From: rosecampionslash@yahoo.com
Date: 31 Aug 2003 07:15:26 -0700
Subject: [atxc-pi] NEW: It Had To Be You -NC-17- (0/5)
Source: atxc
 
Title: It Had To Be You 
Author: Rose Campion 
Feedback Email: rosecampionslash@yahoo.com 
Author's Website: 
Archive at Gossamer: Yes to Gossamer 
Status: NEW - Standalone 
Size: 184k 
Category: Humor, Romance 
Pairings: Mulder/Doggett 
Rating: NC-17 
Gossamer Category: Story ~ Romance, Humor ~ Slash 
Summary: "Your infection appears to be bacteria of an unknown kind.
Their purpose appears to be to excrete substances into your
bloodstreams.The goal of the researcher appears to be to induce
concupiscence in the human male." This story was originally intended
to answer a challenge on Diandra Hollman's DoggettTorture website-
'Doggett falls victim to an exotic disease'. I'm pretty sure this is
not what she had in mind.
 
Part 1
Please see part 0 (template) for story information.

pairing: M/D disclaimers: They're mine! All mine! Uh-oh, did I say
that in my out loudie voice? I meant to say they belong to Fox network
and etc. etc. No profit made, etc. etc. warning: Don't take this story
too seriously. It's meant  to be a piece of fluff based off a scenario
I saw on the cover of a romance novel. Starts out as vaguely canon,
but soon turns AU-ish. Just relax and go with it.  Rating:
Unapologetically NC-17 Archive: sure, just let me know where
Summary: This story was originally meant as an answer to a challenge
on Diandra  Hollman's DoggettTorture site- Doggett falls victim to an
exotic disease.  I'm pretty sure this is not what she had in mind
though. "Your infection appears to  be bacteria of an unknown kind.
Their purpose appears to be to excrete substances into your
bloodstreams...The goal of the researcher appears to be to 
induce concupiscence in the human male."

***

"Some others I've seen might never be mean
Might never be cross or try to be boss
But they wouldn't do
For nobody else gave me a thrill
With all your faults, I love you still
It had to be you, wonderful you
It had to be you."

Part 1:

Concupiscence

Anyone who thought that a career in law enforcement was nonstop
excitement and adventure had obviously never spent a single day in
court, Doggett thought sourly as he sat through the bench call,
waiting, then waiting some more. 

The criminal court building in Buffalo had to be one of the
gawdawfullest ugly buildings ever made, too. Modern, with all the
charm of a brick, and built decades ago. It was all concrete and glass
with nubby, tweedy gray carpet. Modern did't wear well, at least not
when it came to the kind of wear that a court building stood up to.
The overall effect was grubby and despressing. Kind  of like they were
preparing criminals for prison. The courtroom had these
improbably uncomfortable benches as the only available seating, solid
as rocks,  set at angles that seemed designed for maximum discomfort
for a tall man like himself. And that was just the seating of the jury
box where he was waiting currently with the other law enforcement
officers. The jury had not having been  sent in from the jury assembly
room yet. The seats for those called to court looked even less
comfortable. 

The worst part about court was that you couldn't do anything but just
sit there, listening to the judge. You couldn't work on files or write
up reports like you might normally do during empty time. And it could
be hours before they  were through with all the preliminary crap, and
even when they got around to the case he'd been called for, it would
probably be only to hear that the case was continued. He'd have to
come back, travel all the way back to bleeping Buffalo, NY. He
supposed that maybe a continuance wasn't such a bad thing. He
wasn't looking forward to trying to convince a judge and jury that
Herman Stites, recovered finally from his chest wound, was really some
kind of murdering lizard creature. Yeah, that was going to play real
well. It was uncharitable of him, but he'd almost been hoping that
Stites wouldn't recover, partly from natural anger that Stites had
attempted to put him and Agent Harrison on the dinner menu, but
partially because he knew what the trial would  be like.

He paused from his woolgathering to look up. He caught sight of the
last person  he'd hoped not to see. Shit. Mulder. What the hell was he
doing here? Mulder settled himself into one of the concrete benches
that the accused, the witnesses and the rest had make do with. Doggett
caught sight of a sheet of white paper in Mulder's hand. He didn't
have to read it to know what it was. A supoena. Mulder was being
called as a witness in the case too. It might have been schadenfreude,
Doggett thought, but at least Mulder had to suffer through
this as well. Be called back for each and every continuance, and at
his own expense, no doubt. Mulder wasn't on the government's tab any
longer.

Mulder, Doggett was surprised to see, hadn't dragged out a suit for
court. Instead, he'd chosen jeans and a T-shirt for this appearance. A
gray T-shirt that clung in all the right places. Damn, why did the man
have to look so elegant in such crappy clothes? And he pulled it off
in such a way that Doggett  felt like a stolid dolt in comparison,
even though he was wearing his second best suit. 

Doggett shifted in his seat uncomfortably. It'd been a while since
he'd sat down and this morning's coffee was beginning to filter
through his system. He looked up at the DA and then the judge.
Determining that he wouldn't be needed,  at least not for a while, he
stood up. He walked out of the courtroom, into the  hall and then into
the men's room. He didn't notice Mulder following him. 

It happened just as he'd finished draining the little lizard, right as
he was about to give it a shake, then zip himself back up. He heard
Mulder's voice yell, "Down!"

Then not a half a second later, he was being tackled right to the
ceramic tile floor of the men's room. Gross. The floor was a
little...sticky. He didn't want  to think about what he was lying in
at the moment. With Fox Fucking Mulder on top of him. What the fuck?
He was so enraged at being thrown to the floor  that  he almost missed
the screaming in the hall outside and the shots being fired.
And the guy standing in the doorway of the men's room, looking exactly
like the  archetypal Black Ops agent from Fox Mulder's every paranoia
induced nightmare. 

This was a terrorist attack of some kind? How the hell had they gotten
those submachine guns past the metal detectors? What the hell was
happening?

Another black ops guy joined the first in the men's room. He was
carrying was looked like an aeresol can of some kind, unlabelled. This
one had a gas mask on. With motions and muffled words, he made it
clear to the first black ops guy  that he should get out of there.
Before Doggett could react, throw Fox Mulder off of him and do
something, anything, the second Ops guy pulled the cap off
his aerosol can and sprayed both Doggett and Mulder liberally with
something that smelled sickly sweet, kind of like room deodorant.
Floral meadow scent. Doggett choked on the cloying scent of it, not
able to stop himself from breathing it in. Mulder was coughing and
hacking right along with Doggett. 

Doggett swore he heard the Black Ops guy snicker. Then the can was
tossed into the corner of the room with an empty sounding clatter.
Doggett crawled to his knees, then to his feet, intending to tackle
the retreating terrorist, but something was wrong. He felt weak,
hardly able to move, like every ounce of his  strength had drained
right out of his feet. Mulder was still on the tile floor, 
curled up on his side, hacking away. Doggett decided to downgrade his
intended run to a walk, then even as he took a few steps, his body
decided that the floor was a much better place to be at the moment.
For the second time in less than a minute, he crashed to the dirty,
nasty tile floor of the courthouse men's room. He didn't have long to
think about how awful this was, though. Darkness claimed him.

***

When Doggett woke up again, he was in a hospital bed, more or less
comfortable.  The space he was in wasn't like any hospital room he'd
ever been in. It was a big room, but he was inside a big plastic
bubble of sorts. A smaller room made of clear plastic sheeting walls
inside a larger space. He looked around and saw  what looked to be a
complex ventilation system. Shit. That must have been some
kind of biohazard that the Black Ops had exposed him to. He was in
some kind of  isolation tank.

Strike that, he thought as he looked around. Not quite in solitary
isolation. There was another hospital bed in the plastic bubble. He
looked at the occupant. Of course. There had been one other person
exposed to whatever biohazard it was. Fox Fucking Mulder. 

He didn't know why the other man stuck in his craw the way he did. He
had thought that they'd come to some kind of mutual respect after that
oilrig thing, but every time he saw the man, it was like fingernails
on the blackboard. He got pissed off just thinking about the man. He
didn't like to think about why that should be so. That was poking into
the dark, uncomfortable  thoughts that he tended to shove in a little
boxes, wrap up with duct tape, label 'do not touch' and push into the
storage cabinet that was his subconscious. No, some things did not
bear examination.

That's what he did now. All uneasy thoughts shoved back into their
storage, he focused on how he was feeling. Not bad actually,
considering he'd apparently been infected with some unknown biohazard.
Tired enough that the idea of getting out of bed was definitely
meeting with mental resistance, but other than that, he didn't feel
achy, feverish or in any kind of pain. Okay, he might  be drugged, he
thought. That might explain his current inability to get up. But 
he didn't think he was too bad off. He didn't have the fuzzy,
disconnected feeling of most of the really good drugs. He didn't think
he was really sick, though. Maybe this was all just precaution. He
supposed it was possible that he  was in the hands of the black ops
people, a prisoner. Well, he'd deal with that  eventually. For now,
going to sleep again seemed to be the order of the day. He 
drifted helplessly into the hands of exhaustion.

When he woke up again, he was still in the same hospital bed, feeling
a lot better though still kind of tired. The idea of sitting up wasn't
as much of an anathema to him and he did that almost immediately. See,
it wasn't just him that was awake, but the little general was standing
up and saluting. A really prime specimen of morning wood, enough so
that it was causing the light blanket  he was covered with to tent up.
And Fox Mulder was just over in the next bed, sitting up. Thankfully
Mulder wasn't looking in Doggett's direction. Though at
the noise of Doggett changing position, he looked over. Doggett
bunched up the blankets in his lap for better concealment, because it
didn't appear that his woody was thinking about deflating anytime
soon. 

"Mornin', Sunshine," Mulder said, ruefully. He didn't look best
pleased to be here either. No, the man was decidedly in full pout
mode, looking moody, his lip sticking out slightly. 

"Where the hell are we, Mulder?" Doggett asked. "This doesn't look
like any hospital I've been in before. Do you think we're in the hands
of those terrorists?"

"Worse," Mulder said, with a grimace.

"Worse?" Doggett asked. "Who?"

"The CDC," Mulder said with a sourness that could only have been born
of experience. "We're in high level isolation. That must have been
some kind of highly contagious biohazard we were exposed to back at
the courthouse. I haven't been awake long, just a minute before you.
But this isn't the first time I've ended up in one of these units."

Almost on cue, a bunny-suited figure walked into the air lock
arrangement that was their door to the outside world. It took a few
minutes for the air he heard  pumping to fully cycle through before
the inner door opened. The figure looked funny, even more than the
usual way that people looked in those big, white plastic suits. The
suit bagged around the ankles and wrists, as if the person,
a decidedly short but round person, was wearing a suit far too large
for him or  her to accommodate her girth. It took him a moment to
decipher that the figure was Agent Scully, still hugely pregnant. The
characteristic way she supported her back as she came to a stop in the
middle of their beds gave it away, even before she turned to face him.

"Well, both of you are looking very good, all things considered," she
said. She  didn't sound amused. Not in the slightest. And Doggett
couldn't say as he blamed her. To travel all this way again, in her
state. The woman certainly got  his nomination for sainthood.

"So that means we'll be free to go soon," Mulder asked, hopefully. "I
feel fine. Not sick at all."

"Not so fast, Mulder," she said. "You're both still highly contagious
with a biological organism of unknown type. The CDC scientists are
working on identifying it, seeing if they can isolate and neutralize
it, but for now, you'll have to remain in isolation."

"What happened in that courthouse, Agent Scully?" Doggett asked. "And
shouldn't  you be on your maternity leave, not exposing yourself to
unknown organisms?"

Scully turned to him and graced him with a smile he could barely see
through the clear faceplate of her big, white helmet. "I'm fine, Agent
Doggett. The CDC  precautions are more than adequate. It appears that
Herman Stites had some friends. The attack was a successful rescue
operation. Assistant Director Skinner and myself are investigating
possible government connections into Stites' research. In any case, we
captured one of the attackers and, using information gained from him,
we were able to track down the laboratory of one Emmanuel Lobel, one
of Stites colleagues. He's a cryptozoologist specializing
in microorganisms. He appears to be the scientist who created the
organism. The  laboratory was abandoned, the files mostly trashed, but
we found a hard copy notebook that must have been overlooked."

She would have poured over that notebook already, looking for a cure,
looking for any information.

"So, what's the skinny, Agent Scully?" Doggett asked before Mulder
could. He wanted to hear the unvarnished truth. If he was going to buy
the farm from this  thing, whatever it was, he wanted to hear it flat
out, right away. He thought Scully knew him well enough that she
wouldn't candy coat anything. "Is this some kind of time delayed
thing? We get really sick later on? What are we up against? Liquefying
organs, like with that Ebola thing?"

"Nothing that exotic or deadly, Agent Doggett," Scully said. And then
Doggett got another look at her through the faceplate and damned if
the woman hadn't turned a bright shade of pink. She tried to keep her
voice completely business like, but you could tell it was a real
effort for her. It was almost as if she was going to break down and
laugh any minute now. What the hell was up?

Scully got it under control a moment later, then continued, still
blushing, but  her voice as if she were delivering a particularly dull
report to a convention of pathologists, "Your infection appears to be
bacteria of an unknown kind. Their purpose appears to be to excrete
substances into your bloodstreams. Some of these are fairly
pedestrian- testosterone, other human hormones. Others we
can't as yet identify. The goal of the researcher appears to be to
induce concupiscence in the human male."

Doggett was a little slow to catch on, not recognizing the word, but
Mulder got  it right away. He breathed a heavy sigh, then said, "As if
the average male really needs any help in that department."

Then Doggett got it. He might not have been quite as quick as Fox
Mulder, but he got there soon enough. He had to plow through the
connections from a to b to  c, but he was no dummy. Shit. Well, that
would explain why his morning woody had failed to subside thus far, as
well as the urges he'd tried to suppress to touch himself right
through his blankets. He glanced over at Mulder and noticed 
that the blankets were definitely scrunched up over the other man's
lap as well. His life had been weird and impossible ever since he'd
been assigned to search for Fox Mulder, but he'd never anticipated
that his life could get this weird and this impossible. Shit. Of all
the Goddamn things. And with Mulder sharing this isolation room, not
to mention the CDC breathing down his neck, it  wasn't even as if he
was going to be able to jerk off to ease some of the tension. 

"Tell me you didn't just say what I thought you said, Agent Scully,"
Doggett said, ashamed to hear how much it sounded like he was
pleading. 

He had to admit that she finally had the decency to look ashamed, or
maybe he was just imagining that she did. Those bunny suits did a good
job at concealing  a person's expression. "I'm sorry, Agent Doggett,"
she said. "I believe you heard me correctly. You can be assured that
the CDC scientists are going to be working around the clock finding a
cure for your condition."

She said this with such blithe assurance that Doggett thought that she
meant that they'd be working around the clock, if she had to keep her
weapon pulled on them to insure it. Still, Doggett found himself
wondering if maybe they could move him into quarters that had a
shower. A cold shower. Maybe, just maybe, that might do the trick of
pulling the plug on his woody, which if anything, was getting more and
more painful.

"Scully, uh, not to complain, seeing as our room tab is going to be on
the government," Mulder began. "But I don't suppose you could see
about moving us into accommodations that are a little bit more private
than this." 

"I've already looked into that, Mulder," she said. "Especially once I
realized the possible symptoms of the, uhm, infection. But these
isolation rooms don't come cheap. And with budget cuts, the CDC just
doesn't have a second unit available right now. I'm afraid you're
stuck together until the CDC scientists determine you're no longer
infectious. I know that probably puts a damper on the most obviously
convenient way of easing your symptoms, but I'm sure you'll
figure out something."

Then Scully got a funny look on her face. Doggett recognized it from
when his wife had been pregnant. The sprog had been moving, probably,
and she was trying  to figure out if it was just that, or if it were
the start of something bigger.  "I think its time for me to get out of
the bunny suit and go sit down, guys," she said after a while. 

"I think that's a good idea, Agent Scully," Doggett said, keeping his
voice sounding light, yet concerned. "Maybe you should go on home. I'm
sure we'll be fine."

Scully put her hands to her back again, as if massaging a backache.
Maybe it was the start of her labor. "I'll be back later," she said.
She turned to Mulder and gave him a brief hug, then started making her
way to the air lock. The entry process repeated, the air cycling out,
then in again. A moment later,  they were seemingly alone. Doggett,
though he would normally attribute the thought to getting as paranoid
as Mulder, found himself wondering about the presence of hidden video
monitoring. The CDC would want to keep an eye on what was going on
with their most infectious diseases while keeping away from direct 
contact. The obvious solution was closed circuit television.     
Mulder was looking over longingly at the door, then he looked ahead,
shaking his head. For  some reason that Doggett couldn't even begin to
understand, this truly pissed him off.

"Mulder," he snapped. "There are over five billion people in the
world. Of all the people I could have gotten stuck in this situation
with, it had to be you!"

Mulder's face went blank and stony for a moment. Doggett had made a
discernable  hit then. Score one for him. Then Mulder's eyes flashed
and he snarked right back, "Don't think I'm exactly thrilled to be
stuck in here with a real tightass like you."

The altercation might have continued, but they were graced with
another visit. They both stared sullenly as a bunny-suited figure
entered their isolation cell. The person wasn't Scully, returned for
some reason, but a sandy, washed out looking scientist type. A real
pencil necked geek sort. He looked embarrassed to be there, but he
gamely cleared his throat and began, "Um, Mr. Mulder, Agent Doggett.
I'm David Lamont, one of the senior researchers in this
department. Dr. Scully suggested I discuss the terms of your
quarantine with you."

The sound of dire inevitability in his voice, with a timbre of terror
quavering  in it, suggested that Scully was not in a mood to be messed
with. Scully on a tear was enough to put fear into the heart of even
the bravest man. This geek scientist type would have been a pushover
for her. She probably didn't even have to make the hint that she was
armed with a 9mm and not afraid to use it. She'd probably just stepped
on his toes until he was the one apologizing.

"Well, you could start by letting us out of here," Mulder tried.
"We're not sick."

"I'm sorry," Lamont said. "You're very unusual patients for us, in
that normally when we see patients who need to be in this kind of
isolation, they're  on the verge of death, rather than seemingly
healthy as you are. But both the non-contamination protocols, and
instructions from higher up are quite clear. We can't let you get out
to spread this disease. There also remains the possibility that more,
uh, um, uh, serious symptoms might manifest themselves later on in the
course of the infection. And we've been working with cultures
of the bacterium in the lab. It does appear to be resistant to any
antibiotic we could throw at it, including the big guns like
vancomycin. So you can imagine the seriousness of the situation. Dr.
Scully had some suggestions for how we can make your confinement more,
um, comfortable.

"Someone will be in shortly with a television. We should be able to
provide a variety of reading materials. And there was some concern
about your privacy given the, erm, um, ah, nature of your condition,"
Lamont said. "After some...ah, discussion, we've agreed that,
considering your continued health, that video monitoring is completely
unnecessary, and that we could have checks on a scheduled basis, and
that we wouldn't come to the unit otherwise unless you were to call
us."

"Well, that's a start," Mulder said, in a snit. "Are you sure there
aren't two units available?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Mulder," the man said, apologetically. "I can
understand your concerns, but there just aren't any more facilities
like this one available at the moment. We can provide some screens to
set up between the two beds, but that's the extent of what we can do
at the moment."

A short while later, with more apologies, the pencil neck was gone.
Mulder licked his lower lip, looked at Doggett as if he was going to
say something. No, that wasn't quite it. Like he was thinking...

No. Mulder sure as hell wasn't going to be doing any thinking about
him of that  kind. He was going to have to make that crystal clear.
And if Doggett had to defend his virtue, he was pretty sure he could
beat Mulder. The other man might  be in good shape too, and few inches
taller than Doggett, but Doggett was sure he could take Mulder. 

But Mulder turned away, shaking his head violently, as if he was
stopping himself from thinking certain things. "I think we need to
come to some kind of agreement, Agent Doggett," he said. "Some kind of
ceasefire. We're stuck in this together, for the duration. It'll be
easier on the both of us."

"That depends," Doggett answered. "What kind of agreement did you have
in mind?"

But as soon as he'd said that, for a long minute that Doggett just
couldn't seem to help, his mind went straight to the gutter. Utterly
in spite of himself. It had to be caused by this...disease. That could
be the only explanation for the sudden images that came to mind of
Mulder's mouth, wrapped around his cock, his own mouth around
Mulder's. His already full cock twitched a little at the mere thought.
Jesus. He was not going to survive this if he didn't get himself under
control. He could have slapped himself, but instead, he settled for
shaking his head. It was just the disease, he told himself. That 
was all. No reflection on him. The disease was making him hornier than
he'd ever been. And Mulder happened to be the only one around- that
was all. 

It was just like his time in the Marines. Nobody but other guys
around, and him  being young, dumb and full of come, of course he'd
fooled around a little when the opportunity presented itself. Didn't
mean a damn thing. Once that time in his life was over, so was that
type of fooling around. He'd gotten married, loved his wife, loved to
make love to her, and besides, even then, he'd grabbed 
pussy whenever he got a chance. There wasn't a person in the world who
could accuse him of being light in the loafers. Queer as a
three-dollar bill. Playing  for the other team. Putting from the
rough. He shook his head again once he caught his thoughts meandering.
Luckily, Mulder didn't seem to notice his little mental field trip.  

"I'm thinking a simple agreement to pretend not to hear certain noises
through this screen that they're supposed to give us. I think we both
know what I'm talking about here without me having to spell it out,"
Mulder said. "In essence, we'll just not talk about the elephant in
the living room. It's the only sensible thing we can do. I don't know
about you, but I'm just about dying  over here."

Suddenly all the delicate talk and pussyfooting around got to Doggett,
drove him to the edge. He snapped, "Just say it, Mulder. You want to
jerk off over there and you want me to not notice, right? I don't see
why everyone's sensibilities are so damn sensitive that they can't
come out and say it."

"Fine. I'd like to masturbate and I believe I'm accurate in guessing
that you would as well," Mulder said, surprisingly mild. Doggett would
have thought that  considering how he'd snarled, that Mulder would
have responded in kind. But when he didn't, Doggett found some of his
ire melting away. Mulder's mouth quirked up in a half smile and he
added, "You don't suppose they'd let us have phone access, would
they?"

It took Doggett a second to figure out that one. Until he remembered
combing through Mulder's phone bills, looking for clues when the man
had gone missing. Mulder had a predilection for phone sex in addition
to a video selection that had to be seen to be believed. It had a
little bit of everything, enough that even though Doggett had poked
through the whole thing, he couldn't have even begun to guess at
Mulder's preferences and kinks. He had come to the conclusion 
that either Mulder was just a generalized pervert or he'd anticipated
people searching through the collection and so he'd hidden his true
preferences like hiding a tree in the forest. 

There was some sudden kindness in Mulder's eyes, something in the way
that Mulder smiled that Doggett found himself softening to. As if
Mulder was making some kind of concession for peace. They were, after
all, like it or not, in this together. Doggett decided that it would
make it a little bit easier if he at least stopped antagonizing
Mulder. He didn't have to like the man, but then again, he'd gotten
along plenty with people he didn't like. 

"You know, I'm thinking at this point that a 1-900 number ain't
necessary. Just  a few minutes alone," Doggett said. His cock twitched
again, even at the mere thought of a bit of privacy to stroke himself
to release.

The wish for a bit of privacy had to wait though. Suddenly a near
swarm of people in isolation suits was in the larger room and another
one of them was entering their little plastic bubble. It was Scully
again. As she approached them, Doggett noticed that she looked tired
and her face was slightly flushed, as with effort, but she also looked
pleased. She also carried a white paper bag  that looked like it came
from some carryout place. There were a couple of grease stains on it,
indicating something no doubt unhealthy, full of grease.
Doggett had been wondering about that. He was starting to get hungry,
but there'd been no sign of so much as a hospital tray brought to
them. Though admittedly, it was another hunger that had been occupying
his mind for the most  part. 

"Congratulations," she said to them. There was a slight smile,
definitely triumphant, on her face. "I've gotten them to admit that
the isolation bubble can be reconfigured within the larger room. I've
just gotten you two a bathroom. They weren't going to admit that it
could be done, but I stepped on a  few toes."

"Scully," Doggett protested. "You shouldn't be worrying about us.
We're big boys. We'll be fine. You get off your feet and worry about
J. Edgar Jr. there."

Still, despite his sudden worry for her, he was immensely pleased. A
bathroom meant a door that he could shut on Mulder. It meant privacy.
It was, without a doubt, a one hundred percent improvement on their
predicament. 

"Scully! I'd kiss you, but it seems I'm a diseased pariah at the
moment," Mulder said, big smile on his face. Then he pointed at the
bag. "If there's ice  tea in that bag, it must be love for sure this
time."

"Sorry, Mulder," she said, pushing the bag at him. "It's fate again.
Coke. I'm sorry. I didn't go. I sent someone else."

"Coke's just fine, Agent Scully," Doggett said. Honestly, he didn't
think he'd taste a thing, but he figured he'd have to eat something.
Fuel for the furnace,  that kind of thing. 

She opened the bag and handed him a foil wrapped burger and a bag of
fries, then the promised coke, in a foam cup with a lid. "The next
time it'll be something a little more healthy," she said. "We're kind
of bending the rules by  bringing this in."

"I truly appreciate it," he said. 

Meanwhile, as they'd talked, the isolation suited people outside of
the bubble were starting to move things around. Scully left them with
promises to come back the next day. Meanwhile, as the CDC workers
built a plastic tunnel linking  the isolation room with another door,
Doggett picked at his French fries. They were too salty and already
mostly cold by the time he'd gotten them. Besides, he was just too
distracted to eat. If it had been bad earlier, by now his
erection was just demanding attention. The feel of the cloth from his
hospital gown was starting to feel like torture. Good torture, but
torture. Like that song from the eighties- hurt so good.

The minute that they'd been given the thumbs up that they could use
the bathroom, and the crowd of CDC workers had departed, leaving with
them the promised television and screen, having taken with them a
couple of video cameras, Doggett jumped out of his hospital bed and
said, "Dibs on the john."

God, but wasn't it just agony to feel his erection bob up and down as
he walked  past Mulder's bed towards the connecting tunnel. And
embarrassing to see how he  tented out the front. And he could
definitely feel a bit of a breeze up the backside of it. He wasn't
sure what was worse or which he should attempt to conceal. 

"Hey," Mulder said as Doggett passed. "Give me about five minutes. Oh,
and Scully slipped us a gift."

With that, Mulder pulled two small tubes out from under his blanket.
It took Doggett a little while to recognize them as hand lotion. He
offered one to Doggett. Floral scented, he thought. Lilac, to be
exact. The sort of thing a woman might carry around with her. It was
sure to reek with the "stink so pretty" perfume that he hated, but
that didn't stop him from accepting the lotion from Mulder.

"I think Scully thought we might do ourselves some damage from overuse
or something," Mulder said, jokingly.

The way Doggett was feeling at the moment, that might not be such a
joke. He'd heard guys talk about being so aroused it hurt, but he'd
never experienced it himself, not even in the height of adolescent
hormone overdrive. This was like what it had been like after necking
for an hour with his first girlfriend, Joanie, on the couch in her
parent's rec room, parents gone. And then her telling him he had to
stop, just as he'd been sure he'd gotten her warmed up enough to stick
a hand under her shirt. That feeling. Times ten. No. Times
twenty. It was enough to make him feel like simply getting his rocks
off once was not going to be enough. And he didn't like that feeling
of being out of control of himself. Not one bit. 

Still, Mulder didn't have to share. And besides, Mulder had taken the
"Summertime Rose" scented lotion, which was sure to stink even worse
than the lilac, so he had that much to be grateful for.   

"Uh, thanks, Mulder," Doggett said. Then he started for the bathroom.
Only the uncomfortable feeling of his bobbing cock stopped him from
running. 

The bathroom was small, just a toilet, small vanity and sink, and a
single stall shower of the kind you'd see in hospital rooms normally.
More of just a showerhead and drain in the floor. Still, it had a
door. No lock on the door, but Doggett thought he could trust that
Mulder was fully occupied with pulling his own pud by now. There were
towels. Doggett decided that he'd do it in the shower; hopefully the
water would drown out any noise he might make. At this point, he
wasn't quite sure if he'd be able to stop himself from making noises.
All bets were off in that regard.

He almost didn't make it to the shower, but thankfully it took just
seconds to rip off the gown. The water was hot right from the get go.
He pulled the shower  curtain closed. He was surprised that he didn't
spurt from the first touch, or even just from the pressure of the
water that blasted out of the showerhead. He  wrapped his hand a
little more firmly around his cock and started pulling,
sliding his hand back and forth on the shaft. Oh, God, but that felt
good. Better than he could say. 

As he worked himself, his mind drifted, images floating freely through
his head. First just memories of random sexual encounters. Not Barb.
That'd been too painful right after the divorce and he'd pretty well
trained himself to avoid those thoughts. But there'd been other women,
both before and after Barb.  But before long, his mind started looping
on this one guy he'd traded blowjobs with a few times while he'd been
in the Marines. Richards was his name. Last name that was. What had
his first name been? That was harder to remember, but Doggett pulled
the name Mike out of memory and that sounded right. Richards had 
been a real hot number, not quite a body builder type, but he'd been a
football  player in high school. It was in the shower when it happened
usually. Just like  this. And it'd been, despite the weirdness of it
being another guy, some of the  most scorching hot sex he'd had up to
that point, because of the risk of getting caught, and because of the
thrill of having such a muscled stud being the one kneeling in front
of him. 

Doggett stopped moving his hand once he realized what he was thinking
about. And furthermore, Richards had somehow become Mulder in his
fantasy. That he'd been picturing himself running his finger's through
Mulder's brown hair as he plundered a talented mouth. Richards' lips
had been full like Mulder's, Doggett  remembered. No, he couldn't be
thinking things like that. It hadn't meant a thing, it had just been
convenient and he certainly wasn't going to allow Mulder to touch him
like he'd allowed Richards. He focused his mind on...yeah,
that first girlfriend of his, Joanie, and how it had felt when she'd
finally given it up to him. 

Still his mind drifted, and as he gripped himself that one, last hard
time that  sent his whole body shuddering and spasming, he hardly
noticed that his mind had fixated on Mulder again. That full mouth
soft and hot on him. Mulder kneeling in front of him. Not as muscular
as Richards had been, but Doggett had  seen enough of Mulder to know
that the man's body was nothing to be ashamed of either. The man's
hair was probably as silky as a woman's. 

Relieved of the pressure finally, he slumped back against the wall of
the shower, dumbly watching the stream of hot water wash away the last
of the semen  that had covered his hand. Still, despite his
post-orgasm torpor, he was horrified. Without the pressing need, he
remembered just exactly what he'd been  thinking about as he'd been
jerking off. Oh, hell, he thought to himself. Please, tell me I did
not just whack off to the thought of Fox Mulder sucking
my dick.

If the shower washed away the physical evidence of what he'd done, it
couldn't clean away the memory of what he'd been thinking. It's just
proximity, he rationalized. But the fact of what had just happened
kept rolling around in his  relaxed, empty mind. Big, loud, empty and
utterly undeniable. 

It just had to be Mulder, didn't it?

Doggett finally decided he had to pull himself together. Thanks to
the resources of the CDC, there seemed to be limitless gallons of hot
water, but a man couldn't hide in the bathroom all day. It was
cowardly. Behavior unbecoming  a man. He'd have to go out there
eventually and look Mulder in the eye. He'd brazen it out somehow,
even though he knew he was going to just look at the man 
and instantly think about those things he'd thought about. 

And damn, his little stint in the shower had just taken the edge off
of things.  As he thought about looking at Mulder again, his cock
started to stir with interest. Okay. This was just not funny. He was
old enough that once a night was all he should be good for. Not like
when he was eighteen and he was raring to go again almost as soon as
he was done. No, this was worse than any adolescent haze of hormones
he remembered.

Couldn't the doctors give them anything? Surely there had to be
something that acted like an anti-Viagra. 

Suppressing his anger at this whole ridiculous situation, he turned
the water off and reached for a towel. As he dried himself, he
couldn't totally avoid touching his dick, but he assiduously left it
alone. He got the feeling it'd be  really easy to slip into
another...opportunity to be thinking about Mulder in a 
way that Mulder really shouldn't be thought about. Once dry, he
reached for his  hospital gown again. He hated the damn things, but it
was all the clothes he had at this point, so on it went. For damn sure
he wasn't going to walk back into that room wearing nothing but a
towel. 

Then, back into the main part of the isolation bubble. Mulder was
stretched out  on the bed, dressed, Doggett noticed, in surgical
scrubs. Before Doggett could open his mouth to ask, Mulder said,
"Scully thought we would be more comfortable in scrubs. There's a pair
for you on your bed. It's not much, but at least my ass isn't out
hanging in the breeze."

Mulder's ass, Doggett thought, definitely didn't bear thinking about.

This time, as Doggett walked past Mulder, he pulled the gown tight
around him, so that he was sure he was fully covered. True to Mulder's
word, there was a set of blue hospital scrubs on the bed. He pulled on
the pants first, under the  hospital gown. Even though he was behind
the screen they'd brought in, he still  felt tremendously exposed. 

But when he peeked around the screen, Mulder was sitting up straight
on the bed, hands to his side, watching a basketball game on the
television. Mulder stared at the screen with seeming rapt attention.
More intense attention than could be attributed to the game. And
during their brief conversation, Doggett had noticed that Mulder
didn't once look him in the eye. Could Mulder possibly...Then he cut
off that thought brutally. He wasn't going to go there.
He'd be fine, so long as he could keep this suddenly little fixation
of his under lock and key. It was just the disease talking. If he just
rode it out, he'd be fine.

Denial, a little voice at the back of his head nagged, is far more
than a river  in Egypt. 

Still, for the moment, he decided he could pull back the screen a
little and watch the game. Not that he was a huge basketball fan, but
it was a distraction. He almost didn't notice Mulder and just how good
looking he'd suddenly discovered that the other man looked for whole
seconds at a time. He found he had to sit up straight in bed, his
hands to the sides, just like Mulder's. He put them too close to his
body and he suddenly found them...drifting. 

It was fine though. It really was. For a while. 

Then Mulder jumped out of his bed and started pacing the fifteen feet
confines of the isolation bubble. It was only about eight good paces
for Mulder, the side to side accomplished quickly. That meant Mulder
walked in front of Doggett's field of vision about once every ten
seconds, blocking the view of the basketball game, that if he were
honest, wasn't very effective at keeping his attention to begin with.

"For Lord's sake, Mulder," Doggett said after about thirty repetitions
of this back and forth. "Sit down already. You know, you make a great
door but a terrible window. I'm trying to watch the game here."

"Let's have a little bit of the truth here, Doggett," Mulder said,
stopping dead center in the middle of Doggett's view. Damn but the
man's lips were full and gorgeous. Even in the hospital scrubs, Mulder
seemed elegant, the loose blue garments emphasizing his slim body by
contrast. 

"I'm watching the game," Doggett complained. This was shaping up to be
one of those little conversations that nobody in their right mind
would want to be having. 

"I don't think you're watching the game any more than I was, Agent
Doggett," Mulder said. 

"I was. Do you mind?" 

"Then what's the score right now?" Mulder demanded, even as he grabbed
the remote control and clicked off the television. 

Doggett rummaged through his short-term memory and came up with only
Mulder's lower lip and the luscious curve it made as it swooped across
his face. Basketball was not to be found. He couldn't even remember
the teams playing. It  was infuriating and frustrating. Never, not
once, had he been so fuzzy headed. Such a space cadet. No, not spacey.
It was so not fair that he was so horny that Mulder's lips were far
more of a distraction to him now than Stacy Adams' round and lush
breasts had been back as a high school sophomore. Just not fair. 

He didn't say anything to Mulder, just stared furiously at the
blanket. 

"I rest my case, Agent Doggett," Mulder said.   

"You got a point here, Mulder?" Doggett asked. "Because otherwise, I'd
like to get back to the game."

"My point is that maybe this would be easier if we stopped arguing and
started to try and get along. I know we can work together. We've done
it before."

Doggett's mind immediately drifted to wondering what Mulder might have
in mind by "working together" in this particular instance. He shook
his head to clear it but it didn't work. He just couldn't stop
obsessing over what it would be like to kiss down the side of Mulder's
throat and to lick that gorgeous hollow right where Mulder's throat
met his chest. The man's skin would be slightly salty, Doggett
thought. And he would smell slightly too, because he hadn't yet
showered. Mild masculine sweat. Mulder was still talking, oblivious
to Doggett's obvious wool gathering. 

When Doggett finally tore his mind away the sheer perfection of the
curve of Mulder's lips and centered it on the words coming from that
mouth, he heard Mulder say, "I have to conclude that it wasn't
generalized concupiscence that the designers of this bacteria had in
mind, but specific attraction between people who are exposed to it at
the same time. It's the only way that I can explain..." Mulder paused,
took in Doggett's more or less moon-faced stare and asked, "have you
been listening to me, Agent Doggett? At all?"

"Yeah, Mulder," Doggett said. "You were saying that..."

What had Mulder been saying? Something about how he believed that the
biohazard  they'd been exposed to was meant to cause not generalized
desire, but specific desire. For the person you were exposed with at
the same time with. Shit. 

At least that explained it. He wasn't going nuts. It was the disease
that was causing his thoughts to drift every second to fantasies of
boinking like crazy with a man he didn't even like when you came down
to it. And why he wasn't fantasizing about any number of pretty women
he could think of. Or why Scully, even as pregnant as she was, had
utterly failed to spark the slightest bit of lust from him when she'd
come in. 

"Never mind that. Quit circling the airport and just get to your
point, Mulder," Doggett said, already afraid of the conclusion that
Mulder was certain  to draw but unable to not ask for it. 

"My point is this," Mulder said. And then he closed the short distance
between them in a few steps, put his hands on Doggett's shoulders
before Doggett could scramble out of the way, leaned in close and
said, "Time for us to consider some extreme possibilities. Because I
think that this is a case where Rosie Palm and her five sisters are
just not going to cut it."

And then he bent down and placed his lips firmly on Doggett's and
started to kiss him. 

It was like electricity to Doggett. Literally. Like sticking his
finger into a socket. The shock traveled up and down his spine. It was
an instant chemical reaction- all conscious thought, all anger at his
situation, all of that, turned into heavy precipitation and settled to
the bottom, out of sight, out of  mind. All that was left was the
urgency to get as much of Mulder, in any way possible, as he could.  

Mulder's lips savaged Doggett's mouth, rough, taking whatever they
wanted from the kiss. Mulder's cheeks and chin were stubbly, but
Doggett hardly noticed. Mulder's hands were still on his shoulders,
but his own scrambled ineffectively, grasping about for some part of
Mulder to stroke, to hold on to.  Then, instinctively, he put his
hands on top of Mulder's, then threw himself back onto the bed,
drawing Mulder after him. They landed in a sprawl, their
mouths separating, but Mulder pulled himself up again, and almost
before Doggett could catch his breath, Mulder's mouth was back on him.
His mouth was slightly open from gasping and suddenly his mouth was
filled with Mulder's tongue. 

They didn't even take their scrubs off. Mulder started grinding his
erection against Doggett's. The man was rock hard, and through the
scrub pants, he seemed huge. The crash of body against body was
delicious torture. It was as if  he'd been teased for hours, and now
that his dick was being given the slightest  bit of attention, he was
nearly over the edge. They didn't talk at all, the sensations of their
bodies too urgent for that. This was simple animal rutting. 
But at one point, Mulder tore his mouth away from Doggett's; causing
Doggett to  open his eyes, see what the problem was. He saw that
Mulder was staring at him.  Staring with such raw, unguarded lust that
at that instant, Doggett felt himself going over that familiar edge
into the territory where he couldn't control his body. He ground up
against Mulder again and again; finally coming with a loud groan, only
to realize Mulder was in the middle of doing the same. 

Mulder collapsed on top of Doggett, and for a moment, buried his face
in the crook of Doggett's neck. Doggett could hear him draw in a long
breath, as if trying to gather in some of Doggett's scent. Doggett,
for his part, felt lucid again for a moment. But now was just starting
to get the screaming mimmies, thinking about the fact that he'd just
brought himself to orgasm, not just in the same room with Mulder, but
using the other man's body to do it. 

(Continued in part 2)

Part 2
See part 0 for story information.


As if sensing Doggett's sudden tensing, Mulder looked up and said,
"Look, it's the bacteria. You can't help yourself, any more than you
could help sneezing if  you had a cold. You may as well give in. How
about we make a deal- nothing leaves this room. Once we're out of
here, we don't talk about it. It'll be like  it never happened. But
while we're in here, anything goes. Think you can handle 
that, Agent Doggett?"

"Oh, I can handle it just fine, Mulder," Doggett said. He thought
about other encounters he'd had with men, nothing as hot as what had
just happened. But he'd never had a problem separating one horny
moment into its own compartment. He'd gone back to working with those
guys the next morning, not even really thinking about the blow job he
given them the night before. "But seeing as your  come is soaking
through your pants and onto me, I think we're a little past
"Agent" don't you? My name's John."

"John," Mulder agreed, then went back to sniffing Doggett, scooting
down a little even so that he could burrow his nose into Doggett's
armpit. Then, his hands starting pulling up the edge of Doggett's
shirt, and soon, they were at it again.

***

Scully had rushed through the suiting up process. She had significant
news about how the bacteria behaved, the way there were two similar,
but slightly different strains of them, one which Mulder was
dominantly infected with, one which Doggett was. And when those two
strains met, there was some kind of synergistic chemical reaction
between them, causing them to produce a chemical most analogous to
naturally occurring endorphins. This might induce certain
forms of behavior in the two of them. They'd want to know that kind
of information instantly.

Luckily, she paused to look in on the isolation chamber before she
started the entry process. Oh. She could feel herself turning scarlet
underneath the white plastic suit. "Guess you figured it out
yourselves," she muttered, then went to  go strip the heavy,
uncomfortable suit off. 

It actually made a certain kind of illogical sense to her. The two of
them had sparked off each other from the instant they met. The
reaction had been so strong. Opposites attracting was more than a
simple truism. That she'd seen Mulder engaged in such...activities
with another man was no surprise to Scully.  She'd invited him to her
bed once, and while he'd taken her up on her offer, hadn't it been an
unmitigated disaster? So much so that neither of them spoke
about it again. 

No, the surprise, if there was any, was to see Agent Doggett. So
stoic. So masculine. Her last, best hope for a bit of testosterone
around the X-files office. Last seen licking Mulder's neck and chin
with every bit of the intensity that she'd come to expect from him.

Scully waddled back to the lab, alternately wondering if the infection
could make people do things that weren't, at some level, something
they'd be willing to participate in anyway, or if Doggett and Mulder
had some deep seated attraction to each other from the start. 

AD Skinner was waiting for her in the lab. A surprise. She'd been in
phone contact with him, of course, but she would hardly have expected
him to come up.  She'd rather that he hadn't come up actually. She'd
been exceedingly vague over  the phone thus far about the actual
nature of the infection and the symptoms it  caused. It was such a
sensitive matter that she'd really hoped to avoid discussing it with
the big man altogether.

"Sir?" she asked, making her way to a stool. She eased herself onto
it, glad to  be off her feet. Another couple of weeks left and she
could hardly wait. Like quite possibly every woman who was near nine
months pregnant, she was entirely ready to be not pregnant, by any
means necessary.

"You didn't have to come down, sir," she said. "There's not much
anyone can do other than try not to get in the way of the CDC
scientists."

"I just wanted to see that my agents...and former agent were all
right," Skinner said. "They're doing okay?"

She smiled wryly, thinking of the clinch she'd last seen the two men
in. "Trust  me, sir, they're feeling no pain," she said.

"Can I see them?" Skinner asked. 

Ix-nay on that. "I don't think that's such a good idea," she said,
quickly. Doggett, at least, would want to have a job to come back to,
once this infection was over. And probably wouldn't forgive her, not
ever, if she was the  one who revealed to the world that he was
currently engaged in slipping Mulder a good stiff one. "They're in
very closely contained isolation. No visitors allowed at all."

Despite herself, the brief moment she'd seen of them had branded
itself into her brain quite well. They seemed to be having a marvelous
time. Not just satisfying mindless animal lust, though to be sure
there was a lot of that going on, but actually having real fun. If she
wasn't so damn pregnant, she decided, she might be giving some serious
thought to seeing just how rigorous the infection control systems of
the CDC were. Skinner, she thought, looking at  the broad shoulders
that his suit jacket could not conceal, might make an ideal 
candidate for co-infection. Or maybe Dr. Mattias Garcia, one of the
CDC doctors  she'd been working with. His handsome Latin looks could
certainly bear to stand  a little closer examination.

"Of course," Skinner said. "That was only partially why I'm in the
area. We have another lead. It's believed that Dr. Lobel has a
secondary residence, just  over the border in Canada, on the shores of
Lake Ontario. I'm here to coordinate a raid with the RCMP. Our source
hinted at a second laboratory at the site."

A second laboratory. They might not have had time to trash it before
fleeing. There might be leftover research there, more notes maybe.
Maybe, even, possibly, the antidote to this mysterious bacterium that
was acting like love potion number nine. She knew that both Mulder and
Doggett would be so grateful to be cured of this ailment. Well, maybe
once they got over the initial shock of her taking away what was
probably the best sex either of them had in a long time. Or at least
that was how it seemed when she'd gotten her brief glance at
them. Yes, they had definitely been having fantastic, curl your toes
and roll your eyeballs back in your head sex. 

It was definitely enough to make a girl jealous. "Sir, that's
wonderful news," she said. "You'll let me come search this lab as soon
as the site is secure?"

"Agent Scully," Skinner said, firmly. The tone that lead up to the 'I
won't be argued with' tone. Another minute or two and she'd see the
clench of the jaw, maybe even the little look away to gather his
temper before speaking. "You are on maternity leave. It's bad enough
you won't leave this lab. You belong at home, in familiar
surroundings, at a time like this."

"Sir, my partner and Mulder are both ill," she said. "My place is
here. And besides, I can't think of a single place where I'm more
surrounded by doctors."

"Very well," Skinner agreed, deciding he wasn't going to argue with
the pregnant woman. "Keep me updated on any new developments in their
condition. Anything, no matter how small." 

***

Part 2-  Limerance

The past couple of days had gone by in a very pleasurable haze. Or at
least Doggett thought it had been a couple of days. He wasn't quite
sure, between the  fact that they couldn't see the sun and the fact
that their usual pattern of behavior seemed to be having sex until
they just about passed out from exhaustion, then after a short period
of sleep, get up and have more sex. He didn't even care at this point
that the CDC scientists must have been watching at least a little.
Nobody came in to the isolation room when they were awake
and at it, but when they'd wake up from their naps, there'd be trays
of food in  the room, fresh scrubs, piles of fresh sheets for the
beds. They even slipped them a tube of lube and a big box of condoms.
The food was mostly ignored, same  for the fresh changes of scrubs,
but a couple of times, Doggett had gotten it together enough to insist
that he and Mulder change the bed sheets. Gotten a lot of abuse, those
bed sheets had.

Sometimes, one or the other of them noticed that they were saturated
with the reek of sex musk and insisted on a shower. That's where they
were at the moment. Of course, it inevitably seemed to lead to more
sex.

Doggett was leaning back against the tile wall, Mulder kneeling at his
feet. For all that Mulder had protested that he had been a virgin when
it came to sex  with men, his enthusiasm more than made up for lack of
experience. He couldn't seem to deep throat Doggett's whole cock yet,
but he lavished avid attention on  the cockhead and the first couple
of inches, and stroked the rest of the cock with a skilled hand in
time to his mouth. 

It was just like his fantasy had been, the first one in the shower,
with him running his hands through Mulder's wet, brown locks, the
endless rivers of hot water pouring over his shoulders. Mulder's hair
was just as silky as he'd imagined it. He'd been looking up at the
showerhead, the tile on the wall, his head thrown back. He had been
driven so incoherent by Mulder's touch that about  the most sensible
thing he'd been able to get out in days was, "Oh, yeah. Good. 
That's good."

Then instantly, everything changed. 

Not in the physical sense. No, it was like a thunderbolt, but one that
didn't make any noise or light. Just one that struck him right down to
the soles of his feet. Mulder was still there, sucking on Doggett's
cock, but suddenly Doggett felt compelled to actually look at Mulder.
The man was beautiful when he did that, Doggett thought. No, just
plain beautiful. Not just physically either. Everything about him
seemed perfect suddenly; from his stubbornness to the way his hair was
hanging in wet strings on his forehead. The way he suddenly met
Doggett's eyes and sort of smiled around Doggett's cock. 

Oh, shit, Doggett thought. If he didn't know better, he'd have said he
was in love with Mulder, and that was a real problem. No. It couldn't
be. It was just the lust speaking.

It was a problem that he happily shut away into a little box, wrapped
up with duct tape and slapped warning labels reading things like
"Dangerous to your peace of mind" and "Do not go here" then shoved to
a storage unit somewhere in the back of his mind. To cover his sudden
moment of confusion, he put his hands  on Mulder's shoulders and
pushed him away slightly, so that his cock popped out  of Mulder's
mouth. Doggett said, when he could speak coherently again, "Want to 
fuck you. Now."

Mulder nodded then stood up from the tile. He turned around and braced
himself against the shower wall. This wouldn't have been the first
time one or the other of them had been fucked by the other in the
shower. That warning about not bending over to get the soap was
definitely needed in this particular shower.

"No," Doggett said, even as he started caressing Mulder's perfect ass,
one hand  on each gorgeous globe of it. It was firm, muscular and
smooth under Doggett's hand as he kneaded. "Onna bed."

"Oh," Mulder said, backing into Doggett's hand, sinuous and eager as a
cat in heat. 

To stop himself from being diverted from his intentions, Doggett
forced himself  to rip his hands off Mulder's ass and turned the water
off. It was a long, impatient minute until they could towel themselves
off slightly and make their way to the bed. Mulder threw himself face
down on the bed, waiting for Doggett's attentions and humping himself
against the bed. Doggett climbed into bed next to Mulder and began an
easy exploration. The previous explorations of the past couple of days
had definitely eased the way in that regard and as Doggett's index
finger slipped in, Mulder started breathing heavily and backing 
onto Doggett's hand.

After a short while, Mulder started whining, "Fuck me already."

Doggett was ready, no, more than ready, his cock so stiff it nearly
hurt, a condition he'd gotten surprisingly used to lately. Mulder was
obviously impatient for it. No, starting to beg for it with little
whimpers.

"No, on your back," Doggett said, surprised at his boldness. It'd been
an almost unspoken agreement that though they might fuck, it wouldn't
be up close and personal, face-to-face. They'd only fucked standing
and with Mulder on his hands and knees. But at this moment, something
in him, something he wasn't willing to take too close a look at, was
demanding that he look Mulder in the eye as they did this. It took
Mulder a moment. He'd frozen in place, his barely  verbal imprecations
ceasing for the moment. Doggett was afraid he'd pushed it
too far, asked something out of Mulder that the man wouldn't be
willing to give, even considering how the man had given it up so
easily when it came to everything else. Then Mulder chuffed out a
great big breath and rolled over onto his back.

If Doggett hadn't been exactly a virgin when it came to fucking other
guys, he wasn't exactly experienced either. And he'd never been or
done it in this position. But he carefully positioned himself, first
slicking his cock with lube; condoms forgotten in the heat of the
moment and kneeled between Mulder's legs, then lifted those long,
gorgeous legs up so they rested on his shoulders.  It seemed to take
forever, but Mulder's body welcomed him as he slowly plunged
deeper and deeper. Mulder's face was turned away from him, scrunched
up slightly as if in pain. Doggett stopped halfway in and asked, "You
okay?"

"Just fuck me already," Mulder said, then turned to face Doggett,
looking him intensely in the eyes. 

They were green at this moment, Doggett noticed. A dancing, bright
green. The look on Mulder's face was challenging, demanding. They
hadn't done much kissing  since the first time they'd given in to the
demands of this seemingly insatiable lust for each other. It was too
personal, too intimate it had seemed. They might have been fucking
each other, but kissing was off limits, by  another unspoken
agreement. Now, though, Doggett impulsively bent his head down 
and pressed his lips to Mulder's, demanding and getting a kiss. Mulder
gasped, but he didn't turn his face away from Doggett. As Mulder
breathed in, Doggett pushed all the way inside, seating himself to the
hilt. When he was in all the way, Mulder turned his face away, as if
the kiss and the eye contact were too intense for him on top of
everything else. Doggett let Mulder turn away, but he  wanted more,
suddenly. More than just this animal lust. More than a few wild
days that he could explain away as being caused by an entity outside
of himself. But he wasn't going to get it. Better to settle for what
he could get and ignore the thumpings going on in that little box he'd
duct taped so well and shoved out of sight.

With a moment's pause for Mulder to adjust, Doggett pulled out
slightly, then slid back in. And again. It took a moment to find the
right rhythm and balance as he took his weight off one of his hands so
he could reach in between them and stroke Mulder's cock. Almost
immediately, Mulder began to jerk, and his internal muscled clenched
down in sweet, delicious pressure. Mulder's eyes closed and his face
scrunched up. Mulder moaned and tossed his head back even
as warm fluid spurted over Doggett's fist. Doggett found himself
thrusting harder, unable to stop himself, unable to think about if he
was being gentle enough for Mulder. The urge was unbearable,
compulsive. His orgasm was torn from him even before he was ready for
it. 

He slumped down on Mulder, groaning slightly as he popped out.
Mulder's legs came down from his shoulders. Doggett lay on top of
Mulder for a few minutes, between Mulder's legs. He buried his face
into the crook of Mulder's neck, smelling the musky scent of semen,
sweat and sex, and a certain odor that was somehow uniquely Mulder. It
was an incredibly heady mixture and he wondered how  long he'd be able
to get away with lying just exactly like this, sniffing it in 
again and again.

Mulder whispered something that Doggett could just barely make out
as, "Bastard!"

"What?!" Doggett asked, suddenly alarmed. "Did I hurt you?"

"I didn't want to want this as much as I do," Mulder said, running his
fingers through Doggett's still damp hair. "I didn't want to like
you."

***

Scully was grabbing some sleep.  The first day or two, she'd been at
the CDC facility constantly.  But once she'd realized that the pair of
them, now that they'd latched on to each other and didn't seem to see
anything or anyone else,  were in no pain- far from it, she'd felt
justified in getting a hotel room and some sleep. Monica Reyes had
shown up, claiming to be worried about John. She was in the next room
and that meant that Scully felt she could sleep a little
easier, knowing help was close at hand. 

The call came in the middle of one of Scully's mid-afternoon catch-up
naps. She  struggled for a while to achieve a sitting position but
quickly decided it was too much bother at the moment. She reached for
the phone and took the call still lying down.

"Agent Scully," the voice on the other end of the line said. It was
Skinner, sounding vaguely pissed off, but then he did most of the
time, Scully thought. Though to be fair, most of the time she and
Mulder had interacted with him, they were in some kind of trouble and
he was pulling their asses out of it. For  some reason, she remembered
kissing him in that elevator that one time. Neither  of them had said
another word about it, but it remained floating between them,
silently.

"AD Skinner," she said, hurriedly rubbing sleep out of her eyes with
one hand, holding the phone with the other. 

"We've brought Lobel in and we're starting the extradition process,"
Skinner said. "He should be ready for interrogation in a day or two. I
was hoping you could be there. Most of our agents would be out of
their depth. I hope this is no hardship on you."

"Of course not, sir," she said. As if they were going to be able to
keep her out of the room. All intellectual curiosity about how he'd
done it aside, she wanted to be sure that charges stuck like glue to
the bastard that had made her  Mulder and her new partner engage in
such...aberrant behavior. This illness might not seem to be deadly,
but it was still desperately disruptive to both of  their lives.

"Thank you. Sorry for disturbing you, Agent Scully, but I thought you
would want to hear as soon as possible. I understand from  Agent Reyes
that you were getting some rest. I should let you get back to it,"
Skinner said. "I'll be in touch when we need you."

She slid the receiver back into its cradle and tried to get
comfortable. She gave it up as a game lost when she realized that
before she could possibly relax again, she was going to have to empty
her bladder. The baby's weight these days seemed to be coming down
squarely right on top of her bladder, making her feel like her back
teeth were floating sometimes.

She sighed and started the long, wearisome process of getting out of
bed, wondering to herself why she ever thought she wanted to go
through with this. 

"Too late now," she said to no one in particular as she achieved
vertical positioning and headed to the bathroom.

***

Ever since he'd had the realization in the shower, it was like he'd
been starting to wake up, but into a strange landscape that resembled
nothing like the world he'd left behind. The lust was no longer all
consuming, instead, something far more worrying had taken its place.

The mere sight of Mulder could cause his heart to skip a beat, making
him draw a breath in at the bittersweet twist of his guts. Somehow,
and he wasn't willing to remove the bacteria from the list of possible
causes, he'd fallen in  love, hard with Fox Mulder and it was getting
so bad that he couldn't deny it, couldn't brush it off. 

He wasn't afraid of anything, but it was with foreboding and unease
that he looked to the inevitable time when the quarantine would have
to be lifted, and when he would no longer have the excuse of the
bacteria to blame for wanting to  make love to Mulder, like he was
now. He almost wasn't sure he'd want a cure, even if they came up with
one. Not if it meant that giving up this heartbreaking, heady,
infatuation. It was a better high than any drug, legal or 
illegal, he'd ever tried in his younger days. 

Actually, he was pretty sure he didn't have the excuse of animal lust
at the moment, even though he was currently plunged balls deep into
Mulder's ass, holding still a moment to give Mulder a chance to adjust
to his presence. It was no longer an uncontrollable urge to fuck that
had gotten him to his current  position. No, he'd wanted to make love
to Mulder. Had decided when he woke up that he was going to take
advantage of the other man's sleepy state to nudge him into
intercourse. Not that Mulder seemed to be complaining in the slightest
at the moment. 

They were sort of on their sides, Doggett behind Mulder thrusting
gently but insistently. Doggett had Mulder's hands wrapped in his. He
guided one of them down to Mulder's cock. He positioned them so that
Mulder's hand was on top of his, his hand on Mulder's cock, letting
Mulder guide his strokes. 

Doggett liked this position best of all, even though he couldn't see
into Mulder's eyes. Perhaps because he couldn't see into Mulder's
eyes, because since that first time, Mulder avoided looking at him
during sex, even if he insisted that he be on top. It seemed to be
just too raw and sensitive to Mulder. But this way, with them on their
sides, neither of them was on top. It was an easy position on their
bodies, easy to control his thrusts. One hand was  free for Mulder's
cock, without turning it into a demonstration of his skills
at one armed pushups. It was nice. Relaxed. Easier to be tender this
way. He nibbled on Mulder's earlobe, licked the man's neck. 

Mulder's responses to his strokes grew to a frenzy and Doggett slowed
down wanting to draw this out. They might have been sexual partners
for only a few days, but Doggett knew Mulder better than he had any of
his previous lovers, other than his wife. Slowing down at this point
would cause Mulder to whimper and he did. He tried to get Doggett to
increase the speed of the hand on his cock, but Doggett was firm,
insistent. 

"Let me come already," Mulder said, frantically, as if this was some
kind of torture. Maybe it was, but Doggett needed to draw it out. He
just had this feeling that this strange idyll would be over soon. And
when it was, he'd never  be able to do this again. Damn straight he
was going to make hay while the sun shone.

"Not yet," Doggett said, and took his hand off Mulder's cock, moved it
back up to his nipples, rolling one of them in his fingers. It was
hard, like the stone  in a cherry. Mulder hissed out a breath at the
touch and Doggett slowed his thrusting more, fully in control of
himself, even as Mulder was not. He moved his hand away from Mulder's
nipple, stroking his flank softly as he sought Mulder's hip. There he
rested his hand. 

"Please," Mulder begged. 

Doggett didn't listen, but kept his own sweet time, drawing out the
inevitable for long minutes, until Mulder resorted to pleading
wordlessly, with moans and grunts, backing up against him, until
Doggett gave in and just starting thrusting hard.  They came hard, at
the same time almost, Mulder dragging Doggett over the edge with him.

They both slumped onto the bed. Doggett scooted a little so Mulder
could back out of the wet spot, but he held Mulder firmly, not letting
him sneak out of cuddling. Ever since the first time they'd had
intercourse face to face, Mulder  had tried to avoid cuddles
afterwards. Again, something too intense for him. But if Doggett
couldn't imagine ever saying the words to Mulder, then he was,
at this moment, going to make his body and its movements say it for
him. Mulder  gave one last, half-hearted struggle, then submitted to
being held.

They fell asleep together like this and when he woke, Mulder was still
there in  his arms, but Scully was in the room as well, looking
embarrassed, not quite able to meet him in the eye. She was, notably,
not wearing one of the white isolation bunny-suits. 

"This means the confinement is over, Agent Scully?" he asked. 

Mulder woke up and scrambled out of Doggett's arms with a whoop. He
grabbed Scully and you would have thought he was going to dance her
around the room, except for her immensely pregnant state.

"What's the good news, Scully?" Mulder said. 

"Lobel was placed under arrest three days ago. Under interrogation,
he confirmed what the CDC scientists had started to discover, that
after a short, highly infectious period, there is no risk of you
spreading the disease. Apparently the residual effects of the bacteria
will remain with you for a while longer, but you're of no danger to
anyone else. The CDC has lifted your quarantine."

So it was over and Scully's words were like a knife to his heart. What
Mulder said next twisted the knife.

"Well, I know I'll be glad to see the last of this plastic bubble," he
said. "Scully, John and I promised each other that anything that
happened here remains here. Can I ask you for the same promise?"

Scully nodded. "You didn't even have to ask. That goes without saying,
Mulder, Agent Doggett."

It surprised him how much it hurt, that it was ending this way, but he
found it  in him to nod seriously and said, his voice even more rough
than usual, "I appreciate that, Agent Scully. Did they find Stites
with his buddy Lobel?"

"No, but there's a man hunt out for him. We couldn't prove the
government connection to a degree of reasonable doubt, but there are
all the hallmarks of agreements with certain, deeply secret government
agencies," Scully said. But they all knew that it was over, that
Stites probably wouldn't be found. He was probably out of the country
by now, maybe on his way to continue his work in South America.

And then it was over. Oh, there were more examinations by CDC
scientists, almost a whole day of being poked, pricked and prodded,
and not in a good way. He didn't see Mulder again. Instead, when the
scientists released him from their clutches, it was Monica waiting for
him, with her game smile and her friendly eyes. 

"Hi, John," she said around a small piece of gum. She was on another
quit smoking kick again probably. "You're looking good for a man who
was just in the  Ebola ward. What happened to you? Nobody would tell
me anything."

"Well, it wasn't Ebola," he said, with a grimace. "But I can't really
talk about what happened to me."

"Oh, while the doctors were dealing with you, Scully went into labor,"
Monica said. "Mulder's with her already. Sounds like things are going
fine, though."

What he felt was a whole mlange of conflicting emotions that sort of
blurred into simple miasma. Of course, now that the baby was arriving
into the world, Mulder would be taking his rightful place at Scully's
side. Doggett wouldn't even be able to mention their days together,
much less make any kind of claim on Mulder. Even as he ached at the
thought, part of him understood the rightness of it, believed that
Mulder belonged with Scully, needed to take up his responsibilities as
a father. At least from the way Scully behaved, Doggett 
was pretty sure Mulder was the father, though it'd never been stated
overtly.

Monica decided that he needed to be taken in hand as he stood there;
staring blankly at the wall, still dressed in his hospital scrubs.
"Let's get you to the hotel. You look like you could use some sleep
maybe."

"No, that's not it," Doggett said, deciding he was going to put a good
face on it. If he didn't matter to Mulder, well, he could at least
pretend that Mulder didn't mean a damn thing to him. "Let's go to the
hospital and wait for J. Edgar Jr. to make his entrance. I don't
suppose you've got any real clothes for  me, do you? I think maybe
they probably incinerated the suit I was wearing."

"'Fraid not, John," Monica said. "I didn't stop in DC on my way up.
Maybe we should go buy you something to wear then think about getting
you home."

***

She would have thought it was paradise, the attainment of everything
she'd ever  thought she'd wanted once, having Mulder here with her and
at their side, a baby- theirs. Or so she thought, despite nagging
doubts about the timing of it.  There certainly weren't any other
eligible candidates.

But no. She sometimes thought that it might have been easier to go it
alone. It  wasn't so much that Mulder was like a second child. Not at
all. He was thoughtful, responsible. Always glad to hold the baby,
change a diaper, soothe a cry. He held their child like the baby was
some great treasure, tenderly in his arms, occasionally just burying
his nose in the wisps of sparse hair William had been born with.
Mulder would breathe in then, drawing in big sniffs  of William's baby
smell. It should be perfect. She loved William. He loved
William. She loved him. He, she thought, loved her. But it didn't work
like that. 

It was that she couldn't forget the times she'd seen him with John
Doggett in the isolation bubble. Not so much the times they'd been in
the middle of carnal  acts, but the times afterwards, when they were
sleeping in each other's arms, or other times, how engaged, how happy,
how intense Mulder had seemed when he stared at John. As if he'd
thrown off every bit of his post abduction torpor.

Yet here he was, as distant to her as if he was still on the alleged
UFO that had taken him away. 

She was watching him now changing William's diaper. "Hey big guy," he
said. "How is daddy's big boy? Feeling better now that you have a
clean diaper?"

And that was easily more than anything he'd said to her except as an
answer to a direct question. It wasn't personal. Mulder could get like
that when he was focused on something. It was just Mulder. He was busy
thinking, no doubt processing his experiences. He wasn't likely to go
talk to someone about them, but it must have been quite the shock to
discover something about himself that he must have been willfully
denying for a long time. It wasn't intended as a slight to her, but it
sure felt like one.

Which is why when went to lay William down in the crib; she followed
him into the nursery. She knew he intended to plant himself in the
recliner and watch William sleep. Brood was more like it. Every night
since they'd come home, he'd  slept in either that chair or on her
couch.

"I know you told me you can't talk about what happened in that
isolation ward,"  she began, taking a much greater effort to be gentle
than she actually felt. "But let's talk about now."

She would have continued, but the phone rang. "I'll get it," she said,
because Mulder had been in the middle of putting William in the crib,
hovering when the  phone rang. He seemed relieved to be saved from the
conversation she'd planned.  She hurried into the other room just in
time to get it before the answering machine picked up.

"Agent Scully," Doggett said. "I was just getting off work. I'm
practically in the neighborhood. I wanted to know if you wanted me to
bring you something for supper. I remember how much of an effort
getting that on the table can be with a new baby in the house."

She looked up at the clock. Not quite seven yet. She hadn't even begun
to think  about cooking yet. William had been up once an hour all
night last night, or so  it had seemed. The day had just kind of fled
on her, consumed by the simple acts of taking care of William and
thinking about Mulder. She looked around at the kitchen, normally so
neat and clean. Now, dishes had seemed to grow on the countertops like
mushrooms grew in the lawn after spring rains. She'd have to
do a good half hour of dishes before she could even start thinking
about cooking. That was a truly kind offer of Doggett. She told him
so, even as she thought about seeing him kiss Mulder. Doggett was a
good man. He'd proved that again and again, taking care of her,
looking out for her interests, even when it later became clear to her
that she'd treated him like dirt. He was a good man and now he was
offering to bring her dinner. She was so grateful she could
almost cry. And despite her struggles with the idea, she thought that
if she couldn't have Mulder, as it was becoming to be more and more
obvious, then she would gracefully let him go to Doggett. 

"So, I can be by in half an hour, little longer. That good for you?"
he asked. 

She looked around the place, said yes before she could think better of
it then decided that the little talk with Mulder she'd been planning
would have to wait. If William was asleep, they could get a lot picked
up in half an hour. And who knew, maybe if she forced Mulder into
Doggett's presence, she wouldn't have to have that talk. She thought
about not telling Doggett about Mulder either, fearful that it might
scare the man off. Doggett had notably made himself scarce ever since
they'd gotten home, this being the first time she'd heard from him
since. 

Scully decided to tell him about Mulder being here. That kind of
scenario worked in bad romance novels and nowhere else. "Agent
Doggett, Mulder is here. He's been staying with William and me," she
said. "I know you two don't see eye  to eye."

***

Doggett paused. Eye to eye wasn't the real problem now, was it? He'd
heard earlier in the day from Monica that Mulder had been staying with
Scully. Just hearing the sound of the man's name had twisted something
deep inside him. He'd  thought he'd done a good job of pretending he
didn't care these past couple of weeks, though he hadn't fooled the
only one who really counted- himself. Even so, he knew that he just
couldn't stay away any longer. He had to at least see the man, even if
it was a torture, seeing him with Scully. Not seeing him was
worse. 

This was worse than any adolescent crush, worse than being broken
hearted when Joanie, his first girlfriend, had dumped him on his ass.
He'd never understood the word lovesick before, but now he was pretty
damn sure if you looked up the word in the dictionary, there'd be a
big picture of him, damn fool that he was.  And yet, it was an amazing
kind of agony. It made him feel giddily glad, just to be thinking
about how he and Mulder could never be. It confused him and, if
there was one thing he hated, it was being confused.

"I figured as much, Agent Scully," he said. "I think you can trust us
to act like big boys and behave ourselves in front of you."

"I just know there was an, um, awkward situation between the two of
you recently and I thought you might want to be warned that he was
here," she said.

"I'll be right over," he said, hanging up his cell phone. A few more
blocks and  he'd be at that polish sausage place he liked so well. If
he remembered right, they also had salads. Rabbit food, he thought,
but remembered Scully favoring them for lunch, when she wasn't on one
of her yogurt kicks. 

Exactly half an hour later, he was pulling his truck into a parking
spot about half a block away from Scully's apartment. He grabbed the
brown paper bags from  the passenger seats and made his way up the
street to her building. The front door to her building wasn't locked.
He sometimes thought about talking to her about that. It didn't seem
like good security to him, but he'd never said anything. It seemed
like overstepping. 

Doggett found her door easily enough and knocked on it. Scully opened
it. She looked exhausted, her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail.
And for the first time, he noticed that she usually wore makeup. He
noticed now because she wasn't wearing any at the moment and she
looked like she was about twelve years  old. An immensely tired and
pale twelve year old. Still, her ponytail was a neat one and her
clothes, though simple black sweats, were clean and neat.
Doggett remembered that for the first couple of weeks after Luke was
born, Barb  had worn the same sweatshirt and an old pair of plaid
pajama bottoms for something like ten days running. 

"Come on in, Agent Doggett," she said, opening the door all the way,
and stepping out of his way. 

"Where should I put this?" he asked.

"In here," she said, walking through a living room that looked
suspiciously clean for someone with a newborn in the house. She led
him into the kitchen where Mulder was standing at the sink, doing
dishes. He wore an old denim shirt  that looked like it was so worn it
must have been as soft as velvet. The sleeves were rolled up to keep
them out of the water. Mulder turned around slowly at the sound of
their approach.

"John," Mulder said, his eyes opening slightly wider for a moment.
Mulder's jaw  clenched so hard that the little muscle on the side of
his cheek became visible  for a minute. Then Mulder's face shut down,
went stonily expressionless.

Shit. Mulder was pissed to see him, Doggett thought. He nearly bailed
right then, but decided he was going to be brave. Be a man. 

Doggett set the brown paper bags on the table and started unpacking
things. He pushed the salad in Scully's direction, then pulled out a
big foam cup next and  sent it in Mulder's direction. "Iced tea,
right?" he asked. 

Mulder nodded mutely. Then the baby started wailing. Mulder jumped up
before Scully could even turn her head in the direction of the cries.
"I'll go," he said, disappearing.

Well, Doggett thought. That went shittily. 

A moment later though, as he was saying to Scully, "I'd better get
going. Got an important appointment with some satellite tv," Mulder
reappeared, the baby gently cradled in his arms.

"The big guy here wants what only you can give him, Scully," Mulder
said, passing the little bundle off to Scully. She sighed, pushed her
salad away in the middle of her first bite, and took William. She
pulled up her sweatshirt and pointed the little one in the general
direction of the milkbar.

"I'll see you, Scully, Mulder," he said, turning to go. He definitely
was the sore thumb sticking out in this little domestic tableau, the
third wheel. Which  item in this picture does not belong?

Then Mulder surprised him. As Doggett turned to go, Mulder said, "I'll
see you out."

Doggett was about to protest, say that he could let himself out, but
he caught the intense way Mulder was staring at him. Okay, he could
handle this, he told himself. Mulder obviously had something to say to
him that he didn't want to say in front of Scully. No doubt Mulder was
going to ream him a new one for daring to show up at all. Well, he
could deal and Mulder was just going to have  to get over himself.
Doggett shrugged and made his way to the door, Mulder in
his wake. 

Mulder followed him to the truck. The street light overhead was burned
out. The  truck itself cast a deep shadow on the passenger's side and
Mulder stepped into  this shadow, as if waiting for something. Rather
than walking around to the driver's side, Doggett followed Mulder into
the shadow and suddenly found Mulder's arms wrapped around him
tightly. God, the man felt heavenly and smelled even better. Before he
could even think, his dick took total control of  the situation, which
was okay, because Mulder's dick seemed to be thinking along the same
lines. Mulder's lips were hard on his, fleshy and firm. He
devoured rather than nibbled- plunder and conquest, pure and simple.
They were instantly grinding groin against groin. John gasped at the
pressure on his hard  cock, especially as Mulder's hands slipped down
to his ass. Mulder pulled Doggett closer with every thrust. Doggett's
mouth was effectively gagged by Mulder's tongue, but if it hadn't been
there, anyone would have heard his moans. It was quick, hard and
dirty, over before they'd hardly begun and Doggett would be driving
back home to Falls Church with soiled and damp dress pants. At least
Doggett didn't have anyone waiting at home who he'd have to
explain that one to, unlike Mulder, who'd have to explain to Scully.
Oh, hell, Scully!

Mulder was still wrapped tightly in his arms, head resting on his
shoulder. Mulder was breathing heavily, hot and warm against his neck.
"They said the bacteria would have residual effects. It could be
months before it goes away entirely and our endocrine systems go back
completely to normal," Mulder said, even as he pulled himself away
from Doggett. 

Oh, God. What had they just done? Doggett was torn. On one hand,
Doggett would take Mulder any way; any how he could get him. On the
other, he was still panting from the suddenness of it, his pants damp,
standing out on the street corner and thinking about how Mulder was
already starting to make motions of heading back into the house and
Scully's life. And that made him feel dirty, used. He'd just been a
release for Mulder, one step up from a good jerk off session, if that.
The ache that seemed his lot in life these days was back
already. This was agony. When he was with Mulder, he was sure it would
be better to be alone, rather than face that, but once he was alone,
he was sure that being without Mulder was the worse pain. He damned
Lobel and Stites again for being the ones to subject him to this
humiliation and hurt. 

"Mulder," he said, feeling angry suddenly. He clamped down on it like
he often did, his voice a bit sharper, but not much, he thought.
Mulder was still in arm's reach, so he gave the man a little shove in
the direction of Scully's apartment. "You go back into that apartment,
go be a daddy to that baby and a good whatever it is that you are to
Scully. We can't do this anymore, residual effects or not. It was over
the instant we stepped out of that isolation room. I'm cutting you
off. You know as well as I do that our dicks aren't out of
control anymore."

"No, of course not," Mulder said, icily. "It's over. It was wrong of
us to give  in to it. I don't think it would be a good idea for us to
be alone together again."

You were the one that wanted to walk me out to my truck, Doggett
thought, but he didn't say it. "Goodbye, Mulder," Doggett said. He
walked around to the driver's side of his truck and opened the door.
He got in, but even as he started the truck, he couldn't think of
anything but how empty that other seat looked with nothing more in it
than the current book on tape he was listening to. He drove away into
the night, not looking back, not caring if Mulder got back into the
apartment safely or not and wondering if maybe a six pack might
dull some of what he was feeling.

***

When Mulder came back to the apartment, he went right to the bathroom
where he'd been keeping a suitcase full of his clothes. He came out
wearing not jeans, but sweatpants. It might be argued, Scully thought,
that he was just changing into something more comfortable for the rest
of the night. But the fact remained that even changed into new pants;
the man reeked of the musk of sex like a Nevada cathouse. She had
visions of a quick make out session in the cab of Doggett's big, white
truck. Despite that, Mulder's mood was black, not soaring like you'd
expect after what must have been really hot sex. He nearly
slammed the bathroom door behind him, reaching out with a hand just in
time to stop it as he thought about the presence of William nearby.
When he was changed, he went back to the kitchen. He started by
pouring the iced tea that Doggett had brought him down the drain, then
tossing the cup in the trash. Then, the rest of the food Doggett had
bought, other than her salad, followed. Finally, he started washing
dishes, tossing them around with such blatant disregard for the
dishes' safety that she decided she had to take action immediately, if
only for the sake of the glassware.

"Here, you hold him," she said, offering her son to him. William was
sleeping, tiny and precious, and only her trust in Mulder allowed her
to hand him over to  such an obviously angry man. Mulder slammed one
last mug onto the rack then dried his hands on a dishtowel. He took
over William with seeming calm. She then picked up the abandoned
dishtowel and said, "And I will wash dishes. Now, tell me what
happened out there between the two of you."

"I can't talk about that, Scully," Mulder said. Then he pleaded,
"Don't try and  make me. I just can't."

"You were gone fifteen minutes," she said, more sharply than she
intended. "You  walk back in here smelling like a cat in heat.
Something happened. Now, I can understand you made promises to John
not to discuss what happened in the isolation unit, but this is now. I
have grown to trust you like no other. Please trust me enough to tell
me what's going on with you and John."

"I can't, Scully," he said. At least he was ashamed enough to not be
able to look her in the eyes. Instead, he was looking out the window
into the darkness. 

"You're in love with him," she said, not even sure if this was true,
but throwing out her shots, trying to see what would get him to react
enough to let  the truth slip out.

"I am not in love with him!" Mulder protested. 

"Something, some strong emotion is going on between you two," she
challenged. She thought she'd scored a palpable hit.

(Continued in part 3)
 
Part 3
See part 0 for story information.


"It's not love," Mulder said. "It's limerance."

"What?"

"Limerance. The emotion that people usually confuse with love. I love
you, Scully," Mulder said, softly, tilting his head down at their son
when he said this. "You're my east, my west, my true north. My one in
five billion. That's love. Limerance is the psychological state of
deep infatuation. It's what people think about when they describe
someone as lovesick. It's hormone driven and short lived. Mad
attraction, nothing more. Sometimes people in limerance
learn to love each other, but the majority of the time, it's just
limerance. A few months go by and all the hormones dry up and then
it's over."

"Mulder!" she said, hardly even sure she knew how to respond. She felt
like doing a bit of mug tossing herself. "I love you. You love me, but
you're not in  love with me, you never have been. And I don't think
you ever will be."

Their "courtship" if you could even call it that, had been so gradual,
so hesitant as to be almost non-existent. There had never been any of
this limerance in it, just a slow unfolding of trust and regard.
Deeper than any friendship she had ever had, but nothing like the
exhilaration of true, romantic love. Such a shame that it had taken
her until now to notice that. She  did remember what it was to feel
that kind of love, and by God, this was not it. It was madness, true,
but it was the most delightful delirium she'd ever experienced. And
here was Mulder admitting to feeling it for John, and in the
same breath, denying that it was real or that it meant anything. If he
hadn't been holding William, she would have thrown a mug at him. Only
her love for him  allowed her to do what she knew she had to do- not
just let him go gracefully to another, but to give him a good, hearty
shove in that direction. 

"That's not true," he said. "It doesn't have to be the agony and the
ecstasy to  be true love."

She was just going to have to show him. She put her mug on the rack
and walked over to where he stood. She stood up on her tiptoes and
tilted her head up until their lips met. This kiss was sweet, short
and decidedly chaste. She broke it off when it became clear that it
was generating no heat beyond a lukewarm friendliness. Then she said,
"Now, compare that to kissing John. Tell me which one is true love." 

Mulder, like he so rarely did, didn't have an answer for her. At least
not right away. He walked into the living room and made his way to the
new rocker and sat down. He held William against his chest and rocked
for a long time. She  decided not to press him, but to let him come to
his own conclusions. The distant look in his eyes, as if he were
focusing on something about ten miles away, was a definitive indicator
that the wheels of profound thought were spinning at about a thousand
RPM. Thankfully, William slept the whole time and she grabbed a cat
nap on the sofa. 

By the time William's cries woke her up again, hours had passed. It
was the early hours of the morning and the room was lit only by the
eerie, bluish glow of her TV. Mulder handed her son to her. "I just
changed him," he said. "I suspect he needs to have his tank topped off
again."

She sat up on the sofa, sleep vanished in an instant. Funny how
deeply programmed certain biological responses were. The urge to
reproduce and all the  related behaviors of watching out for an infant
seemed to be almost instinctual. The cries came and suddenly she was
leaking milk. She pulled up her shirt and her child, little more than
a bundle of needs and urges, rooted into her chest, seeking
nourishment. It all seemed beautiful and natural. Until 
he actually latched on and his mouth felt like a close first cousin to
a vice clamp. 

"You know, Scully, for a minute, let's assume that your basic premise
is correct, that I am in love with John Doggett," Mulder said. "Let's
consider the  extreme possibility that this can be believed to be the
real McCoy, and not a mental confusion caused as a backlash from an
extreme hormonal event. It still doesn't change anything, because he
sent me back into the house, told me to go back to you."

Scully sighed. Of course John would do that. "He's very protective of
me," Scully said. "He wants what's best for me, and he probably thinks
that you're what's best for me. All I can say is thank God Monica is
staying up here so he can have someone else to be his surrogate little
sister, because I've already got enough big brothers in my life, thank
you very much."

"It doesn't matter, he sent me packing," Mulder said. "Maybe he's
still hopped up on the same kind of crazy hormones that I am, but he
doesn't love me."

"Mulder, the man brought you iced tea," she said. She was pretty sure
that it was basic decency that led Doggett to offer to bring dinner,
but that once she'd mentioned that Mulder was here, wild horses
couldn't have kept him away. She hadn't missed the crestfallen
expression on his face at Mulder's coldness. "And I'm pretty sure he
wasn't here to see either me or the baby."   

***

Part Three- Anodyne

At four in the morning, there is shit all on the television, even with
the full  package on the mini-dish, Doggett thought. He wasn't
normally given to insomnia. He could sleep with bombs coming down
around his ears, but tonight sleep proved as illusive as proof about
Mulder's supposed aliens. He flicked through the successive string of
infomercials again and contemplated the equation of effort to get up,
go to the kitchen and get another beer versus the  payoff of having
another beer. He had seven empty brown bottles on the coffee
table in front of him. He'd torn off the label of each of them and the
labels were in little crumples surrounding the empty bottles. He
wasn't feeling drunk,  except in the slightly disconnected way that
one felt when they were seriously lacking in sleep. No, he'd tackled
those bottles slowly over the course of the night, about one an hour,
so he wasn't more than the tiniest bit tipsy, just the edge of things
blunted down slightly. Drinking didn't solve any problems,
but at least it gave one something to be worried about until they went
away on their own. 

His doorbell ringing came as a big surprise and he just about jumped
out his chair. He tried to ignore it. No one he knew should be ringing
on his door at four in the morning. It rang a few more times and he
decided he couldn't ignore  it. He scraped himself out of his chair
and pulled himself to his feet. It took  another minute to attain the
front hall and arm himself. Gun at ready, safety off, he looked out
the peephole. Mulder, unmistakably Mulder. Of course Mulder
would show up at his door at four in the morning. Just exactly the man
he didn't want to see. Especially when he'd almost tricked himself
into a state of  mind where he wasn't quite thinking about Mulder.

Doggett contemplated his firearm briefly, then sighed and put the
safety back on, then holstered it. Only then did he answer Mulder's
insistent ringing. "Okay, okay," he said, reaching for the deadbolt.
"Keep your...I mean, hold your horses."

Once the door was open, and he didn't open it far enough for Mulder to
walk into the apartment, he asked, sounding even more irritated then
he felt, "What are you doing here, Mulder? Because if this is your
idea of a joke, or you think maybe you can get a booty call out of me,
I'll strangle you myself."     "Scully threw me out of her apartment,"
Mulder said, not looking him in the eye. Actually, it seemed as if
Mulder's running shoes must have been the most fascinating thing in
the world, the way he was staring at them. "I didn't know
where else to go. I couldn't stand the thought of going back to my
apartment alone. Can I come in?"

It would have been so easy to just open that door and let the man in,
then worry about the inevitable consequences later. It would have felt
so right in that think only of the present moment kind of way. He
could imagine pulling Mulder into his living room and taking him on
the living room sofa, just bending him over the arm of the leather
sofa. He could imagine dragging Mulder into the house and never
letting him out. Taking the man into his arms and never letting him
go. 

But in the real world, Scully would come to her senses and get over
whatever little spat they'd had that had caused her to kick Mulder
out. Women who'd just  had babies could be temperamental, Doggett knew
full well, and Scully had a heck of a temper when it was fully roused.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Mulder," Doggett said. 

"John, please, let me in," Mulder pleaded.

"Go back to your apartment. In the morning, talk to Scully after she's
had a little sleep," Doggett said firmly. "You belong with her, not
here with me."

Then he shut the door, thinking he was closing it on Mulder forever.
Mulder kept knocking, again and again. The door muffled his begging,
but there was definitely some noise going on out there. "Mulder, don't
make me have to show you to your car," Doggett said, loudly enough
through the solid door that Mulder should hear him. And soon enough,
the noise did stop and Doggett was able to get on with the business of
anesthetizing himself well enough to get through the weekend of
nothingness. 

***

Walter Skinner had fallen asleep in front of his television and was
startled awake by the knock on his door. He sighed. It hadn't been a
good sleep night for him anyway, which is why he'd landed on the sofa
in front of the TV. But a knock on the door in the middle of the night
was never a good thing. No doubt it meant the end of his sleep,
whatever it was. He could think of only a couple  of people bold
enough to disturb him in his lair, and only one of them he might 
be glad to see. 

He hurried to the door and looked through the peep hole. He was in
luck, like he'd been hoping. Generally speaking, if he had to have his
door knocked on in the middle of the night, he'd rather have it be
Mulder, rather than the Smoker or Alex Krycek and his little toy of
death, though thankfully both of them had made themselves scarce
lately. Still, it was with trepidation that Skinner opened the door to
Mulder. 

"Come in, Mulder," Skinner said, thinking he was doing an admirable
job of keeping the irritation out of his voice. "Mind if I ask why
you're here at..."

He stopped to check his watch.

"Four-thirty five in the morning?" 

"Scully kicked me out of her apartment, Walter," Mulder said,
sheepishly, barely muttering. 

Though it was hard to tell with Mulder staring at his shoes, Skinner
thought there might be some evidence of previous crying in his eyes,
red rimmed eyes and the like. Okay, time to Boy Scout up, do the good
deed and invite the man in. It was less than half an hour from his
usual wake-up time anyway.

"I'll put coffee on," Skinner said. "Lock the door behind you."

Skinner went straight into the kitchen without waiting to see if
Mulder was following his instruction. At least this part of it was
automatic. Grounds. Filter. Water. Slide the basket in place. Switch
on. Yes, there was the comforting gurgle of the maker, and suddenly
the kitchen filled with the warm, fragrant odor of coffee. Why did it
always have to smell far, far better than it actually tasted, Skinner
wondered vaguely, before he turned to face Mulder. 

Mulder had perched himself on one of the stools of the breakfast bar
and was seemingly engrossed in the pattern of the granite countertop.

"What happened, Mulder?" Skinner asked. He'd thought that everything
between Scully and Mulder would be happy now that he was back, that
the baby was born and was normal as any infant. It seemed an
inevitable conclusion that they'd be  together forever. Skinner had
been looking forward to the wedding invitation.

"It started out as a discussion and got kind of out of hand. She
accused me of being in love with someone else," Mulder said. 

"Is there any veracity to this claim of hers?" Skinner asked. He
really didn't want to be involved in this, but now that the man had
showed up at his door, he  didn't have any choice in the matter. Then
the coffee maker, always blessedly quick, gave its final gurgle and
Skinner could jump up and start grabbing mugs.

As Skinner handed Mulder a filled mug, Mulder said, finally, "I
suppose, seen in some lights, my actions could lead someone to come to
that conclusion, sir. But I love Scully. We fit together like a hand
in a glove. It's like an old pair of shoes, so comfortable you never
want to give them up."

That didn't bode well for things. Not that Skinner's track record as
far as relationships went was anything to boast about, but he knew
enough to recognize  that any relationship where one partner described
the other as a pair of old shoes was not one that the poets would be
writing about for the ages. Mulder wanted the truth and it was far too
early in the morning for Skinner to worry about if he was being too
blunt with it. 

"She's right, Mulder," Skinner said. "You're not in love with her. I
can't speak to her accusation that you're in love with this other
person, but I'd say  it sounds like you're not in love with her,
however much you love her. I know from experience that kind of love is
not enough to keep a partnership from dissolving. Mind if I ask
who..."

"I'd rather not say," Mulder said. He grimaced, as if thinking of
something particularly painful and nasty. "It's a person of our mutual
acquaintance and I  believe that this person wouldn't appreciate you
knowing. Especially as my first stop on the way here was to this
person's place and they made it clear in  no uncertain terms that they
didn't want anything more to do with me."

Skinner listened carefully, not so much to the content of the message,
but to the way Mulder phrased it. Very careful not to let the gender
of the "person" slip out. Skinner wondered suddenly if the interloper
was not another woman, but a man. He'd never had conscious suspicions
about Mulder in that regard, but  suddenly, things made a certain
sense, small clues finally sliding into place. Again, it was too early
in the morning for Skinner to care if he was being too blunt. 

"Are you gay, Mulder?" Skinner asked. "Is that the problem between you
and Scully?"

"I've never wanted to believe that about myself, sir," Mulder
answered. Again, he bowed his head, looking down at the counter,
unable to look Skinner in the eyes. "But in recent weeks, I've been
forced to face the truth about myself. And I can't say I'm entirely
comfortable with it, but the facts are pointing that way."

"Mulder, if you even think you're gay, the last thing you want to be
doing is making commitments to Scully, until you've worked through all
of this confusion. She was right to kick you out, I think. Though she
might have waited  until the daylight hours."

Skinner checked his watch again. Time was creeping up and, before
long, he'd have to start getting ready for work. But this conversation
had gone much further than Skinner was ready to deal with and it
seemed like a good place to leave it for now. 

"I've got to get ready for work. It's Saturday, so I should be back by
two or three in the afternoon. You can sleep on the couch, or there's
a guest bedroom,  upstairs, to the right. Make yourself at home until
you feel comfortable going back to your apartment."

Then Skinner left him, walking upstairs to take a shower, wondering
just who Mulder might have fallen in love with. Maybe one of the
Gunmen? It never even occurred to Skinner that it might be John
Doggett.

***

Doggett finally woke at about noon, in his chair, beer bottles still
lined up on the coffee table in front of him. He rose with a groan,
not quite hung over,  but not looking nor feeling his best. Maybe it
was just sleeping in the chair that caused his neck ache and the
subsequent headache. He switched off the TV, now playing some cartoon.
Then he got to work gathering beer bottles and crumpled labels. Mulder
hadn't really come to the house last night, had he? Part of last night
seemed like some really bad dream. 

But his memory seemed outright smug when it pointed out to him that
not only had Mulder come to his front door and begged to be let in,
Doggett had sent him  packing. 

Doggett got to the business of ignoring his crowing memory and
cleaning up his house. Half an hour later though and he realized the
one problem with being so naturally neat. He ran out of chores to do
to keep himself occupied. And it was  raining out, denying him both
lawn mowing and car washing. 

Well, there was always the choice of workaholics everywhere- the
office. 

An hour later, he was dressed, dosed with aspirin for the headache and
sliding through light Saturday traffic. A short time later he was
pulling into the Hoover garage, mostly, but not entirely empty. He was
far from the only one with workaholic tendencies in the joint. He
passed AD Skinner on the way to the  elevator. Skinner looked to be on
his way home.

"Agent Doggett," Skinner said, after nodding a greeting. "I wouldn't
have expected to see you here on a Saturday."

"I might say the same to you, Sir," Doggett said. For one mad, insane
minute, Doggett contemplated spilling his guts and telling Skinner the
whole thing. Luckily before he did, the rational part of himself told
him to keep his yap shut. That would go over real well, he thought
sourly. See, sir, the reason I'm  here is I can't get Mulder sucking
my cock out of my mind. The way the man looks when he sleeps. The
certain way his hair slicked over his forehead at times. Even the way
he had held William, as if naturally good at baby wrangling. Not at
all awkward like so many men. You see, sir, I've got a major
dose of infatuation when it comes to Mulder and I thought I'd see if a
little work would clear my head. Uh-huh. Skinner would understand. And
was that a pig I just saw flapping its wings overhead?

"I'd sink unless I got in a little quiet time to get my paperwork
done, Agent Doggett," Skinner said.

"I'm just going in to review a little paperwork myself," Doggett said.
"I'm not  entirely caught up after my little enforced holiday with the
CDC."

The instant he said that, Doggett knew he'd made a mistake. That
little adventure was one thing he was truly hoping he'd never have to
discuss with AD Skinner. Or anyone else, for that matter.

"Indeed," Skinner said. "I'm still awaiting your report on that. Your
reports always do such a good job cutting through the voodoo, rather
than adding to it like Mulder's often did. I was hoping maybe you
could explain to me what happened in that court house and afterwards.
Everyone I talk to about it is so busy talking around themselves I
haven't a clue."

Stuck my foot in it good that time, Doggett thought and desperately
cast about,  looking for ways to backpedal. 

"I really can't add much, sir," he said. "I wasn't really myself for
most of the time. That time is really pretty much a haze to me."

Only a haze of lust. Of love so intense he could hardly remember
anything else.  Damn straight he wasn't going to say a thing about it
to AD Skinner. He wanted to keep his job, first of all. Not to mention
the respect of the man. 

Skinner seemed ready to take his leave, but then something must have
occurred to him. Something seemed to click behind those opaque brown
eyes and he focused  them intently on Doggett. "I'm just wondering if
you had any insight into any problems Mulder and Scully might be
having. He ended up on my couch early this morning. Mulder claims that
Scully thinks he's in love with someone else. Any idea who this might
be?"

With that, Skinner stared at him, right in the eyes. Damn, the man had
a stare like a ton of bricks. Direct as the flight path of a 747.
Shit, Doggett concluded. He knows. Everything. And he's pissed about
it. Doggett had known from the beginning that Skinner was protective
of Scully and Mulder, beyond what you'd expect for a simple boss
subordinate relationship. There were definite personal layers to that
relationship, and no doubt Skinner would have,  not an earful, because
the man could wither a person with a well chosen phrase
and glare, but certainly something to say to the person who chiseled
his way in  between Scully and Mulder. 

"Can't say as I do, sir," Doggett said, lying. It grated on him to
have to lie,  but on the other hand, assuming that this conversation
with Skinner was inevitable, the last place he wanted to have it was
this dreary, grubby parking  garage with the echoes off of concrete
all around him. "They seemed as comfy as  bugs in a rug last time I
saw them. Last night. I dropped off a bit of dinner for them."

"Well, as of this morning at five-thirty, Mulder has been sleeping on
my couch," Skinner said. "And I'm hoping to roust him as soon as
possible."

***

Skinner was no Fox Mulder, that was for sure. But he didn't get to be
an AD in the FBI for no good reason. Still, it shocked him a little
when he ran into Agent Doggett in the parking garage and in a few,
short words, suddenly knew in  his guts that this was the person
Mulder was in love with. And there was something fragile looking
around the eyes of Doggett, something that couldn't be hidden despite
a very good poker face, when Skinner asked him a few, piercing
questions. The man was experiencing a world of pain, all of it mental.
Like many men, Doggett was here today to bury his troubles in a pile
of paperwork. 

After a few minutes of talk, Skinner spoke as directly as he could,
without out  and out asking, 'hey, do you want to bump uglies with
Mulder or what?'

He stared at Doggett, hoping the man would get the message. Said a few
more choice words, then listened to Doggett's reply, knowing somehow
that the man was lying. Skinner pretty much left it at that. He wasn't
going to be able to get anywhere with Doggett, at least not within the
confines of the Hoover building, and perhaps not at all without maybe
some liquor or something to loosen his lips. Skinner took his leave
quickly after that.

Skinner pulled his Bronco out of the Hoover garage and turned it
towards Georgetown. His first stop, before heading back to his
apartment to pump Mulder  for more information, would be Scully's
place. No doubt, if anyone had the full  story and might be willing to
share it, it would be Scully. Glancing at himself  in the rearview
mirror on the way, he thought to himself, you're just about the 
strangest excuse for a cupid that anyone might come up with in a fever
dream. But in his own quiet way, Skinner was a naturally tolerant man
and all in favor  of love wherever it might be found. His respect for
Mulder over the years had grown into a great fondness and he'd liked
Doggett from the start. To see them both hurting was what seemed
intolerable in this situation. And besides, if Mulder's heart truly
belonged to another, well, that might open up a range of
possibilities he hadn't felt free to consider before. He had just a
couple stops he had to make before he reached Scully's house.

***

The knock on her door was unexpected. She fully expected Mulder to be
utterly absorbed in whatever it was he was doing with John right now.
"Whatever" didn't  bear thinking about. Luckily, William was sleeping
at the moment and the light noise of the knock didn't seem to wake
him. With only a minor thought to how she must look at the moment, she
hurried to answer the door, expecting one of the neighbors or perhaps
a salesperson who'd managed to slip in the main apartment door. She
certainly wasn't expecting AD Skinner, who happened to be
bearing a gift wrapped box and a bouquet of wildflowers. 

"For you," he said, handing her the bouquet, then he handed her the
box and said, "For William."

"What a surprise, sir," she said. This was certainly a surprise.
Though their relationship had very much warmed up over the past
several years, she still thought about the only time he'd been to her
apartment that she knew of- when she'd caught him leaving, probably
having searched it for the DAT tape. How far  they'd come since those
days. "Come in. Please, come in. To what do I owe the honor?"

"Purely social, Agent Scully," Skinner said. 

A short while later, they were settled across from each other at her
kitchen table. The coffee maker was burbling gently, the aroma of
coffee softly filtering throughout the bright, pleasant room. The
flowers had been fitted into a vase and sat on the table. She opened
the box and looked bemused but not  unpleased as she pulled out the
set of boxing gloves, the smallest size Skinner  could find, but
still, it would be years and years before the baby would be a
big enough boy to put them to use. 

"You have to start them when they're young," he said.

"I think it's a little too early to tell if he's going to have a
killer left hook, sir," she said, with a faint smile that she couldn't
help, as she put the  pair back into the box. "But thank you."

"And I figured you probably have more baby blankets and onesies than
you can use," he added. They talked a while longer, nothing more than
small talk really, and it was in the middle of this that he smuggled
in his question. "Just what is going on between Mulder and John
Doggett?"

He wasn't going to catch her slipping up though, just because he slid
the question in with such ease. Cagily, she said, "I'm not sure what
you mean, sir."

For a moment, he fixed her with that stare of his, letting her know
that he saw  through her reply and that he was about to cut through
the bullshit. "I'd like to know what has gotten Mulder sleeping on my
couch and Doggett walking around looking like someone kicked his
puppy. I thought you might have some insight, Dana. I'm pretty sure it
has something to do with what happened in that CDC isolation room.
When I asked him about it, Doggett's face had an expression you 
might see on a deer caught in car headlights. But nobody will give me
a straight answer."

Scully decided to take a chance. She was a little surprised to hear
that Mulder  wasn't over at Doggett's house after all, but not that
much. No, that would have been too easy. Doggett could be a stubborn
man, just as stubborn as Mulder. It was part of why they were such a
good match for each other, she thought. Skinner seemed to be saying
that he'd guessed what was going on. And while she truly felt that
Mulder and Doggett belonged together, with the new baby, she just
didn't have the time or energy to play matchmaker. Maybe Skinner 
could fill that role.

"I think, sir," she said. "The problem is that there was nothing
straight going  on in that isolation room. Which would explain why
everyone is tripping over their own feet not to tell you."

***

Melvin Frohike was not having the best of days. Or rather, not the
best of nights that was still continuing into the day time hours.
Their main server had  done a total belly flop. Meltdown, possibly
with the hard drive beyond recovery. He was poking around inside it,
seeing if the ghost could be resurrected. Langly was busy repairing a
minor problem with the video card in their backup system that, until
last night, hadn't seemed worth fiddling with, but at the same time as
the other system went down, it had broken completely, making the
server unable to display anything on a monitor. John Byers was busy
nursing their back-up, back-up system and attempting to put the paper
to bed. It was due at the printer two days from now and unless they
got the main server  or the backup server going, it just wasn't going
to happen. The backups on the back-up, back-up system were  a couple
of days out of date and several key articles in the layouts hadn't
been put in at that point. 

Then came the bell. Someone at the doorway of their lair. The lion
that beat inside the heart of the diminutive man prepared to roar.  He
was a pussycat most of the time but at times like these, his fiercer
side made itself known. John Byers glanced anxiously over at Frohike,
then looked Langly in the eyes. An unspoken communication passed
between them.

"I'll get it," Langly said. "I've nearly got the new card in here."

The blond man put his tools down and went to answer the door. He came
back in a  moment or two, Mulder in tow.

"Mulder?" Byers asked, surprised. Frohike himself was approaching the
point of terminal irritation and couldn't do more that growl. "This
isn't the best of times for a social visit," Byers explained. "We're
experiencing a few technical  difficulties with the paper."

Langly, meanwhile, had ensconced himself back at his work bench and a
moment later said, "Speak for yourself, Byers. Another couple of
screws in the case and this baby's back on-line."

A moment later, he demonstrated, turning the system on. The screen
brightened from black, but for just a little while. Then, seconds
later, the picture started with a wiggle, finally disappearing
altogether. 

"Is there anyway I can help, guys?" Mulder asked.

"Sure," Frohike said. He tossed a mess of impossibly tangled cables at
Mulder. "Untangle these."

Mulder looked at the cables doubtfully, as if he wasn't sure doing
that would help. Truth be told, it wouldn't, but it would keep him out
of trouble, Frohike  thought. Mulder started to open his mouth as if
he was going to say something to that effect, but Frohike's inner
pussycat gave forth just the deepest low grumble, a precursor to a
roar and Mulder wisely kept his mouth shut. They all worked in silence
for a while, Mulder at his make-work, the others at their
appointed tasks.

"This is bullshit," Langly said, finally, after going through two more
video cards. "I'm going to the parts store and getting a decent video
card. There's a  reason that guy on the dock sold these to you ten
dollars for a dozen, Frohike,  and it ain't because he liked your
pretty face. They're crap, total crap."

With that, Langly stormed off. Byers saved the document he was working
on and cleared his throat. Then he announced, "I'll go with him.
Someone should see that he stays out of trouble. You know how he can
be when he's worked up like this."

Shortly, Frohike and Mulder were left alone, which from the relieved
looked on Mulder's face was what he clearly wanted anyway. And
Frohike's inner pussycat was starting to purr anyway, because it was
starting to look like he should be able to resuscitate what was on the
hard drive, and once he got the new one in situ and a replacement
power supply and fan just to be on the safe side, they'd 
be back in clover. So, for the moment, Frohike was inclined toward
magnanimity.  "What did you want, Mulder?" he asked. "And shouldn't
you be with the lovely Agent Scully in her time of need?"

Mulder looked up from the medusa like Gordian knot of cables and said,
"The lovely Agent Scully kicked me out of her apartment and is
currently not speaking with me."

"Why?!" Frohike was shocked and disappointed. He knew that his own
suit would never be seen as anything but a joke by Scully, but he'd
always been satisfied to know that there was Mulder by her side, even
if Mulder didn't love Scully the way he loved Scully. He'd called the
man a real redwood among sprouts once and he still meant it. Still, if
Mulder had broken Scully's heart in any way, Frohike didn't care that
Mulder was bigger and taller. Frohike would still kick 
his ass. Like a knight of old, his heart was true and his courage was
great and  that would have to do. 

"Because I am, to quote her, a stubborn, idiotic bastard who will not
face the facts that are sitting right in front of me as plain as the
nose on my face," Mulder said. At the end, he touched his nose, as if
reminded about how sensitive he could be about it. 

Ah, that was funny then. Mulder coming to him for relationship advice.
That was  like going to your local priest for directions about how to
hotrod your car, or  to the plumber for tips on playing the ponies.
Now, if Mulder had asked about romance, then, Frohike might be able to
help him out, even though he had hung up his Casanova days long ago. 

"What does she think you're being stubborn about?" Frohike asked,
though he suspected, even without hearing the full story, that Scully
probably had a point. She usually did. 

"She thinks I'm not in love with her. That I'm in love with someone
else," Mulder said. 

"Are you?" Frohike asked, pointedly.

Mulder didn't answer. He tugged at a particularly stubborn portion of
the knotted cables again and again, starting at it, not looking up at
Frohike. After a while, he said, "So, until things cool down, can I
hang around here? I spent last night at Skinner's but I don't want to
impose on him too much."

A few wheels and cogs meshed inside Frohike's head, things that,
outside of context had been weird facts and suppositions, but now made
sense. "First of all, she's right. You're not in love with her. If you
were, you'd be knocking down her door, begging her to take you back,
not mooching on your friends when they have work to do. Second, is
this other person John Doggett?" Frohike asked. 

Mulder looked horrified, and for an instant, Frohike thought his
intuition had gone awry, but then, the way Mulder was about to
fluster, only confirmed his suspicion. "What are you talking about,
Frohike? And what makes you think that?"

"The two of you have so much juice between you that I should just
squeeze you and call you Tropicana," Frohike said. "It's obviously
someone you know, who you think you might be able to trust. Someone
new to your life, rather than someone who has been around a while,
because I know I would have heard about it  earlier. And with you,
Mulder, it would have to be the extreme possibility."

Mulder was shaking his head, but he didn't deny any of this. 

***

"I can't tell you anything specific about what happened in the
isolation room, sir," Scully said. "They extracted a promise from me
not to talk about it. But they didn't extract any such promise from me
about the present. And I believe that whatever happened in that room,
they had fallen in love by the time they walked out of it. And that
means that both of them are facing uncomfortable truths about
themselves. I'm not sure about Agent Doggett, but Mulder never
thought of himself as gay."

Skinner listened carefully to her, then asked, "And how do you feel
about all of this?"

"Relieved, surprisingly," Scully said. And that was very much true.
"I'm glad that the problem has nothing to do with me, but only exists
because I lack the proper equipment. I want Mulder and John to be
happy and I think they might have a chance of it together. So, what do
we do next? I thought that forcing Mulder to confront his feelings by
kicking him out would be enough, but apparently it's not. I wonder
what happened."

"According to Mulder, before he came to my house, he stopped by John's
and John  wants nothing to do with him any more. I don't think that's
true."

"John is noble," Scully said. So noble she wanted to slap him
sometimes. "And he probably thinks he's breaking Mulder and me up,
when in fact, Mulder and I never were. Someone is going to have to
convince him of it. I wonder if he'd believe me."

"You should probably talk with John then," Skinner said. "And I'll
have another  talk or three or four with them both. Until they start
to see reason. I think I'm going to go back to the Hoover and see if I
can track John down and drag him out of the basement."

"Good plan, sir," Scully said. They talked a while longer, small talk
mostly, a  little bit about what had happened last night when John
brought over dinner. Then Skinner left, leaving Scully alone with a
sleeping William. Thank God the baby slept so well. She'd totally lose
her mind if he didn't, she thought. Without Mulder here, the apartment
was tidier than it had been, but still, there were things here and
there that she'd left. She neatened things up now, putting things
away. She paused at her desk and unlocked the locked drawer. She 
sat down at the desk and pulled a small, unlabeled, amber bottle out
of it. And  she smiled, thinking about how easy it had been to smuggle
it out of the CDC lab. She wondered if Skinner was the right one, and
if so, how she was going to  lure him to someplace isolated enough
where she could release the bacteria in good conscience. Of course,
after William was old enough, she could leave him with her mother for
the week.

The phone rang. Lost in her thoughts, she startled a little. Scully
put the vial back into the drawer, and careful to lock it first, went
to answer the phone. Frohike was on the other end of the line.

"Agent Scully," he said. "I have something that belongs to you."

"Mulder you mean?" she asked. "He's his own person and always has
been."

"One in the same. He's not actually here at the moment. We sent him
out to pick  up takeout, but he's underfoot all the time. We're trying
to get the paper finished. Can't you see your way to taking him back
even temporarily?"

"You know, the man has an apartment," Scully said. She knew it was
hard for Mulder. He'd lost so much that it was easier for him to be
around other people than be alone. "I don't see why people are acting
like I threw him out to live on the street. If he's such a bother,
just kick him out."

Frohike paused for a moment. She could almost hear the cogs meshing in
the devious little man's brain. He was pulling a master plan out of
the air from somewhere, but what plan? And to what end?

"I'll get back to you on that, Agent Scully," he said, then hung up.

She shook her head and got back to doing a quick bit of housekeeping
before William showed any signs of waking.

***

Skinner drove back by the Hoover building. He cruised through the
garage until he saw Doggett's truck, then he pulled into his usual
parking spot. 

It was easy enough to track the man down to the basement. Doggett had
left the door open and Skinner had a chance to peek around it before
confronting the man. 

Doggett was sitting at the desk that used to be Mulder's, not working,
but staring at the wall, engaged in some heavy thinking apparently.
His brow, normally slightly wrinkled, was in heavy duty furrow mode,
resembling something  more like a plowed field than a forehead. He had
a snowstorm of paperwork out on the desk, but wasn't touching any of
it, his pen still in his hand, but his writing hand supporting his
chin.

Skinner knocked on the door. Doggett snapped back from whatever
reality he had happened to be visiting and stood up. Skinner pushed
open the door all the way and walked in.

"AD Skinner," Doggett said. "I thought you'd left long ago."

"I came back. Can I have a few personal words with you, John?" Skinner
asked, hoping that the other man would not take offense to the
familiarity. And that he'd allow enough of it for Skinner to get what
he was going to say out in the open. It'd be stepping on quicksand
here, possibly, but they'd all been through  so much together that
perhaps they were allowed more familiarity than they would have
otherwise. 

"Not here," Skinner added, as Doggett's face clouded. "Let's go for a
coffee."

Skinner watched Doggett struggle with himself for a little while, as
if trying to think of a way to avoid this. Then he resigned himself.
The paperwork storm was gathered into a quick pile and just shoved
impatiently into the inbox as if  Doggett was saying to himself,
'let's get this over with.'

Skinner gave directions to a small restaurant not far away, but for
some reason  hardly ever frequented by Bureau folk. He liked it
primarily for that reason, though the prices were reasonable and the
cooking was passable. Still, a lunch hour without interruptions was
worth any number of gourmet meals. 

Doggett ordered coffee, black, no sugar, and nothing else. Then he
waited for what he obviously thought was his doom silently. 

***

Skinner knew, Doggett thought again and again, like a knell. Skinner
knew. Skinner knew.

But oddly, Skinner didn't seem as unhappy about the whole thing as
Doggett thought. At least not compared to the look he'd given Doggett
earlier. Perhaps the man was just saving it for after he'd tricked
Doggett into admitting that he was home wrecker.

The waitress brought them both coffees and then wisely, left them
alone with one of those thermal carafes so they could refill their own
cups. Doggett forced himself to stop fidgeting with the handle of the
short, squat white mug and he actually drank some. The coffee was
smooth and mellow, not too strong, but somehow Doggett anticipated
getting acid indigestion from it anyway. Anything he put into his
mouth at this point was bound to turn into pure acid, just from the
sheer nervousness. 

"John," Skinner started after a while, when it became obvious that
Doggett wasn't going to open up this conversation on his own. "You
know this is a strictly personal conversation. Nothing whatsoever to
do with the place that we  both happen to work. Not a word of it will
get back there."

John nodded cagily. Part of his mind wanted to squeak with relief,
roll over and give up the story now. Part of him was yammering that
Skinner would understand, that this was exactly why Skinner had
brought him here. But that wasn't very manly, and Doggett was feeling
like he needed every scrap of masculinity that he could come up with
at the moment, because it was one thing to suck dick and like it and
another thing altogether to fall head over heels in love with another
man. And besides, he told himself, the reason Skinner really brought
us here was to read us the riot act about coming between Mulder
and Scully. And I'm just going to take my licks like a big boy, then
crawl away  to my cave. 

"I appreciate that, sir," Doggett said. "It's a delicate issue and my
reputation around the Bureau just doesn't need any more low blows
these days."

"Your personal life is just that, John," Skinner said. "I'm talking to
you right now as a friend. Someone who admires the person you are, not
the work you  do."

Doggett braced himself. He could feel it coming. It took all his
courage not to  flinch. The big guy wouldn't pull the punches. Except
when expressly ordered not to be, Skinner was nothing if not direct
and honest almost to the point of brutality.

Skinner continued, "I was speaking with Agent Scully about why Mulder
ended up on my couch. She believes that you and Mulder are in love
with each other."

"I can't speak for Mulder, sir," Doggett said quietly. He wasn't going
to admit  anything, but he wasn't denying it either. He stood up,
coffee forgotten. "You have my word that I'm an honorable man and I'm
not going to do anything that will come between them. Mulder came to
my door last night and I sent him back to her and I'll keep doing it
as long as I have to. I'm no home wrecker."

With that, Doggett turned and fled. He heard Skinner call, "John!"
after him, but he didn't stop for it. Call him a coward, but he
couldn't face those brown eyes a minute longer, not when the man was
looking to him with such honesty, with the expectation of deep
integrity and with the sense that he'd be so disappointed with you if
you failed to live up to that expectation.

Doggett wove through the closely packed tables, making his way to the
door, dodging the stray waitress here and there. Skinner must have
been very familiar  with the place, because he managed to cut Doggett
off at the pass, suddenly appearing as Doggett was about to reach for
the handle to the big plate glass door. Skinner's hand reached the
handle first and he opened the door for Doggett. They walked out to
the parking lot together, and Skinner didn't say anything until they'd
reached Doggett's truck.

"What if I were to say to you that Scully and Mulder never were a
couple, and still aren't? Not in the usual sense," Skinner said.

"Doesn't matter," Doggett said. "That boy of theirs needs a father."

(Continued in part 4)

Part 4
See part 0 for story information.


"He could have two," Skinner said, with quiet confidence.    Doggett
just stared at Skinner. Two fathers? What was that about? That was
what made this all so impossible. Because sex was one thing, but
family and responsibility always came first, at least in any kind of
way that counted.

Besides any infatuation with Fox Mulder to the contrary, John Doggett
did not love men, not in that way. It was not on the agenda. He wasn't
even sure it was  excusable, not for him. Maybe that was, what did
they call it, homophobia. Maybe he was just too old-fashioned. Men
fell in love with women and got married and that was the way it was
supposed to be. 

"I don't know what you're getting at here, AD Skinner," Doggett said.
"But leave it be. It's nothing to do with you."

Then Doggett got into his truck and drove away, nursing a broken
heart. The last thing he needed was for Skinner, of all people, to rub
in something that couldn't even be an option.

***

The battle had been lost, but Skinner wasn't about to roll over onto
his back, show his belly and concede the war on the basis of one minor
skirmish.

All was fair in love and war, and this was both. 

John had made it quite clear that he didn't welcome any intervention,
but that didn't mean he wasn't going to get it. Skinner would just
have to be cagier. More circumspect.  Skinner decided a strategic
retreat to ponder his next move was in order. He'd struck first, while
the iron was hot, but without pausing to  consider the besieged's
defenses. 

He sought his own truck and decided to go for a little drive to clear
his head.  Mulder could wait. Perhaps a little time stewing in his own
juices would do him  a world of good. 

Skinner pulled out into early evening traffic and headed out into the
territory  beyond the beltway. Urban townhouses melted into suburban
homes and eventually,  these grew further and further apart, until
they became interspersed with wide open farms, patches of forest. The
verdancy around him was like a balm to the soul. 

Soothed, he started reviewing the evidence at hand. The subjects:  two
men. Evidence supported that they were both currently single, and had
been for some time. One could make an honest supposition that each of
them was lonely. Both men were intensely honorable, good men. One
believed in old-fashioned values, one of them unconventional. But both
of them practically burned with integrity.  In some ways, though you
wouldn't think it at first, Fox Mulder and John Doggett were peas in a
pod. The longer you thought about the pair of them together, the more
the twisted logic of it made sense. 

Skinner drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove and
considered just why the pair of them seemed so afraid to admit to
this. 

Skinner would have said the both of them were fearless. Doggett
quietly courageous and Mulder usually charging in like a bull where
angels feared to tread. But the denial he saw in both of them seemed
like fear of the truth, plain and simple. 

It was a truth that other people seemed to have an easier time with
than the men did themselves. Scully had accepted that Mulder was gay
with much more aplomb than Mulder himself. And his latest encounter
with Doggett proved that the man was unwilling to consider a life with
Mulder. He must have been terribly afraid to think of himself as gay.

The trick, then, would be to somehow get Doggett convinced that life
without Mulder was more intolerable than a life where he admitted to
the world he was gay. 

Right. Simple. One brilliant plan coming up. Skinner found himself
wondering just exactly what happened in that isolation chamber. He got
the feeling that he'd never get the whole story. Not even ten years
from now over a bottle of something very alcoholic.

***

She'd hardly ventured from her front door since she'd gotten home, but
Scully thought it was time for a venture to the outside world. She'd
failed to hear anything more from either Skinner or Frohike on
Operation Lovelorn, as she'd started to think about it. That must have
meant no progress. She wasn't expecting any. John Doggett was going to
be one tough nut to crack, Mulder the same.

Time for her to make another limited excursion into the battle. She
decided it was time for a surprise visit. 

She dressed William in an onesie and little pull-on pajama pants,
topped his head with a knit hat, strapped him into the car seat and
headed out into the early evening. 

It was a quick drive to the suburb where Doggett lived. She parked in
front of his house, taking note of his truck in the driveway.
Doggett's house was lovely, Scully had often thought. The kind of
place you'd want to raise a family, complete with a white picket fence
around the yard. John kept the place  well kept up, somehow managing
to find the time for lawn mowing and all of that, despite their
sometimes ridiculous hours and travel schedules. She could
picture Mulder here with John, William visiting on the weekends. 

She sighed. No time like the present. Gathering William, she made her
way up to  the house. As she got closer, she discerned the rising buzz
of a lawnmower. It was coming from the backyard. It had been raining
earlier, but the sun had made  an appearance midway through the
afternoon and it must have been enough time since then for the lawn to
dry. Scully wasn't sure. She'd never mowed a lawn before in her life.
There were always her brothers at home and she lived in an
apartment all of her adult life. Must be nice, she thought. The cut
grass smelled fresh and full of life. The early evening was warm and
pleasant, just enough light left for the task at hand, but the sky was
deepening to night. 

Instead of walking up to the front door, she diverted to the side
walk, following the sound of the mower. Doggett came into sight
momentarily, pushing a growling mower, cutting perfect swathes into a
green velvet lawn. He wore an old, tight pair of cutoffs, an FBI
t-shirt with big sweat stains around the pits and in the small of his
back. His legs were perfectly muscled, she thought. Not too huge, not
skinny little chicken legs like lean men had sometimes. He caught
sight of her and nodded, then cut the mower off.

For that moment, Scully could definitely see what Mulder saw in the
man. He didn't necessarily seem pleased to see her though. He was
about to open his mouth and she thought he was going to send her away.
   She made a pre-emptive strike. "No, John. I am going to talk to you
about Mulder. And you are going to  listen. Understood?"

*** 

Skinner pulled into his garage at the start of twilight, just as the
light started to grow soft. He hurried up to his apartment, convinced
that the only thing that would work was a combination of brute force
and trickery. Force a confrontation between John and Mulder; get them
to understand that they did love each other and that any other
barriers that they perceived as standing between them were not
insurmountable. 

He wasn't quite sure how he was going to trick Mulder into seeing
John, but he'd come up with something. One of his talents was thinking
on his feet. You didn't get to be an AD if you couldn't.

He'd expected that the apartment would have taken on a certain Mulder
clutter level, but everything was just like he'd left it and the place
was decidedly empty. He found the note immediately, on the coffee
table, with Mulder's unmistakable handwriting. "Didn't want to impose
any longer. Gone to stay with the Gunmen. Thanks for your patience,
Mulder."

Ah, so he thought he was going to avoid the upcoming confrontation,
did he? Skinner was not discouraged, not in the slightest. There was
some wily left in the old AD yet and he was prepared to use it. 

Skinner was on the phone immediately. He wouldn't have said that he
was good friends with Melvin Frohike, but the time since Mulder's
abduction and eventual  return, had definitely proved that the two men
thought on similar lines on many  issues. They definitely read from
the same page when it came to Mulder, that was for sure. Frohike would
understand and no doubt, be a willing accomplice or  even a
co-conspirator. 

The phone was answered by a distorted sounding, "Lone Gunmen." This
indicated that it was Langly, perhaps the most paranoid of the three,
given his issues with having his image bounced off a satellite.
"Langly, this is Walter Skinner.  I need to speak to Frohike. And turn
off the tape."

A moment later, Frohike was on the line, not sounding particularly
gruntled. "What did you want, Skinner?" Frohike asked, impatiently.

"Is Mulder still there with you?"

"Cluttering up the place like a pile of the last decade's calendars."

"Good. I need to call in a favor from you. I need you to get Mulder to
my place  and hand him over in such a way that he has no avenue of
escape," Skinner said.  He wasn't sure how much Mulder might have told
Frohike and he didn't want to spill the truth if Mulder wasn't ready
to share it with the Gunmen.

Frohike must have had some idea because he said, "I assume this is in
regards to Operation Chemical Reaction?"

"Indeed," Skinner said. "What's needed at this point is to force the
proximity of two agents. The chemical reaction is sure to happen."

"When did you need me to deliver the package?" Frohike asked.

"I believe immediately will be better than later," Skinner said. "Can
I count on you?"

"Consider it done," Frohike said. "Give me maybe an hour to make some
arrangements." 

***

Doggett listened to Scully. She seemed a little overwrought, to say
the least. When she had said, "And you are going to listen.
Understood?" she had pointed her finger at him almost as if she were
aiming a gun. He suddenly remembered the rumors that she had once shot
Mulder and decided that maybe they weren't rumors. Her other hand was
holding the handle of the baby bucket that William was sleeping in.
The female was definitely the more dangerous of the species,
and a female with her little ones much more so. He couldn't dismiss
her easily like he had Mulder and Skinner. Besides, she didn't look
like she was going anywhere and he wasn't about to manhandle a woman
and a couple of weeks old baby back to her car. 

Still, the truth was what it was. And even if Scully thought she
didn't want him, Mulder's place was with her. "I can't see as there's
much to say on the matter," Doggett said. 

"Excuse me, did you listen to me? I said I am going to talk, and you
are going to listen. I will decide if there's anything to say," Scully
said. "Invite me in."

She stared at him until he found his lips saying, without quite having
received  permission from his brain to do so, "Please, why don't you
come inside?"

"Thank you," Scully said. She handed him the baby bucket, complete
with William  inside it. The sprog was sleeping hard and deep, hardly
making a motion as the bucket swung during the handover. His clenched
fists must have been smaller than the size of a walnut and the
fingernails he hid would be tiny flecks. The hair that he didn't have
was currently hidden by one of those little knit caps and Doggett was
reminded of another tiny baby, one who would have been a
teenager these days, had he lived. Why was Scully doing this? Did she
know that  Skinner had suggested the crazy ass idea that this baby
have two fathers, one of them him? Did she want to tempt him that
way?

He knew for sure that she was doing exactly that when they got inside.
He showed Scully to his living room. She sat down on his leather sofa
and, at her direction, he put the plastic baby bucket down on the
coffee table. She unbuckled the tiny bundled package from it and then,
instead of holding William  herself, handed the baby to him. Doggett
couldn't see any way to avoid it. Just  suddenly, the baby was in his
arms, fait accompli. 

William woke slightly and though he didn't break out into crying, he
groused slightly, starting to flail his hands just a little. William's
head was in the crook of his elbow and his other hand was free, so he
found himself offering it  to the child. The instinct to wrap those
tiny hands around a finger was strong and Doggett could then see
exactly how tiny and perfect those fingernails were.  And how
surprisingly strong those little fingers could grasp. 

"Now," Scully said. "I want to make one thing perfectly clear. Mulder
was never  my lover. I might have entertained delusions once that I
could make that so, but I was cured of them instantly the one time
that I attempted to turn him into my lover. All empirical, objective
evidence points to one conclusion, that  Mulder is gay, even if he
hasn't admitted this to himself yet."

"Agent Scully," Doggett began.

"Please, I think it's Dana by now," she said. 

"Dana," he tried again. "A man can have sex with another man and not
be gay. That's something that's not cut and dried, just because you
saw him doing things with me."

"Oh, I've believed that of Mulder since long before you were even in
the picture," Scully said. "And, as I was saying, since I'm certain
that Mulder is gay, that removes him from the potential pool of
husbands or lovers for myself.  Now, you seem concerned that Mulder
should be with me to be a father to William. As far as I'm concerned,
Mulder need not be romantically involved with  me to do this. Perhaps
it's even better this way."

"Dana," he tried to start again. What could he tell the woman that
would convince her that all around, this was just a bad idea? He'd had
a hard enough time convincing her of anything when they were working
together. He suspected that now that they weren't working together, to
convince her of anything would be next to impossible. "That's not the
only objection I have to you and Skinner  trying to shove the two of
us together. I'm not gay. I don't love men, not that  way. I ain't
light in the loafers. Not a bit. I am not a fag. I don't pitch for 
the other team. I'm not queer as a three dollar bill. I'm not fruity,
swishy or  a queen. I don't even have the slightest interest in
interior decorating."

With that, she looked around his well-appointed living room. Her eyes
lit immediately on his fern. Then the eyebrow quirked slightly
upwards. She glanced  around the rest of the room, taking in the
quietly masculine, harmonious atmosphere of it. Okay, so maybe he
picked out the furniture and the shutters. It just made sense for them
to match. Same with the rug. And the fern had been a housewarming gift
from the neighbors and so what if he had a knack for keeping it alive?
It looked good where it was. That was apropos of nothing as
far as where his true interests lay. 

"John," Scully said softly. "Nobody has accused you of being anything
less than  masculine. Your manhood is not in doubt here. I just know
the way you look at Mulder and the way he looks at you, and it's
beautiful. He never looked at me that way. You obviously feel
something deep for him. And since I can never have  him, it would make
me happy to know that someone who's as good a man as you are 
loves him."

"But I don't love him!" Doggett protested, knowing that he was lying.
Lying like a rug. Like a low down dirty dawg. Like a politician in
front of the Senate subcommittee. Like President Clinton talking about
Monica Lewinsky. Like  a used car salesman.

"John?" Scully asked, sweetly, holding out her arms. "Give William to
me."

He did, vaguely aware of the ache at having to relinquish that soft,
slight weight. Scully put William in his baby bucket and buckled him
up. 

"You know I don't swear very often, if ever, right, John?" she asked.
He nodded. With all they'd gone through, he'd only ever heard slightly
off color words come out of her mouth. Must have been her Catholic
girlhood showing through. "Good. Because that is the biggest fucking
load of horse crap that I've ever heard. Total bullshit and I'm
surprised you have the cojones to try and pull that one on me. Now,
I'm going to take you to Mulder. And if you can look him straight in
the eyes and tell him that, and I do mean straight in the
eyes, and he doesn't see through you, then maybe, just maybe I might
let it pass. But I don't believe you for one stinking second."

***

Frohike decided to consult Byers about the best way to deliver the
promised package with the minimum of fuss.  As clever as Frohike was,
Mulder, like his namesake was just as wily, so simple guile might not
be sufficient. Similarly, simple brute force would fail against a man
both taller and younger.

Langly and Mulder were busy playing some shoot everything that moves
video game  complete with ninja babes and euro-goons. It was one of
the games Langly had worked on over the years, contracting for one of
the big game companies, so Langly had the obvious edge, but Mulder was
catching up through dogged determination while Langly was obviously
coasting. This, actually, was another good reason to cooperate with
Skinner's plan, whatever it was. Because Langly was supposed to be
working, not loafing about, amusing himself. Anything to get 
Mulder out of the house and out from under foot. 

Thus assured that Mulder's attention was elsewhere for the moment,
Frohike turned to his soft-spoken, suited compadre and said, "I think
we need to take another look at the router cables again, Byers."

He made a significant look to the next room, then mouthed the words,
"Need to talk without Mulder hearing," at Byers.

Byers looked like a startled rabbit for a moment, then confused, then
he caught  on and nodded. "I agree. I'm not sure we've got the network
quite up to snuff yet."

They both went into the other room, even though the cables in question
did no more than run through the room without stopping. The place
though was so festooned with assorted electronic junk that there was
no way Mulder would know  what went where and what was functional and
what was mere detritus from earlier  incarnations of the network. The
only map of the whole network as it currently existed was in Frohike's
head, though both Byers and Langly had large sections of the
electronic geography committed to memory.  

Once they were in the next room, Frohike indicated with a jerk of the
head that  they should go to the next room beyond, the kitchen. Once
there in the clutter and the mess, with the disgusting kitchen sink
and all, they were free to talk.

"Do you believe in love, Byers?" Frohike asked.

Byers' confusion returned, but he nodded. Of course the man did.
Byers' whole life had changed irrevocably because of love. A one
minute glance at a little blond chickadee had turned the man's world
and universe on its head, had turned  him from blind sheep to a
tireless crusader. Though he never said a word about it, you could
tell that the man was still hopelessly in love with that
chickadee, though God alone knew what trouble she was getting up to
these days.

"Mulder is in love, and not with the lovely Agent Scully," Frohike
said.

"I assumed his presence indicated some...domestic dispute between the
pair of them," Byers said. The man looked like he was positively
itching to be in the kitchen when it was in this state. Though Byers
himself was neat by nature, his  tidiness was simply King Canute
holding back the ocean of the other two men's sloppiness. Finally, he
gave up, and though he wasn't on kitchen duty at all this week, he
slipped off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and began
excavating the pile of dishes from the sink, so that he could fill it
and begin  washing. 

Frohike took pity on the man and started to help. "Oh, there's a
dispute between them alright. But she's not mad about the fact that
he's in love with someone else. He's denying that he's in love at all
with this other person. I think that this is one time where Scully is
right and Mulder is wrong, but he..."

"Has always taken his own path, and damn the consequences. And he
knows what he  knows," Byers finished for him. Frohike liked that
about being around his two companions. Years together had them
thinking alike, to the point of being able to finish each other's
sentences. Byers, especially, was close to both of them. 
Sometimes, some lonely, drunken nights, Frohike pondered to himself
about asking Byers to take a walk on the wild side with him, blond
chickadee or not, Agent Scully or not.

"But the tragedy of it all is not just that Mulder is in love with
this person,  but this person is in love with him. Happiness would be
theirs, if only they would reach out and grab it," Frohike said. By
this point, the sink was empty enough that they could start filling it
with hot water and soap. Byers added only a tiny amount of soap,
causing Frohike to grab the bottle and add a whole dollop more.

"I knew you were going to do that, no matter how much I put in it,"
Byers said,  mildly. As he started in on the glasses, he asked, "This
person. Anyone we know?"

"John Doggett," Frohike pronounced solemnly.

"That's a surprise," Byers said.

"I know. I never would have figured Doggett in the three dollar bill
crowd."

"Oh, not Agent Doggett. Mulder," Byers said as he ran a rag over a
dish. He had  to scrub hard at a few caked on spots.

"How do you figure?" Frohike asked.

"When he was first working that case, the one with the Native American
symbol, we did the teleconference with him. Afterwards, I found myself
wondering why he  would have noticed that Langly didn't have any pants
on. Since then, I've just observed any number of little things about
him. Which gender he looks at first when meeting new people. The
intensity of how he looks at them," Byers said. It  figured that
Byers, out of anyone, would have been observant enough to notice
that about the man. 

"In any case, Skinner has a plan. I believe Agent Scully is in on this
caper too. We're going to force a meeting between the pair of them and
see what happens. All we have to do is deliver Mulder to Skinner's
place and see that he  doesn't escape."

"We'll need to get Langly involved in this as well. And I know just
how we're going to do it," Byers pronounced. Byers dug in one of the
kitchen drawers and came up with a big roll of silvery tape. He handed
it to Frohike. Then he pulled another roll out of the same.

Frohike could feel the smile forming on his face. "I like how you
think, my friend."

A short time later, Mulder was still in front of the video game. Well,
not in front of it so much as in it. He and Langly were playing the
virtual reality version of the same game. No, not a full immersion VR,
just a helmet and gloves  one. Mulder was sitting in one of their
office chairs, off in Ninja babe land. Langly had stepped up his game
play just a notch or two, so that he was no longer coasting, and
Mulder had to work very hard to keep up, but not so much
that Mulder would start to lose, pout and lose interest in the game.
Mulder's attention thus fully captured, Byers and Frohike each
approached him from a different flank, pieces of tape from the roll
pulled off and at ready, the roll  itself within easy access, ready to
dispense more if need be.

At the very same instant there was a climax in the game, Langly
entered the cheat code that made a false "game over!" flash within
Mulder's vision. Byers and Frohike swooped in and grabbed Mulder by
the data gloves, then deftly applied the duct tape to his arms, then
fastened them to the chair arms. Frohike ducked down to duct tape
Mulder's kicking legs. It took a good bit of doing to fasten those,
but Frohike applied enough tape that there was no way Mulder could
kick free. At the same time, Langly was ripping off Mulder's VR
mask and the data gloves. Within seconds, Mulder was well and truly
taped to the chair, protesting with all the impressive vocabulary list
of invective at his command.

"Trust me, Mulder," Frohike said. "This is for your own good. We're
just going to take you on a little drive, then we'll let you go."

"Listen, you obscene, little leprechaun," Mulder said, furiously. His
face had turned red with the struggle. "Set me free right now or I'm
going to drive one of those garden gnomes up your ass."

Frohike sighed, but decided against gagging Mulder. Tempting as it
was, Frohike  thought it might not be good for Mulder's state of mind.
This was pushing it far enough. Besides, he'd heard far, far worse
threats in his day. If this was the best that he could do, Mulder was
a piker compared to his ex-wife. 

"The car's ready," Langly said. "Let's go."

If the neighbors thought it was odd to see the three of them pushing a
yelling man duct taped to a standard office chair to where their VW
Microbus was parked, nobody said anything. And they wouldn't. 

***

"So, all I have to do to get you off my case is look Mulder in the eye
and tell  him I don't love him," Doggett repeated. It was another lie,
true, but he wanted so badly to be out of this mess. He'd hardly been
able to eat or sleep since this whole mad affair had started. His work
had suffered. He just wanted it over with and it seemed that getting
Scully off his back about it was at least a good place to start. 

Scully nodded. 

"Okay, let's get going," Doggett said. He didn't even stop to change
out of his  lawn mowing clothes. No time like the present. He reached
for his keys and headed for the front door, Scully hurrying behind
him. "Where is Mulder right now?"

"At the Lone Gunmen's headquarters," Scully said. "Where he's been
moping for you, even if he won't admit that's what he's doing."

***

The call Skinner was waiting for finally came. 

"Hey, Skinman," said the voice. It was Langly, the most obnoxious one
of the three, from a generation without respect as far as Skinner was
concerned. Skinner strangled down a grumble. They were being immensely
helpful in his little plan to get Mulder and Doggett together. And at
least it wasn't Wally he  was being called. Langly continued, "We've
got the package. Where do you want delivery?"

"Drive around back to the service entrance, I'll be down to meet you
in a minute," Skinner said. In the background, he could hear Mulder
cursing quite clearly, though tiredly, as if he'd been at it some
time. There was also some muffled thumping, as if Mulder were still
struggling against his fate. So, Mulder hadn't come willingly. It
wasn't exactly what Skinner had in mind when he'd asked for the
Gunmen's help. But in the end, Mulder would almost certainly 
forgive them all. Skinner started moving quickly as he spoke. Just a
minute to pull on a pair of shoes and he was out the door. 

Momentarily, he was at the truck dock of the service entrance. The
Gunmen were waiting in their disreputable looking van. They had the
side door thrown open. Inside, Skinner could see that it was taking
both Langly and Byers to hold Mulder down, for all that the man was
duct taped securely to a computer chair. Never had the phrase "madder
than a wet hen" been illustrated quite so well. Not that the man
didn't have reason for it, but still, as they said, desperate
times call for desperate measures. Frohike was still at the wheel, and
the van was still running, as if they were prepared to make a quick
getaway if necessary. 

"Did you plan this, Skinner? You son of a bitch!" Mulder managed to
yell before  Byers clamped a hand over his mouth. 

Skinner had been planning to park Mulder in his apartment and then
find some way to fetch Doggett over, perhaps using Scully to trick him
into coming. That would never do, not with Mulder in his
finely-pitched fit of fury. But that was  okay. He was used to plans
changing as soon as they hit the field. He looked doubtfully at the
van. With three men and another in a desk chair, it was
already crowded. Still, maybe they could use some help holding Mulder
down, maybe calming him. Skinner hopped down from the concrete landing
of the dock to  the alley level, then approached the van.

"Mulder," he said, using the velvet glove over steel fist voice that
he'd used on Mulder many a time during the time they'd known each
other. "This is not some kind of betrayal or trickery. We're just
looking out for your best interests here. We want to see that you're
happy. We're going to go over to John Doggett's house, and you're
going to talk to him."

"I have nothing to say to the man," Mulder spat out. "Now, can we end
this humiliating, not to mention, panic-inducing little charade?"

"If we cut you out of the chair, will you give me your parole that you
won't leave until you've talked to John?"

"I said I have nothing to say to him," Mulder said, but this time,
instead of anger, it seemed that he was more sulking. His volume had
dropped and he didn't  try and thump the chair again. "I don't know
why everyone of you thinks I'm in love with the man. You, them,
Scully. I'm not in love with the man and I have nothing to say to
him."

"Fine, then, Mulder," Skinner said, suddenly inspired. "All we require
is that you go to John's with us, look him directly in the eye, and
tell him that you're not in love with him. If you can do that, we'll
be satisfied. Then we'll  let you go."

"Whatever," Mulder snapped nastily. He thumped the office chair for
emphasis. "But we're not going anywhere until I'm out of this chair."

"You'll give me your parole?" Skinner asked.

"Whatever it takes," Mulder said. 

"Hop right in, Wally," Langly said. Skinner winced visibly. At the
same time, Byers produced a pair of scissors from somewhere and
started cutting through Mulder's bonds. While Byers did that, Skinner
hopped into the little van and found a seat. Langly shut the van door
and then Frohike pulled out of the drive  with a squeal of tires.
Somewhere inside the diminutive man beat the heart of a 
Dale Earnhardt, only Skinner quickly found himself wishing that
perhaps this inner stockcar driver wasn't allowed out to play.
Especially not at the wheel of a van that was never meant for speeds
greater than, oh, fifty miles an hour,  from the way it chugged and
shook as they took to the highways.

***

Earlier, they'd been caught in a gaper's delay- people slowing down to
look at a really spectacular accident in the opposite lanes of the
highway, so it took them over an hour to get to the Gunmen's
headquarters in Maryland. Why did people have to slow down to look at
such a terrible thing anyway? Doggett had firmly kept his eyes on
Scully's car ahead of him and on the road, avoiding looking at what
was probably a real mess. There were multiple ambulances and
cop cars, some still arriving as they crawled past. 

Eventually though, they turned off the highway and into the somewhat
seedy neighborhood that the Gunmen's place was located. It was fully
dark by then and  several of the streetlights were broken. Looking
around at the environs, Doggett decided that armed FBI Agent or not,
he hoped that Scully never came to  this neighborhood by herself at
night. It looked desolate and abandoned. There were hardly any lights
on in the other industrial buildings surrounding the warehouse that
the Gunmen rented. Just the sort of place you could get away
with a crime, because nobody'd be around for miles to catch you. Or so
it seemed.

Scully parked and Doggett found a place for the truck nearby. They
both got out. Doggett offered to carry the baby bucket for her, but
she declined. In the  near darkness, it was hard to see, but Scully's
lips were pursed with worry, and eventually she said, "I don't see
their van. I wonder if they went out for something."

Scully led the way to their front door, a battered metal slab. Doggett
had never gone to the Gunmen before, they had always come to him, or
on occasion just shown up in his office when he wasn't expecting them.
She rang the bell a couple of times, then a few more. They waited. And
waited a good bit longer. No  sign of the Gunmen or Mulder. Doggett
didn't know if he was relieved or not. Surely he wouldn't be off the
hook just because they weren't home. "I wonder where they are, and if
they took Mulder, or if he's someplace else," she said.
She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and pressed a button to
speed dial, then listened to it. A moment later, she pressed the end
button to the call and  said, with an arch of her eyebrow, "I couldn't
reach Mulder. He must have his phone off, but when is that a
surprise?"

Doggett knew that they Gunmen each had a cell phone. Probably multiple
phones. But he suspected they were too paranoid to tell anyone the
phone number, perhaps not even Scully. So he was surprised when Scully
dialed another number,  failed to reach anyone, and said, "No answer
from Frohike either."

***

Skinner had only been to Doggett's house once or twice, but it was
just like he  remembered it. White picket fence around the outside.
The front lawn, visible in one of the streetlights and also the porch
light, looked like it had been neatly mowed recently. They pulled into
the driveway alongside the house but failed to see the man's big,
white truck. The lights on the inside of the house  were all off too.
Maybe Doggett wasn't home for some reason. 

"Looks like Dogboy's not home," Langly said. 

"Fine. Looks like I can't have the little talk with the man that you
think is so important," Mulder said, justifiably simmering with
resentment. "Just let me  out. I'll walk back to my apartment from
here."

Never mind that Falls Church and Alexandria were a good twenty minutes
away from each other by car on the highway. 

"Uh-uh," Frohike said. "Just hold your horses, cowboy. You're not off
the hot seat until you have that little chitchat. I'm going to try and
call Scully and see if she's seen him. Does anyone have Doggett's cell
phone number?"

"I'll try it," Skinner said, getting out his phone. They'd gotten out
of the van by then and were standing on the driveway next to the
house. He dialed Doggett's number. Seconds later, from inside the
house, he heard the ring tone from a phone. "It looks like wherever
John went, he forgot his phone."

"I got Scully's voicemail," Frohike said. A moment later, he added,
"She's not at home either. I wonder where she could be?"

"We'd better get out of the driveway and on our way," Byers said. "We
might draw the suspicions of the neighbors, standing around like
this."

***

"I wonder if they went over to Skinner's?" Scully asked. "Skinner was
talking about some scheme he was going to organize with the Gunmen to
work on the Mulder side of all of this."

She dialed the phone again, and this time, she looked relieved. She
must have gotten an answer.

"Sir?" she asked. "Where are you? Do you have Mulder with you?"

She paused. William started crying in the bucket and she shifted
uncomfortably to kind of swing him back and forth. Doggett wanted to
take the child in his arms and comfort him, but he suspected he was
still in the hot seat with Scully  and any attempts in that regard
would be rebuffed firmly.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you have the package. I have the other one
right here with me. Where should we meet?"

She listened for a while, then said, "Yes, sir. I know the place.
We'll be there soon."

When she hung up, she said to Doggett, "Back in the car and follow me.
We'll be  meeting up in a place about midway between here and Falls
Church. It seems that  Skinner and the Gunmen had the same idea as I
did, and they're at your house with Mulder."

***

Sooner than he'd have liked, Doggett found himself sitting across the
table from Fox Mulder. The cause of all this trouble and fuss and
misery. The personal thorn in his side. The man he didn't love. The
man he couldn't love, because John Doggett didn't fall in love with
men. 

Just keep telling yourself that, Johnny, he thought to himself as he
looked straight into Fox Mulder's eyes. At his side was Scully. They'd
manipulated him  into a booth and he was scrunched between Scully and
the wall, with Langly at the end of the bench. It was crowded; a bench
that was meant to contain two comfortably, but apparently could fit
three if they were willing to get tight and cozy like this. 

There was no way of escape, not even the ignominious plan of ducking
under the table and crawling out through his companions' legs. Byers
was sitting on a chair pulled up to the end of the big booth. And even
if Byers wasn't in the way, Doggett was sure that the others would
stop him. He was trapped. Down to the wire. Between a rock and a hard
place. He was just going to have to look Mulder in the eyes and end
this thing. In public. With witnesses. No. With people he loved and
respected watching as he told a bald faced lie. Not that he 
hadn't been lying enough recently, but this galled him and he hadn't
been thrilled about earlier lies either.

Mulder, similarly, was jammed into a booth, bookended between Skinner
and the wall, with Frohike on the end of the bench. Mulder was doing
anything to avoid looking him in the eye, though mainly staring down
at the table top. Funny how fascinating the mottled laminate must be
to him, because Mulder had hardly lifted his eyes from it in the ten
minutes since they'd sat down. The waitress finally came by with their
coffee, though Langly had gotten a big coke and Scully a mere glass of
water. 

"Are you ready to order?" the waitress asked. She was a plain faced
girl, but looked sweet and innocent, possibly a college girl. She
looked kind of confused  at the motley crowd that they must have
looked like. Doggett still had on his raggedy mowing clothes. Langly
was wearing a t-shirt for some group called the Misfits. Skinner
meanwhile looked fresh and crisp in a blue and white checked
oxford shirt and dress pants, kind of like he'd gotten back from some
fancy golf outing. 

"Not quite yet, we'll need a few more minutes," Scully said, smiling
at the girl. Scully then turned back to nursing William. 

"Oh, okay," the girl, her name was Mary Sue, according to her name
tag. "You let me know when you're ready."

Once the girl was gone, Scully looked, not to Doggett, but to Mulder.
"Now or never, Mulder," she said. "You look that man in the eye and
tell him the truth.  Same for you, John."

Mulder looked up reluctantly. When he did, Doggett tried to look away,
but he wasn't quick enough. Suddenly his eyes were locked on Mulder's.
Mulder's eyes were mostly green, Doggett thought. Big, soulful,
beautiful eyes. They'd seen a  lot of sadness, those eyes, just like
he had. Mulder's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Doggett
unconsciously did the same. Their eyes never broke contact for long,
silent seconds. Then minutes. Nothing else seemed to exist
except for those eyes and Mulder's face. His big hands. Doggett's
memory of those hands on his body. The curve of those lips. 

He was going to have to do this. It was ridiculous. Impossible. He had
to. 

But he couldn't. He couldn't look the man in the eye and say that he
didn't love him. Because it wasn't true.   

Doggett didn't realize how much time had passed, he and Mulder staring
at each other as if daring the other to speak first, until Mary Sue,
the waitress showed up and cleared her throat softly, tentatively.
Both of their heads snapped around to glare at her for breaking into
the silent conversation they were having. The poor waitress nearly
wilted under the pressure. "I...umm. Well...um. Uh, all your friends
left and I just wanted to know if you still wanted to order
something."

Doggett looked around. They were sitting in the booth alone. He
vaguely could recall at some point prior Scully saying, "I believe our
work here is done, gentleman." And then the five other occupants of
the booth shuffled out and away. But it had failed to make a lasting
impression on Doggett. No, what had been important at that moment was
the way that Mulder's irises were rayed through with warm dark gray
and how amazingly large his pupils had seemed in the dim light of the
family style restaurant. This was inevitable, wasn't it?
It seemed he was doomed to love Fox Mulder and there wasn't a cure. It
had to be him, nobody else. He might as well give in. 

Mulder, at least, was able to think on his feet clearly enough to come
up with a response. "Did our friends stiff us for their drinks?" he
asked.

"No, sir," she said. "They paid up for your coffee too, but if you
want to order something, the kitchen closes in fifteen minutes."

Doggett could see Mulder decide he was going to be charming. The wry
grin came out, and a second later, it turned into a full blown smile.
Mulder said, "Well,  John, since this appears to be our first date,
I'll buy. I'm thinking you look like a cheeseburger, well-done, with
the cottage fries and more coffee. Am I right?"

In response to that smile, Doggett could only shake his head and smile
back. "Close enough for government work," he said. "And I'm thinking
you look like a patty melt and iced tea. Am I right?"

The waitress jotted down their orders and scurried away. After she was
gone, Mulder asked, "But what about dessert?"

Doggett pinned Mulder with a meaningful stare and said, "That should
be obvious."

Mulder swallowed hard again. His eyes opened wider and so did his
pupils. He seemed entranced at what Doggett was hinting at. 

"But there's something I got to say to you, Mulder. Before we take
this any further than dinner," Doggett said. Mulder nodded. "I'm not
putting up with any  of that crap like you put me through last night
in front of Scully's apartment.  Nobody uses me or makes me feel
cheap. Got it?"

Mulder nodded. 

"And no more lies," Doggett added. "I'm gonna start by telling the
truth. Something I should have said right off the bat. I love you, Fox
Mulder. God knows why, but it had to be you. And I'm pretty darn sure
you're in love with me too." 

"Of course I do," Mulder said. He reached out for Doggett's hand and
even though they were in public, his voice was so earnest, so softly
honest that Doggett let Mulder grab his hand and hold it between his.
Mulder's hands were so warm. They were strong too. Doggett could feel
muscles move over the bones when Mulder grabbed him, all controlled
strength and gentle power. Mulder's voice dropped low and it almost
seemed as if he was going to cry. Definitely his eyes glistened with
unreleased tears. "What did everyone think? What did you think? Of
course I love you."

With his free hand, Doggett reached to touch Mulder high on the cheek.
Then he slipped that hand around to the back of Mulder's head and
pulled him in close for a kiss. Doggett kept his eyes open for the
kiss, not wanting to miss a glorious second of it. One tear spilled
from Mulder's eyes during the kiss. Their faces were so close together
that Doggett felt it touch his own cheek, a little dot of warm
moisture. They couldn't hold the kiss for long. It was a
long way for both of them to be leaning over the table and the hard
edge of the  laminate topped table was cutting into Doggett's belly
uncomfortably, so he broke the kiss and sat back down, but he kept
hold of Mulder's hand.

Even though they couldn't keep the kiss up for long, it felt glorious.
Perfect.  Like the pieces of a puzzle snapping together. Like peanut
butter and chocolate. Exactly right. He couldn't deny, not a minute
longer, that he and Mulder were meant to be. More than that, having
told the truth and had the truth told to him, it felt like he could
breathe again. None of what had gone before mattered- Mulder's
denials, his own denials, and his refusal to believe certain things
about himself. Mulder's paranoia and belief in the ridiculous
seemed like just any other issue they'd have to work through. None of
that mattered, not in the glowing light of just being here with
Mulder, loving him. He might have been tempted to just grab Mulder's
hand and get the heck out of there for obvious reasons. But there'd
been plenty of sex before, and time for plenty of it in the future.
Definitely it was on the agenda for later tonight as far as Doggett
was concerned. But for now, this was nice, a revelation even. 
Just sitting there with Mulder, no recriminations, no arguments, was
delightful. Everything in his life now made complete sense.

(Continued in part 5)

Part 5
See part 0 for story information.


Their food had come eventually, and they ate the indifferent food.
Mulder even fed Doggett a few fries by hand. But it was a dim memory
compared to the brief embrace of lips that they'd shared before. Or
compared to walking across the parking lot to Doggett's truck,
Doggett's arm seemingly finding its way around Mulder's shoulders on
its own. Mulder hummed as they walked, a happy sound, vaguely tuneful.
It took a minute, but Doggett chuckled as he figured out just
what song Mulder was going for. It was some eighties thing, something
he hadn't  remembered in a long time.

"Doctor, doctor, give me the news, I got a bad case of loving you,"
the song lyrics went. "No pill's going to cure my ill; I got a bad
case of lovin' you."

"You want to go to my place or yours?" Doggett asked. "Your place is
closer and  at least we should stop by your place and check on the
fish. You haven't been home in a while from what I hear."

"Sure, my place is fine. Whatever," Mulder said. He was definitely
looking antsy, as if he couldn't wait for them to get to the nearest
convenient horizontal surface, or even a somewhat convenient vertical
surface. Doggett could have taken advantage of this, drawn this out to
get back at him for some of the torture he'd been put through. He
could have made Mulder grovel for the things he'd put him through. But
somehow, that didn't seem quite right. It wasn't the night for that.
And, truth be told, only the constraints of civilized behavior stopped
him from taking Mulder right there in the bed of his  truck. That and
the fact that he didn't have the knees of a younger man
anymore. Beds definitely had certain advantages to them. 

In the truck on the way to Alexandria, Mulder's hand kept snaking
from Doggett's knee upwards, tracing a slow, torturously pleasant path
from patella to flexor muscle to hip, then inwards.  Doggett nearly
jumped out of his seat and veered the truck across the road as Mulder
brushed his fingers across the tight denim of Doggett's cut offs. And
they were tight, uncomfortably so. Doggett was suddenly reminded of
how it'd felt in that isolation chamber, to be  that hard, that much
in need of release. He breathed slowly to gain control of
himself. Down the highway at sixty-five miles an hour was not the time
to come in his pants like a kid in an adolescent hormone frenzy. 

No words were needed. Mulder recognized the folly of teasing Doggett
at highway  speeds. He backed off, kept his questing hand strictly to
the outer portion of Doggett's thigh. Their hands and arms brushed
when it was time for Doggett to shift the truck. A shiver didn't just
go up and down his spine when every time that happened. No, that
shiver barged right in and trounced right up and down Doggett's spine
wearing football spikes.  

It was a wonder then, that they pulled onto Mulder's street all in one
piece. Parking, as would be expected when you really wanted a close
spot, just wasn't available. They parked three blocks away. As Doggett
was locking the truck, Mulder embraced him from behind and started to
go to town on the back of his neck, kissing and gently sucking the
sensitive skin there, roving to the back of Doggett's ears. Mulder's
fingers wandered through his hair, rubbing it upwards. Doggett melted
against the door of his truck like chocolate in the sun. 

Mulder's chuckle was not so much heard but felt like a delicate breeze
across Doggett's neck. "C'mon, guy," Mulder said. "Race you to my
building."

Then Mulder took off at a sprint. Doggett couldn't help but grin. Then
he hurried to follow after. It was going to be a good night, he could
just tell.

***

Doggett woke hours later, the sun just starting to shyly peek into
Mulder's windows. He was lying on his stomach, sprawled out over
Mulder's bed. Mulder himself was draped all over Doggett, a heavy but
pleasant weight. His head used  Doggett's left arm as a pillow, his
arm across Doggett's back, his legs hooked into Doggett's legs. This
was the most pleasant waking in a long time that Doggett could
remember. It was a bright, warm Sunday morning. Nothing to do. No 
one to go see, not unless they wanted to go round up Scully, Skinner
and the Gunmen and thank them. 

Nah, there was plenty of time for that later. For now, happy to be
used as Mulder's pillow, Doggett buried his face back into the sheets
and closed his eyes again. Sleep now, he told himself. Make love again
when you wake. Then be happy, deliriously happy. He could handle
that.

***

Part 4:

Coda

Doggett had been waiting on Scully's ring at the door for about twenty
minutes.  When she finally showed, she looked flustered, her hair
slightly askew, as if it'd been ruffled and then smoothed only by her
hands.  But as planned, she had  Billy and all his assorted
impedimentia with her. Billy, impatient toddler that  he was, ignored
Doggett and instead rushed into the house. Billy climbed up
onto the couch and stared at the fish tank which was a current source
of fascination to him. He was safe enough there for the moment, so
Doggett turned back to Scully.

"Sorry I'm late, John," Scully said, apologetically. "Billy's nap ran
over. He didn't wake up on time."

Actually, from the looks of it, Scully had been otherwise occupied at
the time she should have woken Billy from his nap to get him ready to
go. She had to hustle to even get them out the door. Doggett didn't
mind, because Scully was positively flushed with that certain glow and
who was he to deny someone their happiness. Besides, from Billy's
weekends here, he knew all about grabbing time  where you could get
it. 

"No, problem," Doggett said. "Plans running smoothly otherwise?"

Scully nodded, "Walter's on his way up to the cabin already. He should
get there in plenty of time to get things up and running before dark.
I've just got  to stop and do some shopping."

Skinner and Scully, now that had been a surprise, but they seemed
madly happy with each other. Doggett wondered about that sometimes.
There had been no sign of it. Then coincidentally, both of them had
taken a long weekend vacation together about a year ago. They left
separately, but came back together and had  been inseparable ever
since. 

"You're a dear to do this," Scully said as she handed up a tote bag
with Billy's toys. Not that Billy didnt have a whole room in the house
devoted to him. 

"It's no problem," Doggett said. And it wasn't. Not in the slightest.
Having the kid over was about the second best thing he could think of.
"Fox said to say hi. He's at a meeting with an editor that might be
interested in that crazy  book of his."

"That's great," Scully said, handing over the last bag. "I've got to
go or I'll  be stuck in traffic."

While Scully pried their son away from the fish tank to hug and kiss
him goodbye, Doggett stood by and watched. He thought about Mulder's
book- a fictionalized account of their meeting, falling in love and
getting together. Who would believe it was true? Bacterial love-potion
number nines, poison spitting reptile men, an acquaintance started by
a multi-state manhunt for a man supposedly abducted by aliens. And yet
every word of it was true. The strangest thing was that compared to
the depth of love he felt for Fox, all of that faded into the
background. Didn't matter. Because like the books say, true 
love does triumph over all, even the ridiculous circumstances of its
origin.

END 



### The End ###