From: Taffy Northwood <soccermom@earthdome.com>
Date: 19 Apr 2003 12:30:59 -0700
Subject: NEW   ---   Let No Star Shine  by Taffy Northwood (1/?)
Source: atxc

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

 

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

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mulder, are you ready?" she called.

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

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

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

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

Someone with long dark hair.

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

Diana Fowley.

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

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

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

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

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

"Wash your face," she said.

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

Diana laughed and patted his arm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scully in a bikini.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just get me there," he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diana.  Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


To be continued in part 3....

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

Let No Star Shine  -  Part  3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's nothing, really."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hugh sighed.  "Hence the tears?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Scully..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What makes you think that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hugh laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Let No Star Shine  -  Part  4


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scully touched his arm.

"We were talking about jealousy," she said.

Mulder shrugged helplessly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell just happened.

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

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


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

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 5


Scully sipped her shiraz and surveyed the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scully smiled.

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

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

"We could sit down," he suggested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Must be pretty discouraging," Hugh remarked. 

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

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

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

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

She shook her head sadly.

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

Hugh put a comforting arm around her.

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

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

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

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

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

"Not funny," she said.

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

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

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

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

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

"Sideshow performers?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't understand," he said. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But you doubt her?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you held him back?" Hugh asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And that worries you," Hugh said.

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

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

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

"Good night, Hugh."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let No Star Shine  -  Part  6

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

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

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

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

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

"Hugh."

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

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

Scully would be pissed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"This sucks," Mulder observed.

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

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

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

"McCloskey.  Come in," he said.

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

"Skinner called," Mulder explained.

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

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

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

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

"You okay?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mulder could hardly wait to see it.

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

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

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

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

"I hope so, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Improvise," he managed to choke.

"Are you feeling all right, sir?"

"Peachy."

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

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

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

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

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

"Use another mannequin."

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

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

"I have the book," the kid offered.

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

McCloskey brightened.

"I could do autoerotic asphyxiation," he said.

Mulder shook his head.

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

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

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

Mulder handed him a card.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mulder?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mulder," he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And why not?"

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

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

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

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

"Scully, what's wrong?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*******

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

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 7a

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And did you find his technique effective?"

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

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

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

"It was pure dumb luck," Colton sputtered.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scully didn't want to meet his eyes.

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

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

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

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

*********

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

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 7b

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Agent Mulder!" 

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

"Tim?" Mulder said, rising.  

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

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

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

Mulder slid his chair back under the table.

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

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

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

Hugh's smile was huge.

"I hope it was helpful to you."

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

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

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

"Thanks!"

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

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

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

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

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

"China patterns?" Mulder mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm pretty good," he said.

"Mulder, you don't play tennis!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Try it on."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Certainly.  What else?"

"Measure it?" suggested another participant.

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

"Both, I guess."

"Excellent.  What else could you measure?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Elaine . . . temperature."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 8

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

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

"Terrific.  Then what's the trouble?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Get used to it, kid, Mulder thought.

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

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

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

Mulder clapped him on the shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Agent Mulder!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ha.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elaine was like a Chihuahua, small but noisy.

"Of course I can hear you."

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

"I promise."

"Or if I talk too fast?"

"Elaine, you always talk too fast."

She started pacing again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

VOMIT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Down here?" he gulped.

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

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

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

"I don't have a car."

"Oh, Fox," she sighed.

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

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

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

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

Finally he understood.

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

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

He held the dead phone against his ear.

"Fuck off, Diana," he said.

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

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

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

"Steffi Graf can rest easy tonight."  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure," said Mulder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let No Star Shine  -  Part 9


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

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

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

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

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

"He's drenched," Hugh complained.

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

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

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

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

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

"Drink, Mulder," Scully said.

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

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

"One sip more," Scully coaxed.

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

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

"Delirium," said Hugh.

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

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

"I know, Mulder.  Drink your water."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As Hugh lessened his hold, Mulder stopped struggling.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"This is getting old," Hugh grumbled.  

"I ca' walk!" Mulder protested weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you want to drive, Dana?"

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

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

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

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

"Just fine, Tim," Mulder groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

"Mulder, you could barely stand."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I jus' wanna sleep."  

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

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

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

The thermometer showed 102.

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently Hugh took the hint, nodding his head.

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

Mulder seemed to relax.

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

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

"Thirsty," he explained.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Trouble breathing?" she asked.

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

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

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

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

"Mm," said Mulder, smiling to himself.

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

"I like this one," Mulder informed her sleepily.  "This is the one 
where you take off all my clothes."

"Oh, do I?" Scully asked.  She hadn't planned to go any further than 
removing his shirt.

"Yes."

It was tempting.  After all, he was terribly sweaty.  Scully pulled 
his shirt up over his head.  Mulder wasn't only delirious, he was 
deliriously happy.  And a bit ripe.

"Oh, yeah, Scully.  Strip me naked," he said.

It would be a good thing to clean him up, Scully decided.  A nice, 
refreshing sponge bath so that he would sleep better.

"I want to get you washed," she said.

"Kinky."

"No, really, Mulder."  She had to make him understand what she had 
in mind.

"K.  After I strip you," he said.

"I'm serious, Mulder.  You need a bath."

Mulder beamed.  "Then this is the one where we take a bath."

"*You* take a bath.  Not us--you."

"Scully!  Do I offend?"

"Now that you mention it..."

He seemed a little hurt, but not defeated.

"Wait right here.  I'll take a shower."

"Mulder, you can't even stand up straight."

"If you haven't noticed, I am definitely standing up straight," he 
smirked.

Oh, lord, thought Scully.  Is he ever.

"I'm going to run a bath for you.  Don't even try to get up without 
my help," she insisted.

"I'm so tired of getting off without your help," he said tragically.

Scully tried not to laugh.  Maybe she should Mirandize him:  You 
have the right to remain silent. . .

"Don't talk," she said, and then Mulder reached into the V of her 
tennis outfit. Scully jumped back as if she'd been scalded.  She 
slapped his hand lightly.  "And don't touch.  Just do as I say."

Mulder nodded, and his expression made it very clear that he was 
not on her wavelength.  She went to run him a bath.  A cool bath, 
to reduce his fever. 
  
Maybe a cold bath.

She added her own Teaberry bubblebath to the tub full of tepid water.  
Mulder might complain about the girly fragrance, but Scully was 
grateful for the cover.  

Mulder was reasonably steady when she got him off the bed, and he 
didn't say a word as she walked him to the bathroom.  She could have 
slapped on the handcuffs and he wouldn't have objected.  Hell, in
his present state, he'd probably love it.

He didn't help when she worked the waistband of his shorts down 
over his hips, even when she had to figure out that the shorts 
had an inner mesh lining, which apparently negated the need for 
any underwear.

She tried very hard to think about his cleverly constructed running 
shorts, and not to think about anything else.  She tried to maintain 
eye contact at all times.  She hoped like hell that she wasn't 
blushing.  

He looked at her expectantly.

"Get in the tub, Mulder."

His eyes said, "You first."  She folded her arms.  He got in the tub,
his movements a little shaky as he lowered himself into the water.  
The water must have felt chilly to his feverish body, causing him
to shiver.  His eager expression told her the cool water hadn't 
dampened his libido.

Kneeling next to the bathtub, Scully wet a wash cloth and washed 
Mulder's face.  He sputtered a little, shaking his head like a 
terrier and staring in astonishment.

"A bath.  To get clean," Scully reiterated.  "Lie back and try to 
relax."

"That's not how it goes," Mulder mumbled.  "Whose dream is this, 
anyway?"

"Shh.  Try to relax."

"One of us is twisted," Mulder complained.

She washed him as impersonally as she could, even though the only 
thing between her hand and his wet, naked skin was the washcloth.  
Mulder was ill, exhausted, and disappointed, and Scully hoped 
against hope that those three factors would ward off any erotic 
impulses.

Mulder pouted at first, but gradually he succumbed to cool water 
and fatigue, resting his head against the back of the tub.

"Bath time's over," Scully said briskly.  If she had to call Hugh 
to drag a sleeping Mulder out of the bathtub, she didn't think that 
either man would ever forgive her.  Eyes at half mast, Mulder 
climbed out on his own.  Scully  managed to draw a bath sheet around 
his shoulders before he plodded back to the bed.

"Just a minute, Mulder."  She made him sit on the edge of the bed 
while she tried to rub him dry.

"I'm so tired, Scully," he complained.  "My back hurts."

"Okay, Mulder.  You can go to sleep."  She helped him slip under 
the covers.  His skin felt cool and clean, and she was sure that 
his fever was down.  Scully probably should have helped him into 
a clean pair of pajamas, but he looked so tired, she didn't want 
to disturb him.

"Scully, next time I want the one where you're a sorceress," Mulder 
yawned.  A minute later he was snoring.

She walked down to the vending machine, returning with a couple
of ginger ales for Mulder and a diet cola for herself.  Letting 
herself back into the room, she watched Mulder sleep for a 
moment.  Hand thrown over his forehead, he looked like a little 
boy who'd played too hard and worn himself out.

Scully sighed deeply, shaking her head.  "Oh Mulder," she 
whispered.  "I've been such an idiot, thinking you were running
away from me."

She popped the top on her cola, taking a long drink.  She dimmed
the lights and found an old Alfred Hitchcock film on TV, keeping 
the volume down.  Mulder often slept with the television on, so 
she wasn't worried about the noise bothering him.

Her mind wandered and she had trouble following the intricate 
plot.  The movie was almost over and she could barely remember 
who had murdered whom.   

She barely heard the light tap on the door over the theme music
at the end of the movie.  Scully peeked through the security hole,
spotting a smiling Hugh.

"Shhh," she said softly, opening the door.  "Mulder's asleep."

"I brought you some supper," Hugh whispered.  He carried a tray
laden with a covered dish.  "Baked chicken and rice pilaf.  
Hope that's okay."

"Better than okay.  Thank you!" she replied.  "Let's go into
my room.  I don't want to wake Mulder."  

She switched off the television and led the way into her room
hoping the smell of the food wouldn't disturb Mulder.  Even 
good scents could be a problem when a person was nauseous.
She left the door partially open, though, in case he woke and
needed her.

"How is he?" Hugh asked, jerking his head in Mulder's direction.

"Sleeping for now.  He was a little disoriented before, probably
due to the fever." 

Hugh placed the tray on the table in Scully's room, removing the
metal dish covers with a flourish.  "Taaa daaaa," he said, 
producing a mini bottle of wine from his jacket pocket.  
"Unfortunately, this size only comes with a screw top, but 
one makes do."  

"Well, if I must..." she quipped, unwrapping a glass on the 
dresser.  She held the glass out for Hugh to fill with wine. 
"...then I must." 

Scully forced herself not to tear into the food with her bare 
hands, but it wasn't easy.  The meal was delicious, and she was
famished.  Hugh lounged in his chair, barely hiding a smile.

"So I guess he wasn't hungover after all," Hugh said when she'd
paused to take a sip of wine.

"No.  No, he wasn't.  I feel terrible--I jumped to a lot of
conclusions." 

"Maybe you did, but they weren't unwarrented, Dana.  You said
he reeked of alcohol when you found him the next morning.  And
his symptoms were consistent with a hangover."

"Those aren't the conclusions that bother me," she said, 
pensively. 

"Well?" Hugh asked, gesturing for her to continue.  He dug 
into his breast pocket, producing a cellophane-wrapped 
package.  "There's a chocolate brownie with nuts in it for
you if you finish that thought."

She snatched the brownie out of his hand, smiling.  "Say, 
do you have an ice cream sundae stashed in there somewhere?"

"Yeah, in my shorts.  Now, keep going.  What other 
conclusions."

She shook her head, unwrapping one end of the brownie and
breaking off a piece.  Hugh was having much to good a time
at the expense of her personal life.  Still, it was nice to
have someone to talk to.  God knows, she didn't have an 
overabundance of friends.   

"Okay," she said, finally.  "The afternoon we arrived here,
I told Mulder that I thought of him as more than a partner.
It was shortly after that, he missed the reception and I 
started putting two and two together and getting eight."

"You thought he cracked under the pressure of your incredible
boldness?"  Hugh asked, smiling.

"Something like that."

"Dana, Dana, Dana....it's obvious you've missed my sage advice
over the last seven years.  You thought you were being so
open and above board, but I don't think he *got* your meaning."

"What else could 'more than a partner' have meant to him, for
the love of God."

"Dana, I've only known Mulder for a few days, and not at his 
best, by any means.  But I can tell he's a little insecure in
personal relationships, or he wouldn't be so damned sure you and
I were an item."  Hugh grinned at her look of incredulity.  "You
haven't picked up on that?   He's jealous as hell, Dana.  It's 
making him nuts.  So, when you say, 'you're more than a partner'
he's not thinking 'I'm in love with you.'  He's thinking 'you're
a dear friend and I'll name my firstborn after you.'  Dana, you
have to be a little more specific.  *Tell* him how you feel, and
don't mince words."

Realization hit full force.  Hugh was right.  She remembered that
afternoon and Mulder's reaction: unsure after a brief stunned
flash of happiness.  Mulder had heard her words, but not her 
meaning.  He'd probably been obsessing over Hugh and the flight 
out and misunderstood what she was trying to tell him.  

"Maybe..." she began thoughtfully.  Distracted, she popped another 
morsel of brownie into her mouth.  "I think you may be right."

"I'm right.  Have I ever steered you wrong?"

Hugh's brown eyes sparkled with warmth and affection.  She smiled,
reaching out to take his hand, remembering med school.  How many 
pep talks had Hugh given when her love affairs had gone wrong?
His advice was always true.

"No, you haven't.   Hugh, I don't know what I'd do without you."

*******