the
mother of all hangovers, he'd just have to pay the price of
his bender and drag himself through the day.

Mulder rarely drank more than a beer, but when life closed in on 
him, he could park himself at the bar and toss down shots until 
the bartender cut him off.  She had seen it before.

The class was held in a conference room, with the participants 
sitting around a long table.  The seminars were "business casual"
and polo shirts and Dockers were in abundance.  Mulder wore a 
light gray henley, the color making his pallor even more evident. 
The shirt's style wasn't strictly within the dress code, but she 
hadn't had the heart to point it out to him.

Scully was surprised to see that Hugh had decided to attend, 
since the topic was interrogation.  She moved down the table to 
join him, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle in her neatly pressed 
khakis. Scully would probably been more comfortable in the 
armor of her business suit.  Still, her crisp white shirt was 
the next best thing.   

Mulder glanced at her, obviously annoyed that she was sitting
with Hugh and walked by stiffly.   He found himself a seat 
at the other end of the table.

"I've learned to think like a criminal and like a victim," Hugh
explained.  "I'm still trying to figure out the cops.  Maybe this 
will help."

"Is that the only reason you're here?" Scully asked pointedly. 

"I will admit to a certain curiosity about your friend Mulder.  
I haven't yet observed any of those many virtues you claim he 
possesses," Hugh said with as much dignity as he could muster.

"I doubt if you'll observe them today either," Scully said.  Mulder 
was a master at criminal interrogation, but he was more hung over 
than she had ever seen him.  Besides, Mulder wasn't at his best in 
a classroom setting.

To make matters worse, Tom Colton's SAC had apparently felt a 
refresher in interview techniques was needed.  God knew, Tom
could use all the help he could get.  Colton smirked and nudged 
the agent next to him, both of them glancing in Mulder's 
direction.  Mulder seemed to be ignoring them, but she knew 
better.  The tension in her partner's jaw told her how much it 
bothered him.

The instructor was a retired FBI agent who now  taught at UC San 
Jose.  He said he was pleased that the class contained a mix 
experienced investigators as well as newer officers.

"Less science than art, more Sigmund Freud than the Marquis de 
Sade, effective interrogation technique often demands 
perceptiveness, imagination and a knack for role-playing..."  
Loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves, Frank Wilkins 
began to speak, his voice gravelly and deep.

The session was actually quite lively.  Wilkins was extremely
knowledgable, posing thought-provoking questions to his listeners.
Scully stole occasional glances at Mulder, wondering what his take
was on the session.  For the most part, her partner seemed to be
hanging by a thread, his skin green-tinged, his hands trembling
a little.

It didn't help at all that Wilkins singled Mulder out.  The 
instructor had apparently followed Mulder's career and had been
very impressed with the techniques her partner had used in a
number of interrogations.

"Agent Mulder's interview with Gerald Thomas Schnauz was an 
excellent example of using information obtained through research
as leverage.  Can you tell us about that case, Agent Mulder?
You learned some important details about Schnauz's family, 
correct?   For those of you who are unfamiliar with the case,
Gerald Schnauz abducted several women, performing crude lobotomies
on them and leaving them disabled.  Years earlier, he'd beaten
his father so severely, the man was confined to a wheelchair
until his death."

Mulder looked like a bug caught on a pin, obviously hating
the attention, but not wanting to show disrespect for the
instructor.  He cleared his throat, folding his arms before
him on the table.

"The linchpin for Gerald Schnauz was his sister," Mulder
said.  "Schnauz managed to keep his cool through all my 
questions, even those about the death of his father.  It 
was only when I brought up his sister's suicide that Schnauz 
lost it.  Once he began to unravel, we were able to learn 
some important information."

"You were able to save your partner, who'd very nearly 
become Schnauz's last victim.  I'd say you gained some 
*very* important information, Agent Mulder."

Wilkins turned to the large pad on an easel and wrote in
large block letters, "Know the answer."

"Why would we ask a question when we know the answer 
already?" Wilkins asked as he turned to face the class.
"I mean, isn't interrogation for the purpose of obtaining
new information?  Agent Mulder asked a question for which 
he knew the answer..."  

"Probably asked him if his sister was abducted by aliens,"
Colton stage-whispered to the agents around him.  Mulder
studiously ignored him, keeping his eyes on the instructor.

Anyone else would think Mulder was unaffected by Colton's 
antics, but Scully could see the rise of a blush against 
his green-tinged skin.

"Is there something you want to share with the group?" 
Wilkins asked, sharply. He was obviously annoyed at having 
to use that standard junior high phrase in a room full of 
FBI agents.

"With all due respect, sir, it's just that I've seen Old 
Spooky in action."  Colton's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"And did you find his technique effective?"

"He asked a suspect if he was over a hundred years old. 
It was insane.  We had nothing to hold the guy and Mulder
is asking him where he was in 1933."

Scully dug her nails into the palms of her hands.  The
temptation to shoot Tom Colton between his beady little 
eyes was almost overpowering.  Only the knowledge that
another snide idiot would pop up, taking Colton's place,
kept her hand away from her gun.  Poor Mulder.  His eyes
were glittering with fury.

"I believe I read about that case.  The suspect was released
but later arrested after an attack on an FBI agent?  I seem
to remember that there were anomalies about this man that
indicated Agent Mulder was correct--that his questions in
the interrogation were in fact, valid."  

"It was pure dumb luck," Colton sputtered.  

"From what I've seen, there is little about Agent Mulder's
investigative techniques that relies on dumb luck," Wilkins
said.  "Unfortunately, we've run over our time for this
session, so we won't be able to hear further 'wisdom'
from Mr. Colton."

The session broke up quickly.  The other agents seemed eager
to get out of the conference room.   Colton shot Scully a
disgusted look before stomping off, most likely to grouse
with his buddies over lunch.

Mulder stood, hands in pockets as he stared at the floor.
He probably wanted to wait until the room cleared out, 
hoping to avoid further interaction with Colton.

"I take it you know that idiot?" Hugh asked.  

"He was in my class at Quantico," Scully replied.  "Sometimes
I can't believe he passed the IQ test."

"He has a grudge against your partner," Hugh said, nodding
his head in Mulder's direction.  Her partner was making
his way slowly out of the conference room, his gait a little
unsteady.

"Mulder showed him up rather badly on a case years ago.  
Let's just say Tom was less than professional.  He's 
resented Mulder ever since."

"Were you the FBI agent that Colton's suspect attacked, 
Dana?"

"Do I have 'victim' printed on my face? she countered.  A 
look passed over Hugh's face, either shock or pity.  Scully 
didn't know which bothered her more and decided to change 
the subject.

"Listen, I'm starved.  We better get some lunch before the 
1:30 session," she said, gathering up her belongings.

Hugh nodded slightly, following her out of the room.  "How 
about a tennis lesson this afternoon?"

"I don't have anything to wear, Hugh."  Scully spotted Mulder
moving slowly down the hallway.

"That's no problem.  There are some great shops here in the 
hotel.  We'll get you something," Hugh said, swinging an arm
around her shoulder.  

"Just what I need--an overpriced tennis outfit that I'll 
never wear again."

"Don't be so negative, Dana.  You might discover a whole new
outlet."

"I don't have time for a new outlet.  Mulder has me tearing 
off all over the country at a moment's notice."

"I'm lucky.  My customers all come to me," Hugh said.

"Catching them is half the fun, Scully replied, laughing.

Mulder still hadn't found his way out of the room.  He was
shuffling along, one hand against the wall for support.  Scully
sighed and shook her head as she watched him, then looked 
up quickly, hoping Hugh hadn't caught her.

"I imagine he's a lot faster when he's chasing a mutant,"
Hugh said.

"He...doesn't feel well," Scully said.  She couldn't bear to
admit the truth to Hugh--that Mulder had blown off the reception 
and gone drinking.  Her hesitation was not lost on her friend.

"Self-inflicted, perhaps?" As in the form of excessive alcohol 
consumption."  Hugh posited.  "A hangover."

"I...didn't say that."  Scully caught her lower lip between
her teeth.  She didn't want to lie, but she wasn't in the 
habit of badmouthing her partner.

"You're embarrassed for him.  That would not be your reaction
if he was ill."

Scully didn't want to meet his eyes.

"Does he do this often?" Hugh asked, clearly very concerned. 

"Not often," she replied before speeding up to reach her
partner. 

"Mulder?" she asked, placing a hand on his arm.  "Hugh and
I were going to get some lunch.  Why don't you come along?"

"I'm not really hungry, Scully."  Mulder seemed uncomfortable
at her touch, his eyes almost sad as he gazed down at her.
"Besides, I'm sure you want to be alone with Dr. Hugh."

*********

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 7b

"Mulder?" she asked, placing a hand on his arm.  "Hugh and
I were going to get some lunch.  Why don't you come along?"

"I'm not really hungry, Scully."  Mulder seemed uncomfortable
at her touch, his eyes almost sad as he gazed down at her.
"Besides, I'm sure you want to be alone with Dr. Hugh."

"You need to eat," she said, slipping her hand under his arm.
His jealousy was getting on her nerves.  She suspected it
was a defense against her very real concerns about Diana.
"Mulder, I wouldn't be asking if I didn't want you to come.
Please..."

Mulder eyes still broadcasted resistance, but after a moment 
he nodded slightly and allowed her to draw him along.  Hugh
fell into step on Mulder's other side, watching them both
intently.

They found a table in the hotel coffee shop.  The place was
crowded with guests, most of them agents at the convention.
Several uncomfortable minutes passed before the waitress
came to take their order.  

"You have quite a fan in Frank Wilkins," Hugh said when 
the waitress had left.  

"We worked together a few times before he retired.  Back
when I was a new agent."

"Didn't he work the Barnett case with you?" Scully asked,
trying to remember where she'd seen Wilkins' name.  Mulder
nodded, his eyes downcast.  He didn't elaborate, probably
ruminating over his error in judgment all those years ago.

Mulder had an appallingly long memory when it came to his
own shortcomings.   He withheld the forgiveness he generously
bestowed on others for their foibles, instead, beating 
himself up long after he was left bruised and bloody.

Conversation limped along as their food was delivered and
they began to eat.  Mulder picked at his sandwich, eating a
few potato chips and drinking a lot of iced tea.  Scully
watched him as she dug into her grilled chicken salad.  His
stomach was probably still a little upset.

Hugh's eyes flicked back and forth between Mulder and 
herself.  He seemed to be trying to puzzle something out
as he ate his lunch.  

"Agent Mulder!" 

A good-looking young man stood at the entrance to the
coffee shop, waving his hands and looking somewhat frantic.

"Tim?" Mulder said, rising.  

"I could use your help, sir," the young man said as he
approached the table.

"No problem, Tim," Mulder replied, obviously relieved to no 
longer have to feign eating his sandwich under Scully's 
scrutiny.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your lunch."  Tim looked 
apologetically at the others at the table.

Mulder slid his chair back under the table.

"Agent Scully, Dr. Davis, this is Agent Tim McCloskey."  
His hurried introduction was almost lost under the 
scraping noises from the chair.

Scully began to offer her hand, but the young agent only 
nodded at her before zeroing in on her friend.

"Dr. Hugh Davis?" Tim asked.  "Your book was my first 
introduction to forensic science."

Hugh's smile was huge.

"I hope it was helpful to you."

"Was it ever!  I'm really looking forward to your 
lecture--if I can get in."

Hugh was a popular speaker.  People were vying with one 
another for the limited seats at his seminars and talks.

"I'll add your name to the list," Hugh said.

"Thanks!"

The young man was positively star-struck, Scully thought.  
Mulder, she noticed, had taken a water glass from the table 
and was pressing it against his forehead.

She had to repeat his name before she gained his attention.  
Finally he turned, his face stiff with misery.

"You need to lie down,  I'll work with Agent McCloskey," 
she whispered.

"I'll handle it.  Thanks anyway," Mulder said.

"Dana and I have some shopping to do," Hugh announced as 
he rose from the table.

"China patterns?" Mulder mumbled.

Even half-dead with a hangover, he found the energy to 
infuriate her. Scully wanted to slap him.

"Tennis things.  Your partner has challenged me to a 
match," Hugh said airily.

"I don't even have a racket," Scully protested.

"You can borrow mine, ma'am," Tim offered.  "I know I 
won't have time to play."

"I'm afraid your racket will probably be too heavy for 
Dana.  We can rent a lighter one for her at the pro shop.  
Do you play, Mulder?" Hugh asked.

Mulder played basketball, baseball, and sometimes 
football.  Besides, he was sick as a dog.  Scully was 
about to answer for him, but Mulder beat her to it.

"I'm pretty good," he said.

"Mulder, you don't play tennis!"

"Geez, Scully, I grew up on Martha's Vineyard.  It was 
against the bylaws not to provide children with tennis 
lessons."

He was talking to Scully, but his eyes were on Hugh, and 
Hugh was looking at Mulder.  Their staring contest left 
Scully baffled.  The silence lasted until Tim began to 
fidget, impatient to attend to whatever task was on his 
mind. Finally he spoke.

"It was great meeting you, Dr. Davis." he said 
enthusiastically.  Then he turned to Mulder.  "Sir, we 
have to go."

"I just had a brilliant idea," Hugh drawled.  "Dana's a 
beginner. Our game will be more of a lesson, really.  I'm 
sure I'll be craving a good, tough match later this 
afternoon.  Why don't you and I play, Mulder?  I mean, if
you feel up to the challenge."

Mulder seemed to blanch, his fingers gripping the edge of 
the table.  He couldn't be feeling very well right now.  
His head was probably pounding, but with a narrowing of
his eyes, Mulder nodded.  "Sounds great."

"Good," Hugh said, his eyes never leaving Mulder's face.
"Shall we say four o'clock?" 

"Fine.  Four o'clock, then."  There was a light sheen
of sweat on Mulder's face.  Scully was sure Mulder had
lost his mind.  How could he be considering a tennis
game when he was so obviously feeling ill.  

The young agent gestured toward the door, and he and 
Mulder left.  Scully turned to face Hugh, who was 
smiling as he watched the two men leave.

"What are you doing, Hugh?" Scully asked.  "Mulder
isn't feeling well.  It won't be a very fair game."

"He's a little hung over.  A good game of tennis'll
knock the cobwebs right out of his head."

Scully looked at her friend with skepticism.  Hugh
was enjoying this all too much.  He couldn't possibly
understand the deeply complicated and difficult 
relationship she had with her partner.  No one could,
unless they'd walked the same rocky path as she and
Mulder.

"I'm afraid it won't be the cobwebs that'll get knocked
out of Mulder.  Honestly, Hugh, I want you to call this
off."

"Dana, I promise not to let things get out of control.  
If I think Mulder's in trouble, I'll stop it.   Now, 
let's get to the pro shop before our lunch break is 
over."

The resort's pro shop was located in a cluster of stores
off the lobby area.   Men's and ladies' golf and tennis
apparel was displayed along with rackets and clubs.  
This kind of place usually had incredibly inflated prices.
Her suspicions confirmed, Scully winced as she checked the 
price tag on a fluorescent orange tennis dress.

"What ever happened to those little white outfits that
Doris Day or Sandra Dee would wear in the movies?" she
asked.

"They went the way of the dinosaur," Hugh quipped.  "No
more demure pleated skirts or ruffles.  It's all high-tech
fabrics and bright colors now." 

"It's a little unnerving that you know so much about 
ladies' tennis wear," Scully said.  

"I assure you, it's all from observation around the courts,
*not* from personal experience," Hugh laughed.  "And my
innate sense of style."

He handed her a dark green and white outfit.  Scully 
glanced at the price tag, rolling her eyes.  "Hugh, this
costs more than my winter coat."

"Try it on."

She came out of the dressing room, tugging the gored
skirt down.  Hugh was frowning, indicating she should
turn around.

"No...no.  Not that one.  Looks like a junior high school
gym uniform."

The next outfit was deemed "too obvious."  The one after
that "too dowdy," followed by "too...I don't know...too
wrong."

The next outfit was bright sky blue and white, a fitted
top with a deep "V" neck paired with a short, straight 
skirt.  The skirt had slits on either side, making Scully's 
legs look long and lean.  In fact, the whole thing made her
feel toned and fit and rather sexy.

"Perfect," Hugh deemed it as she twirled around in front of
the mirror.  "You look amazing.  I want to get this for you."  

"No, Hugh." she said.  Scully was beginning to feel like
Hugh's life size 'Tennis Barbie,' and it made her a little
uncomfortable.  "I can certainly buy my own clothes."  

"I want to.  You deserve to be pampered, once in a while."

Scully nodded, her throat tight with emotion.  The 
truth was, no one had indulged her in a long, long time.
She wouldn't let anyone.  It felt...strange and wonderful.

She changed back into her khaki slacks and white blouse,
leaving the top button on the shirt undone.  Maybe it was
time to make some changes.  

Hugh made a show of brandishing his American Express card at
the cash register.  Scully's eyes grew wide at the total.
The top, skirt and one pair of tennis socks with the little
pompoms on the back came to a blinding amount of money that
got not a flicker of surprise out of Hugh.  

Scully had talked Hugh out of buying her tennis shoes.  He'd
finally agreed that the cross-trainers she'd brought along
for her regular workouts would do fine for the afternoon. If
he was able to drag her onto a court once they got back to DC,
she'd think about investing in tennis sneakers.

"We'd better hurry, Hugh.  The next class starts in ten minutes."

She made it to the class with seconds to spare. Scully settled 
into her seat, stowing the gray and white striped bag from the 
pro shop under her chair.

"Perhaps no other body fluid can give us quite as much information 
as vomit, or vomitus, as it is more properly known."

Unlike the seminar on criminal interrogation, this class was held in a
small lecture hall, and Scully had made a point of sitting in the first
row.  The teacher was a bony, birdlike woman, her face aglow with
enthusiasm.  Scully had worked with Elaine Cogan enough to know that she
was perpetually exuberant.  Others in the class must wonder if it was
the subject matter that excited her so.

"Imagine that you arrive on the scene and find vomitus among the
evidence.  A thorough analysis will be conducted later, in the lab, but
what can you do, right at the scene, to learn some of its secrets?"

When no one responded, Scully decided to get the ball rolling.

"I'd document where it was found, photographically and with a sketch or
diagram," she volunteered.

"Certainly.  What else?"

"Measure it?" suggested another participant.

"Measure what?  Volume?  Weight?" the teacher asked.

"Both, I guess."

"Excellent.  What else could you measure?"

"Acidity?  You could check the pH," said a woman in the back of the
room.

"I suppose you could," the teacher agreed.  "Of course your nose will
also give you some clues.  Remember to smell the vomit, people!"

Scully knew Elaine wasn't trying to be funny, but she wasn't surprised
to hear some chuckles from the rest of the group.  Scully wondered how
Mulder was doing.

"Smell the vomit, and observe it," Elaine chirped.  "Do you see
capsules, or undigested food?"

"You might find obvious blood in the vomitus, especially if it was
expelled forcefully," Scully added.

"Excellent point, Dana.  Vomitus frequently contains blood or mucus, as
well as epithelial tissue."

From the back of the room came the squeak of a chair and the sound of
someone beating a hurried retreat to the door.  Scully knew it was
Mulder even before she heard him croak two words from the doorway:

"Elaine . . . temperature."

Before Scully could turn around she heard the door swing closed and he
was gone.

Elaine smacked her hand to her forehead in a gesture of exasperation.

"Yes, of course!  Measure the temperature first, because it can cool
rapidly.  Measure the ambient temperature as well.  You won't be able to
calculate anything if you don't have that."

After a thorough discussion, the teacher flipped on her slide
projector.  She had prepared a dramatic visual presentation, but 
by the end of the hour less than half the original class remained.

"I don't understand it," Elaine complained as she packed up her
materials.  "These people are supposed to be professionals."

"Maybe they shouldn't schedule the class so soon after lunch," Scully
suggested.  She picked up the shopping bag from the pro shop and 
hurried back to her room.

If she changed quickly, she could check in on Mulder and still get 
down to the courts in time to meet Hugh.   Mulder could nap until 
dinner, or maybe even turn in for the night.  He'd announced his 
intention to join them for tennis, but that was preposterous.

********

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 8

"Another problem with your fake crime scene?" Mulder asked, 
struggling to keep pace with the younger agent.

Tim shook his head.  "The mock investigation went very well.  
Even the section chief said I did a good job."

"Terrific.  Then what's the trouble?"

"That first mannequin, the one that washed out to sea.  What 
happens when it floats back to land?"

Mulder realized that Tim was leading the way out to the beach.

"I wouldn't worry too much.  There's no telling where the currents 
will take it, and it wasn't made to stand up to sea water.  It'll 
probably rot to pieces before it makes landfall."

"Just hurry up and follow me--uh, sir."  Tim turned around hurriedly, 
to see if he'd offended his mentor.  Mulder's half-nod assured him 
there was no harm done.

"I saw it, Mulder, bobbing in the waves.  I wasn't sure until I 
used my binoculars, but it's out there."

Mulder wondered what in the world Tim expected of him.  Swim out and
rescue it?  Turn back the tide?

"It's just a mannequin.  No big deal if it comes back."   Tim was
pushing ahead at a fast walk, and  Mulder found himself gasping to 
get the words out.

"They'll laugh at me," Tim said plaintively.

Get used to it, kid, Mulder thought.

They reached the Cabana Bar and continued down to the beach.  Among all
the bright bathing suits, Mulder saw a knot of men and women notable for
being fully dressed.  Golf clothes, khakis, bright shorts and skirts,
but even without the pinstripes Mulder knew they were government agents.

"I guess we're too late," Mulder said.

"Let's get out of here."  There was panic in Tim's furtive whisper.

Mulder clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on.  We'll face the music."

For the first time it was Mulder leading, and Tim hanging back.

As they approached, one of the government agents separated from the
cluster.

"Yo, McCloskey!  Look what came in with the tide!"

The man looked exactly like Larry Byrd, Mulder thought.  It was uncanny.

"Scott Dakin," Tim whispered.  "He hates me."

"I think it's your prom date," Dakin continued.

Mulder was close enough to see that the mannequin was clothed in a
what must have once been a light-colored tuxedo.

"Too bad for Section Chief Hayward to miss the fun.  Someone should go
look for him," Dakin said.

The other agents were silent, waiting to see what would happen.  Mulder
was certain there were decent individuals within the group, but you
couldn't see it in their behavior.  They were like a pack of dogs, 
ready to follow the leader.

"Dakin!" Mulder barked, and the young agent practically jumped to
attention.

"Agent Mulder!"

"There's a body on the beach.  What do you do?" Mulder asked sharply.

"Um . . ." Dakin's eyes roved side to side as he tried to think of the
answer.

"Secure the scene?" a young woman asked timidly.

"After we ascertain that he's dead," a man added.

"Good," said Mulder.  "Anybody have a notebook?"

They all did, of course.  Each of them pulled a spiral casebook from
somewhere.

"All right.  You have half an hour to outline the necessary procedures
and get this thing off the beach!"

Mulder nodded to McCloskey, a little jerk of the head to tell him to
take over.  Without waiting for a reply, he turned to walk away.

"I barely recognized him," Dakin was saying apologetically.  "He looks
like shit."

"Half an hour, people.  Daylight's burning."  McCloskey's voice was 
sure and commanding.  Mulder didn't look back, but he gave a thumb's 
up sign, even though McCloskey couldn't see it.

It was a good feeling to help a kid who took his job seriously even 
when others laughed at him.  It was a good feeling to do something 
right for a change.

For his next miracle, he would show up at a class on time, without
Scully's help.  Elaine Cogan was running the session, and she had
entreated him to attend.  She had a tendency to get ahead of herself
when she talked, and she was afraid she'd forget something.

Elaine said he owed her.  He said, bullshit, she was just doing her
job.  Nevertheless, he appreciated her willingness to dig for the 
truth among some of his foulest finds.

With ten minutes to spare before the class, he decided to be brave 
and get himself a cup of coffee.  He wasn't sure if his stomach could 
handle it, but he needed something to clear his head.

There was a new fellow on duty at the Cabana Bar, and a fresh pot of
coffee on the warmer.  Mulder carried his cup to one of the empty
tables.  He usually took his coffee black, but this time he added 
milk, to appease his stomach, and sugar, for energy.

He would need it.  This was sudden death overtime, and Hugh "Moneybags"
Davis was the guy who won the toss.

Mulder always had the lousiest luck.  Even if Scully and Dr. Delicious
had planned to meet up at the conference, it was a lousy trick of fate
that had put Scully in a first class seat right next to him.  Lousiest
of all was this lousy, lousy flu.

He should have figured it out sooner.  The headaches, nausea, fever, and
now the jarringly painful aches from his muscles.  He hadn't gotten the
flu shot because he never got the flu.  Even Scully had been okay with
that:  "Your choice, Mulder.  The flu won't kill you."

Ha.

When the final whistle blew, none of this would matter.  Not the flu,
the luck, or the timing.  All that would matter was who won the game.

There was something troubling about Hugh Davis.  While it was obvious
that Scully and Hugh were chums from way back, Mulder always had the
feeling that Hugh was playing to an audience.  The slick pathologist
would say something to Scully, but he'd be watching for Mulder's
reaction.  It was as if Hugh was an actor on the stage, and Scully was
one of his props.

Even the tennis match felt like a setup.  If Mulder's instincts were
right, he'd need a mouthpiece and a cup to survive the game.

His coffee half finished, Mulder headed for the next class.  

He found the room easily enough.  Little Elaine Cogan was pacing by the
blackboard.

"Mulder!  Go sit in the back!" she commanded.

He didn't ask why, but took a seat in the last row.

"Good!  Now tell me if you can hear me."

Elaine was like a Chihuahua, small but noisy.

"Of course I can hear you."

"But you'll let me know if you can't?" she asked nervously.

"I promise."

"Or if I talk too fast?"

"Elaine, you always talk too fast."

She started pacing again.

"Where is everyone?  Why are they late?" she asked.

"They'll be here.  Everyone wants to learn about mitochondrial DNA," 
he assured her.

"I changed the topic," Elaine said.  "That DNA analysis is for the
laboratory.  I want to give them something they can use in the field."

"I wonder if Scully's planning to attend," Mulder asked, hoping he
sounded casual.

"She'd better!  She owes me just as much as you do," Elaine said
indignantly.

People started to arrive.  As the room filled, Mulder made sure to 
save a seat for Scully, but when she finally walked in, she took her 
place in the center of the first row.

Elaine beamed.  Public speaking made her even more nervous than 
usual, but she loved it.  When all eyes were on her, she took a 
piece of chalk and wrote on the board in giant letters:

VOMIT

Up until that moment, Mulder had thought that he and his stomach 
had made peace.  Now he knew it was only a truce.

"Perhaps no other body fluid can give us quite as much information 
as vomit, or vomitus, as it is more properly known," Elaine chirped
forcefully.

Mulder opened another button on his shirt, even though he knew the
tightness in his throat wasn't coming from his collar.  

This was another example of Lady Luck kicking him in the balls.  
Out of all the possible topics, Elaine had decided to expound 
about vomit.  Mulder tried to maintain his clinical focus, but it 
was a losing battle.  Smell the vomit! Study the vomit!  He didn't 
want to think about where she was going next.

He tried to sneak out quietly, but it was too crowded and he wasn't 
that lucky.  He probably sounded like an elephant stampede as he 
made his escape.

Anyway, Elaine was on a roll.  Except she'd skipped over the one 
thing that couldn't wait.  It was one of the hardest things he'd 
ever had to do, but Mulder paused in the doorway to prompt her.

"Elaine... temperature," he reminded her, and then he ran.  He had 
no hope of reaching the relative privacy of his room; he was lucky 
that he made it to the men's room.  

He retched loudly and forcefully, and then he was done.  His stomach 
was appeased at last, and for the first time since he'd stepped off 
the plane, he wasn't nauseous.  That was no small thing.  His legs 
ached, and his back and neck and shoulders, but as long as he didn't
have to puke any more, he had a chance of living through his tennis 
match.

Standing by the sink, he washed his face then cupped some water in 
his hands to rinse his mouth.  His reflection proved that he looked 
as bas as he felt.  The smart-mouth punk from Tim McCloskey's 
investigation class was right--he looked like shit.  Why couldn't 
Scully see it?

Maybe because her mind was on something else.  Maybe because she 
was in love.

Nope, not going to think about that.  Not going to think about the 
aches, or the fever, or the way Dr. Perfect always had his hands on 
Scully, or his arm around her shoulder.  It was sudden death overtime, 
and Mulder had lost the toss, but the game wasn't over yet.

Back in his room Mulder changed into his Nike running shorts but kept 
the henley.  He didn't even own tennis sneakers, but basketball was 
also a game of stop-and-go, so his Adidas should work fine.  He 
didn't look like a tennis player but it would have to do.

His showdown was set for four o'clock, but he'd be an ass to give 
Dr. Smooth an extra half hour alone with Scully.  He brushed his 
teeth, combed his hair, and set out for the tennis courts.  By now 
he was actually feeling hungry, not to mention thirsty, but he 
didn't trust his stomach to keep anything down.

His cell phone chimed from inside his pocket so he pulled it out and 
flipped it open.  Diana Fowley's silky voice greeted him:

"I wrangled a few days off, Fox.  I'm flying down tonight."

"Down here?" he gulped.

"I'll give you the flight number, so you can pick me up at the 
airport."

"There's a shuttle bus to the resort," he said stiffly.

"That wouldn't look right." She sounded like a stern teacher.

"I don't have a car."

"Oh, Fox," she sighed.

"Diana, I don't think you should come.  It's not a good 
conference.  Boring.  Lousy weather."  He didn't think she 
would listen, but he hoped for the best.

"You're talking about the classes and the weather when the 
only thing that matters is the dinner dance at the end."

"Diana, I'm asking you this as a friend--"

"Don't worry about the car, Fox.  I'll look for you when I 
get there."  Before he could speak again, she ended the 
call.

Finally he understood.

All the agents at the conference had been referred by their 
superiors.  Some were being recognized for their skills, 
while others were being sent for remedial training, but you 
couldn't just invite yourself.

Diana Fowley, his dear old trusted friend, was after his 
invitation.  She wanted to be his guest.  She wouldn't 
get into the dinner dance unless she went as his date.

He held the dead phone against his ear.

"Fuck off, Diana," he said.

As Mulder made his way down to the tennis courts, it felt as
if he were wearing twenty-pound ankle weights.  How in hell
was he ever going to chase around after Hugh's volleys? 

As he rounded the stand of trees that partially shaded the
tennis court, Mulder was struck by a vaguely familiar sound.  
Laughter.  Boisterous, infectious laughter.  He strained to place
it, finally recalling a night years ago when he's stood in the 
pouring rain up to his ankles in graveyard mud and found himself
captivated by that laugh.

"You're doing fine, Dana."  Hugh lobbed a ball gently over the 
net, allowing Scully to hit it back to him.

"Steffi Graf can rest easy tonight."  

The ball got past her on the next return, and she laughed
again as she trotted off after it.  Mulder stepped back into the
shade, not wanting to draw her attention.  She looked amazing,
compact and curvy in a little blue and white tennis outfit.
Her well muscled thighs pumped as she trotted after the ball.

"Well, Steffi wouldn't know what to do with a Stryker saw, so
you're even," Hugh called out.

Scully retrieved the ball, holding it aloft as she strode back
to the center of the court.  Her top rode up a bit, allowing
Mulder a glimpse of toned midriff above the waistband of the
skirt.  Tossing the ball into the air, Scully served the ball
directly into the net.  

"You need to slow your swing.  Here, let me help you with 
that," Hugh said, coming around the net.  Mulder was surprised
he didn't attempt to leap over in an attempt to impress Scully.  
Like Hughie needed any help in that arena.

Hugh came up behind Scully, right hand covering hers on the racket 
handle.  His left arm curved around her waist, the hand splayed 
out over her abdomen, holding her tight against him.  Mulder almost 
gagged at the sight of Dr. Octopus groping his partner under the 
guise of a tennis lesson.  If Mulder had ever tried that, Scully
would have amputated one of his appendages.

Fortunately, neither Hugh nor Scully had noticed him.  Hugh was 
guiding Scully's arm in a slow arc, murmuring into her ear.
No longer able to watch the debauchery, Mulder went into the 
clubhouse to see about borrowing a racket.

The pro on duty quizzed him with incomprehensible questions about 
his grip, his style, and whether he was looking for power or control.  
Then the man nodded wisely and handed him "a nice, all-around 
racket."  To Mulder it looked like an ordinary tennis racket, but 
he had the nagging suspicion that it marked him as a cream-puff to 
anybody in the know.

Back on the court, Hugh was on his feet, practicing imaginary shots.  
No sign of Scully now.

"You're early.  Dana said she was thirsty and needed a break," Hugh 
said cheerfully.

Mulder found himself at a loss for words.  Everything about Hugh
offended him, from the dazzling white teeth to the deep golden tan, 
and he would sooner have broken the perfect nose than exchanged 
hellos.

"How did things go with Tim?" Hugh asked.

McCloskey?"  The question caught Mulder off guard.  "Everything's
fine.  He handled it well."

Hugh gave up his game of air tennis, apparently satisfied that his 
form couldn't possibly get any better.

"Want to play?" Hugh asked, walking over to the fence to get a 
couple of tennis balls.

"Sure," said Mulder.

"You can serve," Hugh offered, tossing a fuzzy yellow ball at 
Mulder.

"Oh, no.  Your serve," Mulder said.  He'd caught the ball 
clumsily, his left hand grabbing it to his chest.

Hugh caught Mulder's awkward left-handed throw easily.

"Let's warm up first.  Some easy volleys to loosen up."

It was probably a dis, but Mulder took it.  His aching shoulder 
wasn't eager to move, let alone smash a serve across the net.  
He moved back the the baseline and assumed the crouch.  When 
Hugh lobbed him the ball, he returned it easily. They fell 
into a comfortable pattern until Mulder grew careless and hit 
into the net.

Hugh went to the net and lifted it to let the ball roll through.

"Get some water, Mulder," he said. "Or do you want to call it a 
day?"

"Had enough already, Davis?" Mulder asked, infuriated by the 
other man's attitude.

"It's warm, that's all.  Go get something to drink."

"*You* get something to drink, if you can't stand the heat," 
Mulder said.  Hugh shrugged and moved back to the baseline.

"Have it your way," he said as he hit the ball.

Hugh's groundstroke looked as sure as ever, but the ball fell 
shorter, and Mulder had to spring forward to meet it in time.  
Hugh returned it to the opposite side of the court, and Mulder 
barely made it across in time.

His return was a short, high shot, but Hugh was ready and tapped 
it back over the net.  Again Mulder had to run to meet it, and 
he almost missed when the ball took a crazy bounce he hadn't 
expected.

Mulder knew he didn't have the right shoes or the right racket, 
but he also knew the bitter truth.  Tennis was one of the many, 
many areas in which Hugh Davis had him hopelessly outclassed.  
Davis could place the ball anywhere, with any speed and spin he 
wanted, which meant he  could move Mulder all over the court as 
well.

"You don't want to smash it like that, with your arm straight.  
You're going to hurt yourself," Hugh advised him helpfully.

Mulder was too winded to try to reply.  His shirt was soaked with 
sweat, and the pounding of his heart was loud in his ears.  
He realized that he didn't know where the ball was.  Maybe he'd 
smashed it into the net or out of bounds, or maybe it had sailed 
over to his side without him even seeing it.  He couldn't find his 
opponent either, but suddenly there he was, tossing his racket 
aside and running at Mulder.

"Oh, shit.  Dana's going to kill me," Hugh cried.

"Good," Mulder thought, or maybe he said it out loud.  His field 
of vision was contracting, turning gray at the edges, and he was 
sinking to the ground as if his knees were melting.

Somebody with very big arms was trying to catch him, and then 
tapping him in the face, and then yelling in his ear.  He found 
it exceedingly unpleasant and he tried to turn away.  Someone else 
was screaming, and the voice was Scully's, but he couldn't see her 
because everything had gone a deep, restful shade of black.

**************8

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 9


"Get him out of the heat.  We've got to cool him down," Scully
said.  Mulder was frighteningly still, his face bright red and 
beaded with sweat.   

"I'm sorry, Dana.  I didn't think he'd play till he passed out."

"Sometimes you're a real jerk, Hugh."  She didn't try to hide the
irritation in her voice.  Stupid pissing contest.  Scully didn't 
know who she wanted to smack first: alpha-male Hugh for issuing
the challenge or stubborn Mulder for insisting on playing when
he was obviously ill.   

"I'm taking him inside," Hugh said, pulling Mulder to a sitting
position.  Mulder's head lolled back, baring his throat in the 
bright sunlight.  Scully reached behind to support his skull 
and stop the bobble-head doll effect.

Her partner moaned as Hugh lifted him, thrashing slightly at being
carried caveman style.  

"He's drenched," Hugh complained.

"Take him to the first-aid office," Scully commanded.

Mulder's head hung downward over Hugh's shoulder, his arms swinging
limply with each step.  She might have laughed, if the situation 
wasn't so serious, at the sight of Mulder's long legs hanging almost
down to Hugh's knees.  Within a minute they had him inside, and Hugh 
set her partner down on an exam-type table.

Scully hurried to the sink, wetting paper towels with cold water, 
Hugh pressing them against Mulder's head and neck.  Her partner's 
shirt was soaked with sweat as she yanked it up and placed another
wet towel on his chest.   Mulder's eyes fluttered open, gazing up
at Scully.   Overcome with tenderness, she smiled at him and
patted his cheek.

"Sit him up so he can drink," she ordered.  

Mulder looked like a rag doll, as Hugh held him up.  Scully put a
paper cup to his lips, a few drops of water spilling onto his face
and running down his chin.

"Drink, Mulder," Scully said.

Obediently, her partner swallowed some water, his throat working
convulsively.   He sputtered, dribbling a bit more water over his
chin.  "Go 'way," he muttered.

"Little more," she said.  He turned his head away, but she followed
with the cup, and he accepted another mouthful.

"One sip more," Scully coaxed.

Mulder started to laugh, his eyes at half mast.  Scully frowned 
as she watched her partner.  This was obviously not the product
of a drinking binge, she thought.  Mulder was ill and she'd 
missed the warning signs.  A wave of guilt flooded through her.

"Easy, Mulder," she said, but he continued to giggle.

"Delirium," said Hugh.

"Mulder?" Scully asked, worry rising in her.

His voice sounded thick as he tried to explain when he finally 
stopped laughing.  "Scully, you're so funny."

"I know, Mulder.  Drink your water."

"I'm calling an ambulance," Hugh said.

"Hugh, no.  He's dehydrated," Scully protested.  "We just need 
to get some fluids in him."

"He needs to be watched, Dana.  He needs someone to monitor his 
intake and make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

"Just help me get him back to his room."

Mulder came to with a start, his eyes wide and frightened.  He 
tried to scramble off the exam table, panic-stricken, desperate 
to get away.  Hugh did his best to hold onto Mulder, afraid, 
perhaps, that the other man would fall off the table and get 
hurt.  Mulder's obvious panic seemed to worsen with the 
restraint. 

"Hugh, let him go!  Mulder, it's me!  You're safe."

Mulder blinked, obviously desperate to get his bearings.  Hugh 
looked to Scully, his hands still firmly around Mulder's arms.  
Mulder's eyes flashed panic as he locked his gaze on Scully.  

"Let him go, Hugh.  I think you're frightening him."  

As Hugh lessened his hold, Mulder stopped struggling.  

"I hope you're right, Dana.  He could be dangerous in this 
state,"  Hugh said, finally releasing Mulder's arms.

Hugh leaned forward to whisper in her partner's ear.

"You're just lucky you didn't hurt her.  I don't care how 
fucked up you are--"

"That's enough, Hugh.  Just help me get him outside."

"Did I hurt you, Scully?" Mulder asked softly.  He sounded 
truly worried that he might have struck her.

"Of course not, Mulder.  But we do need to get you outside.  We 
have a golf cart waiting to take you back to the main building."   

"Okay," Mulder said.  He slid off the table and onto his feet. His
knees buckled almost immediately and Hugh caught him.  Her partner 
looked mortified as Hugh slung him over his shoulder again.

"This is getting old," Hugh grumbled.  

"I ca' walk!" Mulder protested weakly.

"Mulder, please.  Just from here to the golf cart," Scully implored 
him. 

Her partner wasn't quite as limp noodle-like as Hugh carried him 
out of the first aide room and through the tennis complex.  Mulder
was more aware this trip, and far more resistant.

"Come on, put me down," he said, his voice muffled against Hugh's
back.   His struggles to get loose were ineffective but made him 
much harder to carry.  Hugh reached up and briskly smacked Mulder's 
backside as the other man wriggled in his arms.

"Don't worry," Hugh comforted him.  "If we see anyone you know, we'll
tell them you're drunk."  

The golf cart was at the edge of the tennis courts, bright blue and 
yellow with a jaunty flag.  Hugh dropped Mulder onto the passenger 
seat.  Her partner braced himself against the metal roof support to
keep from keeling over.  

"Do you want to drive, Dana?"

"No, I'll hop up here on the back," she answered.  "Just go slow."

Scully climbed up behind Mulder, one hand on his shoulder, the other
holding tightly onto the metal support.  Hugh drove carefully, 
glancing at Scully occasionally as he manuevered over the hotel 
property.  

Mulder grimaced at the curious looks they got from passersby.  A 
number of the agents were out enjoying the fine weather during the
conference "free time."  Many of them seemed fascinated by the
sight of a sweaty, limp Mulder riding along in the golf cart with
Scully hanging on for dear life.  

"You okay, Agent Mulder?" Tim McClosky called out as they passed
him.

"Just fine, Tim," Mulder groaned.

As they arrived at the main entrance to the hotel, two bell men
ran out to meet them.  Mulder refused to be carried any further,
insisting he could walk back up to his room.  Unfortunately, his
body wasn't very cooperative, his knees wobbling as he tried to
stand.

"Let me get a wheelchair," the taller bell man said, 
as he trotted off.  He returned a moment later, pushing a 
wheelchair, the back printed with the hotel's palm tree logo.

"You can leave it outside your room, and someone'll be along
to pick it up," the young man said, as Hugh helped Mulder into 
the chair.

Mulder suffered the further humiliation of being wheeled through
the lobby to the bank of elevators.  Scully leaned over to ask
him how he was feeling, but he covered his face with his hand.

"I'm fine, Scully," he mumbled.  "I could have walked."

"Mulder, you could barely stand."

Her partner seemed to slump further in the wheelchair as they
proceeded up to his room.  Scully wondered if he had passed
out again, or was so mortified he'd lost the will to sit up
straight.

"Mulder?" Scully crouched next to the wheelchair when they'd
arrived at their destination.  She placed a gentle hand on 
his arm.  "Do you have your key?"

He reached clumsily into the waistband of his shorts, pulling
the plastic card key out of the inner pocket.  Scully unlocked
the door, and Hugh wheeled Mulder in.

"Portal to portal service," Hugh said.  Mulder raised his eyes,
giving the other man a whithering look.  

"Thanks.  I'm pretty sure I can take it from here," her partner
said, struggling to push himself out of the chair.  His bravado
would have been much more effective if he hadn't been so wobbly
as he stumbled to the bed.  

Scully opened the connecting door, noting that Mulder hadn't
locked his side.  Well, she hadn't locked hers either, though
she hadn't opened it since they'd arrived at the Plantation
Beach.  She opened her door and entered her hotel room, returning
with her medical bag.  Hugh watched her with amusement.

"Mulder," she said, setting the bag on the table and searching
inside.  "I want to take your temperature."

"Mnugph," he replied, his face buried between the pillow and his
arm.  

"Come on, Mulder."  He rolled onto his back, blinking up at her.

"I jus' wanna sleep."  

"Temp first, then sleep. Open," she ordered.  Mulder shot her a
sullen look, reluctantly opening his mouth.  She slipped the 
thermometer under his tongue and sat next to him on the bed.

"He's not as cooperative as most of your patients," Hugh observed.

Scully didn't answer.  She was encouraged by Mulder's improvement, 
but if his temperature was too high, she would have to reconsider 
her decision about the ambulance.

The thermometer showed 102.

"Guess what, Mulder?  You're sick," she said, gently smoothing 
his limp hair from his forehead.

"We're into the tenth inning," Mulder said, smiling weakly.

"Can you get him to take something for the fever?" Hugh asked.

"She ca' do anything," Mulder announced confidently.

"We'll be fine, Hugh," Scully said without looking up.

Apparently Hugh took the hint, nodding his head.

"I better grab a shower," he said, glancing at his watch.  
"I told Jack Brant I'd meet him for a drink before dinner.  
Call me if you need anything," he said as he left.

Mulder seemed to relax.

"How's your stomach, Mulder?  Ready for more water?" Scully asked.

"With throats unslaked, with black lips baked."  With his hooded 
eyes and hypnotic drone, he sounded demented.  She touched his 
forehead again, frowning with concern.

"Thirsty," he explained.

She left his side to get a glass from the bathroom and brought 
him a couple of Advil tablets along with his water.  She put her 
arm behind his head to raise it, and he rubbed against her, 
sighing happily.  With Hugh out of the way, Mulder was docile 
and eager to please.  He swallowed the pills along with a full 
glass of water.

"I dreamed that they were filled with dew," Mulder said, 
settling back down on the pillow.

In her heart, Scully was certain that Mulder was suffering from 
no more than the flu, plus the effects of dehydration.  Still, 
his crazy talk made her question her judgment.  She couldn't 
risk being wrong.

"When did you start to feel sick?" she asked, hoping he could 
focus enough to answer.

"When you ran away."  He pouted.  "When you wouldn't take me to 
the airport."

Scully remembered how out of breath he'd been the day before.  
True, he'd run down three flights of stairs, but usually that 
wouldn't be enough to get him winded.

"Trouble breathing?" she asked.

"Tired.  Achy.  Nauseous."  He moved closer to her, and she 
found herself stroking his hair again.  He closed his eyes,
his expression blissful.

"I'm so sorry, Mulder.  I should have realized."

"You deserve nice stuff, Scully.  You deserve to have fun."

"We all deserve that," she said.  He sounded drowsy and she 
untied his sneakers and pulled them off.

"Mm," said Mulder, smiling to himself.

"Feeling a little better?" she asked as she slipped off his socks.

"I like this one," Mulder informed her sleepily.  "This is the one 
where you take off all my clothes."

"Oh, do I?" Scully asked.  She hadn't planned to go any further than 
removing his shirt.

"Yes."

It was tempting.  After all, he was terribly sweaty.  Scully pulled 
his shirt up over his head.  Mulder wasn't only delirious, he was 
deliriously happy.  And a bit ripe.

"Oh, yeah, Scully.  Strip me naked," he said.

It would be a good thing to clean him up, Scully decided.  A nice, 
refreshing sponge bath so that he would sleep better.

"I want to get you washed," she said.

"Kinky."

"No, really, Mulder."  She had to make him understand what she had 
in mind.

"K.  After I strip you," he said.

"I'm serious, Mulder.  You need a bath."

Mulder beamed.  "Then this is the one where we take a bath."

"*You* take a bath.  Not us--you."

"Scully!  Do I offend?"

"Now that you mention it..."

He seemed a little hurt, but not defeated.

"Wait right here.  I'll take a shower."

"Mulder, you can't even stand up straight."

"If you haven't noticed, I am definitely standing up straight," he 
smirked.

Oh, lord, thought Scully.  Is he ever.

"I'm going to run a bath for you.  Don't even try to get up without 
my help," she insisted.

"I'm so tired of getting off without your help," he said tragically.

Scully tried not to laugh.  Maybe she should Mirandize him:  You 
have the right to remain silent. . .

"Don't talk," she said, and then Mulder reached into the V of her 
tennis outfit. Scully jumped back as if she'd been scalded.  She 
slapped his hand lightly.  "And don't touch.  Just do as I say."

Mulder nodded, and his expression made it very clear that he was 
not on her wavelength.  She went to run him a bath.  A cool bath, 
to reduce his fever. 
  
Maybe a cold bath.

She added her own Teaberry bubblebath to the tub full of tepid water.  
Mulder might complain about the girly fragrance, but Scully was 
grateful for the cover.  

Mulder was reasonably steady when she got him off the bed, and he 
didn't say a word as she walked him to the bathroom.  She could have 
slapped on the handcuffs and he wouldn't have objected.  Hell, in
his present state, he'd probably love it.

He didn't help when she worked the waistband of his shorts down 
over his hips, even when she had to figure out that the shorts 
had an inner mesh lining, which apparently negated the need for 
any underwear.

She tried very hard to think about his cleverly constructed running 
shorts, and not to think about anything else.  She tried to maintain 
eye contact at all times.  She hoped like hell that she wasn't 
blushing.  

He looked at her expectantly.

"Get in the tub, Mulder."

His eyes said, "You first."  She folded her arms.  He got in the tub,
his movements a little shaky as he lowered himself into the water.  
The water must have felt chilly to his feverish body, causing him
to shiver.  His eager expression told her the cool water hadn't 
dampened his libido.

Kneeling next to the bathtub, Scully wet a wash cloth and washed 
Mulder's face.  He sputtered a little, shaking his head like a 
terrier and staring in astonishment.

"A bath.  To get clean," Scully reiterated.  "Lie back and try to 
relax."

"That's not how it goes," Mulder mumbled.  "Whose dream is this, 
anyway?"

"Shh.  Try to relax."

"One of us is twisted," Mulder complained.

She washed him as impersonally as she could, even though the only 
thing between her hand and his wet, naked skin was the washcloth.  
Mulder was ill, exhausted, and disappointed, and Scully hoped 
against hope that those three factors would ward off any erotic 
impulses.

Mulder pouted at first, but gradually he succumbed to cool water 
and fatigue, resting his head against the back of the tub.

"Bath time's over," Scully said briskly.  If she had to call Hugh 
to drag a sleeping Mulder out of the bathtub, she didn't think that 
either man would ever forgive her.  Eyes at half mast, Mulder 
climbed out on his own.  Scully  managed to draw a bath sheet around 
his shoulders before he plodded back to the bed.

"Just a minute, Mulder."  She made him sit on the edge of the bed 
while she tried to rub him dry.

"I'm so tired, Scully," he complained.  "My back hurts."

"Okay, Mulder.  You can go to sleep."  She helped him slip under 
the covers.  His skin felt cool and clean, and she was sure that 
his fever was down.  Scully probably should have helped him into 
a clean pair of pajamas, but he looked so tired, she didn't want 
to disturb him.

"Scully, next time I want the one where you're a sorceress," Mulder 
yawned.  A minute later he was snoring.

She walked down to the vending machine, returning with a couple
of ginger ales for Mulder and a diet cola for herself.  Letting 
herself back into the room, she watched Mulder sleep for a 
moment.  Hand thrown over his forehead, he looked like a little 
boy who'd played too hard and worn himself out.

Scully sighed deeply, shaking her head.  "Oh Mulder," she 
whispered.  "I've been such an idiot, thinking you were running
away from me."

She popped the top on her cola, taking a long drink.  She dimmed
the lights and found an old Alfred Hitchcock film on TV, keeping 
the volume down.  Mulder often slept with the television on, so 
she wasn't worried about the noise bothering him.

Her mind wandered and she had trouble following the intricate 
plot.  The movie was almost over and she could barely remember 
who had murdered whom.   

She barely heard the light tap on the door over the theme music
at the end of the movie.  Scully peeked through the security hole,
spotting a smiling Hugh.

"Shhh," she said softly, opening the door.  "Mulder's asleep."

"I brought you some supper," Hugh whispered.  He carried a tray
laden with a covered dish.  "Baked chicken and rice pilaf.  
Hope that's okay."

"Better than okay.  Thank you!" she replied.  "Let's go into
my room.  I don't want to wake Mulder."  

She switched off the television and led the way into her room
hoping the smell of the food wouldn't disturb Mulder.  Even 
good scents could be a problem when a person was nauseous.
She left the door partially open, though, in case he woke and
needed her.

"How is he?" Hugh asked, jerking his head in Mulder's direction.

"Sleeping for now.  He was a little disoriented before, probably
due to the fever." 

Hugh placed the tray on the table in Scully's room, removing the
metal dish covers with a flourish.  "Taaa daaaa," he said, 
producing a mini bottle of wine from his jacket pocket.  
"Unfortunately, this size only comes with a screw top, but 
one makes do."  

"Well, if I must..." she quipped, unwrapping a glass on the 
dresser.  She held the glass out for Hugh to fill with wine. 
"...then I must." 

Scully forced herself not to tear into the food with her bare 
hands, but it wasn't easy.  The meal was delicious, and she was
famished.  Hugh lounged in his chair, barely hiding a smile.

"So I guess he wasn't hungover after all," Hugh said when she'd
paused to take a sip of wine.

"No.  No, he wasn't.  I feel terrible--I jumped to a lot of
conclusions." 

"Maybe you did, but they weren't unwarrented, Dana.  You said
he reeked of alcohol when you found him the next morning.  And
his symptoms were consistent with a hangover."

"Those aren't the conclusions that bother me," she said, 
pensively. 

"Well?" Hugh asked, gesturing for her to continue.  He dug 
into his breast pocket, producing a cellophane-wrapped 
package.  "There's a chocolate brownie with nuts in it for
you if you finish that thought."

She snatched the brownie out of his hand, smiling.  "Say, 
do you have an ice cream sundae stashed in there somewhere?"

"Yeah, in my shorts.  Now, keep going.  What other 
conclusions."

She shook her head, unwrapping one end of the brownie and
breaking off a piece.  Hugh was having much to good a time
at the expense of her personal life.  Still, it was nice to
have someone to talk to.  God knows, she didn't have an 
overabundance of friends.   

"Okay," she said, finally.  "The afternoon we arrived here,
I told Mulder that I thought of him as more than a partner.
It was shortly after that, he missed the reception and I 
started putting two and two together and getting eight."

"You thought he cracked under the pressure of your incredible
boldness?"  Hugh asked, smiling.

"Something like that."

"Dana, Dana, Dana....it's obvious you've missed my sage advice
over the last seven years.  You thought you were being so
open and above board, but I don't think he *got* your meaning."

"What else could 'more than a partner' have meant to him, for
the love of God."

"Dana, I've only known Mulder for a few days, and not at his 
best, by any means.  But I can tell he's a little insecure in
personal relationships, or he wouldn't be so damned sure you and
I were an item."  Hugh grinned at her look of incredulity.  "You
haven't picked up on that?   He's jealous as hell, Dana.  It's 
making him nuts.  So, when you say, 'you're more than a partner'
he's not thinking 'I'm in love with you.'  He's thinking 'you're
a dear friend and I'll name my firstborn after you.'  Dana, you
have to be a little more specific.  *Tell* him how you feel, and
don't mince words."

Realization hit full force.  Hugh was right.  She remembered that
afternoon and Mulder's reaction: unsure after a brief stunned
flash of happiness.  Mulder had heard her words, but not her 
meaning.  He'd probably been obsessing over Hugh and the flight 
out and misunderstood what she was trying to tell him.  

"Maybe..." she began thoughtfully.  Distracted, she popped another 
morsel of brownie into her mouth.  "I think you may be right."

"I'm right.  Have I ever steered you wrong?"

Hugh's brown eyes sparkled with warmth and affection.  She smiled,
reaching out to take his hand, remembering med school.  How many 
pep talks had Hugh given when her love affairs had gone wrong?
His advice was always true.

"No, you haven't.   Hugh, I don't know what I'd do without you."

*******

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 10

He found himself standing in the hall outside his office,
chilled by the basement air.  The cold lineoleum under his
bare feet made him glance down.  He was shocked to find
himself nude, his skin pasty white under the fluorescent
lighting.

Panic rising in his gut, he tried the door, but it was locked
up tight.  Shit, where were his clothes?  How had he gotten
here, stark raving naked in the bowels of the Hoover building.

He didn't have his keys.  Hell, no point to patting himself
down in a search.  There was nowhere he could have carried
them anyway.  Any minute now, someone could come down those
stairs and see him.

Scully!  Scully!  Help me out here, Scully!  Let me in!

Why the hell wasn't Scully opening the door?  He could hear
movement beyond the door and voices.  A woman was moaning.
Damn it, that sounded like Scully.

A cold sweat breaking out over his bare skin, he jiggled
the door handle.  Was Scully hurt?  No, the moaning gave
way to laughter, that of a man and woman.

Suddenly, the doorknob turned under his palm and the door
swung open.  Scully was moaning, all right.  Splayed out
on his desk, *his desk*, skirt up around her waist, she
was playing tonsil hockey with a man he couldn't recognize.

The man lurched forward so that his big body covered Scully 
entirely, until she giggled again and wrapped her legs around 
his neck.  Now all Mulder could see was the man's broad, 
brawny back and Scully's red stiletto pumps.

There were grunts and more laughter, and Mulder was paralyzed 
with horror, unable to retreat, unable to speak.

The man turned his head, and Mulder saw that it was Hugh Davis, 
bronzed, rich, and confident as ever.

"Get lost, Spooky," he said.

"Oh, Hugh."  Scully sounded breathless and giddy.  "Give us 
half an hour, Mulder, and we'll take you to lunch."

"Scully, help me.  I need your help," Mulder pleaded.  His 
voice came out as a whisper, and he still couldn't make 
himself move.

"I'd better put him back in his wheelchair," Hugh said.

"Leave him in the hall until we're finished."

"Please, Scully, no!  Scully!"

This couldn't be happening.  This couldn't be real.  Finally, 
the crushing pain and humiliation overcame Mulder's need to 
stay asleep, and he awoke with a sob.

Just a dream.  He made himself say it out loud.

"It was just a dream."

The feelings lingered even as the details fled.  He needed to 
talk to Scully.  It didn't matter what she said to him, or he 
to her, he just needed to hear her voice to remind himself that 
she cared about him and respected him, no matter what else was 
happening.

It was urgent that he figure out the time and place, but his 
brain was like a car with a bad ignition.  Finally his brain 
cranked to life, and the details came back to him.

He was in his bed in the hotel room, and he was as bare-assed 
naked as in his dream.  Normally that was better than waking 
up in his clothes, but not this time, because he was certain 
he hadn't undressed by himself.

If Hugh had undressed him . . . If Hugh had carried him back from 
the tennis court, taken his clothes, and put him to bed . . .

Please, God, not that.

Suddenly he remembered.  It wasn't Hugh, it was Scully.  Scully 
pulling off his socks.  Scully peeling off his shirt.  But most 
of all Scully sliding down his shorts.

And he'd been dazed and enthralled, waiting for Scully to wriggle 
out of her own clothes, that slinky little tennis outfit, as blue 
as her eyes and as snug as her skin.

But she hadn't.  She'd ordered him into the bathtub.

Bubbles.  He remembered bubbles and a sweet-tangy fragrance that 
reminded him of Scully.

Was this for real?  Had Scully really scrubbed him clean and put 
him to bed?

Maybe he should be grateful he was naked.  Maybe he should thank 
God he wasn't wearing a diaper. Damn it, he thought.  He had to
pee now.  

Where was Scully?  Soft voiced drifted over from her room.  The
faint smell of food was in the air.  He tried not to think about
the vague nausea that crept over him at that scent.

Drawing back the covers, a wave of dizziness rocked him as he 
pushed himself up.  Mulder sat on the end of the bed, elbows
balanced on knees, holding his head and hoping the room would
stop spinning.

His bladder couldn't wait any longer, so he forced himself to
his feet.  His thighs ached, his back ached, even his hair 
ached.  He shuffled in the direction of the bathroom, passing
the door to Scully's room. 

"I'm right," he heard Hugh say in that damned overconfident
voice.  "Have I ever steered you wrong?"

Dr. Divine obviously saw himself as the ultimate authority
on everything and anything.  Mulder smiled as he pictured
Scully ripping the overbearing Hugh a new one.  Unfortunately,
what Mulder heard next made his aches and pains feel like a 
gentle massage.

"No, you haven't.   Hugh, I don't know what I'd do without you."

It just didn't get better than this, did it?  Scully didn't
know what she'd do without Hugh.  Obviously, she was planning
on including Hugh in her life in a big way.  Mulder shivered,
moving silently past the open doorway.

He couldn't see Scully or Hugh as he passed.  Mulder didn't know
if he was glad or sorry that he wasn't able to witness a
tender moment.  He was glad, though, that he was able to slip
by unnoticed in his bare-assed state.

He made his way to the bathroom, shutting the door and relieving
himself.  His knees felt as if they were made of jello, and he
needed to brace himself on the sink to keep from falling on his
ass.     

After washing his hands, he splashed water on his face, wincing
as the cold liquid hit his heated skin.  He dragged a hand towel
off the rack, drying his skin roughly.

Standing, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the 
sink.  His face was pale, stubble shading his jaw.  His eyes 
were red-rimmed and bleary.  All in all, a pathetic sight.  No 
wonder Scully preferred the golden Hugh.

Mulder wasn't sure how much longer he could stay on his feet.
Though he normally wasn't overly modest, his nudity left him
feeling vulnerable.  He grabbed a pair of sweatpants out of his
suitcase and dropped onto the bed to pull them on.

He fell back onto the pillows, exhausted by his little field
trip.  God, he was cold.  He pulled the blankets up around
himself, shivering so hard his teeth actually clicked together.

Mulder burrowed under the covers, miserable and alone.  Scully
was enjoying herself with Dr. Successful.  He could die here 
and she wouldn't come to him.  No, she'd find him the next 
morning, stiff and cold.  Then she'd be sorry.  He hoped she'd
be sorry.  He was still imagining his funeral, with Scully
mourning at his casket, when he fell asleep.   

*****


"I'll go in with you and hold your hand, if that's what it 
takes," Hugh said.

"Don't be silly," Scully told him.

"You're going to do it?  You'll take him in your arms and 
declare your love?"

She was indebted to Hugh for his friendship and his insight, but 
the last thing she needed right now was a drama coach.

"I'm going to tell him, but I won't be able to do it with you 
watching from the wings," she said.

"Don't chicken out," he said.  "Life is short, and love is precious."

Hugh's serious tone as he stood up to leave reminded her that he 
had suffered his own share of disappointment.   For all his 
eagerness to advise Scully about her love life, he himself
seemed to be at loose ends.

"Maybe we'll have time for a tennis lesson after your lecture," 
Scully said.

"I have a match lined up.  Another time," Hugh said, a hint of 
a smile on his lips. 

After he left, Scully tiptoed back into Mulder's room.

The bed was a testimony to how restlessly he'd slept.  One pillow 
was on the floor, and the blanket was twisted into a ball.  Mulder 
himself lay face down, stretched diagonally across the bed.  He was 
uncovered, but no longer naked.

She took a moment to enjoy the lines of Mulder's strong, well-muscled
back.  He truly was beautiful with his smooth golden skin.  He was
wearing dark blue sweatpants, the fabric molding to his firm, round
buttocks. 

Scully wouldn't have disturbed him just to straighten his bed, but at
that moment he flung himself onto his back and opened his eyes.

"Scully.  You're just in time to put nickels over my eyes," he groaned.

She couldn't help smiling.  At least he had the strength to complain.

She fluffed his pillows and helped him into a more comfortable position.
Her fingers brushed against his warm, smooth skin as she settled the
pillow behind his bare back.

"Try some ginger ale."

Mulder held the glass by himself and drank thirstily.  He reminded her 
of a little boy as he watched her over the rim of the cup.

"Thanks.  That's just what I needed," he said, settling back on his
pillows.

"Mulder, I'm so sorry.  I should have realized that you were sick,"
Scully said.

"I'm sorry too.  I don't want to make you miss the conference.  Or 
the, uh, time with old friends."

Scully smiled again, thinking of how jealous Mulder had been.  She
poured his glass half-full of ginger ale and shook a couple of Advil
into her palm.

"Medicine time," she said, and he took and swallowed the tablets.

"Thanks for putting up with me," he said. "I know I haven't been easy."

"I'll let you in on a secret," Scully told him, taking the glass from
his hand.  "I enjoy it."

"You get pleasure from my misery?  I might have known."

She brushed his hair from his forehead.

"I enjoy taking care of you," she admitted.  "Are you feeling any
better?"

"Better 'cause you're here.  Not so nauseous, either."

"Think you'll be able to sleep?"

He smiled slyly.

"Maybe if you stay with me."

It was a very practical suggestion, but the timing was 
wrong. Mulder's flirting and teasing made it harder to 
tell him what she had to say.  Scully wanted to be crystal 
clear tonight.  She couldn't afford to have the issue clouded 
by banter and innuendo.  They'd used both far too long to 
deflect their real emotions.  

Scully went back to her own room long enough to brush her teeth 
and change into her pajamas.  She had brought one man-tailored 
pair and a filmy little black nighty.  She held the two garments 
up, looking between them.  A psychologist would have a field day 
on her lingerie choices alone.  She put the nighty back in her 
suitcase, deciding it was too obvious.  She didn't want to push 
Mulder over some imaginary edge.  The dark green silk pajamas 
would do just fine.

When she returned, Mulder had switched on the TV.

"'Raiders of the Lost Ark.'  I haven't seen this in years," he 
said.  

"You're supposed to sleep."

"I'm just too achy.  But you don't have to stay up with me; I'm 
really okay now."

"The Advil will help.  And this."  She used the remote to turn off 
the TV, then touched his shoulder to urge him over onto his stomach.  
"Come on, roll over."

"Scully, 'member when you sang to me?" he asked, his voice muffled 
in the pillow.  "Only first you wanted to wrestle."

She wasn't planning to serenade him.  She had a different plan to 
soothe him to sleep.

"I remember," she said.

She placed her palms on his back.  The skin felt warm, but not hot.

"You like back rubs?" she asked.  She felt suddenly shy, and her
question seemed hideously forward.

"Everybody likes backrubs," he said.

She could feel him relax under her touch as she gently stroked his
back.  His breathing grew slow and regular, but just as she wondered 
if he might be asleep, he spoke.

"I'm not fighting fair," he said.

"It's okay, Mulder.  Go to sleep," she answered.  He didn't sound
delirious, just sleepy.

"You're a sucker for an invalid, aren't you, Scully?"

Well, she'd admitted that much already, hadn't she?

"Shh, Mulder.  You need to rest."

"I wish this could last.  I wish I could be sick forever."

"You can't possibly mean that."  She smiled to herself.  Being weak 
and helpless made Mulder miserable, no matter how much he enjoyed 
backrubs.

"But I wouldn't do that to you.  I'd want to, but I couldn't."

"That's good to know," she said, moving her hand from his back to 
ruffle his hair.

"What would you do without him, Scully?"

Mulder no longer sounded sleepy.  He sounded alert and edgy.

"What are you talking about?" 

"I heard you, Scully.  You and Dr. Perfection."

"You were listening?"

Scully felt her stomach lurch.  If Mulder had heard her conversation
with Hugh, then he already knew how she felt. Why did he sound as if 
he was baiting her?  

"I don't want your pity, Scully.  Well, I guess I do want your pity, 
but I shouldn't.  You don't have to stay here."

"My pity?  Mulder, is that what you're thinking?"

"I tried to tell myself you were just old friends.  Hell, I even hoped
you were using him to make me jealous. If it wasn't for the flu, if it
wasn't for that scene at the airport, I still think I would have had a
chance."

"Mulder, whatever you heard, you heard it wrong."  

He wasn't making sense, and she wondered if his fever was rising again. 
She touched the back of her hand to his neck, trying to judge his
temperature.

"Then explain it to me.  How you can't live without him.  How he's 
never steered you wrong."

Scully was overwhelmed by deja vu.  This was the exact argument of 
the night before.  Mulder was convinced that she stayed by his side 
only out of obligation and that her heart belonged to Hugh Davis.  
Last night she'd expressed her devotion in words that were clear as 
glass to her, but were somehow ambiguous to her shaky partner.

Then, when the flu had knocked Mulder off his feet, she'd been the
insecure one, and taken his illness for retreat and rejection.

Even now she felt a sliver of apprehension.  Mulder was a complicated
man, and their relationship was uniquely layered and intricate.  
Maybe the words he was begging for tonight would frighten him the 
next morning.  Maybe Mulder didn't know his own mind as well as he 
thought he did.

Life is short and love is precious, Hugh had told her.  Right after 
he warned her not to chicken out.  

Well, she'd be damned if she would chicken out.  

"I'm waiting, Scully."

Mulder was practically taunting her, challenging her to be the one 
brave enough to say the words.

Good lord, what a pair they were.  Pretending all their baggage could
fit in the overhead compartment, when each of them needed a steamer
trunk.

"Mulder--"

"Scully, wait!"  There was urgency, even panic, in his interruption.  
"I changed my mind.  Don't say it, Scully."

He was talking into the pillow, afraid to face her.

"I have to, Mulder.  We can't go on like this," she said hoarsely.

"I don't think I'm ready."

She heard terror in his voice.  If he wasn't ready now, he would never
be ready.  

"Mulder . . . "  If she didn't tell him in the next second, she would
never find the courage again.

"I love you!" She said it in a sob, and then she held her breath.

Mulder's back stiffened.  He didn't answer.   He was holding his breath
too.

Scully waited and waited, and then she took the first breath.  She was
also the first to speak.

"Mulder?"

Mulder gasped almost convulsively, and Scully grabbed the pillow to try
to move it away from his mouth.  Mulder clutched the pillow from both
edges and wouldn't give it up.

"Mulder!"

His shoulders relaxed, but he kept his face buried in the pillow.

"Just go, Scully."

This couldn't be happening, not again.

"Mulder, no!"

"I'm sorry.  I'm sorry."

"Mulder, don't.  Please don't."

"I need to be alone.  Get out, Scully, I mean it."

"I love you.  I can't help it, Mulder."  Tears blinded her as she choked
out the words.

Mulder rose on one elbow, turning to face her.  He looked as if someone 
had punched him in the stomach, his eyes wide with pain.  Oh God, he
was horrified at her words.  

"Just go, Scully!  Get out of here!"

She almost stumbled over his sneakers as she backed away from the bed.  

"I can't help it," she sobbed.  "I just can't help it."

The door was behind her.  Just another step and she'd be back in her own
room.  

"I can't help it, Mulder.  Don't ask me to stop."

She took that final step and hurled the door shut.  Leaning against it,
she clenched her eyes shut but couldn't stop the tears.  

How had she been so wrong?  Six years together and she'd completely 
misread her partner.  Hugh Davis had known Mulder for less than a
day, but she had bought his story of Mulder's insecurity, swallowed it
hook, line, and sinker.  

She was exactly like Diana, holding on to something that wasn't there. 
Dreaming and pretending that she and Mulder could have a future apart
from their work.

A door between them, and a simple twist would turn the lock.  She
fingered the cool metal, but she couldn't make herself turn it.  She 
was bound to Mulder and would love him forever, even if it brought her
nothing but sorrow.

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 11
 
Unfortunately, he probably wouldn't die from the flu.  Death
would have been preferable to the misery of this moment.
Mulder scrubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands. His
head pounded as the bang of the slamming door echoed long 
after Scully had fled the room.  The reverberation of her 
words would remain far longer.

"I love Hugh."  She'd sobbed out the words as he tried to bury
himself in the bedclothes.  He'd dreaded hearing that--had
been steeling himself inside to handle the news.  It hadn't 
helped much--her breathy declaration of love for the other man
had ripped his heart out quite effectively.

She loved someone else.  It wasn't her fault, really.  She 
couldn't help herself.  "Don't ask me to stop," she'd said.  
Scully loved that pompous, preening bag of wind.  Well, she 
could have him.  They deserved each other.

Mulder sighed.  Scully probably did deserve someone as rich
and accomplished as Dr. Dreadful.  She deserved to be loved
beyond all that was holy, too.  Mulder hoped Hugh loved her
as much as the dear doctor loved his own reflection in the
mirror and the sound of his own voice.

Mulder glanced down, half expecting to see his chest bloody
and his ribs spread by one of Scully's torturous autopsy
instruments.  She'd certainly torn his heart out and left
behind a yawning maw in its place.  

And he couldn't even hate her for it.  She was the most
honorable person he knew.  In all the years he'd known Dana 
Scully, she'd never been intentionally cruel.  Even now, he 
didn't believe she wanted to hurt him.  She couldn't help 
whom she loved.

Mulder knew he was a poor substitute for the incredibly
successful Hugh, but he'd been so sure Scully had returned
his feelings.  How could he have been so wrong?  

Though far from conceited, Mulder was well aware of the effect
he had on women.  He didn't put much stock in it--a lucky 
role of the genetic dice had determined he would have good
looks.  It wasn't something he worked at or courted, but
the fact was, he walked into a room and women turned his way. 

So, he wasn't unfamiliar with the look a woman had when she 
was interested.   When he'd looked into Scully's ocean blue 
eyes, he'd been convinced that she wanted him as much as he 
wanted her.  Obviously, he'd been horribly, unbearably 
mistaken.

Mulder remembered the tears in her voice as she choked out 
her love for another man.  He'd thought for a moment that 
he'd misunderstood, that maybe he hadn't heard right, but it 
was all too clear.  She loved someone else and it clearly had
not been easy for her to open herself up like that.

He thought about getting up and going after Scully.  She'd
been so upset--obviously hating that she was hurting him.
Unfortunately, Mulder could barely muster the strength to 
lift his head off the pillow.  

He wasn't sure how long he'd lain there, almost paralyzed 
with wracking pain.  He wasn't sure how much of the pain
was the flu and how much was his ravaged emotions.  A sound 
at the door finally roused him.

"Fox?"

Oh shit.  The familiar voice and the persistent rapping at 
the door were as welcome as as the first tingle of jock itch. 

"Fox, are you in there?  Are you all right?  Please, Fox,
I've been traveling for hours, and I'm exhausted.  Open up."

"Wait a minute," he rasped, his throat incredibly raw.  
Mulder struggled off the bed, clutching his reeling head
and staggered to the door.

"Tell me you're not sick, Fox," Diana exclaimed, taking a 
long, shrewd look at him.   "You just can't be sick."

"I can't?  And I was so looking forward to the projectile
vomiting I had scheduled for later."

"Oh darling, I didn't mean it like that," Diana purred, taking
Mulder's elbow and helping him back to bed.  "It's just so 
awful to be sick away from home."

"It's not like I planned it, Diana," he muttered.  She wasn't
fooling him at all.  Diana always had her eye on the prize and
he was pretty sure the prize was the banquet at the end of the
conference.

"You poor thing.  I met Agent Scully downstairs and she gave
me your room number."  Well, that explained how Diana found his
room.  The front desk wouldn't have revealed it, unless Diana 
had flashed her badge and conned the clerk.  Mulder was a little
surprised that Scully had offered up the information to someone
she distrusted.  

Diana made quite a show of fluffing pillows and straightening 
the sheets.  "She was acting strangely...even for her."

"Strangely?" he asked.

"Yes.  I found her in the hotel bar with an absolutely 
divine-looking man.  She has good taste...I have to give her 
that.  And he could barely keep his hands off her, from what
I could see."

"You said she acted strangely," he prompted, trying to erase 
the image of Hugh pawing his partner.  Scully couldn't have 
been too broken up, could she.  Not if she was having a drink 
with good old Dr. Divine-Looking.

"Well, for one thing, Agent Scully looked like she'd been 
crying.  I explained that I'd been trying to reach you on 
your cell phone, which must have a dead battery, by the way.  
I was prepared for a hard time from your partner--she's 
never been exactly cordial, you know.  But she gave me your 
room number right away.  And then she wished me luck, whatever 
that meant." 

Whatever that meant.  Scully probably hoped Diana would be able
to keep him out of trouble long enough for her to elope with 
Hugh.  Poor Scully--saddled with a screw-up partner who got 
sick and cramped her style with Prince Charmless.   She must 
have seen Diana as the replacement baby-sitter for her problem 
charge. 

He released a ragged sigh, which set off a nasty coughing jag
which caused his head to throb even worse.  Mulder moaned and 
covered his eyes to shut out the light.

"Poor Fox.  Poor baby," Diana cooed.  Unfortunately, her 
sympathy didn't extend past her voice.  Her face broadcast her 
dissatisfaction with finding him under the weather.   Damn, he 
wished she'd go away and stop looking at him like a vulture 
eyeing a tasty bit of roadkill.

"I'm really tired, Diana.   Maybe I'll feel better if I get a 
little sleep."  Maybe he'd feel better if he blew his brains out.

"Yes," she said, forcefully.  "You sleep some more and I'm sure
you'll be up and about in no time.  I'm going to check in to the 
hotel and try to get a room on this floor."

He rolled onto his side, his back to her and grunted a response.
He felt her hand stroke along his arm and he tried not to stiffen
up under her touch.

"I wonder if Agent Scully is going to be using her room?" 
Diana mused, and Mulder pulled a pillow over his head.

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

Tears blurred Scully's eyes as she stumbled back to her 
room.  How on earth had she misread Mulder so horribly?  
She'd been so sure his feelings had matched her own, but 
obviously, he'd been appalled at her declaration of love.

Damn Hugh.  Scully wanted to strangle her old friend for 
convincing her to tell Mulder how she felt.  She stumbled 
through the connecting door and managed to lock it behind 
her, no easy feat with her hands trembling and her heart 
pounding.

Sinking down onto the bed, she gave way finally to the sobs 
she'd held in since her humilation in Mulder's room.  Images 
flashed in front of her eyes: Mulder gathering her into a 
crushing embrace in the Senate chambers,  Mulder's eyes 
glistening with emotion as he moved to kiss her in the hall 
outside his apartment, and finally his look of horror at 
hearing her say "I love you."

Tears streamed down her face as she recalled Mulder's anguish.  
He hadn't meant to hurt her, she knew that.  Scully was convinced
that Mulder truly cared for her, though obviously not in the way
she loved him.  He trusted her, which for a man as wary as Mulder
was a miracle in itself.  But trust and affection don't 
necessarily translate into romantic love.  

He must be in agony now, she thought, worried that she would leave
him.  A transfer might be easier in some ways.  Scully dreaded 
facing her partner now that she knew how he really felt.  It would 
be awkward and painful for both of them.   Would they be able to 
get past that?  

She brushed the tears from her face, annoyed with herself for 
falling apart.  "Pull yourself together, dammit," she muttered
to herself as she rose from the bed.       

Scully looked down at her green pajamas.  She'd chosen them because 
they were safe, because they wouldn't frighten Mulder with the 
ferocity and passion of her feelings.  On one level she must have 
understood the nature of her bond with Mulder, that it was about 
friendship and loyalty, but never about physical intimacy.  

She couldn't bear the silk on her skin one more minute. She 
unbuttoned the shirt, wishing she could strip off the memory of 
her heartbreak as easily.  She'd never sleep tonight.  The nightmare
would cycle through her mind over and over.  Scully needed to decompress
and that always involved large amounts of hot water.  Though she 
generally preferred baths, tonight, she wanted a shower--maybe a 
yearlong one if the hotel's hot water supply held out.  

Slipping out of her pajamas, she turned the water on, as hot and
as hard as she could stand it.  Scully stood, head bowed under the
rush of water, wishing it could wash her misery away.  Sadly, there
wasn't enough water in the Atlantic to do that.  Lathering her skin
with shower gel, she attempted to force images of Mulder out of her 
mind to no avail.  His anguished face appeared before her whether her 
eyes were open or shut.  

With a loud sigh, she turned off the shower and reached for a towel.
She dried her skin, rubbing a little more roughly than necessary.  
Scully caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror.  Her face
was pale, the freckles undisguised by makeup.  Her eyes had a hollow
look.   How could she appear so whole when her world had shattered?

The air was chilly as she returned to the bedroom and gathered up
the discarded pajamas.  It was only 9:30, but she felt weary beyond 
words.  Suddenly, she found herself picturing Mulder on the tennis 
court, drenched with sweat and unconscious.  She shivered as she 
remembered his head lolling back as Hugh had lifted him off the ground.  

No matter how unhappy she was, she couldn't abandon her partner when
he was sick.  Mulder was still in danger from the flu and becoming
seriously overheated earlier in the day.  His fever could spike, and 
she worried about what could happen if he was alone.  She dropped the 
pajamas on the bed and turned to the closet, finding a pair of 
tailored black slacks and a soft, green sweater.

Hugh had gotten her into this mess, she mused as she dressed.  He had
to help her with Mulder.   Too impatient to dry her hair, she combed 
it through, tucking it behind her ears.  

If her old friend wasn't in his room, she'd track him down and send 
him to keep an eye on Mulder.  Pocketing her card key, she pulled the 
door shut and stalked off to Hugh's room.

Hugh was exiting his room, just as she approached.  He looked at her
in surprise.  "Dana!  I assumed you'd be snuggled up with our invalid.  
What are you doing here?"

"You need to do something for me," she said, trying her best to 
control the tremor in her voice.  Maybe coming to Hugh was a mistake.  
He'd want to hear all the gory details, and with her emotions so 
raw and shaky, she might not be able to resist telling him everything. 

"Dana...What happened?" Hugh asked, his concern apparent.  "You
told Mulder how you felt?

"Oh, I told him all right," she said.  "And I'd like to thank you
for your wonderful damn advice.  Oh God, Hugh, it was a disaster."

"I don't know what to say...I can't believe I was wrong about him.  
The man loves you, Dana.  I'm sure of it."

"Well, he had a pretty strange reaction for a man in love."  Her
voice cracked as she recalled the horrible scene.  Hugh slipped
an arm around her, pulling her close.

"I'm so sorry," he said.  "Is it possible you misread him?  Maybe
he was just shocked that you'd said the words."

"No," she said, shaking her head.  "There was no mistaking his 
reaction.  You know that 'deer in the headlights' look?"

"Of course.  That look of surprise," Hugh answered cautiously.

"Not surprise.  Horror."  She shook her head.  "Mulder's face looked
like the deer at the moment of impact.  Hugh, he looked as if I 
had run him over with a tractor-trailer."
 
Hugh arm was still around her, and he turned and gave her a full hug.

"Dana, I know it hurts now, but I have to be glad he's out of your
life.  There is still no question in my mind that he loves you, but 
his reaction suggests some actual mental illness."

"Stop it, Hugh.  I didn't ask for your diagnosis."  She pulled away 
from him, angry that he continued to offer up his easy analysis when 
it was his faulty judgment that had brought her to this catastrophe.

He released her and took a step back.

"I was on my way down for a nightcap," he said quietly.

"But I need you to stay with Mulder," she reminded him.

"We need to talk.  He'll be okay for half an hour."

It sounded reasonable enough, and Scully knew that at least some of 
her anger was misplaced.  She nodded her assent though her eyes 
drifted back in the direction of Mulder's room.

Hugh settled his arm across her shoulder, and she let him pull 
her into the warmth of his protection as he led her to the elevator.

"Some people aren't capable of receiving love, or returning it.  You
need to find someone who is," Hugh said as he pushed the call button
on the elevator.  "You deserve it."

Scully almost laughed.  She might need love and probably did deserve it,
but the last few hard years had taught her that people didn't always
get what they needed and rarely what they deserved.  Scully knew she 
could only love Mulder, whatever that brought her in return.  Perhaps 
she was as demented as he was.

She felt unreal as they rode down to the lobby level.  Hugh guided her
into the dimly lit bar and chose a table near the door.   The curvaceous
barmaid approached, smiling brightly at Hugh.  Poor fool.  Another 
woman who wasn't likely to get what she hoped for.

"A shot and a beer.  And a white wine, please," Hugh said.  The waitress 
nodded as she took the order, and it was no surprise when she placed the 
wine glass in front of Scully.  With a last, lingering smile, the woman
retreated.

Hugh made the switch.

"I used to think you drank these to impress people," he said.

"You were right," Scully admitted.  "I haven't had one in years."

Back then it was about proving that she was tough.  Now she needed it
for anesthesia.  She downed the fiery whiskey and chased it with the
cold beer.

"Dana...I never thought there'd be anyone to replace Dominic.  I never 
thought I'd want anyone else," Hugh said.

Scully was about to protest the comparison when she realized there was
more to his statement.

"And now?" she asked.

"Too soon to tell.  You'll be the first to know," he said, with a
mysterious smile.

"Who is he?"  Talking about Hugh's situation was infinitely more
comfortable than contemplating her own.

"What's the official FBI policy on nontraditional partnerships?" Hugh
asked.

"You're trying to change the subject."  Scully sipped her beer, grateful
for anything that took the edge off her pain.

"I'm really quite interested."

"This is the '90's.  It's only an issue if an agent is 'in the 
closet,'" she said.

"You're saying the FBI permits homosexuals to be special agents?" he
asked.

"As long as they're open about their orientation, so they're 
not vulnerable to blackmail."

"Probably not a great career move," Hugh said.

"You gotta be who you are," Scully said, the whiskey warmth 
flowing through her.   

Hugh didn't answer and Scully didn't press.  On the surface her 
choices might look more conventional, but she was giving up on the 
things that almost everyone held most dear.

"I think it's better to love than to be loved," she mused, looking
into what was left of her beer.

"It's better to have both, and you know it," Hugh said.  "I hope 
you don't expect me to sit up with him all night."

"Just look in on him a couple of times.  Check his temperature.
Encourage him to take fluids.  Straighten the sheets.  Give him 
more Advil.  Wipe him down if he's sweaty."

It wasn't until Hugh handed her a tissue that she realized she was
sniffling.  Somehow his act of courtesy only made her more miserable.
She shut her eyes and let Hugh comfort her, although all he could 
tell her was, "There, there."

Time would heal her.  Time would dull the pain so that she could once
again find fulfillment in loving a man who didn't want her love.

"Agent Scully?  I thought that was you."

The abrasive voice could only be Diana Fowley.  Somehow every word 
that woman spoke sounded like an accusation.

Scully looked up.  Fowley had a suitcase in one hand and a garment 
bag over her shoulder.  She looked tired and annoyed.

"I suppose it would be too much trouble for you to tell me where Fox 
is staying.  I'm sure he'd tell me himself, but his phone is dead,"  
Fowley said.

Scully began to see the woman in a new light.  A sister, perhaps,
another unhappy initiate in the Order of  Eternal Rejection.  Well,
she didn't have to like this sister in order to feel the bond.

"Agent Diana Fowley, Dr. Hugh Davis," Scully said with a nod.  
Fowley seemed surprised by the introduction.

"I'm so very glad to meet you," Hugh said, to Fowley's further
bewilderment.  Ever polite, he stood and shook Diana's hand.  
"Please, sit down."

Diana looked at them warily before pulling a chair over from another
table and dropping into it.

"Mulder has a bad case of the flu, Agent Fowley," Scully explained.
"Perhaps you can see to it that he has plenty to drink, and give 
him more Advil around one o'clock."

"I'm sure that can wait for morning," Fowley said.  "I need to get 
some rest myself."

"He needs something to keep his fever down," Scully emphasized.  She
was rather enjoying the growing look of alarm on Diana's face.

"He sounds contagious," Fowley commented.  "Don't you usually take 
care of him?"

"Dana, you worry too much.  I'm sure that agent from AFT said she'd
check in on him," Hugh said.

Fowley's face grew wary and then took on a mask of concern.

"I know he'd be more comfortable with an old, dear friend.  Just
give me his room number."

"834," said Scully.  "And good luck."

**********

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 12

He was hot.  Miserable and hot and tangled in the bedsheets.
He'd been freezing cold when Scully had first left him in his
wretchedness.  Mulder had pulled on a t-shirt, unable to
summon the strength to find his sweatshirt.

But now the t-shirt clung to his heated skin like a damp
straitjacket.  He'd woken, panting from a dream that
he was wrestling with an octopus, its tentacles binding
him to the ocean floor.  The sand at the bottom of the ocean
had burned like hot coals.

He woke to find Diana sitting on the side of the bed, her
expression annoyed as she switched on the lamp.

"Wha' timesit?" he grunted, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Almost one in the morning," she answered, irritation plain
in her voice.  "Sit up, Fox.  Agent Scully wouldn't leave me
alone until I agreed to bring you two Advil.  I have *no* idea
why she won't come here and give them to you herself.  No,
she'd rather wake me out of a sound sleep and nag me."

He'd squinted at her, blinking as the bright light hurt his
eyes.  "Prolly didn't want to leave Dr. Narcissus," he
muttered around the pills.  Diana looked puzzled, handing him a
glass of water.

"Who?" she asked.  He swallowed the medication, holding up his
hand to indicate his inability to speak.

"Never mind.  Thank you for bringing me the Advil," he said.  He
hoped she would straighten out his sheets and fluff his pillows
and the dozen other things Scully would have done, but Diana
just stood up and tightened the belt on her robe.

"Get some rest, Fox."  She snapped out the bedside lamp and left
him in his clammy, miserable, tousled bed.

His bones ached, making it difficult to sleep.  Finally, he fell
into a restless slumber, this time dreaming that he was sleeping
on a pile of wet rocks.

He woke again to the glare of the bedside lamp, this time finding
Hugh looking down at him as if observing an interesting strain
of bacteria.

"What the hell are you?  The ghost of Christmas present?" Mulder
asked, pushing himself up in bed.  God, his muscles hurt.

"Hardly," Hugh said.  "And I'm not your fairy godmother either."

The other man brandished the now familiar blue and white
bottle of Advil.  He shook two pills into Mulder's hand and handed
him a glass of water.

"I'm wondering who Scully's going to send with the next dose--
Simmons from Accounting?"

"Listen, Mulder.    I don't normally rise before dawn unless
there's a dead body or a tennis match at stake.  Your partner
was worried enough about you to call me when Agent Fowley
declined the honor of giving you the next dose.  If it were
up to me..."

Hugh didn't finish the thought.

"If she's so worried, why isn't she here?"  Mulder asked as he
put the glass on the bedstand.

"I think her reasons are fairly obvious."  Hugh snapped the lid
back on the bottle of pills and set it on the nightstand.  He
sighed loudly, looking down at the tangled bed and sweaty man
in it.  "Come on," Hugh said.  "Let's get you sorted out."

Hugh pulled the desk chair over.  Groaning as his muscles protested,
Mulder pushed himself off the bed and shuffled over to the chair.
Hugh set about straightening the bed, pulling the sheets taut and
shaking out the pillows.

"Dana wanted me to give you a sponge bath," Hugh said, fighting a
smile.  "I reminded her that you have a gun."

"I'll pass," Mulder muttered.  He did feel miserably clammy, though,
as he peeled the t-shirt away from his damp skin.  Hugh muttered
under his breath and went into the bathroom, returning with a wet
washcloth and dry towel.

Mulder pulled the offending shirt off, tossing it into the corner
and gratefully took the washcloth from Hugh.  It felt delightfully
cool against his skin as he swabbed it over his chest and arms.

"Thanks," he said, handing the washcloth back.  Mulder decided not
to try his luck and ask Hugh to wipe down his back.  Hugh tossed
him the towel and stepped away, returning with a dry t-shirt from
the dresser drawer.

"Don't mention it," Hugh said.  "I mean that.  Don't mention it to
anyone or I'll have to hurt you."

By the time the good doctor closed the door behind him, a slightly
bemused Mulder was comfortably resting against his newly fluffed
pillows.

He drifted into a comfortable, dreamless sleep.  When he woke,
sunlight was invading the room, creeping in around the curtain
edges.

Mulder studied the light that splashed across his bed and even
glinted off the mirror and tried to guess the time.  Nine?  Ten?
Morning, anyway.

Then it hit him.  His eyes didn't hurt.  Cautiously he rose from
the bed.  The room remained stationary, and while his neck and
legs felt sore, he didn't feel as if steel stakes were poking
through his muscles.  He walked to the bathroom and was able to
complete his mission without clutching the towel rack for support.
Even a shower seemed to be within his power, but he found himself
without the motivation.

Why get dolled up to lie around in  bed?  Scully would be spending
the day entwined with Dr. You-may-kiss-the-ring.  She'd follow him
to the tennis court, and sit by his right hand at the table, and
probably take in his big lecture from the front row.   Now and then
she'd shanghai some poor sucker to look in on Mulder.  *"Could you
do me a favor, Elaine?  If Mulder's still alive, he's due for more
Advil."*

Mulder didn't need to be clean.  He could stay in his bed and reek,
for all anyone cared.  He reached for the remote control.

A fat man in a bow tie was stirring a bowl of batter.  When Mulder
found himself entranced by the process, he realized that he was
hungry.  Screw that.  He changed the channel.

Ah, his old friend, Jerry Springer.  No wolf-boys this time.  A
bunch of more or less human types were screaming at one another
while the studiously ineffective security men held them apart.

"My girlfriend's boyfriend is gay!" the subtitle explained.

Mulder contemplated the permutations, shrugged, and clicked the
remote again.

A local newscast was highlighting a conference of "America's top
lawmen--and women--at the Plantation Beach Resort."  The footage
looked canned and the narrative was mindlessly exuberant.  A
packaged piece of PR straight from the FBI press office, Mulder
decided.  "Keynote speaker at the conference is renowned pathologist,
Dr. Hugh Davis."  Mulder threw a wadded up tissue at the TV and
turned back to Jerry Springer.

The connecting door to Scully's room opened slowly, and Mulder's
heart skipped with the thought that Scully was finally coming to
see him.  He snapped the TV off, dropped back against the pillow,
and shut his eyes.  As the footsteps neared his bed, he realized
that his visitor wasn't Scully.

"Sir?  I thought you might be hungry."

"Tim?"

Mulder asked himself why he was so surprised.  No doubt about it,
Simmons from accounting would be next.  Tim wore navy tennis shorts
and a navy and gray Fila polo shirt.   He was carrying a tray.

"Dr. Davis has to go over the slides for his lecture," McCloskey
explained.

"Dr. Davis told you to bring me breakfast?"

Tim moved aside the water glass and set the tray on the bedstand.

"Anything else I can do for you?" he asked.

Mulder eyed the tray.  A covered plate and a cup of tea.

"How about some coffee?" he asked.

"Um . . ."  Tim glanced back at the connecting door.  "No."

It didn't take a genius to figure it out.  Scully refused to visit
him herself, but she was funneling caretakers through her room.

"Agent Scully gave you her keycard?" Mulder asked.

McCloskey looked uncomfortable and didn't answer.  A knock at the
door ended his ordeal.

"I wonder who that is?" he asked.

Mulder knew who it was.  Only Diana had used the outside door
instead of detouring through Scully's room.

"Fox!  I have your corn muffin!"

"Let her in," Mulder directed McCloskey.

The young agent opened the door and Fowley strode into the room.
She carried a tray identical in appearance to the one on the
bedstand.  She stopped in her tracks and studied McCloskey for a
moment, then continued to the bed.

"You have to eat.  It's a corn muffin, and you can manage it," she
announced.

"Is this part of the conference?" Mulder asked.  "Is Scully giving
lessons on my care and feeding?"  McCloskey laughed for a second,
until a glare from Diana made him stop.

"Don't be silly," Fowley snapped.  "I'm perfectly capable of
bringing you a corn muffin without instructions from your
partner."  Mulder found himself indifferent to Fowley's
temper.

"Thanks.  You can leave it on the dresser," he said.

"I just want you to get well, Fox."  Fowley softened her voice.

"I'm bound to survive, will all these corn muffins."  Mulder hadn't
checked McCloskey's tray, but he knew that it carried another corn
muffin.  Fowley hadn't noticed the second tray before.

"Very kind of you to look after him," Fowley told McCloskey.
"I don't believe we've met."

"Tim McCloskey, Behavioral Sciences."  There was an awkward moment
when Tim expected Fowley to offer him her hand, and she let him wait
a split second before she made the gesture.

"Diana Fowley."  She shook his hand and studied him carefully,
eyeing him up and down.  "How tall are you?"

"Ma'am?  Five-foot-eight, ma'am."

"Could work," she murmurred cryptically.  Diana seemed to be taking
Tim's measure in more ways than one, noting his muscular build and
all-American good looks.  Mulder watched as Diana tapped a long red
fingernail against her upper lip.  McCloskey fidgeted under the
scrutiny, a deep blush rising from the collar of his polo shirt.
Mulder wondered if Diana was going to check the young man's teeth
next.

"Ma'am..." Tim began, his voice cracking a bit.  "Is there something
I can do for you?"

"Why yes, I believe you could.  Agent Mulder was going to escort me
to the banquet tomorrow night, but I'm afraid he's still going to be
under the weather."

"Diana!" Mulder exclaimed.   "I..."

"Oh Fox, I know you're disappointed, but really, dear, we have to
be practical.  You're far too ill to go.  You can barely raise
your head off the pillow."

"Ma'am, I'm certainly very honored, but...I'm afraid I already have
plans."

"Oh, how disappointing," Diana said.  "Are you sure you couldn't
change your plans?  I know we'd have a wonderful time at the
banquet."

"I'm sure it would be great, but really, Ma'am, I have a previous
commitment."

Mulder watched irritation flare briefly in Diana's face before
she composed herself again.  She sighed deeply and turned
to Mulder.

"Well then, you'll just have to focus on getting well, Fox."
Diana smiled brilliantly as she straightened a wrinkle in the
blanket.  Tim seemed relieved that her attention had drifted
in another direction.  Diana glanced at the clock on the
nightstand.

"Oh my, look at the time.  I had better run along if I'm going
to get a seat for Dr. Davis' lecture.  Now Fox, you must rest
and drink plenty of fluids.  I'll stop by later to see how you're
doing."

Tim exhaled slowly, obviously trying to regain his equilibrium
when the door closed behind Diana.  Mulder wouldn't have been
surprised to see Tim wipe the sweat off his brow and exclaim
"Whew."

"Plans, Tim?" Mulder asked.  "I'm surprised--passing up the
opportunity to go to the banquet with an attractive woman like
Agent Fowley.  She's had a fascinating career."

"I'm sure she has, sir.  But . . . well, I just don't like
feeling like one of the hogs, when the farmer's making his
pick for the smokehouse."

"I hear you," Mulder said.  Diana's attention was more unsettling
than flattering, especially for a cautious rookie from the
corn belt.

"I'd better be going," Tim said.  He placed a card on the
breakfast tray.  "That's my cell number, if you need something."

"Enjoy your game," Mulder said, since the kid was obviously
dressed for tennis.

"Game?  Oh, that was earlier.  I'm going to change for the
pathology lecture."

"Better take notes," Mulder said.

"You bet," Tim agreed.  "I'm sorry you have to miss it."  He left
through the hall door, letting it lock behind him, and Mulder
turned his attention back to the TV.

Jerry, cartoons, CNN, a movie, music videos . . . finally he
settled on watching two men sand and stain a desk from a used
furniture store.  He sipped his tea, still wishing it was coffee,
and then reluctantly reached for the corn muffin.

If Scully was here, she would cut it into quarters for him.  Maybe
she'd eat a section herself, to keep him company.  She brought him
corn muffins whenever he was sick or injured and he always managed
to eat them.

When Scully was there, it was a sacrament.  Without her it was an
over-sweet yellow cake.  He ate it anyway, while the men on TV beat
the old desk with chains to turn it into an antique.  Sucks to be
a desk, he thought as he fell asleep.

He awoke to a series of taps on the arm, as if a blunt-billed
woodpecker was searching him for termites.

"Mulder!  Mulder!  Mulder!"

He blinked his eyes open.

"Whaddaya want?" he asked.  Little Elaine Cogan was hovering over
his bed.

"Wake up."

"Quit yapping, I'm up."

"Don't snarl at me.  I brought your juice."

"Don't want juice."

He shut his eyes and turned away.  Now Elaine would tell Scully
that he didn't drink his juice, and then Scully would have to
come herself.  She'd be stern and a little impatient, reminding
him that he needed fluids to get well.  Or maybe she'd just be
kind and concerned, stroking his hair and urging him to try a
taste.

"You're a pain in the butt when you're sick.  How does Scully put
up with you?"

"She doesn't.  She finds other suckers to do it,"  Mulder said
without opening his eyes.

"Drink your juice, Mulder.  I have to get back to the lecture."

"Who's stopping you?"

"Oy vey!  Next time you want your green goop analyzed in the
middle of the night, call someone else!"  Elaine put the juice
on the nightstand and trotted out of the room.

Mulder opened his eyes.  He stared at the juice, as if the
untouched glass would pull Scully to his bedside.  If he
concentrated enough, Scully would know how much he needed her.
She'd be forced to come to him, even if it meant missing the
lecture.  Mulder realized he was irrational and needy, but damn
it, he didn't care right now.  He wanted Scully.

Because that's how close they were.  She had never been his lover,
but she had always been his friend, his best friend, the one
person he could trust when he couldn't even trust himself.

He could keep that much, couldn't he?  Did he have to lose it all?

Suddenly, he wished for the nausea and dizziness that had protected
him from the truth.  He wished he was so sick that he couldn't think
straight, because thinking straight hurt far more than the flu.

Who was he to expect Scully's company and comfort when she'd given
her heart to another man?  It wasn't reasonable or realistic.  Even
if he and Scully found a way to continue as partners, things would
have to change.  No more late night phone calls, or get-togethers
that were nominally about paperwork but really about pizza and
videos.

A chill ran through him as the enormity of his loss hit him again.
He had never held Scully in his arms and kissed her and now he never
would.  But it was worse than that.  He would lose his partner and
his best friend.

A little more than forty-eight hours ago he'd been dreaming about
swimsuits and sunscreen.  How little time it had taken to turn his
life to dust.

But what about Scully?  How could her life have changed so fast?
How could she be so sure, after only a few days, that Hugh Davis
was the man she'd been waiting for?

He couldn't accept it, and yet he had no choice.  He sank back
against his pillow and drew the blanket tight around himself.
He felt cold to his bones, but it was a cold that came from inside.
Scully was lost to him, but she was safe and alive.  When she was
dying from cancer, or vanished from the top of a mountain, or
snatched by a madman, he would have traded anything for her to
be alive and well.  He had that now, and it would have to suffice.

Scully is safe, he repeated to himself, forcing the words to fill his
mind so that he didn't have to think about anything else.  Let her be
safe.  Let her be happy.

It was a long time before semi-consciousness turned to sleep.  Maybe
Diana Fowley banged on his door and yelled for him to let her in, or
maybe it was a dream.  The part where she enfolded him in her scaly
wings was certainly a dream, but the panic was real as he fought to
free himself.

He had to escape from Diana.  He had to get to Scully.  To the
church.  To the wedding.  He had to stop her.

"Scully!" his mind screamed her name, but his voice wouldn't come.
"Scully!"

But she must have heard him, because she turned from the altar and
answered his silent call.

"Ben!"

Who was Ben?  It didn't matter, because suddenly they were on a bus,
grabbing, clutching, kissing to the strains of Simon and Garfunkel.
Scully was kissing him, and one of them must have been crying
because he was wet with tears.

Mulder woke with a jolt as cool fingers stroked the hair from his
forehead.  He felt the shift of the mattress as someone sat on its
edge, but no lips touched his.  That must have been part of the
dream.

"Scully," he whispered.  Please let the fingers be Scully's.

He kept his eyes closed, afraid that the hand belonged to Diana.
Curiosity eventually won out, and he opened his eyes to the vision
of Scully gazing down at him.  The look on her face seemed to be
one of longing.  He felt a pang of sorrow when she removed her hand.

"No fever.  You're on the mend, Mulder," she said, the slightest
tremor in her voice.

"What time is it?" he asked, pushing himself up in bed.

"Nearly five," she answered.  Scully's eyes were trained on the
bedspread, as if the floral pattern was suddenly fascinating.

"I slept the day away."

"You obviously needed the rest, Mulder. You're looking much
better."

She sat on his bed, real, solid, and caring.  She wasn't lost to
him, not yet.  He reached for her hand, his grasp firm around her
wrist, and he brought it to his lips.

Amazingly, she didn't jump up from the bed.  Her eyes were
luminous, fixed on his face with an expression he was afraid
to interpret.  Under other circumstances, he'd have classified
it as desire.  More likely she was stunned at the impropriety of
the gesture.

Scully was so beautiful.  Her shape, her form, and even her skin.
Creamy and flawless, her cheeks blushed pink, but not with
cosmetics.  He couldn't look away.

Her lips mesmerized him.  They were pink and firm and incredibly
soft.

How could he know the feel of her lips?  He couldn't, but he did.

His face was inches from hers as they sat on the bed.  He could
detect the faint scent of a peach. She must have eaten a peach
that afternoon.  He knew it.  The fuzzy skin against her white
teeth, the little burst of juice when she bit.  He could see it all.

The lips.  Pink against the yellow flesh of the fruit.  Her tongue
pink, too, as she dabbed the juice from her lips.

Suddenly, Mulder had to know what those lips felt like.  He
wouldn't be able to live another day without finding out if
they were as soft as they looked.   He certainly couldn't
spend the rest of his life wondering.  If he had to live his
whole life without her beside him, he would taste those lips
at least once.

Mulder leaned forward, closing the gap between them and pressed
his lips to hers.  Scully gasped in surprise, but didn't pull
away.  Rather, she warmed under his kiss, seeming to come alive
before him.

Emboldened by her response, his hands grasped her shoulders,
pulling her closer.  Her cool fingers were at the nape of his
neck, sliding into his hair.  Dear God, he was kissing Scully.
And she was kissing back.

This was probably going to get him killed, but he had to know
if she still tasted like peaches.  His tongue traced her lips,
and his heart nearly stopped when they parted, allowing him to
taste the sweetness within.

Suddenly, Scully pulled back.  Her eyes were wide as she gasped
for breath.  Rising quickly from the bed, she seemed dazed for
a moment before recovering and sweeping her hair behind her
ears.

"You...you should get some more rest," she said, shakily.  "I
have to go."

"Scully," he began, his arms aching to hold her again.

"I...I have to go."  She stumbled from the room.  Mulder sank
back against the pillows, a shaky hand rising to touch his lips.

*******

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 13

What was wrong with that man?

Scully stumbled through the connecting door, her knees wobbling 
as if they were made of jello.  After carefully closing the 
door, she sank onto the bed, her head in her hands.  Her mind 
raced, trying to make sense out of what had just happened.

Last night he screamed for her to get out of his room.  
Tonight he took her in his arms and kissed her.  Her lips
still burned from that kiss.  Touching her mouth, she was 
almost surprised that her lips weren't actually on fire.

Scully would never forget Mulder's look of agony when 
she'd blurted out her love for him.  She saw his face,
a mask of shock and horror, every time she closed her eyes.
She had to face the painful truth.  Mulder didn't want 
her love, not in the conventional sense. Yet she had 
no doubt that he loved her too.

Was that why he kissed her?  How the hell did she know.  
This was Mulder.  A kiss could mean anything.  "I love 
you too."  "So long, have a nice life."  "Please don't 
leave me.  Don't quit the X-Files."

He was probably terrified that she would ask for a 
transfer.  Which is what any rational person would do,
under the circumstances.  No one but a masochist would 
want to spend every day with the man who threw her love 
back in her face.

Hugh had goaded her into pressing Mulder for more than he 
wanted to give, and it had almost cost them their partnership.  
That was the last thing she wanted, and apparently Mulder 
felt the same.

So he kissed her.

Scully should be thankful that things were back to normal, 
with Mulder pretending he'd never ordered her out of his 
room, never blanched with horror at those three little 
words.

Instead she was angry.  Why did he have to resort to his 
secret weapon?  If only he'd explained his feelings, that 
he wanted her by his side but not in his bed.  Instead he'd 
kissed her hand and then her lips.

Scully felt like a yo-yo, wrapped around Mulder's finger, 
climbing or falling at his command, and always in a spin.

When she tried to keep her distance, he drew her near.  But 
when she was the one to approach, he ran away.  It was a 
curse.  She was Tantalus, constantly tempted by sweet, 
fresh water she couldn't drink and luscious fruit she 
couldn't eat.

She knew Mulder would deny it.

What was wrong with that man, using a kiss that way?  What 
was wrong with her, for letting him?

She certainly hadn't reacted in any way that made sense.  
She should have pushed him away, slugged him--anything but 
what she had done--kissed him back like a dizzy cheerleader 
after the prom.  Scully closed her eyes in mortification 
at the memory.  She'd slid her hands up his strong arms and 
opened her mouth to his exploring tongue.

Scully flopped back onto the bed, groaning in humiliation. 
How far would Mulder take this?  Would he finally decide 
that the only way to keep her at his side was to take her
to his bed?  

She remembered a moment in Mulder's hallway, when he'd 
looked into her eyes with desperate love and told her 
how much she meant to him.  Scully firmly believed 
he would have made love to her that day, if she hadn't 
collapsed from the bee sting.  She didn't try to kid 
herself that she wouldn't have fallen into bed with him.

The phone rang, pulling her out of her retrospection. 
Sighing deeply, she reached to answer it.

Hugh's cheerful voice greeted her, and she did her
best to hide her turmoil.

"I'm on my way down to the clambake.  Shall I stop by 
your room to pick you up?"  Hugh asked.

Damn.  She'd forgotten about the gathering tonight.  Oh
joy.  Just what she needed when her life was in shreds--
down home fun with the most uptight portion of the general
population.  Nobody knew how to unwind like federal agents.

When she had first read the itinerary for the conference,
Scully had pictured enjoying lobster, corn-on-the-cob, and 
roasted potatoes with Mulder.  She'd imagined slipping 
away from the group and walking along the moonlit beach
with her partner.  

"It completely slipped my mind, Hugh.  I have to change
clothes," she said, glancing down at the business casual
outfit she'd worn to the classes she'd attended that day.
"I'd better meet you there."
 
"So, should I make a final Mulder patrol before the 
clambake?" Hugh asked.

"No," she said, more sharply than she intended.  "He 
seems to be much better.  I'm sure he can just call down
for room service.  I'd better run, so I can get changed."

She hung up the phone after agreeing on a meeting spot
on the beach and rose from the bed.  Standing in front
of the closet, she looked over her remaining clean clothes,
finally selecting an outfit.

Twenty minutes later, Scully arrived at the beach, where
tiki torches lit the picnic area.  She wore moss green and
cream print capri pants and a cream sleeveless shell.  A
lightweight green sweater was tied around her waist in case
the evening proved chilly.

The scent of roasting potatoes and boiling corn filled the
air, mixing with the tang of salt air.  She stood on a small
rise, looking down over the beach.  Laughter and raucous
voices rose up to greet her.  The food and cheerful sounds
did nothing to improve her mood.  She was still wrapped in
tumult, the sense memory of Mulder's kiss so strong she
could still feel his lips under hers.

"Agent Scully.  I have had it."

Scully closed her eyes momentarily before turning to face
the person who addressed her.  

"Agent Fowley," Scully replied.  "What might be the problem?"

Irritation was evident on Diana's face and in her voice.  
Dark eyes flashing, she stood with hands on hips, obviously
dressed to kill in a low cut red top and tight black slacks.

"You pestered me into checking on Fox, and he thanked me by
yelling insults through the door.  He wouldn't even let me in."

Sick people weren't always pleasant, but apparently that was 
beyond Diana Fowley's experience or understanding.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Scully said vaguely.  "Anyway, 
he's feeling much better tonight."

"If I knew it would be this inconvenient...what did you say?
Fox is feeling better?"

"Yes, I stopped by to see him a little while ago and he was
definitely improved."

Diana seemed inordinately pleased to hear the news.  Her 
expression brightened considerably.  She seemed to have 
forgotten Scully's existence as she strutted off in the 
direction of the hotel. 

Scully turned to scan the agents, searching for Hugh.  They'd
agreed to meet near the bar.  She noted the direction agents
carrying beer bottles seemed to be coming from and soon found
the location.

She spotted her old friend standing in the pool of light from
a tiki torch.  Hugh was talking with Tim McCloskey, his face
animated in a way she had rarely seen.  A smile broke over 
her friend's face, obviously in reaction to something Tim said,
and suddenly Scully knew why Hugh had been asking about FBI
policy on gay relationships.

"Well, well," she said to herself.  Hugh laughed, the dark
rich sound of it drifting to her on a gust of salt air from the
ocean.  There was absolutely nothing about the two men that 
would have clued anyone in to their true relationship, but 
somehow she just knew.

She was happy for him, glad one of them was lucky in love
these days.  Hugh appeared to be cool and unfazed by life, but
she knew he'd been deeply hurt when Dominic left.  She truly 
wanted her friend to be happy, and Tim seemed like an honest, 
good-hearted man.  

After a moment or two of further conversation, Tim turned and
made his way to the buffet table, leaving Hugh to smile after
him.  

"Hi Agent Scully," Tim greeted her as he passed by in search of
dinner.   "I'm going to get some lobster.  Can I bring you
something?"

"No thanks, Tim.  I think I'm just going to get a cold drink 
for now."  

With a glance back at Hugh, Tim loped off.  Official FBI 
policy or not, the young agent was going to have a tough 
road ahead of him.  As Scully was painfully aware, agent 
behavior and attitudes lagged far behind official dictates.  
Life could be terribly hard for anyone who threatened the 
status quo.

Large tin tubs filled with ice held beer and soft drinks.
Dipping her hand into the bucket, she snagged a long
neck, shaking the icy water off her fingers.  She made her
way over to Hugh.

"I was afraid you'd decided not to come," he said as she
approached.  

"Actually, I toyed with the idea of a hot bath and a room 
service dinner."

"I'm glad you came," Hugh said, slipping an arm around her
shoulder.  "I...er...had an interesting encounter with 
Mulder's ladyfriend."

"Agent Fowley?" she asked.

"The very same.  Not unattractive in a Disney wicked 
step-mother pre-transformation kind of way.  She tried to
inveigle her way onto the dais."

Scully suppressed a giggle.  "Really?"

"Really.  'Dr. Davis, your lecture was fascinating'," Hugh 
mimicked, "'I'd love to hear more about some of your cases
tomorrow night at the banquet'."

"You're kidding," Scully gasped, the giggle escaping her 
attempts at control.  

"Oh no.  She was quite persuasive.  I had to tell her all the 
seats were taken.  She isn't going to be at all happy when she 
sees you seated up there."

"Me?  Don't bring me into your little web of lies, Dr. Davis."

"You have to save me, Dana.  Or rather, you have to save Tim.
She scares him.  Come on, say you'll sit with us on the dais."

"Why do I feel like window dressing?" she asked.  Or a beard, 
she thought to herself.

"No subterfuge intended at all.  I just want the people I care 
about with me tomorrow night.  And that's you..."

"And Tim," she finished for him.  "I like him very much."

"So do I.  You sound a little hesitant, Dana.  What is it?"

"I don't know...Tim's a wonderful guy and he certainly idolizes
you."

"You make that sound like a bad thing," Hugh said, laughing.

"It's just that you can be a pretty dynamic person.  You tend
to...uh...overpower those around you."  God, this was 
uncomfortable.  She loved this man, this proud, brilliant man.  
But she knew how easy it was to be swallowed up by his persona.  

"You're afraid I'm going to dominate him," Hugh said.  "That
the big dog will be alpha male to the young pup."

"I wouldn't put it in such canine terms, but..."

"Don't worry, Dana.  Tim may appear corn-fed and bashful, but 
he's got a will of iron and a moral compass that's not to be 
believed."  Hugh looked into her eyes with rare candor.  His 
voice became soft.  "If anyone is going to be scrambling to 
keep up, it will be me.  Sit with us, please."

Scully nodded quietly.  "I'd be honored."

"Good. I'm glad.  Now let's get something to eat.  I'm starved."

Scully allowed Hugh to lead her to the buffet tables.  Spread 
out on red-checkered tablecloths was an amazing array of food.  
Suddenly hungry, she filled a plate with steamed clams, roasted
red potatoes and corn.  Hugh chose an enormous lobster.

"This needs its own zip code," he quipped.  She could tell his
eyes were scanning the area for Tim.  The young man was seated 
with a group of agents, laughing and talking.  Hugh smiled and 
drew her over to a small table.  

"Dana," Hugh began.  "I'm glad you were comfortable enough to 
share your reservations with me.  I...have to admit I had a few 
myself.  I feel so world-weary sometimes.  I wasn't looking for
love, certainly not with someone so young and fresh."

"You're not exactly an old goat, Hugh.  What are you?  Five, six 
years older than Tim?"

"Something like that."  Hugh concentrated on his lobster for a 
moment before looking up.  "Anyway, I appreciate your candor."

"Thank you."  Scully savored a bite of roasted potato.

"I remember how painful it was when I realized things with 
Dominic were never going to be what I'd hoped--that my dreams of
a life together were just never going to materialize.  It hurt
like hell, but if I hadn't faced that, I'd never have been able
to move on.  I wouldn't have any chance at real happiness."

Scully nodded, warily.  She didn't need a road map to see where 
her friend was going with this.  

"Hugh..."

"Dana, you're holding onto a dream that will never come true.  
You have to let go or you'll never be happy."

"Drop it, Hugh.  Please."  Her voice was a bit louder than she
intended, but she hated being told what to do.  Why did every
man in her life feel the need to make decisions for her?  

"How long are you going to wait, Dana?  How many years until you
finally realize he can't give you what you need?"

"Thank you," she hissed, eyes flashing. "I'm so lucky to have
someone who can take charge of my love life."  

"I can't just stand by and watch you get hurt," he said, softly.

"You don't understand about Mulder and me.  You couldn't,"  
she said, lowering her voice.  She glanced around, groaning 
when she caught a flash of red by the buffet table.  Diana 
was watching them, an amused expression on her face.  "Dammit."

Hugh followed her gaze, smiling and waving at Fowley.  

"Ah," he said, soft enough that only Scully could hear.  "Time
to lock up your puppies."

"Puppies?" Scully asked.  Hugh smiled wickedly.

"Cruella DeVille is on the prowl."

***********

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 14

"Hot damn!"

Mulder felt robust and jubilant.  His appetite was back and his 
head didn't hurt, but that didn't account for his exuberance.

"She loves me."  He said it aloud to the empty room.

She had kissed him, holding his head and parting her soft lips.  
If she had fled from the room, it was only because she was Scully.  
She would have to go through her mental gymnastics, making silly, 
pensive faces while she pondered the obvious.

And it was so, so obvious.  Scully loved him.

"You will be mine, G-woman!" he roared at the connecting door.  
Perhaps he wouldn't have been so bold if he hadn't heard Scully 
leave the room. But who knows?

It hadn't come to him all at once.  He'd been stunned and confused
by Scully's actions, first returning his kiss and then running away.  
He hadn't moved, hadn't taken his finger from his lips.  From Scully's 
room he heard silence, than the ring of her phone, then the sounds 
of her moving around, opening the closet.  By the time he heard her 
door open and shut, he knew.

The thing to do now was go collect his woman.  Wherever she was, Hugh
was there, but that didn't matter.  Hugh didn't know it yet, but he 
was history.

Mulder stripped off his shirt as he looked around the room.  Somewhere
he had the schedule of events.

He found it in the suitcase, which he'd never really unpacked.  
Usually he was careful and efficient about that, but this time 
he'd been too sick and preoccupied.

He slid his sweatpants down and kicked them off as he read the list.  

Clambake.

Well, that had his name all over it.  Vineyard boy, after all.  Spent
years sitting on the beach by the fire, getting stoned and making out.

Okay, no getting stoned any more.  Bad form for FBI agents.  But with
a little luck and a lot of perseverance, making out would be in his
near future.

Mulder danced his way into the bathroom, his joy spilling out in song.  

"If you wanna know, if she loves you so, it's in her kiss -- That's
where it is!"

He turned on the shower, continuing the chorus of shoop shoops.

Maybe next time he took a shower, he would have some company, but 
maybe not. Scully could be very slow about catching on, because she 
insisted on following her ponderous logic instead of her feelings.

Hugh was handsome, famous, and rich, so logically, Scully's biological
imperative should direct her to choose him. Survival of the fittest,
natural selection, blah, blah, blah.  

None of that mattered.  Scully was in love with Mulder, and sooner or
later she'd figure it out.  Perhaps if he swept her into his arms and
carried her off the beach she'd get a hint.

Mulder lathered vigorously.

"I got sunshine, on a cloudy day.  When it's cold outside, I got the
month of May."

He shaved carefully, knowing his tendency to cut himself to ribbons 
when he was in a hurry and really eager to look his best.  

What to wear . . . His personal choice for casual clothing was a pair 
of gym shorts and a t-shirt.  The only reason he even owned the khaki
shorts and polo shirt was for undercover work . . .   Did it really
matter?

His musing was interrupted by the sounds of an intruder at his door.

"Fox, that's enough!  Now let me in!"

Diana was banging up a storm, and he wrapped a towel around his waist
and let her in.

"Pipe down," he said as he opened the door.

"That's easy for you to say."  Diana swept into his room and made
herself comfortable on the armchair.  Her breasts nearly spilled out
of her tight red top.  Apparently, in her search for a date, Diana
had been forced to abandon subtlety.  "Fox, you've been impossible."

"Diana . . . I was going to get dressed."  

She looked him up and down,  Instead of the blase attitude of a former
lover or the innuendo he might have expected from the woman who'd 
practically swallowed his tongue a few days ago, she gave a huffy sigh 
of annoyance.

"Then use the bathroom," she said.

Shrugging, he grabbed his khakis and carried them into the bathroom.

"What are you so angry about?" he called out to her.

"You called me a dragon!"  

Diana, usually so controlled and confident, sounded like a hurt child.

"No I didn't."  Mulder tried not to laugh as he pulled on his pants.

"Oh yes you did!  You screamed at me to let you go, and you called 
me a scaly-tailed dragon!"

Mulder stepped out of the bathroom, still barefoot and barechested. 
His hopes that Diana's visit would be short were dashed when he 
found her still comfortably ensconced in the easy chair.

"What are you talking about?" 

"Don't laugh at me!  When I tried to bring your lunch this afternoon,
you screamed for me to go away."

"Diana, I must have been sleeping. I get these crazy dreams when I'm 
running a temperature," he said.  Diana's eyes still glittered with
annoyance.  "You can't blame me for things I said in my sleep."
   
"That's the least of it."  Her face was furrowed with distress.

"Diana, don't do this," Mulder said.  He knew what was coming, and he
hated it.

"It's simply unbelievable, at this stage of my career.  I should be
running this conference!"

"Yes, you should," Mulder lied soothingly.

"Instead I wasn't even invited!"

"You know it doesn't mean anything.  Who knows why half the agents
are here?"

"It's humiliating.  Even Tom Colton was invited, and he spent half 
of last year on disciplinary probation!  You know something? I 
highly suspect there is favoritism involved."

"Diana, I can assure you I am nobody's favorite," he laughed as he
shoved his feet into his shoes.

"Oh, I didn't mean you, Fox.  Of course, you were invited because
of your distinguished profiling career."

"I haven't been with the BSU for a long time," he said.   "I doubt 
anyone intends to reward my distinguished monster-chasing career."

"Don't be silly, Fox.  Your work is very important," she said.  Her
voice wasn't exactly dripping with sincerity, though.  "No, I 
completely understand why you were included in the guest list. 
Your partner, though, is a different story.   I think she wrangled 
her invitation out of Hugh Davis."

"That's bullshit," Mulder snapped.  "Scully's tops in her field and 
everyone knows it.  Not to mention that she was the one who cracked 
the O'Brien case while everyone else was out searching for a black
albino with missing teeth." 

"But that still doesn't explain why I wasn't invited.  I've done
good work.  Important work."

"I'm sure you have, Diana.  It's just that..."

"What?" she prompted.

"Well, maybe you fell off their radar when you were in Europe."

Off everyone's radar, apparently, he thought.  Clandestine
operations tended to have that effect.

"You think that's it?" she asked.  At his nod, she smiled.  "Yes,
I'm sure you're right.  But that doesn't solve my real problem.
I can't even find a date for the banquet!"

"Well, it's not really a 'couples' kind of thing."  

Normally Mulder would have been willing to serve as Diana's escort. 
After all, their friendship spanned nearly a decade, and they had 
once been much more to each other.  

"I know you don't want to go with me, Fox," she said with a 
dismissive wave of her hand.   "You've made that abundantly clear."

"It's just that the timing isn't good.  There must be someone else
who'd be really happy to take you," Mulder said hopefully.

"The young agents have the worst manners.  I wouldn't even want to 
go with any of them," Diana said.

"Kids today."  Mulder shook his head, and Diana's poisonous glare 
only made him snicker.

"I thought at least Dr. Davis would be professional enough to enjoy 
the company of an experienced colleague," she sniffed.

"But he wasn't interested," Mulder concluded.

"You probably think you'll attend the banquet with Agent Scully," 
Diana continued, crossing her legs and lounging back in the chair.

"Only you saw her cuddling up with Dr. Davis," Mulder guessed.

"As a matter of fact, they did seem particularly close," she said.
She seemed to take particular delight in that revelation.  

Mulder shrugged indifferently.  Diana seemed disappointed at his
lack of reaction.

"That might explain why Dr. Davis wasn't free to escort you," he said,
reasonably.

Diana heaved a huge sigh.

"It's pathetic, isn't it?  After all my years with the FBI, no one is
willing to take me to the banquet," she said. 

"I'm sure you didn't ask *everyone,*" Mulder said.  "What about
Simmons in Accounting?"

"Who?"

"Never mind." 

"It's humiliating," she said.  "Your precious partner will be sitting 
up on the dais, and I can't even get in the door!"

"Scully's going to be on the dais?"   He wondered how Diana knew.

"Indeed she is.  I had to worm it out of the manager, when I was
inquiring about... provisions for extra guests."   She pushed herself
out of the chair, and he hoped for a moment she was ready to leave.
His hopes fell as she flounced over to the mirror and smoothed her
hair.

Poor Diana.  She'd tried everything to bully her way into the banquet.
He would suggest Diana check the phone book next for male-escort
services, but she'd probably kill him.  Might be worth the risk to 
send her on her way; he was growing impatient to get to the clambake.

"We'll find your Prince Charming yet, Cinderella," Mulder said, taking 
her by the elbow and steering her toward the door.   "Even if we have 
to catch us some fieldmice in the morning."

"You're a riot, Fox."

"And now, before you turn into a pumpkin," he said as he opened the 
door.  "It's time to say goodnight."
  
He shut the door on her annoyed expression and went in search of a 
clean shirt.   As he pulled the shirt over his head, thunder boomed
in the distance.  

Mulder opened the door carefully, peeking into the hall.  Blessedly
Diana-free.  His trip down to the lobby was punctuated by the 
occasional clap of thunder.  He'd made it down to the lobby when the
doors swung open and drenched beach-goers began to hurry in.

Man, had his timing sucked this week.  He lounged against a column
as dripping wet federal agents brushed past him.  

"Oh, look who managed to crawl out of bed," Elaine Cogan greeted him.
"It must have been that orange juice I brought you."

"Is that what it was?  It tasted like some concoction from your lab,"
Mulder responded.  "Have you seen Scully?"
 
"She was with Dr. Davis when I saw her last."

Figures.  Well, Dr. Suave should enjoy it while it lasted because
Scully was going to see the light very soon.

"Look at me, like a drowned rat," Elaine said as she headed for the
elevators.  "Why don't you go fly a kite in the rain, Mulder?" 

A flash of lightning lit the lobby windows and doors.  Mulder turned
in the direction of the light to find Scully standing before him.
Darkened red hair clung to her head in sculptured waves and her face
glistened with rainwater.  She took his breath away.

Scully smiled at him, and he labored to read her smile.

"You didn't eat your lunch," she said at last.

"You're wet."

"You should eat."

People hustled past them, talking, laughing, shaking off the 
rainwater.  Mulder was only vaguely aware of the activity around 
him.   He couldn't tear his eyes from the woman he loved, and she 
gazed back at him, focused, quiet, and mysterious.

The urge to kiss her again was almost overwhelming.  Only his 
absolute certainty of a future full of kisses allowed him to 
resist.

Scully was the most contrary person he'd ever met; no point in 
trying to convince her.  She'd just have to work it out for 
herself.

He used two fingers to flick the water from her forehead.

"Get out of these wet clothes," he said.

It was another minute before he could will himself to walk off 
toward the restaurant.

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

Later, back in his room, Mulder ate the turkey sandwich he'd brought 
back and  listened to the sound of Scully's shower.  He didn't even 
try to avoid picturing her curvy little body covered with lather.   
Mulder felt no guilt whatever as he imagined running his hands over 
her slick breasts and squeezing her slippery, wet ass.

The rush of water stopped, filling Mulder with an odd wave of 
disappointment.  No matter, he thought.  Scully wouldn't be taking 
showers alone anymore, not if he had something to do with it.  
They'd be long, long showers.  Late-for-work long showers.

The whine of the hairdryer drifted through the wall.  Mulder had to 
think for a bit, but he finally came up with a good fantasy for the 
new sound. Scully, naked and bent at the waist, drying her hair into 
auburn waves.

The ring of his phone made him jump.

"Mulder.  You're a hard man to find."

Skinner.  What a pain in the ass.

"Sir, I left this room exactly once in the past 24 hours."

"You didn't answer your phone.  I heard you were sick, but I trust
you've recovered."

"Somewhat," Mulder hedged.

"Dinner dance tomorrow."

Real men don't use verbs, Mulder thought.

"You and your partner have a poor track record regarding social 
events.  No excuses this time."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"You're aware they'll announce this year's winner of the Purvis 
Award."

"Is that the big silver cup that hockey players drink from?"

In fact, the Melvin Purvis Award was given in recognition of 
excellence in the face of obstacles.  Other honors held greater 
official weight, but for the working stiffs in the FBI, the Purvis 
award was the one that meant something.

"Scully," Skinner stated flatly.

"Holy shit."

There was no one who deserved it more.  Mulder felt a lump in his
throat.

"It's a surprise.  Keep it quiet, but get her there," Skinner said.

"I'm sure she'll attend," Mulder said.

"Her friendship with Dr. Davis served as an excuse to seat her on the
dais," Skinner said.

"How convenient."

"Be there."

"I'm shining my shoes as we speak, sir."

"One more thing, Mulder . . ."

Mulder's eyes narrowed.  Skinner's parting comments could be dangerous.

"Agent Fowley.  She's . . . attracting some attention."

Mulder wondered wickedly if Diana's breasts had chosen someplace public
to make their escape from her tight red top.

"Mulder . . . an act of kindness now would be greatly appreciated.  Take
her to the dance."

"Aw, come on, Dad," Mulder said.

"I'll give you fifty bucks and the car keys,"  said Skinner drily.

"Funny, sir.  How about an extra week at the resort?  Scully and me
both."

"Done."

Skinner's quick agreement made Mulder wish he'd asked for more.

"Call her now, Mulder.  Before she embarrasses herself any further."

**********

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  15

"I know he loves you, Dana.  That isn't the point."

"You're pushing it, Hugh."  They had been friends a long time, 
but there were limits.  Scully's gaze drifted out over the ocean, 
where the sky was darkening to match her mood.

"This from the little know-it-all who spent four years lecturing 
me about condoms," Hugh said.

Scully searched her memory but could think of no instance when 
she'd tried to tell him what to do once the condom was in place.

"He's afraid of love.  Can't you see that?" Hugh persisted.

"Your lobster's getting cold," she reminded him.  The opened 
carapace sat on his plate, forgotten and ignored.  Scully idly 
noted its reproductive organs.  "Oh, and it's a girl, too."

Hugh laughed.  "And we wonder why nobody wants to eat with
pathologists."

Scully smile, greatly relieved at the change in topic.

"Have you noticed, though, that they always expect us to carve 
the turkey?" she asked.

"You know what they say about pathologists, don't you?" Hugh 
asked.

"I'm sure I've heard it all by now," Scully said.

"How internists know everything and do nothing . . . and surgeons 
know nothing but do everything . . . while pathologists know 
everything and do everything, but it's too late."

Scully let her fork drop to the table.  Silent, she looked into 
his eyes, refusing to blink.

"That's enough, Hugh," she told him when he finally looked away.
"Excuse me."  She pushed her chair away from the table.

"Dana, I'm sorry.  Don't go," Hugh urged her.

"You don't have to apologize," Scully said lightly.  "Anyway, 
it's going to rain."

Many of the guests had started to retreat to the hotel, and the 
staff rushed about, pulling covers over the food and moving the 
chairs to shelter.

Scully barely noticed the first drops of rain or the distant 
claps of thunder.  Hugh's words echoed in her head.

Was Mulder really afraid of love?  He couldn't be, because he 
loved her.  Mulder loved her deeply, and not only as a friend 
and partner.  Whatever motivated the kiss, even if it was his 
sly attempt to keep her on the X-Files, that was not a kiss of 
friendship and loyalty.  It was a kiss of love and lust and 
longing.

Maybe what frightened Mulder was the word love.  He loved her, 
but he didn't want to hear her say the word.

Like at the pancake house.

Suddenly Scully's doubts and turmoil melted into laughter.

It was exactly the same.  The Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity.  
Mulder's favorite breakfast, but he refused to use the name.  
He'd order bacon, eggs, and blueberry pancakes and let the 
waitress figure it out.

Scully could deal with that.  She could kiss those amazing 
lips and whisper, "I like you."  She could melt into his 
arms and say, "Hi, buddy."  She could pounce his fine body 
and scream, "Friends forever!"

Oh, lord, what a loony he was.  But he was her loony, even 
if he didn't know it yet.

Scully stood in the rain, laughing to herself.  Well, what 
of it.  She was a loony too.

She was dripping wet as she headed into the hotel.  She 
spotted Mulder immediately, leaning against one of the marble 
pillars.  She studied him as she approached, looking for signs 
of fever or muscle aches.  Overall, he looked rested and 
comfortable.  She was quite close when he spotted her, and 
he broke into a smile.

Scully couldn't doubt it any longer; this man loved her.

"You didn't eat your lunch," she said at last.

"You're wet," he said huskily.

"You should eat."

Scully thought she felt him lean toward her, as if he was 
going to kiss her again.  So unsure, like a little boy 
standing by the edge of the pool, but afraid to jump in.  
Tentatively, he reached forward to whisk a drop of rain 
that was trickling down her face.

"Get out of these wet clothes," he said.

Scully imagined the scene--Mulder, in a frenzy, helping 
her tear the clothes from her body.  Mulder's preppy shirt 
and pressed tan shorts in a heap on the floor.

She wouldn't have to imagine much longer.  After a long minute,
Mulder smiled and turned to walk away.  Scully glanced back as 
she waited for the elevator, watching Mulder saunter into the 
hotel restaurant.  Watching him move with that easy grace was 
one of her favorite pleasures. 

He must be starving, she thought, having missed lunch.  She 
hoped he didn't order something heavy or greasy.  Wouldn't 
want to overtax his convalescent stomach.  Part of her yearned 
to follow him, but most of her was just too wet to be sociable.

The elevator doors opened, and she forced her eyes away with a
sigh.  No doubt about it, that was one fine-looking man.   The
ride up to her room seemed to take forever.  Fat drops of 
rainwater fell from the ends of her hair, snaking their way 
down her neck. Her saturated clothes clung uncomfortably to 
her skin. 
 
Scully stepped into her hotel room, shivering in the wet 
clothes.  She hurried to the air-conditioning controls, 
turning the dial with shaking fingers.  Of course, she was 
trembling from the cold.  It had nothing at all to do with 
seeing Mulder in the lobby.  

A hot shower was definitely in order.  Scully gathered pajamas 
and turned on the taps.  Struggling out of the wet clothing, 
she pondered the best approach to take with Mulder.  The warm 
water relaxed her, and she giggled as she pictured herself 
roping Mulder like a prize calf.  She was still smiling as 
she turned off the shower and dried off.

She ruled out marching next door in her pajamas.  That smacked 
too much of the earlier debacle when she'd confessed her love.  
Scully yawned, as she slipped into bed.  This was definitely 
something to consider when her head was clear in the morning.

*****

Scully wanted to call her talk "Bloopers," but settled for the 
less provocative "Near Misses in Pathology."  Unfortunately, it 
was scheduled at the same time as Mulder's seminar, "Interviewing 
Children to Maximize Information and Minimize Harm." 

If anyone at the conference doubted Mulder's intellect or 
knowledge, Scully hoped they'd attend his class.  She was sorry 
that she couldn't go herself, but it was probably for the best.  
If he allowed some time for questions from the audience, she 
wouldn't be able to resist:

"Agent Mulder, are you aware that you're in imminent danger of 
being ravished by your partner?"

Her own presentation was received with great enthusiasm.  She 
was no longer surprised by the relative ignorance that even 
experienced investigators displayed about forensics.

"So if different tests give you different times of death, does 
that mean we can pick the one that fits the best?" asked one 
old-timer eagerly.

Scully explained again that the physical changes that occurred 
after death could be influenced by various factors, and that 
one had to look at the total picture to arrive at a reasonable 
conclusion.

"That's why it's so important for the field investigators to 
preserve the scene and record *all* their observations." She 
gave a nod of acknowledgment to the assembled students   
"Don't limit yourself to reporting the facts that seem relevant.  
Nobody knows what will turn out to be relevant--not even a 
trained forensic pathologist."

A particularly youthful student waved his hand frantically 
until she nodded for him to speak.

"Have you autopsied anybody famous?" he asked.

"That brings up another important point," Scully said.  "You'll 
find that it's particularly important as well as particularly 
challenging to secure a crime scene involving a celebrity.  
Don't let anyone bluster you out of doing your job; the same 
principles apply no matter who the victim is."

The young man looked disappointed by her answer, but Scully felt 
she'd treated him quite gently, under the circumstances.

"I wish I had more time to talk to everyone, but I'm late for 
my next engagement," she said graciously as she gathered her 
material.

Hugh's publisher had arranged a luncheon for the pathologists 
at the conference.  When Sculy had accepted the invitation, 
she'd been looking forward to it, but by now she would have 
preferred a quiet meal on her own.  Hugh wasn't one to back 
down easily, and she was sure she hadn't heard the last of 
his misgivings about Mulder.

At least now Scully would be able to listen to Hugh's nagging 
without becoming upset.  She knew that Mulder loved her, and 
convincing Hugh of the fact wasn't a priority.

Still, she wasn't disappointed when she got to the luncheon and 
found the guest of honor missing.  It was a welcome chance to 
share shop talk and gossip with her colleagues without having 
to justify her love life.

Hugh rushed in late, impeccable but informal.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't realize nine holes of golf would take so 
long," he apologized.

"When did you take up golf?" asked one of the luncheon guests.  
Scully had been wondering the same thing.

"This morning," Hugh replied sheepishly.  "I'm a tennis buff, 
myself."

"You must play golf.  Golf is life.  Golf is mandatory," another
pathologist opined.

"I believe failure to play golf constitutes malpractice," a 
well-tanned woman agreed.

The banter continued throughout the meal, and while Scully found 
her thoughts drifting, for the most part she enjoyed herself.  
After a large, gorgeous dessert, which most of the guests declined, 
Hugh passed out copies of his new book for everyone.

"I know it's tacky.  Blame my publisher," he said.

Scully opened the book, which was clearly aimed at the mass market.
Hugh was a scientist but also a populizer, and he managed to fill 
both roles without losing the respect of his colleagues.

He'd written an inscription in her copy.  Now this was really tacky:

*If you love someone, set them free. If they don't come back, they 
were never yours to begin with.  Sorry, couldn't resist.  With 
deepest respect and affection, Hugh.*

As the luncheon broke up, Hugh waited by the door, exchanging 
good-byes with his guests.  Scully waited until last.

"I believe you're wrong, doctor," she said.

"I hope I am," said Hugh.

"If you love someone, hunt him down, handcuff him, and don't let 
him go until he understands that he loves you too."

With a confident smile, she tucked the book under her arm and 
turned to walk away.   

Scully had kept her afternoon free, opting not to participate 
in any of the final classes at the conference.  She had, instead,
made an appointment with the hotel salon to have her hair done.
Looking down at her chipped nailpolish, she decided to see if 
they could squeeze her in for a manicure while she was there.

When she'd made the appointment the day before, she'd been
miserable, convinced Mulder had rejected her.  Men made fun of 
women who coped with stress by shopping for shoes or changing 
their hair, but they didn't understand.  It takes courage to 
be kind to yourself when the world is cruel.  Your first 
impulse is to give up and let go.
 
Yesterday she'd booked the salon looking for pampering and
self-affirmation.  Today is was all about vanity.  When she 
walked into the banquet tonight, she wanted Mulder to gawk
and stammer and blush.  She wanted him to sweep her into his 
arms and waltz her around the dance floor.  She wanted him 
drinking champagne from her slipper.

Pedicure, she decided.  Squeeze in a pedicure too.

Elegantly decorated in deep rose and gleaming chrome, the 
salon waiting room was bustling with activity.   The young
woman at the reception desk cradled the phone receiver against
her shoulder, taking an appointment.  Scully waited to give
her name before retreating to a plush arm chair to wait her
turn.

"Dana!" Elaine Cogan called out as she reached the front
desk, credit card in hand.  Elaine's normally flyaway mop of
short curls was now a tightly controlled blonde helmet.  The
scent of hairspray wafted off the tiny woman in gusts.

"You look lovely, Elaine," Scully said.  

"I look like I should be riding a motorcycle, but thank you
anyway.  See you tonight."

Scully glanced through a fashion magazine, idly flipping
though the glossy pages.   Models cavorted in dresses that
looked like they were made out of plastic garbage bags and
used dryer sheets.  Scully was glad, sometimes, that she'd
never been tall enough to carry off high fashion.

Her name was finally called and she entered the salon.  

"Your stylist today is David," the receptionist said, 
indicating an impossibly thin man with wild ginger-colored
hair.  She pronounced it "Dah-veed."  

"What style were you looking for today?" David asked as he
sifted through Scully's hair with his fingers.  He nodded
sagely at her suggestion of an up-do.  David's accent was
pure Brooklyn despite the pronunciation of his name.

As David led her to the shampoo area, Scully recognized a
number of female agents in various stages of beautification.
Scully surrendered herself to the bliss of having someone
massage her scalp as David lathered her hair.  She had to 
restrain herself from purring like a contented cat.

How long had it been since a man touched her in a way that
brought pleasure?  She decided David had gifted fingers as he
kneaded conditioner into her hair.  She was definitely going 
to have to teach Mulder how to do this for her.  

All too soon, David declared her hair clean and silkened
as he wrapped her hair in a tiny towel.  No matter how 
elegant the salon, it seemed they purchased the same skimpy
towels.  She could barely see as her wet hair slipped before
her eyes as she followed David to his work station.

"Agent Scully!  I had no idea you had your hair done 
professionally."

Feeling her jaw clench, Scully pushed the dripping hair
out of her face.  Diana Fowley beamed an insincere smile
in Scully's direction as her hairdresser wound a strand
of dark hair around the shaft of a curling iron.

"Agent Fowley," Scully replied, keeping her voice cool 
and neutral.  Diana was looking as pleased with herself 
as if she'd just stuffed a litter of spotted puppies 
into her sack.

"This will be quite a change for Fox," Diana stated.  
The bored-looking stylist released another ringlet, 
then began gathering Diana's hair into a cascade of curls.
 
"Yes, I suppose it will be," Scully answered.  Diana's 
hairstyle interested Mulder about as much as Skinner's 
shoelaces.  Maybe less.

"I hope Fox likes this style.  I want to look my best 
tonight.  As his date."

No one had ever suggested Diana Fowley was subtle.  Poor
Mulder.  He'd always been a sucker for a damsel in distress.
Diana had probably played the poor man's heartstrings
like a Stradivarius.

Scully watched as David combed through her hair.  If Diana
hoped for a reaction to her little bombshell, Scully was
going to deprive her.  The plain fact was--it didn't matter.

Diana might be entering the banquet hall on Mulder's arm.  
She could sit next to him at dinner.  Perhaps he'd even
dance with her and it would mean exactly nothing. 

Because Mulder wasn't going to be leaving the banquet with 
Diana.   

The stylist finished Diana's 'do, holding a mirror up so
she could see the back.  Fowley gazed at her reflection for
a few moments, apparently deciding the style passed 
muster.  

"See you tonight," Diana cooed as she left.  

"Not if I see you first," Scully sing-songed under her 
breath.  David fired up the blowdryer and went to work.

An hour later, Scully returned to her hotel room.  Damn, 
she looked good.  Not as pretty as Mulder, but nobody 
else looked that good.   Her hair was swept into a sleek
French twist that ended in a crown of curls.  Scully
raised her hand to admire her newly manicured fingernails.
Her strappy sandals would show off her pedicure.  Mulder
rarely saw her bare toes; this last detail was definitely
for his benefit.   

Silver.  Because Mulder couldn't see red.

She pulled her new Nicole Miller out of the closet, smiling 
as she hung it on the door.  It was simply cut, the draped 
charmeuse molding to her in all the right places.  Silvery 
green, it reminded her of willow leaves in the moonlight.

After dozens of evenings as one of dozens of women in black 
dresses, Scully was ready to shimmer and shine.  She'd found 
the dress in Neiman Marcus, a dangerous place for the civil 
servant on a budget.  She'd argued with herself, because she 
really didn't need it.  She had a perfectly good black dress, 
after all.  Now she was glad she'd splurged.

Scully  wasn't certain that Mulder would fall into her arms 
tonight.  Her final victory was assured, but tonight she might 
meet disappointment.  Maybe Diana would find a way to corner 
Mulder for the evening.  Maybe Mulder would pull his 
frightened rabbit act again.

She thought again of the little boy at the edge of the pool.  
The trick was to get him into the water before he knew what 
was happening.

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

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  16


"Fox, are you listening?"

Diana clung to Mulder's arm like a barnacle as they entered the
banquet hall.  Her exasperated tone told him that she'd been
speaking for a while.

"AD Stavros is an avid outdoorsman, so try to mention something 
about trout fishing.  Congressman Wallers just wrote a book.  
It's called *Courage and Compassion* "

Diana was full of excitement about all the contacts she would 
forge tonight, and full of advice for him about how to behave 
so as not to embarrass her.

Mulder had only the barest tolerance for meaningless small talk.
Usually he relied on Scully to jolly him through it.  Tonight he 
had the added irritation of Diana babbling into his ear.

"Remember to smile," Diana coached as she sipped a glass of wine.  
She gushed a greeting at Section Chief Hayward and his wife.

"How was your cruise?  Oh, that's wonderful.  You look marvelous!"

Mulder thought he did a creditible job of glad-handing, but Diana
elbowed him sharply as the Haywards moved past.

"You were staring at her breasts!" she hissed.

The guests were still milling around, sipping drinks and snacking
on hors d'oeuvres.  The tables were dotted with a few agents who
had already found their seats.  Mulder carried his and Diana's 
place cards in his pocket.

He hadn't seen Scully since the evening before and now he was
desperately sorry that he hadn't found a way to talk to her.  He
should have explained to her why he would be taking Diana.

"When we dance, I want you to look into my eyes," Diana commanded,
her fingers digging into his arm.

"No," he said quickly, shaking her hand off him.  Skinner hadn't
mentioned dancing, and it wasn't part of the deal.

"It's a dinner dance, Fox,"  Diana said, pouting.  "You're 
expected to dance."

"Let's find our seats," he said.  Maybe Diana would find some
mover and shaker in the FBI upper echelon and leave him the hell
alone.

He and Diana found their table, and  Mulder was glad to note that 
it offered an unobstructed view of the dias.  Sadly, there were 
no important people to distract Diana.  He watched with amusement 
as she discovered their table mates included Tom Colton and Scott
Dakin, McCloskey's nemesis.  Mulder's own discomfort at being 
seated with these whackjobs was far outweighed by the fun of 
watching Diana's hopes fall.  She'd have to get away from the table 
and work the room if she had any hopes of making powerful 
connections.

Tom Colton began to study the program for the evening's events,
determined to ignore them, but Scott Dakin stared at them in 
horror as they took their seats. Mulder wondered if he was still 
upset about the impromptu training exercise on the beach.  The 
young agent gulped and started to stammer.

"Agent Fowley... I... um... stopped being sick a lot faster than I
expected.  Honestly."

Diana glared at him.

"I know how it must seem, but it's not.  And I'm just, like, really,
really glad that you got to go to the banquet."

"Dakin--let it drop," Mulder advised him.

"You look beautiful, Agent Fowley.  Really beautiful.  Your dress is
beautiful."

Some people couldn't help signaling their lies by protesting their
sincerity.  Mulder had noticed it many times.

Diana sniffed and turned her face away, as if that would make Dakin
disappear.

"*You* haven't even mentioned my dress," she told Mulder accusingly.

The truth was, he had barely glanced at her.  He was pretty sure
the dress was black.   Mulder turned to face her.  Yeah, it was
black, and cut low.  Diana wasn't one to cover her assets.

"You look nice," he said, but his eyes were already scanning the
room for Scully.  Why hadn't she shown up yet?

"Nice?  I spend all afternoon in the salon and you don't notice a
thing.  I'm sure Dr. Davis will remember to compliment Agent Scully 
on her new hairstyle."

"Scully got a new hairstyle?" he asked, brightening.  His all-time
favorite, if the truth be known, was the little ponytail when she 
just wanted it out of the way.  But he also liked the soft look of 
a fancy style.

"Yes.  I was quite surprised to see her at the salon.  Hopefully,
she won't look so dowdy tonight."

Mulder smiled to himself, trying to imagine anyone on the planet
except Diana who'd describe Scully as "dowdy."  He wished his
partner would get there, so he could catch a minute with her.

Last night, everything had seemed so easy.  Scully would have to
realize that she loved him, and she would have to relinquish Dr.
Success.  She was stubborn but she was honorable, and no other
outcome was possible.

Nothing had changed except the timing.   She would be stunned and
distracted when she learned she had won the Purvis Award, and
then, for the rest of the night, she'd be swarmed by well-wishers.

Mulder would have his woman, but maybe not tonight.

Where the hell was she?  Skinner would kill him if Scully wasn't
there to receive the Purvis award.  He reminded himself that
Scully wouldn't have gotten her hair done if she hadn't planned
on attending.  After all, he was the one who preferred to blow
off stuffy events.

He listened to the buzz of small talk around him.  To his right,
Diana was complaining about seating arrangements and the draft
of cold air on her back.  If Diana was unhappy now, she'd probably 
turn into Linda Blair when she learned about Scully's award.

Diana with her head spinning around as she sprayed everyone with 
green puke.  That might be something worth watching.

Diana continued to gripe while Mulder continued to scan the 
room.  Then suddenly, Scully appeared in the doorway, and 
the rest of the room seemed to fade away.

"Oh, mama," said Agent Dakin in a low growl.  Apparently he 
didn't have it in him to ever keep his mouth shut.

But this time, Mulder had to agree with him.  Scully was amazing.
Bodacious, curvy, delicious, erotic--he could go down the whole 
alphabet and never do her justice.  Scully turned her head, 
laughing at something her companion had told her.  Her hair... 
swept up,  with those little curls tumbling down.  Mulder wanted 
to touch it, to feel it, to smell it.   

Scully was beautiful under any circumstances.  He'd seen her
soaking wet in the middle of a hurricane, knee deep in mud, even
covered with dung and she'd looked better than most women on
their best day.  Tonight, wearing a shimmery dress of soft
green, she took his breath away.

"Oh, look what the cat dragged in," Diana deadpanned.

"Meow," said Dakin.  Mulder decided that he might have some merit 
after all.

He watched as Hugh entered the room, taking Scully's elbow and 
guiding her to the dais.  Mulder had to admit, they made a 
lovely couple--like the figurines atop a wedding cake.  Too bad.  
Mulder had plans to knock Hugh right off the frosting.

Dinner seemed to take an excruciatingly long time.  True
to form, Diana sent back her fish--"Simply awful"--but was 
equally disdainful of the chicken they brought in its place.

"Nobody comes here for the food," commented Tom Colton.  "It's 
about the Purvis award."

"I was on the short list, a few years back," Diana announced.  
"Isn't that right, Fox?"

"I know I'm a contender.  My supervisor made a big point of 
sending me to the conference," Colton answered.

"That faggot Tim McCloskey stands a better chance than you," 
Dakin said.

Mulder heard without listening.  He couldn't peel his eyes off 
Scully.  For her part, she seemed to look in his direction far 
more often than necessary.  Again and again their eyes met, 
sending sparks across the room.  When she smiled at him, he felt 
himself glow like a D-cell Maglite.   

Scully was glowing too.   She laughed when Hugh leaned over to 
whisper into her ear, and it occurred to Mulder that this was far 
too rare a sight.  So much of their time together had been filled 
with loss and sadness.  Days ago, he might have wallowed in guilt 
at that fact.  Tonight, he vowed to make Scully laugh as often as 
possible.

He had to talk to her.  He hoped for a break before the speeches
started, but to his disappointment, Hugh rose and approached the 
podium even as the wait staff started to circulate with coffee 
and dessert.

When Hugh began to speak, Mulder found himself forgeting his
resentment.  He had to admit, the man was brilliant and he knew 
how to impart dry material in an entertaining and rather 
stirring manner.

Scully was obviously fascinated by the talk, her expression
beatific.   Still, she managed to glance Mulder's way many, 
many times.

"He's almost too handsome," Diana sighed.  "What do you think he's
worth?"

Finally, Hugh drew his remarks to a close.  Always charming, he 
finished his speech by saying that while forensics held the key 
to solving cases, the agents in the room were the true heros, 
putting their lives on the line to make the arrests and bring 
the cases to completion and closure to victim's families.

When the applause died down, Deputy Director Friedkin took the
podium.  Mulder sat a little straighter in his seat when he
noticed Scully pick up her purse and turn to Hugh.  Adrenaline
began to pump through his body as Scully rose and headed for
the door.

"Fox, where are you going?" Diana asked as he pushed his
chair back a little more forcefully than he intended.
Mulder didn't answer her.  He didn't even turn around.

"Scully!" he called out as they reached the door.  "I need
to talk to you."

She whirled around, her expression unreadable.  She nodded,
gesturing for him to continue.

"So talk."

Facing her, he found himself tongue-tied, an extremely
unusual state for Fox Mulder.  Her eyes flashed, the
blue so intense he felt he could drown in them.  Maybe
he should throw her over his shoulder and carry her off
caveman-style.

"You look incredible," he said, finally.

"Thank you," she said, her cheeks pinking up.  "You
followed me to tell me that I looked nice?"

"No.  I followed you to tell you... Scully... I want 
you to listen to me. . ."

"I'm listening, Mulder.  I always listen, even when 
you think I'm not."

Her voice was gentle and encouraging.

"Oh, Scully."  He knew what he had to say, but once 
he said it, there would be no turning back.  Scully 
stared at him, obviously sure he was insane.   His 
hands found their way to her upper arms, grasping her 
as if she might try to run away.

"The way you kissed me... do you remember?"  he asked.

"You kissed me too," she said softly.

"You couldn't have kissed me that way if you really 
loved him."

"What?"

"You don't love Hugh.  You may think you love him--"

"What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?  Who 
said that I loved Hugh?"

"You did," he replied.  She tried to shake him off, but
Mulder held her a little tighter.  "After I got sick,
you came to my room and told me you loved Hugh.  You
said you couldn't help yourself."

"I said what?"

Scully's expression changed from shock to amusement 
as she started to giggle.  This was not the reaction 
he'd envisioned.

"Mulder, you really are an idiot."  Scully's giggles 
escalated to out and out laughing.  He'd planned on 
making her laugh often, but this was NOT what he had 
in mind.

"You idiot," she said finally.  Grinning, Scully balled 
up her fist and punched him in the shoulder.  Hard.  
"You stupid, stupid..."

"Ow!  That hurt.  What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You threw me out of your room!  You screamed for me to 
get out!"

"You said you loved him.  Now I know that can't be true, 
but then--"

"I said 'I love you', Mulder.  Not Hugh.  You!"

And then she kissed him.  Scully grabbed him by the
back of the neck, drawing him down and kissed him until
he couldn't think straight.  His knees threatened to
buckle as her tongue ventured forth.

His hands slipped around her waist and he gathered her
to him.  The fabric of her dress was slippery against 
his fingers.  She felt soft and warm against him.

Scully's arm pressed across his back and their upper 
bodies pressed together, but her other hand dropped 
lower.  She stroked the back of his thigh and then his 
hip.  As she shifted her position and balance, he 
adjusted to accommodate her, bringing his arm up to 
support her.  

She loves me, he thought.  Scully loves me.

Her hand traced up his inner thigh, sliding up until 
the unexpected contact made him startle.

She was smiling at him when he opened his eyes.

"You surprised me," he said.

The room was dark and quiet, which only made sense 
when he realized that a video was playing on a large 
screen behind the podium.  A glitzy documentary about 
the Purvis award, and the man for whom it was named.

"The very words that John Dillinger told Melvin Purvis," 
Scully whispered.

The reality of the banquet came back to him.

"You have to get back to your seat.  We'll pick this up 
exactly where we left off," he said.

"Mulder, don't make me use the handcuffs."

He couldn't help it, he had to kiss her again. Then it 
was back to business.

"We need you up on the dais,"  he said.

"Mulder, you can do this.  I'll help you.  Don't be 
afraid," Scully said.

She wasn't making any sense.  They really had to talk, 
but not in the middle of the banquet.

"Afraid?" he asked.

"You're not going to run, Mulder.  I'm not going to 
let you."

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised.

"There's something I want you to say," she said.

"I love you.  I love you, Scully, more than anything."

She hugged him again, which was nice, but it wasn't 
getting her back to her seat.  

"I love you too, Mulder.  I always have."

"Scully, when the video ends, you have to be back in 
your seat," he said urgently.

She nodded her head toward the dais.

"It looks like somebody's taken my place," she said.

They both laughed.  There on the dais, next to the 
guest of honor, sat Diana Fowley.  She was leaning 
toward Hugh Davis, as if she was trying to get his 
attention.  Hugh sat straight and stiff, arms  crossed, 
lips pursed in a tight frown.  Hugh's eyes searched
the room, obviously wishing Scully would get back and
save him.

"I'm staying right here, Mulder, and so are you.  Now 
kiss me again."

She made it sound like an order, and for once, Mulder felt 
very compliant.  He lowered his lips to hers, wondering how 
much time they had before the lights came on.  One kiss--how 
long could it take?   His lips touched hers, and he felt her 
relax into his embrace.

He was drowning in the sensation of Scully's soft lips
against his, her sweet, sweet mouth opening to his
tongue.  Her body was soft, too, her curvacious form
molding to his angles.  The world fell away, leaving
them alone together.

*********

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  17A

From the dais, Scully could view the entire dining hall, 
but it felt like eating your dinner on a stage.  Tim 
seemed especially nervous.

"Be sure to warn me if I pick up the wrong fork," he 
whispered.

"Nobody's looking at us," she assured him.  "They're 
watching Hugh."

"It doesn't matter which fork you use, as long as you 
do it with confidence," Hugh said.

Scully hoped Mulder was feeling confident.  Whether by chance 
or by spite, he was seated with Tom Colton.  Tom Colton was 
in desperate need of a thrashing, but hopefully Mulder would 
be able to restrain himself.  She wondered if Colton and 
Diana Fowley had ever met before.  It was really a shame she 
wasn't sitting there as well, to hear how Mulder handled the 
dynamics.

"You've been staring at him all night," Hugh remarked.  "Why 
don't you just pull out your phone and give him a call?"

Almost on cue, Mulder looked up.  Scully searched his gaze, 
looking for the fear and confusion of two nights ago but 
saw only the smoldering heat she'd seen the night of the 
clambake. 

"I'm glad I'm not at that table," Tim said.  "Scott Dakin 
*and* Cruella DeVille."  

The meal progressed, although Scully wasn't particularly 
aware of what she was eating.  When it came time for Hugh's 
address, she noted with deep satisfaction how the room fell 
silent, with everyone focused on what her friend had to say.  
Hugh was an excellent speaker, and even though she was 
familiar with the content of his talk, she was deeply 
impressed with this presentation.

"You were brilliant," she told him when he returned to his 
seat, and Tim nodded his enthusiastic agreement.

"My very own fan club," Hugh drawled.  "Dana, go check your 
make-up."

Scully patted her mouth with her napkin.

"Did I get it?" she asked.

"Good lord, woman, we're not talking about a glob of frosting.  
You need to fix your lips."

She tried to imagine Mulder complaining about her lipstick.  
He might dab the barbecue sauce from her face, or comment about 
the aroma when she was spattered with dung, but he would never 
mention her makeup.

"Hurry," Hugh said.

"I'm going, I'm going," she said.  "I don't want to embarrass 
you with my worn-off lipstick."

She picked up her purse and made her way to the door but stopped 
when she heard Mulder call her name.

"I need to talk to you," he said urgently.

"So talk," Scully said.

But he didn't.  He stood there, flustered and silent, and 
she wondered if he was struggling to explain that he felt the 
fire between them but he couldn't face the heat.

"You look incredible," he said at last.

"Thank you," she said, unreasonably pleased by the compliment.  
"You followed me to tell me that I looked nice?"

"No.  I followed you to tell you... Scully... I want you to 
listen to me. . ."

"I'm listening, Mulder.  I always listen, even when you think 
I'm not."

She was listening, but if he thought he could tell her that he 
was running away, that he couldn't bear to accept her love, he 
had another thing coming.  He was not going to get away from 
her this time.

"Oh, Scully . . .The way you kissed me... do you remember?"

As if she would ever forget.

"You kissed me too," she reminded him.

"You couldn't have kissed me that way if you really loved him."

"What?"

He sounded as if he was delirious again, but he didn't look 
as if he had a fever.

"You don't love Hugh.  You may think you love him--"

"What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?  Who said that I 
loved Hugh?"

It had to be that foul bitch Fowley.  And once again Mulder had 
believed her.  After Scully manacled him to the bed, and seduced 
him, and forced him to admit that he loved her too.... after all 
that, she would give him a piece of her mind for continuing to 
trust that devious, twisted, manipulative she-devil.

"You did," he replied.  "After I got sick, you came to my room and 
told me you loved Hugh.  You said you couldn't help yourself."

"I said what?"

What in the world was he talking about?  She noticed, though, that 
he wasn't trying to run away.  Far from it; he was gripping her 
arms as if she might run.

She tried to untangle the twisted nonsense he was telling her, 
thinking back to that awful night when she'd poured out her heart 
and he had rejected her so sharply.  The words she was almost too 
afraid to speak had stuck in her throat, but she had said them:

*I love you.*

How could he have possibly misunderstood?  And then it made sense.  
Or rather, it made no sense at all, but that had to be the answer.

She started to giggle.

"Mulder, you really are an idiot."  She didn't even try to stifle 
her laughter.  This was so ridiculous.  Mulder was shocked into 
silence, still clutching her arms as she howled and guffawed.  
Finally she gained enough control to speak.

"You idiot.  You stupid, stupid..."

And she punched him.  She hadn't planned it, and he seemed less
surprised than she was.

"Ow!  That hurt," Mulder protested.  "What the hell is wrong with 
you?"

"You threw me out of your room!  You screamed for me to get out!"

"You said you loved him.  Now I know that can't be true, but then--"

"I said 'I love you', Mulder.  Not Hugh.  You!"

She could wait for understanding to dawn in his eyes, or she could 
kiss him.   She decided to kiss him.  She had to grab him by the 
hair to reach him, but she was through with subtlety.  A kiss was 
something he would understand.

Mulder bent down, pulling her closer.  She could feel his knees 
shaking.

She savored his lush lips, slipping her tongue between them as 
she pressed closer against his chest.  Mulder's mouth was 
perfection.  It was the mouth of your dreams, the mouth that 
you imagined kissing, even before you knew that a mouth like 
that actually existed.  

Like his ass, which was also ideal.  She rubbed his firm, muscled 
ass, the ass of which dreams are made.  

If a tiny part of her brain was worried because she was making 
out with her partner in the middle of a formal FBI party, 
Scully wasn't listening.  

Mulder's fine, firm ass was connected to his equally fine leg, 
and she followed the contour of his muscles around until her 
hand was actually between his legs, exploring and climbing 
up his thigh.  Mulder was holding her in his arms, and she 
was kissing and stroking.   

Her hand climbed until she grazed his good parts when Mulder
gasped and jumped.

Scully opened her eyes and was rewarded with the sight of 
Mulder's slow-motion double-take.  His face transformed from 
dopey bliss through alert confusion, and all before he even 
opened his eyes.

The room was dark, Scully noticed.  A strident, recorded voice 
was talking about Melvin Purvis, who held true to his principles 
through adversity and injustice.

She remembered that the winner of the Purvis Award would be 
announced tonight.  This was some kind of videotape 
introduction.

"You surprised me," Mulder gulped.

A nice surprise, she hoped, because she had every intention 
of spending a lot of time playing between his legs.

"The very words that John Dillinger told Melvin Purvis," 
Scully whispered.

"You have to get back to your seat.  We'll pick this up 
exactly where we left off," he said.

Oh, no you don't, Scully thought.  You're not going to get 
away from me this time.

"Mulder, don't make me use the handcuffs," she warned him 
sternly.

Mulder's worried expression melted into a silly grin as he 
grabbed  her and kissed her.

That's more like it, Scully thought.  But the kiss ended 
abruptly and Mulder was nagging her again.

"We need you up on the dais,"  he said.

"Mulder, you can do this.  I'll help you.  Don't be afraid," 
she said.

"Afraid?" he asked.

"You're not going to run, Mulder.  I'm not going to 
let you."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said.

"There's something I want you to say," Scully told him.  

He had to learn that words couldn't hurt him.  She would 
make him recite "Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity" again and 
again, until he could do it without wincing.  Then they 
would move on to the "L" word.

"I love you.  I love you, Scully, more than anything," 
Mulder said, earnest and urgent.

"I love you too, Mulder.  I always have."

She hugged him fiercely.

"Scully, when the video ends, you have to be back in 
your seat," he said.

Mulder was obsessed with the dais.  Looking up, she saw 
that he wasn't the only one.  There sat the foul bitch 
herself, trying to catch Hugh's ear as Hugh ignored her 
and leaned away from her.  On Diana's other side, Tim 
McCloskey sat with his arms folded across his chest, a 
tight frown on his face.

Scully arched her eyebrows in amusement.

"It looks like somebody's taken my place," she said.

Mulder laughed, and Scully let herself join in.  It was 
mean, but Diana had earned it.  Or maybe Scully should thank 
her; at least Mulder would have to give up on sending her 
back to her seat.

"I'm staying right here, Mulder, and so are you.  Now 
kiss me again," she commanded.

It was even better than before.  Their bodies fit together 
comfortably, and Mulder's tongue took no time to make itself 
at home between Scully's lips.  He was so strong, so damn 
toned and perfect.  Let everyone else watch a show about 
Melvin Purvis; for Scully there was no G-man more brave, 
noble, and stubborn than Special Agent Fox Mulder.  

She was aware of her surroundings in only the slightest
of ways.  The room was still dark; Scully felt as if she
and Mulder were alone in a dark cavern.  All that mattered
were the strong arms holding her close and the warm body
she was pressed against.  And lots of passionate kisses.

Somewhere out beyond the cavern, the strains of "God Bless 
America" signaled the end of the Melvin Purvis video.  Then 
the microphone squealed as another live speaker began to drone.  
Scully wished everyone would just go away and leave her and
Mulder alone in each other's arms.

Mulder's hand found her breast, and she almost groaned at the 
sensation.  A charge of pure desire surged through her body.
Mulder's breathing was quick and huffy.

*"Dana Scully!"*

Somebody said her name, but it couldn't be Mulder, because his 
lips were still locked to hers.

Somewhere beyond the cavern, the roomful of people had begun 
to buzz.

*"Dana Scully--Look at her, folks.  She's in shock!"*

Again she heard her name, and Mulder jumped away from her with 
a sharp, "Oh, shit!"  Scully ran nervous hands over her dress,
smoothing the material and tugging down the skirt where it had 
ridden up during her makeout session.  She looked around in 
stunned confusion, certain that every eye in the room was on her.

She wasn't far from wrong.   Tom Colton shook his head with disgust.   
Little Elaine Cogan was practically doing a victory dance in
her chair, but when she caught Scully's eye, her grin broadened 
as she pointed to the dais.  Scully turned to see.

At the front of the room, a man in black pinstripes was trying to 
shove a microphone at Diana Fowley.

"Come on, Agent Scully!  Say a few words for us," he urged.

Fowley's face was scarlet as she pushed her chair from the table, 
almost knocking it over in her haste to flee.  Tim McCloskey
jumped up in time to steady the chair and he offered her a 
protective arm as he guided her away from the spotlight and 
out of the crowded room.

The pinstripe man seemed to take it in stride.

"Little mix-up, everybody.  Apparently we'll have to put out 
an APB for the real winner of the Purvis Award,  Be on the 
look-out for the real Agent Dana Scully," he announced jovially.

"Found her, sir!" shouted a loud male voice only a few yards 
from Scully's ear.  Suddenly the bright glow that had been 
bathing the dais swung across the room as the spotlight was 
aimed to focus on Scully.  As the light encircled them, Mulder 
grabbed her again and plastered her with one last delicious kiss.

"Well, there she is...this year's winner of the Melvin
Purvis Award--Special Agent Dana Scully!" the pinstripe man 
announced.

She smiled gamely as Mulder released her, trying to look 
composed instead of overwhelmed.

"You knew, Mulder?" she asked accusingly under her breath, 
blinking at him in the bright light.  The room exploded into 
laughter and the buzzing of conversation.

"I tried to get you back in time. I did try," Mulder said 
defensively.  "Go on, Scully, accept your award."

Mulder's hand was at her back, propelling her forward.
She reached around and grabbed his arm  If she was going
to stand on the dais and accept the Purvis award with
smeared lipstick and her face red from beard burn and
embarrassment, Mulder was going to have to stand next
to her with his equally red face.

Hugh convulsed with laughter as she stepped onto the dais, 
dragging Mulder with her.

"No handcuffs?" he asked innocently.

Scully made her way to the podium, still clutching Mulder's 
hand.

The pinstripe man, smiling warmly, handed her a plaque.

"In recognition of outstanding contributions in the area of 
criminal investigation," he said.   He shook her hand, then 
Mulder's, and returned to his seat at the table.

Scully swallowed, hoping she could share her thoughts 
coherently.

"Sometimes to do our jobs we have to risk alienating those 
around us, our co-workers, and even our superiors.  To me, 
the Purvis award is the FBI's way of saying, go ahead and 
do your job, whatever it takes."

The room burst into applause.  Some of it had to be insincere, 
Scully knew.  Someone like Tom Colton couldn't fathom the idea 
of following the truth even if it cost you some brownie points.

"Doing the right thing, as you understand it, can be very lonely.  
But for me, it has never been lonely, because there's always been
someome at my side.  I want to thank my partner and best friend, 
Fox Mulder, who's always had the courage of his convictions,
and mine, and who's always had my back."

She stepped away from the podium.  It wasn't a long speech, but 
she'd said everything she had to say.  The pinstripe man 
retrieved the microphone.

"Once again, congratulations Agent Scully.  And now, since the 
Bureau was generous enough to pay for a band, I want 
to see everyone out on that dance floor."

Let no star shine to light the night
Till my own heart is filled with light
Until my love beside me lies
I seek the black of starless skies

Let No Star Shine  -  17 B

"May I cut in?" 

Mulder turned around with no small amount of annoyance 
as a grinning Hugh tapped him on the shoulder.  When he
pulled her closer to him, Scully was sure her partner was
going to keep on dancing and refuse to release her.

"I suspect you'll be monopolizing Dana's time even more 
than usual, so come on.  Let an old friend have his moment."

Mulder scowled, but released Scully after a final squeeze.
 
"*One* moment," he said, tapping the face of his watch.  He 
leaned in to whisper in Scully's ear:  "Let him down easy, 
but tell him to take a hike."

Mulder walked off in the direction of the bar, glancing
back at Hugh and Scully.  Hugh took her into his arms,
effortlessly moving to the music.  It came as no surprise
to Scully that Hugh was a fabulous dancer.   

"So, you haven't told him I was gay, have you?"

"Your sexual orientation just never came up in conversation,
Hugh," she answered.  

"You could have put him out of his jealous misery a long 
time ago.  I think you liked seeing him stew over this."

Scully smiled, but didn't respond.  "So, you knew about the 
award, too?" she asked, changing the subject.  "Is that why
you had me sit up on the dais?"

"Oh, no.  I knew about the award, but you were a legitimate 
and very lovely beard for Tim and me.  And now that you and 
Mulder are the talk of the town, no one will be paying any 
attention to a couple of queers.  I bet Tim and I could take 
a turn around the dance floor and not even trip the gossip 
meter." 

"So glad we could be of service," she said sarcastically.  

"Ah yes, this was *quite* an amusing evening.  I can't thank
you enough.  The look on Agent Fowley's face when your
name was announced was worth the price of admission.  And when
the spotlight hit her, illuminating that sourpuss...it just
doesn't get any better than that."

"Poor Diana," Scully said, with some sincerity.  She may not
have liked the woman, but she didn't wish humiliation on
her...as long as she kept her evil mitts off Mulder.

The song ended and she and Hugh stood facing each other.

"I want to thank you, Hugh.  I think I'd have gone crazy if
you hadn't been here for me."

"Just doing my part for old friends and true love.  Uh oh.  
Here comes your partner," Hugh said.  "I better turn you
over if I want to live to see tomorrow."

Hugh bowed formally, saluting as he rose.  "She's all yours,
Mulder.  And if you hurt her...let's just say, pathologists
know the secrets to getting rid of bodies."

Grinning, Hugh walked off and Mulder swept her into his arms
as the band started playing the next song.

"I'm not sharing you, Scully," he said, leaning down and 
speaking into her ear.  "You better tell him to back off."

She laughed, twining her arms around his neck.  "You have
nothing to worry about.  I can assure you, I'm not Hugh's
type."

"Scully, I've seen the way he acted around you.  How can 
you say you're not his type?"

"What you saw was possessiveness.  Believe me, Hugh is
involved with someone else."

Mulder gave her a skeptical look.   "I think he's been
carrying a torch for you since college."

"I absolutely guarantee he isn't interested in me, Mulder.
Not now and not in college."  God, this was going to be
fun.  "The truth is, I don't have what it takes."

Mulder  snorted.

"If you don't have it, I don't want it," he said.

"Hugh would be much happier with someone like that."  
She nodded to where Hugh stood talking to Tim.

"What are you talking about, Scully?  He's with a guy."

Scully had to admit that Hugh was right; she was definitely 
enjoying this.

"Scully, what are you saying?" Mulder persisted.  "You mean 
Hugh . . . and Tim . . . And you let me wallow in misery the 
whole time?"

"*I* let *you* wallow in misery?  I told you that I loved 
you.  I kept you from starving even after you broke my heart.  
I took care of you when you were sick."

Her scolding was gentle and teasing.  Her body pressed against 
his as they moved to the music.

"You gave me a bath," he reminded her huskily.

"Next time I'll use my tongue," she murmured back.   

Mulder leaned in to answer, then turned around with a grunt 
of frustration.  She saw Section Chief Hayward tugging on 
Mulder's shoulder.

"Mind if I cut in?" he asked brightly.   

"Sorry, we were just leaving," said Mulder.   

"I hope Chief Hayward wasn't offended," she said as he 
hustled her out of the room.

"I'm not sharing you with one more man, Scully.  Even if 
they outrank me."

By the time they reached the elevator, Scully wondered if 
either of them would be able to wait for the privacy of a 
room before the heat between them burst into flames.  
Mulder stared impatiently at the numbers above the door.  
"Comeoncomeoncomeon," he chanted.

When it finally opened, she grabbed Mulder's hand and they 
raced down the hall with no trace of decorum.

She fumbled her card in the door until it opened, and 
Mulder slid in behind her and slammed it shut.

His mouth was on hers, devouring her as his hands moved 
frantically over her body.  Finally, grunting satisfaction, 
Mulder found what he'd been searching for as he drew her 
zipper down.

"Off," he ordered, tugging the dress down off her shoulders.  

Scully was surprised at how nervous she felt as the dress 
slid over her hips.  It fell to her feet in a silvery green 
pool, leaving Scully in nothing more than her high-heeled 
sandals and a tiny lace bra and panties.

She had dreamed of this moment for a long time, but now 
that it had arrived she couldn't help worrying about how 
it might go wrong.  Her fears vanished when she caught 
sight of Mulder grinning happily.  He started to speak, 
but what came out sounded like   "Oh... whoa... yeah... 
oh...Scully... hey..."

"Stop!" she said as he came closer.  Laughing at his 
shocked look, she retrieved her beautiful, expensive 
Nicole Miller before he could trample it.  

The dress had no sooner been draped over a chair when he 
turned and lunged at her, pinning her against the wall 
as he kissed her and simultaneously unfastened her bra.  

"Looks like you've had a lot of practice," she said, 
gasping as he cupped her breasts, his thumbs stroking 
her hardening nipples.  Mulder dropped to his knees to 
kiss her breasts, his hands roving to squeeze her ass.

"It's all coming back to me...like riding a bicycle."

"Oh, Mulder," she groaned as he took one nipple into his 
warm, wet mouth.  She reached for him, her fingers groping 
and exploring for skin, but finding nothing but wool and 
cotton.  "Mulder . . . Mulder."  By degrees her "Mulders" 
turned from joy to frustration.  He was wearing too many 
damned clothes.

"What?"  He looked dazed as he relinquished her breasts 
to respond to her complaint.

"Get naked for me," she begged.

She watched in glowing anticipation as his jacket and tie 
joined her dress on the chair, but when he unbuttoned his 
shirt, she couldn't hold back.  She was on him, smoothing 
her palms over his flanks, nibbling at his neck.  

She kissed his throat and then the delicate curve of his 
collarbone as her fingers counted down his ribcage.  Below 
the left nipple, in the space between the fifth and sixth 
ribs, she found where his heartbeat  was at its loudest, 
and she blessed the spot with a kiss.

Mulder fondled her ass, firm but gentle squeezes mixed with 
light, shivery strokes.

Somewhere along the line, Mulder had been distracted from 
the task she'd assigned him.  He hadn't even unbuckled his 
belt.

"Bad Mulder.  Bad, bad, bad," she told him as she opened his
belt.  "You go straight to bed."

"Yes, Ma'am," he agreed wholeheartedly.

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his shoes and 
socks.

Scully climbed onto the bed behind him, pressing her breasts 
to his back as she fingered his nipples.

"Don't you hate how shoes break up the rhythm?" she asked 
him.

"Actually, I was totally looking forward to taking yours 
off for you," he said.  He leaned forward and  hooked his 
thumbs into the waistband of his trousers, and Scully 
realized she was about to experience one of Life's Great 
Moments.

"Wait," she said.  "I want you to stand up and ease them 
down nice and slow."  This would be the very first time 
Mulder had undressed for her pleasure.  She felt like she 
should sit back with a bowl of popcorn and enjoy the show.
She'd make a fortune if she charged admission.  But Scully
wasn't going to share this view with anyone.

"Like this?"  He rose from the bed and turned to face her.  
His smoldering eyes  locked on hers as he lowered his pants.  
Even through the layers of wool and cotton, she detected a 
most impressive erection.  There was no bump and grind, 
just a few languid hip-swivels.  He'd hooked his boxers 
along with the trousers to strip them off together.

His gaze was intense, but his smile was a playful smirk.

"So, Scully.  What would you say was my best feature?" he 
asked.

That was a tough one.  His innate kindness?  His uncompromising
curiosity?  His tenacity?  His unique ability to combine
analysis with intuition?

"External obliques," she answered at last.

"I get a lot of compliments on those."  He didn't miss a 
beat, but she was sure he was faking.

"Here."  She got off the bed and stood before him, glad for 
the few extra inches she gained from her heels.  She slid 
her hands down his sides and then around, down his abdomen 
to his groin.  "These muscles right here."

And then, because she was already there with her hands inside 
his pants, she put an end to his slow tease, crouching down
to strip the last of his garments.  

The first time Scully had ever seen an erect penis, she'd 
found it almost comical--a one eyed man with a helmet.  
Nothing about Mulder's beautiful, magnicifent cock was at
all funny.  He took her breath away. 

"Scully, I seriously need to sit down," Mulder said.

"Works for me," she said, pushing him back on the bed and
falling to her knees before him.  She fit perfectly between 
his beautifully muscled thighs, running her fingertips
from knee to groin and watching him shiver uncontrollably.

"Oh God," he shouted when she took him into her mouth.
She suspected it had been a long time for him.  It certainly
had been a long time for her.  Well, as Mulder had said--
it was like riding a bicycle.  You never forgot how to do
it.

He moaned softly as stroked the length of him with her
tongue, then sucking as much of him in as she could.  
Good lord, the man was hung.  

Mulder's hips were bucking slightly in obvious pleasure
as she made love to him with her mouth.  His hands roamed
over her shoulders and arms, as her fingers strayed up his
torso.  She felt a firm tug on her hands.

"Please...oh...Scully, if you keep that up, I won't be able
to make love to you the way I want to."

She released his cock, gazing up to see him look down at 
her.  "You have plans, do you?"

"Oh God, yes.  Come here and I'll show you."

Unable to resist, she climbed up his body, kissing his
golden skin as she moved over him--cock, navel, ribcage,
nipples, neck.  Finally, she reached his mouth and she
draped herself over the territory she'd just covered. 

She kissed him softly, teasing his mouth with her tongue, 
teasing the head of his cock with her fingertips.  Mulder 
deepened the kiss, then, with one hand pressed against her 
ass and  the other behind her head, he rolled her onto her 
back.

"I worship your breasts, Scully.  Did you know that?"

Lowering his head, he licked her nipple, then took it in his 
mouth and sucked gently.  Scully sighed happily and reached 
for his cock, but Mulder stopped her with a breathy "No."

Eyes half-closed, he mouthed, tongued, and sucked both her 
breasts.  His fingers explored her through the lace of her
panties.

"Oh, Mulder."  Scully didn't think she'd ever been so aroused 
and yet so relaxed.  She tried once more to stroke Mulder's 
cock, and this time his protest was more feeble.

"I worship your breasts, Scully.  Don't interrupt a man at 
prayer," he mumbled between mouthfuls.

Despite his words, his hips rocked against her.

"Gotta go.  See you later," Mulder crooned softly to her 
left breast.  Then, in case she had any doubt that his 
brain had turned to mush, he turned his head and kissed her 
right breast good-bye.  "I love you too.  You're my 
favorite, but don't tell."

"You  are certifiable," Scully giggled.

"Don't eavesdrop.  That was between me and the girls," Mulder 
said.

Mulder fingered the elastic of her panties and Scully shifted 
her weight cooperatively.  Mulder didn't take the hint, but 
continued tracing under the waistband, then sliding a finger 
along the leg hole.  Scully gasped as he teased under the
lace from her hip over her belly and into her russet curls.

"Mulder," she whined, lifting her bottom for him.

"Something wrong, Scully?  Something you want me to do for 
you?" he asked innocently.

"You're trying to drive me crazy, aren't you?" she asked,
impatiently.

"Why would you say that?"  He reached to explore her slick 
folds, two fingers sliding ever-so-slowly against her swollen 
clit.  "I like to take my time.  People rush so much."

Finally, he hooked two fingers into the waistband of her
panties, drawing them down over her hips and thighs with 
excruciating slowness.  When he got to her feet, he 
carefully unbuckled each sandal, sliding them off before
slipping off the panties.

"I've dreamed of this for so long." Gently, reverently,
he parted her thighs.  "I had a particularly strong fantasy,"
he said, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. 

"A fantasy?" she whispered, wondering if his fantasies 
echoed her own.  

"Yes."  Another kiss.  "I'd picture laying you down on 
my desk and pushing your skirt up.  I'd imagine making
you scream loud enough to shake the poster off the wall."

Mulder was gifted, she had to hand him that.  His tongue
was amazing, teasing her until she did exactly what he'd
fantasized with alarming volume.  

Scully reached down and gently tugged on his hair. She 
couldn't wait a moment longer to feel him move within
her.  He raised his head, grinning at her.  "Why Agent
Scully, who knew you could be so vocal."

"Come up here, and I'll show you vocal.  I'll scream
the house down."

"I love a challenge," he said, moving along her body 
until he covered her like a well-muscled human blanket.
He fit himself between her open thighs, his cock hot
and hard against her stomach as he kissed her.

Mulder ground his hips against hers, nuzzling her neck.

"Please," she pleaded, her hips bucking under him.  She
reached down between their bodies, her fingers closing
over his cock.

"What do you want, Scully.  Tell me what you want."

"I want..." she gasped as the head of his penis rubbed
over her swollen clit.  "I want you in me.  Now.  Please."

With one smooth movement, he slid into her, filling her
completely.  For a moment he didn't move, his cock pulsing
hot within her as he kissed her.  

"I love you," he whispered against her mouth.  "I've loved
you forever."

Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew his cock from her.  She
groaned in disappointment until he thrust back into her.  
He continued this maddening pattern: leisurely withdrawl, 
powerful thrust until she thought she would go insane.  

Her hands drifted down his back until they reached that
remarkable ass.  Scully cupped the cheeks, as if she could
draw him even further into her body.  

Slipping his hands under her thighs, he pressed them back,
opening her deepening the angle of his entry.  This is 
happening, she thought.  It's really happening after all
the craziness and misunderstandings.  

The air was filled with moans and gasps as he pumped 
faster and faster into her.  She locked her heels together
around his waist, bucking against him as her body began
to vibrate with readiness.  

Mulder was moaning into her ear, "Love you, love you,"
as he moved urgently within her.  She was close, so very
close.  Her gasps gave way to soft little shrieks of 
pleasure as light exploded behind her closed eyelids, 
and a warmth pulsated deep in her core.

Mulder was apparently not far behind her as her sounds
of pleasure pushed him over the edge into climax.  He
grunted out a final "love you" as he collapsed onto her.

They lay quietly, breathing each other's breath, smiling
into each other's smiles.  Mulder raised himself up on one
elbow, brushing back a curl that had come loose from her 
hairdo.

"I can't believe how close we came to missing all this--
how much we almost lost because we didn't listen to each
other."

"I know," she replied, reaching up to cup his cheek.  "Hurt
and confusion got in the way.  It was only when you kissed
me that something came together inside me.  It's as if my 
heart heard what my ears missed.  I love you, Mulder.  
I'm glad my heart heard yours."   

"Maybe we should kiss instead of talk.  We don't seem to
misunderstand each other that way."

"Hmmm...I don't know.  It's an interesting hypothesis you
have there, Mulder.  I think it needs further investigation
before it can be verified."

"Well in that case..." he said, as he leaned down to kiss
her again.

The end.