From: Taffy Northwood Date: 30 Jun 2003 19:36:55 -0700 Subject: NEW - Let No Star Shine by Taffy Northwood (10/?) Source: atxc Let no star shine to light the night Till my own heart is filled with light Until my love beside me lies I seek the black of starless skies Let No Star Shine - Part 10 He found himself standing in the hall outside his office, chilled by the basement air. The cold lineoleum under his bare feet made him glance down. He was shocked to find himself nude, his skin pasty white under the fluorescent lighting. Panic rising in his gut, he tried the door, but it was locked up tight. Shit, where were his clothes? How had he gotten here, stark raving naked in the bowels of the Hoover building. He didn't have his keys. Hell, no point to patting himself down in a search. There was nowhere he could have carried them anyway. Any minute now, someone could come down those stairs and see him. Scully! Scully! Help me out here, Scully! Let me in! Why the hell wasn't Scully opening the door? He could hear movement beyond the door and voices. A woman was moaning. Damn it, that sounded like Scully. A cold sweat breaking out over his bare skin, he jiggled the door handle. Was Scully hurt? No, the moaning gave way to laughter, that of a man and woman. Suddenly, the doorknob turned under his palm and the door swung open. Scully was moaning, all right. Splayed out on his desk, *his desk*, skirt up around her waist, she was playing tonsil hockey with a man he couldn't recognize. The man lurched forward so that his big body covered Scully entirely, until she giggled again and wrapped her legs around his neck. Now all Mulder could see was the man's broad, brawny back and Scully's red stiletto pumps. There were grunts and more laughter, and Mulder was paralyzed with horror, unable to retreat, unable to speak. The man turned his head, and Mulder saw that it was Hugh Davis, bronzed, rich, and confident as ever. "Get lost, Spooky," he said. "Oh, Hugh." Scully sounded breathless and giddy. "Give us half an hour, Mulder, and we'll take you to lunch." "Scully, help me. I need your help," Mulder pleaded. His voice came out as a whisper, and he still couldn't make himself move. "I'd better put him back in his wheelchair," Hugh said. "Leave him in the hall until we're finished." "Please, Scully, no! Scully!" This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real. Finally, the crushing pain and humiliation overcame Mulder's need to stay asleep, and he awoke with a sob. Just a dream. He made himself say it out loud. "It was just a dream." The feelings lingered even as the details fled. He needed to talk to Scully. It didn't matter what she said to him, or he to her, he just needed to hear her voice to remind himself that she cared about him and respected him, no matter what else was happening. It was urgent that he figure out the time and place, but his brain was like a car with a bad ignition. Finally his brain cranked to life, and the details came back to him. He was in his bed in the hotel room, and he was as bare-assed naked as in his dream. Normally that was better than waking up in his clothes, but not this time, because he was certain he hadn't undressed by himself. If Hugh had undressed him . . . If Hugh had carried him back from the tennis court, taken his clothes, and put him to bed . . . Please, God, not that. Suddenly he remembered. It wasn't Hugh, it was Scully. Scully pulling off his socks. Scully peeling off his shirt. But most of all Scully sliding down his shorts. And he'd been dazed and enthralled, waiting for Scully to wriggle out of her own clothes, that slinky little tennis outfit, as blue as her eyes and as snug as her skin. But she hadn't. She'd ordered him into the bathtub. Bubbles. He remembered bubbles and a sweet-tangy fragrance that reminded him of Scully. Was this for real? Had Scully really scrubbed him clean and put him to bed? Maybe he should be grateful he was naked. Maybe he should thank God he wasn't wearing a diaper. Damn it, he thought. He had to pee now. Where was Scully? Soft voiced drifted over from her room. The faint smell of food was in the air. He tried not to think about the vague nausea that crept over him at that scent. Drawing back the covers, a wave of dizziness rocked him as he pushed himself up. Mulder sat on the end of the bed, elbows balanced on knees, holding his head and hoping the room would stop spinning. His bladder couldn't wait any longer, so he forced himself to his feet. His thighs ached, his back ached, even his hair ached. He shuffled in the direction of the bathroom, passing the door to Scully's room. "I'm right," he heard Hugh say in that damned overconfident voice. "Have I ever steered you wrong?" Dr. Divine obviously saw himself as the ultimate authority on everything and anything. Mulder smiled as he pictured Scully ripping the overbearing Hugh a new one. Unfortunately, what Mulder heard next made his aches and pains feel like a gentle massage. "No, you haven't. Hugh, I don't know what I'd do without you." It just didn't get better than this, did it? Scully didn't know what she'd do without Hugh. Obviously, she was planning on including Hugh in her life in a big way. Mulder shivered, moving silently past the open doorway. He couldn't see Scully or Hugh as he passed. Mulder didn't know if he was glad or sorry that he wasn't able to witness a tender moment. He was glad, though, that he was able to slip by unnoticed in his bare-assed state. He made his way to the bathroom, shutting the door and relieving himself. His knees felt as if they were made of jello, and he needed to brace himself on the sink to keep from falling on his ass. After washing his hands, he splashed water on his face, wincing as the cold liquid hit his heated skin. He dragged a hand towel off the rack, drying his skin roughly. Standing, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the sink. His face was pale, stubble shading his jaw. His eyes were red-rimmed and bleary. All in all, a pathetic sight. No wonder Scully preferred the golden Hugh. Mulder wasn't sure how much longer he could stay on his feet. Though he normally wasn't overly modest, his nudity left him feeling vulnerable. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants out of his suitcase and dropped onto the bed to pull them on. He fell back onto the pillows, exhausted by his little field trip. God, he was cold. He pulled the blankets up around himself, shivering so hard his teeth actually clicked together. Mulder burrowed under the covers, miserable and alone. Scully was enjoying herself with Dr. Successful. He could die here and she wouldn't come to him. No, she'd find him the next morning, stiff and cold. Then she'd be sorry. He hoped she'd be sorry. He was still imagining his funeral, with Scully mourning at his casket, when he fell asleep. ***** "I'll go in with you and hold your hand, if that's what it takes," Hugh said. "Don't be silly," Scully told him. "You're going to do it? You'll take him in your arms and declare your love?" She was indebted to Hugh for his friendship and his insight, but the last thing she needed right now was a drama coach. "I'm going to tell him, but I won't be able to do it with you watching from the wings," she said. "Don't chicken out," he said. "Life is short, and love is precious." Hugh's serious tone as he stood up to leave reminded her that he had suffered his own share of disappointment. For all his eagerness to advise Scully about her love life, he himself seemed to be at loose ends. "Maybe we'll have time for a tennis lesson after your lecture," Scully said. "I have a match lined up. Another time," Hugh said, a hint of a smile on his lips. After he left, Scully tiptoed back into Mulder's room. The bed was a testimony to how restlessly he'd slept. One pillow was on the floor, and the blanket was twisted into a ball. Mulder himself lay face down, stretched diagonally across the bed. He was uncovered, but no longer naked. She took a moment to enjoy the lines of Mulder's strong, well-muscled back. He truly was beautiful with his smooth golden skin. He was wearing dark blue sweatpants, the fabric molding to his firm, round buttocks. Scully wouldn't have disturbed him just to straighten his bed, but at that moment he flung himself onto his back and opened his eyes. "Scully. You're just in time to put nickels over my eyes," he groaned. She couldn't help smiling. At least he had the strength to complain. She fluffed his pillows and helped him into a more comfortable position. Her fingers brushed against his warm, smooth skin as she settled the pillow behind his bare back. "Try some ginger ale." Mulder held the glass by himself and drank thirstily. He reminded her of a little boy as he watched her over the rim of the cup. "Thanks. That's just what I needed," he said, settling back on his pillows. "Mulder, I'm so sorry. I should have realized that you were sick," Scully said. "I'm sorry too. I don't want to make you miss the conference. Or the, uh, time with old friends." Scully smiled again, thinking of how jealous Mulder had been. She poured his glass half-full of ginger ale and shook a couple of Advil into her palm. "Medicine time," she said, and he took and swallowed the tablets. "Thanks for putting up with me," he said. "I know I haven't been easy." "I'll let you in on a secret," Scully told him, taking the glass from his hand. "I enjoy it." "You get pleasure from my misery? I might have known." She brushed his hair from his forehead. "I enjoy taking care of you," she admitted. "Are you feeling any better?" "Better 'cause you're here. Not so nauseous, either." "Think you'll be able to sleep?" He smiled slyly. "Maybe if you stay with me." It was a very practical suggestion, but the timing was wrong. Mulder's flirting and teasing made it harder to tell him what she had to say. Scully wanted to be crystal clear tonight. She couldn't afford to have the issue clouded by banter and innuendo. They'd used both far too long to deflect their real emotions. Scully went back to her own room long enough to brush her teeth and change into her pajamas. She had brought one man-tailored pair and a filmy little black nighty. She held the two garments up, looking between them. A psychologist would have a field day on her lingerie choices alone. She put the nighty back in her suitcase, deciding it was too obvious. She didn't want to push Mulder over some imaginary edge. The dark green silk pajamas would do just fine. When she returned, Mulder had switched on the TV. "'Raiders of the Lost Ark.' I haven't seen this in years," he said. "You're supposed to sleep." "I'm just too achy. But you don't have to stay up with me; I'm really okay now." "The Advil will help. And this." She used the remote to turn off the TV, then touched his shoulder to urge him over onto his stomach. "Come on, roll over." "Scully, 'member when you sang to me?" he asked, his voice muffled in the pillow. "Only first you wanted to wrestle." She wasn't planning to serenade him. She had a different plan to soothe him to sleep. "I remember," she said. She placed her palms on his back. The skin felt warm, but not hot. "You like back rubs?" she asked. She felt suddenly shy, and her question seemed hideously forward. "Everybody likes backrubs," he said. She could feel him relax under her touch as she gently stroked his back. His breathing grew slow and regular, but just as she wondered if he might be asleep, he spoke. "I'm not fighting fair," he said. "It's okay, Mulder. Go to sleep," she answered. He didn't sound delirious, just sleepy. "You're a sucker for an invalid, aren't you, Scully?" Well, she'd admitted that much already, hadn't she? "Shh, Mulder. You need to rest." "I wish this could last. I wish I could be sick forever." "You can't possibly mean that." She smiled to herself. Being weak and helpless made Mulder miserable, no matter how much he enjoyed backrubs. "But I wouldn't do that to you. I'd want to, but I couldn't." "That's good to know," she said, moving her hand from his back to ruffle his hair. "What would you do without him, Scully?" Mulder no longer sounded sleepy. He sounded alert and edgy. "What are you talking about?" "I heard you, Scully. You and Dr. Perfection." "You were listening?" Scully felt her stomach lurch. If Mulder had heard her conversation with Hugh, then he already knew how she felt. Why did he sound as if he was baiting her? "I don't want your pity, Scully. Well, I guess I do want your pity, but I shouldn't. You don't have to stay here." "My pity? Mulder, is that what you're thinking?" "I tried to tell myself you were just old friends. Hell, I even hoped you were using him to make me jealous. If it wasn't for the flu, if it wasn't for that scene at the airport, I still think I would have had a chance." "Mulder, whatever you heard, you heard it wrong." He wasn't making sense, and she wondered if his fever was rising again. She touched the back of her hand to his neck, trying to judge his temperature. "Then explain it to me. How you can't live without him. How he's never steered you wrong." Scully was overwhelmed by deja vu. This was the exact argument of the night before. Mulder was convinced that she stayed by his side only out of obligation and that her heart belonged to Hugh Davis. Last night she'd expressed her devotion in words that were clear as glass to her, but were somehow ambiguous to her shaky partner. Then, when the flu had knocked Mulder off his feet, she'd been the insecure one, and taken his illness for retreat and rejection. Even now she felt a sliver of apprehension. Mulder was a complicated man, and their relationship was uniquely layered and intricate. Maybe the words he was begging for tonight would frighten him the next morning. Maybe Mulder didn't know his own mind as well as he thought he did. Life is short and love is precious, Hugh had told her. Right after he warned her not to chicken out. Well, she'd be damned if she would chicken out. "I'm waiting, Scully." Mulder was practically taunting her, challenging her to be the one brave enough to say the words. Good lord, what a pair they were. Pretending all their baggage could fit in the overhead compartment, when each of them needed a steamer trunk. "Mulder--" "Scully, wait!" There was urgency, even panic, in his interruption. "I changed my mind. Don't say it, Scully." He was talking into the pillow, afraid to face her. "I have to, Mulder. We can't go on like this," she said hoarsely. "I don't think I'm ready." She heard terror in his voice. If he wasn't ready now, he would never be ready. "Mulder . . . " If she didn't tell him in the next second, she would never find the courage again. "I love you!" She said it in a sob, and then she held her breath. Mulder's back stiffened. He didn't answer. He was holding his breath too. Scully waited and waited, and then she took the first breath. She was also the first to speak. "Mulder?" Mulder gasped almost convulsively, and Scully grabbed the pillow to try to move it away from his mouth. Mulder clutched the pillow from both edges and wouldn't give it up. "Mulder!" His shoulders relaxed, but he kept his face buried in the pillow. "Just go, Scully." This couldn't be happening, not again. "Mulder, no!" "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." "Mulder, don't. Please don't." "I need to be alone. Get out, Scully, I mean it." "I love you. I can't help it, Mulder." Tears blinded her as she choked out the words. Mulder rose on one elbow, turning to face her. He looked as if someone had punched him in the stomach, his eyes wide with pain. Oh God, he was horrified at her words. "Just go, Scully! Get out of here!" She almost stumbled over his sneakers as she backed away from the bed. "I can't help it," she sobbed. "I just can't help it." The door was behind her. Just another step and she'd be back in her own room. "I can't help it, Mulder. Don't ask me to stop." She took that final step and hurled the door shut. Leaning against it, she clenched her eyes shut but couldn't stop the tears. How had she been so wrong? Six years together and she'd completely misread her partner. Hugh Davis had known Mulder for less than a day, but she had bought his story of Mulder's insecurity, swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. She was exactly like Diana, holding on to something that wasn't there. Dreaming and pretending that she and Mulder could have a future apart from their work. A door between them, and a simple twist would turn the lock. She fingered the cool metal, but she couldn't make herself turn it. She was bound to Mulder and would love him forever, even if it brought her nothing but sorrow. Let no star shine to light the night Till my own heart is filled with light Until my love beside me lies I seek the black of starless skies Let No Star Shine - Part 11 Unfortunately, he probably wouldn't die from the flu. Death would have been preferable to the misery of this moment. Mulder scrubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands. His head pounded as the bang of the slamming door echoed long after Scully had fled the room. The reverberation of her words would remain far longer. "I love Hugh." She'd sobbed out the words as he tried to bury himself in the bedclothes. He'd dreaded hearing that--had been steeling himself inside to handle the news. It hadn't helped much--her breathy declaration of love for the other man had ripped his heart out quite effectively. She loved someone else. It wasn't her fault, really. She couldn't help herself. "Don't ask me to stop," she'd said. Scully loved that pompous, preening bag of wind. Well, she could have him. They deserved each other. Mulder sighed. Scully probably did deserve someone as rich and accomplished as Dr. Dreadful. She deserved to be loved beyond all that was holy, too. Mulder hoped Hugh loved her as much as the dear doctor loved his own reflection in the mirror and the sound of his own voice. Mulder glanced down, half expecting to see his chest bloody and his ribs spread by one of Scully's torturous autopsy instruments. She'd certainly torn his heart out and left behind a yawning maw in its place. And he couldn't even hate her for it. She was the most honorable person he knew. In all the years he'd known Dana Scully, she'd never been intentionally cruel. Even now, he didn't believe she wanted to hurt him. She couldn't help whom she loved. Mulder knew he was a poor substitute for the incredibly successful Hugh, but he'd been so sure Scully had returned his feelings. How could he have been so wrong? Though far from conceited, Mulder was well aware of the effect he had on women. He didn't put much stock in it--a lucky role of the genetic dice had determined he would have good looks. It wasn't something he worked at or courted, but the fact was, he walked into a room and women turned his way. So, he wasn't unfamiliar with the look a woman had when she was interested. When he'd looked into Scully's ocean blue eyes, he'd been convinced that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Obviously, he'd been horribly, unbearably mistaken. Mulder remembered the tears in her voice as she choked out her love for another man. He'd thought for a moment that he'd misunderstood, that maybe he hadn't heard right, but it was all too clear. She loved someone else and it clearly had not been easy for her to open herself up like that. He thought about getting up and going after Scully. She'd been so upset--obviously hating that she was hurting him. Unfortunately, Mulder could barely muster the strength to lift his head off the pillow. He wasn't sure how long he'd lain there, almost paralyzed with wracking pain. He wasn't sure how much of the pain was the flu and how much was his ravaged emotions. A sound at the door finally roused him. "Fox?" Oh shit. The familiar voice and the persistent rapping at the door were as welcome as as the first tingle of jock itch. "Fox, are you in there? Are you all right? Please, Fox, I've been traveling for hours, and I'm exhausted. Open up." "Wait a minute," he rasped, his throat incredibly raw. Mulder struggled off the bed, clutching his reeling head and staggered to the door. "Tell me you're not sick, Fox," Diana exclaimed, taking a long, shrewd look at him. "You just can't be sick." "I can't? And I was so looking forward to the projectile vomiting I had scheduled for later." "Oh darling, I didn't mean it like that," Diana purred, taking Mulder's elbow and helping him back to bed. "It's just so awful to be sick away from home." "It's not like I planned it, Diana," he muttered. She wasn't fooling him at all. Diana always had her eye on the prize and he was pretty sure the prize was the banquet at the end of the conference. "You poor thing. I met Agent Scully downstairs and she gave me your room number." Well, that explained how Diana found his room. The front desk wouldn't have revealed it, unless Diana had flashed her badge and conned the clerk. Mulder was a little surprised that Scully had offered up the information to someone she distrusted. Diana made quite a show of fluffing pillows and straightening the sheets. "She was acting strangely...even for her." "Strangely?" he asked. "Yes. I found her in the hotel bar with an absolutely divine-looking man. She has good taste...I have to give her that. And he could barely keep his hands off her, from what I could see." "You said she acted strangely," he prompted, trying to erase the image of Hugh pawing his partner. Scully couldn't have been too broken up, could she. Not if she was having a drink with good old Dr. Divine-Looking. "Well, for one thing, Agent Scully looked like she'd been crying. I explained that I'd been trying to reach you on your cell phone, which must have a dead battery, by the way. I was prepared for a hard time from your partner--she's never been exactly cordial, you know. But she gave me your room number right away. And then she wished me luck, whatever that meant." Whatever that meant. Scully probably hoped Diana would be able to keep him out of trouble long enough for her to elope with Hugh. Poor Scully--saddled with a screw-up partner who got sick and cramped her style with Prince Charmless. She must have seen Diana as the replacement baby-sitter for her problem charge. He released a ragged sigh, which set off a nasty coughing jag which caused his head to throb even worse. Mulder moaned and covered his eyes to shut out the light. "Poor Fox. Poor baby," Diana cooed. Unfortunately, her sympathy didn't extend past her voice. Her face broadcast her dissatisfaction with finding him under the weather. Damn, he wished she'd go away and stop looking at him like a vulture eyeing a tasty bit of roadkill. "I'm really tired, Diana. Maybe I'll feel better if I get a little sleep." Maybe he'd feel better if he blew his brains out. "Yes," she said, forcefully. "You sleep some more and I'm sure you'll be up and about in no time. I'm going to check in to the hotel and try to get a room on this floor." He rolled onto his side, his back to her and grunted a response. He felt her hand stroke along his arm and he tried not to stiffen up under her touch. "I wonder if Agent Scully is going to be using her room?" Diana mused, and Mulder pulled a pillow over his head. ************* Tears blurred Scully's eyes as she stumbled back to her room. How on earth had she misread Mulder so horribly? She'd been so sure his feelings had matched her own, but obviously, he'd been appalled at her declaration of love. Damn Hugh. Scully wanted to strangle her old friend for convincing her to tell Mulder how she felt. She stumbled through the connecting door and managed to lock it behind her, no easy feat with her hands trembling and her heart pounding. Sinking down onto the bed, she gave way finally to the sobs she'd held in since her humilation in Mulder's room. Images flashed in front of her eyes: Mulder gathering her into a crushing embrace in the Senate chambers, Mulder's eyes glistening with emotion as he moved to kiss her in the hall outside his apartment, and finally his look of horror at hearing her say "I love you." Tears streamed down her face as she recalled Mulder's anguish. He hadn't meant to hurt her, she knew that. Scully was convinced that Mulder truly cared for her, though obviously not in the way she loved him. He trusted her, which for a man as wary as Mulder was a miracle in itself. But trust and affection don't necessarily translate into romantic love. He must be in agony now, she thought, worried that she would leave him. A transfer might be easier in some ways. Scully dreaded facing her partner now that she knew how he really felt. It would be awkward and painful for both of them. Would they be able to get past that? She brushed the tears from her face, annoyed with herself for falling apart. "Pull yourself together, dammit," she muttered to herself as she rose from the bed. Scully looked down at her green pajamas. She'd chosen them because they were safe, because they wouldn't frighten Mulder with the ferocity and passion of her feelings. On one level she must have understood the nature of her bond with Mulder, that it was about friendship and loyalty, but never about physical intimacy. She couldn't bear the silk on her skin one more minute. She unbuttoned the shirt, wishing she could strip off the memory of her heartbreak as easily. She'd never sleep tonight. The nightmare would cycle through her mind over and over. Scully needed to decompress and that always involved large amounts of hot water. Though she generally preferred baths, tonight, she wanted a shower--maybe a yearlong one if the hotel's hot water supply held out. Slipping out of her pajamas, she turned the water on, as hot and as hard as she could stand it. Scully stood, head bowed under the rush of water, wishing it could wash her misery away. Sadly, there wasn't enough water in the Atlantic to do that. Lathering her skin with shower gel, she attempted to force images of Mulder out of her mind to no avail. His anguished face appeared before her whether her eyes were open or shut. With a loud sigh, she turned off the shower and reached for a towel. She dried her skin, rubbing a little more roughly than necessary. Scully caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror. Her face was pale, the freckles undisguised by makeup. Her eyes had a hollow look. How could she appear so whole when her world had shattered? The air was chilly as she returned to the bedroom and gathered up the discarded pajamas. It was only 9:30, but she felt weary beyond words. Suddenly, she found herself picturing Mulder on the tennis court, drenched with sweat and unconscious. She shivered as she remembered his head lolling back as Hugh had lifted him off the ground. No matter how unhappy she was, she couldn't abandon her partner when he was sick. Mulder was still in danger from the flu and becoming seriously overheated earlier in the day. His fever could spike, and she worried about what could happen if he was alone. She dropped the pajamas on the bed and turned to the closet, finding a pair of tailored black slacks and a soft, green sweater. Hugh had gotten her into this mess, she mused as she dressed. He had to help her with Mulder. Too impatient to dry her hair, she combed it through, tucking it behind her ears. If her old friend wasn't in his room, she'd track him down and send him to keep an eye on Mulder. Pocketing her card key, she pulled the door shut and stalked off to Hugh's room. Hugh was exiting his room, just as she approached. He looked at her in surprise. "Dana! I assumed you'd be snuggled up with our invalid. What are you doing here?" "You need to do something for me," she said, trying her best to control the tremor in her voice. Maybe coming to Hugh was a mistake. He'd want to hear all the gory details, and with her emotions so raw and shaky, she might not be able to resist telling him everything. "Dana...What happened?" Hugh asked, his concern apparent. "You told Mulder how you felt? "Oh, I told him all right," she said. "And I'd like to thank you for your wonderful damn advice. Oh God, Hugh, it was a disaster." "I don't know what to say...I can't believe I was wrong about him. The man loves you, Dana. I'm sure of it." "Well, he had a pretty strange reaction for a man in love." Her voice cracked as she recalled the horrible scene. Hugh slipped an arm around her, pulling her close. "I'm so sorry," he said. "Is it possible you misread him? Maybe he was just shocked that you'd said the words." "No," she said, shaking her head. "There was no mistaking his reaction. You know that 'deer in the headlights' look?" "Of course. That look of surprise," Hugh answered cautiously. "Not surprise. Horror." She shook her head. "Mulder's face looked like the deer at the moment of impact. Hugh, he looked as if I had run him over with a tractor-trailer." Hugh arm was still around her, and he turned and gave her a full hug. "Dana, I know it hurts now, but I have to be glad he's out of your life. There is still no question in my mind that he loves you, but his reaction suggests some actual mental illness." "Stop it, Hugh. I didn't ask for your diagnosis." She pulled away from him, angry that he continued to offer up his easy analysis when it was his faulty judgment that had brought her to this catastrophe. He released her and took a step back. "I was on my way down for a nightcap," he said quietly. "But I need you to stay with Mulder," she reminded him. "We need to talk. He'll be okay for half an hour." It sounded reasonable enough, and Scully knew that at least some of her anger was misplaced. She nodded her assent though her eyes drifted back in the direction of Mulder's room. Hugh settled his arm across her shoulder, and she let him pull her into the warmth of his protection as he led her to the elevator. "Some people aren't capable of receiving love, or returning it. You need to find someone who is," Hugh said as he pushed the call button on the elevator. "You deserve it." Scully almost laughed. She might need love and probably did deserve it, but the last few hard years had taught her that people didn't always get what they needed and rarely what they deserved. Scully knew she could only love Mulder, whatever that brought her in return. Perhaps she was as demented as he was. She felt unreal as they rode down to the lobby level. Hugh guided her into the dimly lit bar and chose a table near the door. The curvaceous barmaid approached, smiling brightly at Hugh. Poor fool. Another woman who wasn't likely to get what she hoped for. "A shot and a beer. And a white wine, please," Hugh said. The waitress nodded as she took the order, and it was no surprise when she placed the wine glass in front of Scully. With a last, lingering smile, the woman retreated. Hugh made the switch. "I used to think you drank these to impress people," he said. "You were right," Scully admitted. "I haven't had one in years." Back then it was about proving that she was tough. Now she needed it for anesthesia. She downed the fiery whiskey and chased it with the cold beer. "Dana...I never thought there'd be anyone to replace Dominic. I never thought I'd want anyone else," Hugh said. Scully was about to protest the comparison when she realized there was more to his statement. "And now?" she asked. "Too soon to tell. You'll be the first to know," he said, with a mysterious smile. "Who is he?" Talking about Hugh's situation was infinitely more comfortable than contemplating her own. "What's the official FBI policy on nontraditional partnerships?" Hugh asked. "You're trying to change the subject." Scully sipped her beer, grateful for anything that took the edge off her pain. "I'm really quite interested." "This is the '90's. It's only an issue if an agent is 'in the closet,'" she said. "You're saying the FBI permits homosexuals to be special agents?" he asked. "As long as they're open about their orientation, so they're not vulnerable to blackmail." "Probably not a great career move," Hugh said. "You gotta be who you are," Scully said, the whiskey warmth flowing through her. Hugh didn't answer and Scully didn't press. On the surface her choices might look more conventional, but she was giving up on the things that almost everyone held most dear. "I think it's better to love than to be loved," she mused, looking into what was left of her beer. "It's better to have both, and you know it," Hugh said. "I hope you don't expect me to sit up with him all night." "Just look in on him a couple of times. Check his temperature. Encourage him to take fluids. Straighten the sheets. Give him more Advil. Wipe him down if he's sweaty." It wasn't until Hugh handed her a tissue that she realized she was sniffling. Somehow his act of courtesy only made her more miserable. She shut her eyes and let Hugh comfort her, although all he could tell her was, "There, there." Time would heal her. Time would dull the pain so that she could once again find fulfillment in loving a man who didn't want her love. "Agent Scully? I thought that was you." The abrasive voice could only be Diana Fowley. Somehow every word that woman spoke sounded like an accusation. Scully looked up. Fowley had a suitcase in one hand and a garment bag over her shoulder. She looked tired and annoyed. "I suppose it would be too much trouble for you to tell me where Fox is staying. I'm sure he'd tell me himself, but his phone is dead," Fowley said. Scully began to see the woman in a new light. A sister, perhaps, another unhappy initiate in the Order of Eternal Rejection. Well, she didn't have to like this sister in order to feel the bond. "Agent Diana Fowley, Dr. Hugh Davis," Scully said with a nod. Fowley seemed surprised by the introduction. "I'm so very glad to meet you," Hugh said, to Fowley's further bewilderment. Ever polite, he stood and shook Diana's hand. "Please, sit down." Diana looked at them warily before pulling a chair over from another table and dropping into it. "Mulder has a bad case of the flu, Agent Fowley," Scully explained. "Perhaps you can see to it that he has plenty to drink, and give him more Advil around one o'clock." "I'm sure that can wait for morning," Fowley said. "I need to get some rest myself." "He needs something to keep his fever down," Scully emphasized. She was rather enjoying the growing look of alarm on Diana's face. "He sounds contagious," Fowley commented. "Don't you usually take care of him?" "Dana, you worry too much. I'm sure that agent from AFT said she'd check in on him," Hugh said. Fowley's face grew wary and then took on a mask of concern. "I know he'd be more comfortable with an old, dear friend. Just give me his room number." "834," said Scully. "And good luck." ********** Let no star shine to light the night Till my own heart is filled with light Until my love beside me lies I seek the black of starless skies Let No Star Shine - Part 12 He was hot. Miserable and hot and tangled in the bedsheets. He'd been freezing cold when Scully had first left him in his wretchedness. Mulder had pulled on a t-shirt, unable to summon the strength to find his sweatshirt. But now the t-shirt clung to his heated skin like a damp straitjacket. He'd woken, panting from a dream that he was wrestling with an octopus, its tentacles binding him to the ocean floor. The sand at the bottom of the ocean had burned like hot coals. He woke to find Diana sitting on the side of the bed, her expression annoyed as she switched on the lamp. "Wha' timesit?" he grunted, rubbing a hand over his face. "Almost one in the morning," she answered, irritation plain in her voice. "Sit up, Fox. Agent Scully wouldn't leave me alone until I agreed to bring you two Advil. I have *no* idea why she won't come here and give them to you herself. No, she'd rather wake me out of a sound sleep and nag me." He'd squinted at her, blinking as the bright light hurt his eyes. "Prolly didn't want to leave Dr. Narcissus," he muttered around the pills. Diana looked puzzled, handing him a glass of water. "Who?" she asked. He swallowed the medication, holding up his hand to indicate his inability to speak. "Never mind. Thank you for bringing me the Advil," he said. He hoped she would straighten out his sheets and fluff his pillows and the dozen other things Scully would have done, but Diana just stood up and tightened the belt on her robe. "Get some rest, Fox." She snapped out the bedside lamp and left him in his clammy, miserable, tousled bed. His bones ached, making it difficult to sleep. Finally, he fell into a restless slumber, this time dreaming that he was sleeping on a pile of wet rocks. He woke again to the glare of the bedside lamp, this time finding Hugh looking down at him as if observing an interesting strain of bacteria. "What the hell are you? The ghost of Christmas present?" Mulder asked, pushing himself up in bed. God, his muscles hurt. "Hardly," Hugh said. "And I'm not your fairy godmother either." The other man brandished the now familiar blue and white bottle of Advil. He shook two pills into Mulder's hand and handed him a glass of water. "I'm wondering who Scully's going to send with the next dose-- Simmons from Accounting?" "Listen, Mulder. I don't normally rise before dawn unless there's a dead body or a tennis match at stake. Your partner was worried enough about you to call me when Agent Fowley declined the honor of giving you the next dose. If it were up to me..." Hugh didn't finish the thought. "If she's so worried, why isn't she here?" Mulder asked as he put the glass on the bedstand. "I think her reasons are fairly obvious." Hugh snapped the lid back on the bottle of pills and set it on the nightstand. He sighed loudly, looking down at the tangled bed and sweaty man in it. "Come on," Hugh said. "Let's get you sorted out." Hugh pulled the desk chair over. Groaning as his muscles protested, Mulder pushed himself off the bed and shuffled over to the chair. Hugh set about straightening the bed, pulling the sheets taut and shaking out the pillows. "Dana wanted me to give you a sponge bath," Hugh said, fighting a smile. "I reminded her that you have a gun." "I'll pass," Mulder muttered. He did feel miserably clammy, though, as he peeled the t-shirt away from his damp skin. Hugh muttered under his breath and went into the bathroom, returning with a wet washcloth and dry towel. Mulder pulled the offending shirt off, tossing it into the corner and gratefully took the washcloth from Hugh. It felt delightfully cool against his skin as he swabbed it over his chest and arms. "Thanks," he said, handing the washcloth back. Mulder decided not to try his luck and ask Hugh to wipe down his back. Hugh tossed him the towel and stepped away, returning with a dry t-shirt from the dresser drawer. "Don't mention it," Hugh said. "I mean that. Don't mention it to anyone or I'll have to hurt you." By the time the good doctor closed the door behind him, a slightly bemused Mulder was comfortably resting against his newly fluffed pillows. He drifted into a comfortable, dreamless sleep. When he woke, sunlight was invading the room, creeping in around the curtain edges. Mulder studied the light that splashed across his bed and even glinted off the mirror and tried to guess the time. Nine? Ten? Morning, anyway. Then it hit him. His eyes didn't hurt. Cautiously he rose from the bed. The room remained stationary, and while his neck and legs felt sore, he didn't feel as if steel stakes were poking through his muscles. He walked to the bathroom and was able to complete his mission without clutching the towel rack for support. Even a shower seemed to be within his power, but he found himself without the motivation. Why get dolled up to lie around in bed? Scully would be spending the day entwined with Dr. You-may-kiss-the-ring. She'd follow him to the tennis court, and sit by his right hand at the table, and probably take in his big lecture from the front row. Now and then she'd shanghai some poor sucker to look in on Mulder. *"Could you do me a favor, Elaine? If Mulder's still alive, he's due for more Advil."* Mulder didn't need to be clean. He could stay in his bed and reek, for all anyone cared. He reached for the remote control. A fat man in a bow tie was stirring a bowl of batter. When Mulder found himself entranced by the process, he realized that he was hungry. Screw that. He changed the channel. Ah, his old friend, Jerry Springer. No wolf-boys this time. A bunch of more or less human types were screaming at one another while the studiously ineffective security men held them apart. "My girlfriend's boyfriend is gay!" the subtitle explained. Mulder contemplated the permutations, shrugged, and clicked the remote again. A local newscast was highlighting a conference of "America's top lawmen--and women--at the Plantation Beach Resort." The footage looked canned and the narrative was mindlessly exuberant. A packaged piece of PR straight from the FBI press office, Mulder decided. "Keynote speaker at the conference is renowned pathologist, Dr. Hugh Davis." Mulder threw a wadded up tissue at the TV and turned back to Jerry Springer. The connecting door to Scully's room opened slowly, and Mulder's heart skipped with the thought that Scully was finally coming to see him. He snapped the TV off, dropped back against the pillow, and shut his eyes. As the footsteps neared his bed, he realized that his visitor wasn't Scully. "Sir? I thought you might be hungry." "Tim?" Mulder asked himself why he was so surprised. No doubt about it, Simmons from accounting would be next. Tim wore navy tennis shorts and a navy and gray Fila polo shirt. He was carrying a tray. "Dr. Davis has to go over the slides for his lecture," McCloskey explained. "Dr. Davis told you to bring me breakfast?" Tim moved aside the water glass and set the tray on the bedstand. "Anything else I can do for you?" he asked. Mulder eyed the tray. A covered plate and a cup of tea. "How about some coffee?" he asked. "Um . . ." Tim glanced back at the connecting door. "No." It didn't take a genius to figure it out. Scully refused to visit him herself, but she was funneling caretakers through her room. "Agent Scully gave you her keycard?" Mulder asked. McCloskey looked uncomfortable and didn't answer. A knock at the door ended his ordeal. "I wonder who that is?" he asked. Mulder knew who it was. Only Diana had used the outside door instead of detouring through Scully's room. "Fox! I have your corn muffin!" "Let her in," Mulder directed McCloskey. The young agent opened the door and Fowley strode into the room. She carried a tray identical in appearance to the one on the bedstand. She stopped in her tracks and studied McCloskey for a moment, then continued to the bed. "You have to eat. It's a corn muffin, and you can manage it," she announced. "Is this part of the conference?" Mulder asked. "Is Scully giving lessons on my care and feeding?" McCloskey laughed for a second, until a glare from Diana made him stop. "Don't be silly," Fowley snapped. "I'm perfectly capable of bringing you a corn muffin without instructions from your partner." Mulder found himself indifferent to Fowley's temper. "Thanks. You can leave it on the dresser," he said. "I just want you to get well, Fox." Fowley softened her voice. "I'm bound to survive, will all these corn muffins." Mulder hadn't checked McCloskey's tray, but he knew that it carried another corn muffin. Fowley hadn't noticed the second tray before. "Very kind of you to look after him," Fowley told McCloskey. "I don't believe we've met." "Tim McCloskey, Behavioral Sciences." There was an awkward moment when Tim expected Fowley to offer him her hand, and she let him wait a split second before she made the gesture. "Diana Fowley." She shook his hand and studied him carefully, eyeing him up and down. "How tall are you?" "Ma'am? Five-foot-eight, ma'am." "Could work," she murmurred cryptically. Diana seemed to be taking Tim's measure in more ways than one, noting his muscular build and all-American good looks. Mulder watched as Diana tapped a long red fingernail against her upper lip. McCloskey fidgeted under the scrutiny, a deep blush rising from the collar of his polo shirt. Mulder wondered if Diana was going to check the young man's teeth next. "Ma'am..." Tim began, his voice cracking a bit. "Is there something I can do for you?" "Why yes, I believe you could. Agent Mulder was going to escort me to the banquet tomorrow night, but I'm afraid he's still going to be under the weather." "Diana!" Mulder exclaimed. "I..." "Oh Fox, I know you're disappointed, but really, dear, we have to be practical. You're far too ill to go. You can barely raise your head off the pillow." "Ma'am, I'm certainly very honored, but...I'm afraid I already have plans." "Oh, how disappointing," Diana said. "Are you sure you couldn't change your plans? I know we'd have a wonderful time at the banquet." "I'm sure it would be great, but really, Ma'am, I have a previous commitment." Mulder watched irritation flare briefly in Diana's face before she composed herself again. She sighed deeply and turned to Mulder. "Well then, you'll just have to focus on getting well, Fox." Diana smiled brilliantly as she straightened a wrinkle in the blanket. Tim seemed relieved that her attention had drifted in another direction. Diana glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "Oh my, look at the time. I had better run along if I'm going to get a seat for Dr. Davis' lecture. Now Fox, you must rest and drink plenty of fluids. I'll stop by later to see how you're doing." Tim exhaled slowly, obviously trying to regain his equilibrium when the door closed behind Diana. Mulder wouldn't have been surprised to see Tim wipe the sweat off his brow and exclaim "Whew." "Plans, Tim?" Mulder asked. "I'm surprised--passing up the opportunity to go to the banquet with an attractive woman like Agent Fowley. She's had a fascinating career." "I'm sure she has, sir. But . . . well, I just don't like feeling like one of the hogs, when the farmer's making his pick for the smokehouse." "I hear you," Mulder said. Diana's attention was more unsettling than flattering, especially for a cautious rookie from the corn belt. "I'd better be going," Tim said. He placed a card on the breakfast tray. "That's my cell number, if you need something." "Enjoy your game," Mulder said, since the kid was obviously dressed for tennis. "Game? Oh, that was earlier. I'm going to change for the pathology lecture." "Better take notes," Mulder said. "You bet," Tim agreed. "I'm sorry you have to miss it." He left through the hall door, letting it lock behind him, and Mulder turned his attention back to the TV. Jerry, cartoons, CNN, a movie, music videos . . . finally he settled on watching two men sand and stain a desk from a used furniture store. He sipped his tea, still wishing it was coffee, and then reluctantly reached for the corn muffin. If Scully was here, she would cut it into quarters for him. Maybe she'd eat a section herself, to keep him company. She brought him corn muffins whenever he was sick or injured and he always managed to eat them. When Scully was there, it was a sacrament. Without her it was an over-sweet yellow cake. He ate it anyway, while the men on TV beat the old desk with chains to turn it into an antique. Sucks to be a desk, he thought as he fell asleep. He awoke to a series of taps on the arm, as if a blunt-billed woodpecker was searching him for termites. "Mulder! Mulder! Mulder!" He blinked his eyes open. "Whaddaya want?" he asked. Little Elaine Cogan was hovering over his bed. "Wake up." "Quit yapping, I'm up." "Don't snarl at me. I brought your juice." "Don't want juice." He shut his eyes and turned away. Now Elaine would tell Scully that he didn't drink his juice, and then Scully would have to come herself. She'd be stern and a little impatient, reminding him that he needed fluids to get well. Or maybe she'd just be kind and concerned, stroking his hair and urging him to try a taste. "You're a pain in the butt when you're sick. How does Scully put up with you?" "She doesn't. She finds other suckers to do it," Mulder said without opening his eyes. "Drink your juice, Mulder. I have to get back to the lecture." "Who's stopping you?" "Oy vey! Next time you want your green goop analyzed in the middle of the night, call someone else!" Elaine put the juice on the nightstand and trotted out of the room. Mulder opened his eyes. He stared at the juice, as if the untouched glass would pull Scully to his bedside. If he concentrated enough, Scully would know how much he needed her. She'd be forced to come to him, even if it meant missing the lecture. Mulder realized he was irrational and needy, but damn it, he didn't care right now. He wanted Scully. Because that's how close they were. She had never been his lover, but she had always been his friend, his best friend, the one person he could trust when he couldn't even trust himself. He could keep that much, couldn't he? Did he have to lose it all? Suddenly, he wished for the nausea and dizziness that had protected him from the truth. He wished he was so sick that he couldn't think straight, because thinking straight hurt far more than the flu. Who was he to expect Scully's company and comfort when she'd given her heart to another man? It wasn't reasonable or realistic. Even if he and Scully found a way to continue as partners, things would have to change. No more late night phone calls, or get-togethers that were nominally about paperwork but really about pizza and videos. A chill ran through him as the enormity of his loss hit him again. He had never held Scully in his arms and kissed her and now he never would. But it was worse than that. He would lose his partner and his best friend. A little more than forty-eight hours ago he'd been dreaming about swimsuits and sunscreen. How little time it had taken to turn his life to dust. But what about Scully? How could her life have changed so fast? How could she be so sure, after only a few days, that Hugh Davis was the man she'd been waiting for? He couldn't accept it, and yet he had no choice. He sank back against his pillow and drew the blanket tight around himself. He felt cold to his bones, but it was a cold that came from inside. Scully was lost to him, but she was safe and alive. When she was dying from cancer, or vanished from the top of a mountain, or snatched by a madman, he would have traded anything for her to be alive and well. He had that now, and it would have to suffice. Scully is safe, he repeated to himself, forcing the words to fill his mind so that he didn't have to think about anything else. Let her be safe. Let her be happy. It was a long time before semi-consciousness turned to sleep. Maybe Diana Fowley banged on his door and yelled for him to let her in, or maybe it was a dream. The part where she enfolded him in her scaly wings was certainly a dream, but the panic was real as he fought to free himself. He had to escape from Diana. He had to get to Scully. To the church. To the wedding. He had to stop her. "Scully!" his mind screamed her name, but his voice wouldn't come. "Scully!" But she must have heard him, because she turned from the altar and answered his silent call. "Ben!" Who was Ben? It didn't matter, because suddenly they were on a bus, grabbing, clutching, kissing to the strains of Simon and Garfunkel. Scully was kissing him, and one of them must have been crying because he was wet with tears. Mulder woke with a jolt as cool fingers stroked the hair from his forehead. He felt the shift of the mattress as someone sat on its edge, but no lips touched his. That must have been part of the dream. "Scully," he whispered. Please let the fingers be Scully's. He kept his eyes closed, afraid that the hand belonged to Diana. Curiosity eventually won out, and he opened his eyes to the vision of Scully gazing down at him. The look on her face seemed to be one of longing. He felt a pang of sorrow when she removed her hand. "No fever. You're on the mend, Mulder," she said, the slightest tremor in her voice. "What time is it?" he asked, pushing himself up in bed. "Nearly five," she answered. Scully's eyes were trained on the bedspread, as if the floral pattern was suddenly fascinating. "I slept the day away." "You obviously needed the rest, Mulder. You're looking much better." She sat on his bed, real, solid, and caring. She wasn't lost to him, not yet. He reached for her hand, his grasp firm around her wrist, and he brought it to his lips. Amazingly, she didn't jump up from the bed. Her eyes were luminous, fixed on his face with an expression he was afraid to interpret. Under other circumstances, he'd have classified it as desire. More likely she was stunned at the impropriety of the gesture. Scully was so beautiful. Her shape, her form, and even her skin. Creamy and flawless, her cheeks blushed pink, but not with cosmetics. He couldn't look away. Her lips mesmerized him. They were pink and firm and incredibly soft. How could he know the feel of her lips? He couldn't, but he did. His face was inches from hers as they sat on the bed. He could detect the faint scent of a peach. She must have eaten a peach that afternoon. He knew it. The fuzzy skin against her white teeth, the little burst of juice when she bit. He could see it all. The lips. Pink against the yellow flesh of the fruit. Her tongue pink, too, as she dabbed the juice from her lips. Suddenly, Mulder had to know what those lips felt like. He wouldn't be able to live another day without finding out if they were as soft as they looked. He certainly couldn't spend the rest of his life wondering. If he had to live his whole life without her beside him, he would taste those lips at least once. Mulder leaned forward, closing the gap between them and pressed his lips to hers. Scully gasped in surprise, but didn't pull away. Rather, she warmed under his kiss, seeming to come alive before him. Emboldened by her response, his hands grasped her shoulders, pulling her closer. Her cool fingers were at the nape of his neck, sliding into his hair. Dear God, he was kissing Scully. And she was kissing back. This was probably going to get him killed, but he had to know if she still tasted like peaches. His tongue traced her lips, and his heart nearly stopped when they parted, allowing him to taste the sweetness within. Suddenly, Scully pulled back. Her eyes were wide as she gasped for breath. Rising quickly from the bed, she seemed dazed for a moment before recovering and sweeping her hair behind her ears. "You...you should get some more rest," she said, shakily. "I have to go." "Scully," he began, his arms aching to hold her again. "I...I have to go." She stumbled from the room. Mulder sank back against the pillows, a shaky hand rising to touch his lips. ******* Let no star shine to light the night Till my own heart is filled with light Until my love beside me lies I seek the black of starless skies Let No Star Shine - Part 13 What was wrong with that man? Scully stumbled through the connecting door, her knees wobbling as if they were made of jello. After carefully closing the door, she sank onto the bed, her head in her hands. Her mind raced, trying to make sense out of what had just happened. Last night he screamed for her to get out of his room. Tonight he took her in his arms and kissed her. Her lips still burned from that kiss. Touching her mouth, she was almost surprised that her lips weren't actually on fire. Scully would never forget Mulder's look of agony when she'd blurted out her love for him. She saw his face, a mask of shock and horror, every time she closed her eyes. She had to face the painful truth. Mulder didn't want her love, not in the conventional sense. Yet she had no doubt that he loved her too. Was that why he kissed her? How the hell did she know. This was Mulder. A kiss could mean anything. "I love you too." "So long, have a nice life." "Please don't leave me. Don't quit the X-Files." He was probably terrified that she would ask for a transfer. Which is what any rational person would do, under the circumstances. No one but a masochist would want to spend every day with the man who threw her love back in her face. Hugh had goaded her into pressing Mulder for more than he wanted to give, and it had almost cost them their partnership. That was the last thing she wanted, and apparently Mulder felt the same. So he kissed her. Scully should be thankful that things were back to normal, with Mulder pretending he'd never ordered her out of his room, never blanched with horror at those three little words. Instead she was angry. Why did he have to resort to his secret weapon? If only he'd explained his feelings, that he wanted her by his side but not in his bed. Instead he'd kissed her hand and then her lips. Scully felt like a yo-yo, wrapped around Mulder's finger, climbing or falling at his command, and always in a spin. When she tried to keep her distance, he drew her near. But when she was the one to approach, he ran away. It was a curse. She was Tantalus, constantly tempted by sweet, fresh water she couldn't drink and luscious fruit she couldn't eat. She knew Mulder would deny it. What was wrong with that man, using a kiss that way? What was wrong with her, for letting him? She certainly hadn't reacted in any way that made sense. She should have pushed him away, slugged him--anything but what she had done--kissed him back like a dizzy cheerleader after the prom. Scully closed her eyes in mortification at the memory. She'd slid her hands up his strong arms and opened her mouth to his exploring tongue. Scully flopped back onto the bed, groaning in humiliation. How far would Mulder take this? Would he finally decide that the only way to keep her at his side was to take her to his bed? She remembered a moment in Mulder's hallway, when he'd looked into her eyes with desperate love and told her how much she meant to him. Scully firmly believed he would have made love to her that day, if she hadn't collapsed from the bee sting. She didn't try to kid herself that she wouldn't have fallen into bed with him. The phone rang, pulling her out of her retrospection. Sighing deeply, she reached to answer it. Hugh's cheerful voice greeted her, and she did her best to hide her turmoil. "I'm on my way down to the clambake. Shall I stop by your room to pick you up?" Hugh asked. Damn. She'd forgotten about the gathering tonight. Oh joy. Just what she needed when her life was in shreds-- down home fun with the most uptight portion of the general population. Nobody knew how to unwind like federal agents. When she had first read the itinerary for the conference, Scully had pictured enjoying lobster, corn-on-the-cob, and roasted potatoes with Mulder. She'd imagined slipping away from the group and walking along the moonlit beach with her partner. "It completely slipped my mind, Hugh. I have to change clothes," she said, glancing down at the business casual outfit she'd worn to the classes she'd attended that day. "I'd better meet you there." "So, should I make a final Mulder patrol before the clambake?" Hugh asked. "No," she said, more sharply than she intended. "He seems to be much better. I'm sure he can just call down for room service. I'd better run, so I can get changed." She hung up the phone after agreeing on a meeting spot on the beach and rose from the bed. Standing in front of the closet, she looked over her remaining clean clothes, finally selecting an outfit. Twenty minutes later, Scully arrived at the beach, where tiki torches lit the picnic area. She wore moss green and cream print capri pants and a cream sleeveless shell. A lightweight green sweater was tied around her waist in case the evening proved chilly. The scent of roasting potatoes and boiling corn filled the air, mixing with the tang of salt air. She stood on a small rise, looking down over the beach. Laughter and raucous voices rose up to greet her. The food and cheerful sounds did nothing to improve her mood. She was still wrapped in tumult, the sense memory of Mulder's kiss so strong she could still feel his lips under hers. "Agent Scully. I have had it." Scully closed her eyes momentarily before turning to face the person who addressed her. "Agent Fowley," Scully replied. "What might be the problem?" Irritation was evident on Diana's face and in her voice. Dark eyes flashing, she stood with hands on hips, obviously dressed to kill in a low cut red top and tight black slacks. "You pestered me into checking on Fox, and he thanked me by yelling insults through the door. He wouldn't even let me in." Sick people weren't always pleasant, but apparently that was beyond Diana Fowley's experience or understanding. "I wouldn't worry about it," Scully said vaguely. "Anyway, he's feeling much better tonight." "If I knew it would be this inconvenient...what did you say? Fox is feeling better?" "Yes, I stopped by to see him a little while ago and he was definitely improved." Diana seemed inordinately pleased to hear the news. Her expression brightened considerably. She seemed to have forgotten Scully's existence as she strutted off in the direction of the hotel. Scully turned to scan the agents, searching for Hugh. They'd agreed to meet near the bar. She noted the direction agents carrying beer bottles seemed to be coming from and soon found the location. She spotted her old friend standing in the pool of light from a tiki torch. Hugh was talking with Tim McCloskey, his face animated in a way she had rarely seen. A smile broke over her friend's face, obviously in reaction to something Tim said, and suddenly Scully knew why Hugh had been asking about FBI policy on gay relationships. "Well, well," she said to herself. Hugh laughed, the dark rich sound of it drifting to her on a gust of salt air from the ocean. There was absolutely nothing about the two men that would have clued anyone in to their true relationship, but somehow she just knew. She was happy for him, glad one of them was lucky in love these days. Hugh appeared to be cool and unfazed by life, but she knew he'd been deeply hurt when Dominic left. She truly wanted her friend to be happy, and Tim seemed like an honest, good-hearted man. After a moment or two of further conversation, Tim turned and made his way to the buffet table, leaving Hugh to smile after him. "Hi Agent Scully," Tim greeted her as he passed by in search of dinner. "I'm going to get some lobster. Can I bring you something?" "No thanks, Tim. I think I'm just going to get a cold drink for now." With a glance back at Hugh, Tim loped off. Official FBI policy or not, the young agent was going to have a tough road ahead of him. As Scully was painfully aware, agent behavior and attitudes lagged far behind official dictates. Life could be terribly hard for anyone who threatened the status quo. Large tin tubs filled with ice held beer and soft drinks. Dipping her hand into the bucket, she snagged a long neck, shaking the icy water off her fingers. She made her way over to Hugh. "I was afraid you'd decided not to come," he said as she approached. "Actually, I toyed with the idea of a hot bath and a room service dinner." "I'm glad you came," Hugh said, slipping an arm around her shoulder. "I...er...had an interesting encounter with Mulder's ladyfriend." "Agent Fowley?" she asked. "The very same. Not unattractive in a Disney wicked step-mother pre-transformation kind of way. She tried to inveigle her way onto the dais." Scully suppressed a giggle. "Really?" "Really. 'Dr. Davis, your lecture was fascinating'," Hugh mimicked, "'I'd love to hear more about some of your cases tomorrow night at the banquet'." "You're kidding," Scully gasped, the giggle escaping her attempts at control. "Oh no. She was quite persuasive. I had to tell her all the seats were taken. She isn't going to be at all happy when she sees you seated up there." "Me? Don't bring me into your little web of lies, Dr. Davis." "You have to save me, Dana. Or rather, you have to save Tim. She scares him. Come on, say you'll sit with us on the dais." "Why do I feel like window dressing?" she asked. Or a beard, she thought to herself. "No subterfuge intended at all. I just want the people I care about with me tomorrow night. And that's you..." "And Tim," she finished for him. "I like him very much." "So do I. You sound a little hesitant, Dana. What is it?" "I don't know...Tim's a wonderful guy and he certainly idolizes you." "You make that sound like a bad thing," Hugh said, laughing. "It's just that you can be a pretty dynamic person. You tend to...uh...overpower those around you." God, this was uncomfortable. She loved this man, this proud, brilliant man. But she knew how easy it was to be swallowed up by his persona. "You're afraid I'm going to dominate him," Hugh said. "That the big dog will be alpha male to the young pup." "I wouldn't put it in such canine terms, but..." "Don't worry, Dana. Tim may appear corn-fed and bashful, but he's got a will of iron and a moral compass that's not to be believed." Hugh looked into her eyes with rare candor. His voice became soft. "If anyone is going to be scrambling to keep up, it will be me. Sit with us, please." Scully nodded quietly. "I'd be honored." "Good. I'm glad. Now let's get something to eat. I'm starved." Scully allowed Hugh to lead her to the buffet tables. Spread out on red-checkered tablecloths was an amazing array of food. Suddenly hungry, she filled a plate with steamed clams, roasted red potatoes and corn. Hugh chose an enormous lobster. "This needs its own zip code," he quipped. She could tell his eyes were scanning the area for Tim. The young man was seated with a group of agents, laughing and talking. Hugh smiled and drew her over to a small table. "Dana," Hugh began. "I'm glad you were comfortable enough to share your reservations with me. I...have to admit I had a few myself. I feel so world-weary sometimes. I wasn't looking for love, certainly not with someone so young and fresh." "You're not exactly an old goat, Hugh. What are you? Five, six years older than Tim?" "Something like that." Hugh concentrated on his lobster for a moment before looking up. "Anyway, I appreciate your candor." "Thank you." Scully savored a bite of roasted potato. "I remember how painful it was when I realized things with Dominic were never going to be what I'd hoped--that my dreams of a life together were just never going to materialize. It hurt like hell, but if I hadn't faced that, I'd never have been able to move on. I wouldn't have any chance at real happiness." Scully nodded, warily. She didn't need a road map to see where her friend was going with this. "Hugh..." "Dana, you're holding onto a dream that will never come true. You have to let go or you'll never be happy." "Drop it, Hugh. Please." Her voice was a bit louder than she intended, but she hated being told what to do. Why did every man in her life feel the need to make decisions for her? "How long are you going to wait, Dana? How many years until you finally realize he can't give you what you need?" "Thank you," she hissed, eyes flashing. "I'm so lucky to have someone who can take charge of my love life." "I can't just stand by and watch you get hurt," he said, softly. "You don't understand about Mulder and me. You couldn't," she said, lowering her voice. She glanced around, groaning when she caught a flash of red by the buffet table. Diana was watching them, an amused expression on her face. "Dammit." Hugh followed her gaze, smiling and waving at Fowley. "Ah," he said, soft enough that only Scully could hear. "Time to lock up your puppies." "Puppies?" Scully asked. Hugh smiled wickedly. "Cruella DeVille is on the prowl." *********** Let no star shine to light the night Till my own heart is filled with light Until my love beside me lies I seek the black of starless skies Let No Star Shine - Part 14 "Hot damn!" Mulder felt robust and jubilant. His appetite was back and his head didn't hurt, but that didn't account for his exuberance. "She loves me." He said it aloud to the empty room. She had kissed him, holding his head and parting her soft lips. If she had fled from the room, it was only because she was Scully. She would have to go through her mental gymnastics, making silly, pensive faces while she pondered the obvious. And it was so, so obvious. Scully loved him. "You will be mine, G-woman!" he roared at the connecting door. Perhaps he wouldn't have been so bold if he hadn't heard Scully leave the room. But who knows? It hadn't come to him all at once. He'd been stunned and confused by Scully's actions, first returning his kiss and then running away. He hadn't moved, hadn't taken his finger from his lips. From Scully's room he heard silence, than the ring of her phone, then the sounds of her moving around, opening the closet. By the time he heard her door open and shut, he knew. The thing to do now was go collect his woman. Wherever she was, Hugh was there, but that didn't matter. Hugh didn't know it yet, but he was history. Mulder stripped off his shirt as he looked around the room. Somewhere he had the schedule of events. He found it in the suitcase, which he'd never really unpacked. Usually he was careful and efficient about that, but this time he'd been too sick and preoccupied. He slid his sweatpants down and kicked them off as he read the list. Clambake. Well, that had his name all over it. Vineyard boy, after all. Spent years sitting on the beach by the fire, getting stoned and making out. Okay, no getting stoned any more. Bad form for FBI agents. But with a little luck and a lot of perseverance, making out would be in his near future. Mulder danced his way into the bathroom, his joy spilling out in song. "If you wanna know, if she loves you so, it's in her kiss -- That's where it is!" He turned on the shower, continuing the chorus of shoop shoops. Maybe next time he took a shower, he would have some company, but maybe not. Scully could be very slow about catching on, because she insisted on following her ponderous logic instead of her feelings. Hugh was handsome, famous, and rich, so logically, Scully's biological imperative should direct her to choose him. Survival of the fittest, natural selection, blah, blah, blah. None of that mattered. Scully was in love with Mulder, and sooner or later she'd figure it out. Perhaps if he swept her into his arms and carried her off the beach she'd get a hint. Mulder lathered vigorously. "I got sunshine, on a cloudy day. When it's cold outside, I got the month of May." He shaved carefully, knowing his tendency to cut himself to ribbons when he was in a hurry and really eager to look his best. What to wear . . . His personal choice for casual clothing was a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt. The only reason he even owned the khaki shorts and polo shirt was for undercover work . . . Did it really matter? His musing was interrupted by the sounds of an intruder at his door. "Fox, that's enough! Now let me in!" Diana was banging up a storm, and he wrapped a towel around his waist and let her in. "Pipe down," he said as he opened the door. "That's easy for you to say." Diana swept into his room and made herself comfortable on the armchair. Her breasts nearly spilled out of her tight red top. Apparently, in her search for a date, Diana had been forced to abandon subtlety. "Fox, you've been impossible." "Diana . . . I was going to get dressed." She looked him up and down, Instead of the blase attitude of a former lover or the innuendo he might have expected from the woman who'd practically swallowed his tongue a few days ago, she gave a huffy sigh of annoyance. "Then use the bathroom," she said. Shrugging, he grabbed his khakis and carried them into the bathroom. "What are you so angry about?" he called out to her. "You called me a dragon!" Diana, usually so controlled and confident, sounded like a hurt child. "No I didn't." Mulder tried not to laugh as he pulled on his pants. "Oh yes you did! You screamed at me to let you go, and you called me a scaly-tailed dragon!" Mulder stepped out of the bathroom, still barefoot and barechested. His hopes that Diana's visit would be short were dashed when he found her still comfortably ensconced in the easy chair. "What are you talking about?" "Don't laugh at me! When I tried to bring your lunch this afternoon, you screamed for me to go away." "Diana, I must have been sleeping. I get these crazy dreams when I'm running a temperature," he said. Diana's eyes still glittered with annoyance. "You can't blame me for things I said in my sleep." "That's the least of it." Her face was furrowed with distress. "Diana, don't do this," Mulder said. He knew what was coming, and he hated it. "It's simply unbelievable, at this stage of my career. I should be running this conference!" "Yes, you should," Mulder lied soothingly. "Instead I wasn't even invited!" "You know it doesn't mean anything. Who knows why half the agents are here?" "It's humiliating. Even Tom Colton was invited, and he spent half of last year on disciplinary probation! You know something? I highly suspect there is favoritism involved." "Diana, I can assure you I am nobody's favorite," he laughed as he shoved his feet into his shoes. "Oh, I didn't mean you, Fox. Of course, you were invited because of your distinguished profiling career." "I haven't been with the BSU for a long time," he said. "I doubt anyone intends to reward my distinguished monster-chasing career." "Don't be silly, Fox. Your work is very important," she said. Her voice wasn't exactly dripping with sincerity, though. "No, I completely understand why you were included in the guest list. Your partner, though, is a different story. I think she wrangled her invitation out of Hugh Davis." "That's bullshit," Mulder snapped. "Scully's tops in her field and everyone knows it. Not to mention that she was the one who cracked the O'Brien case while everyone else was out searching for a black albino with missing teeth." "But that still doesn't explain why I wasn't invited. I've done good work. Important work." "I'm sure you have, Diana. It's just that..." "What?" she prompted. "Well, maybe you fell off their radar when you were in Europe." Off everyone's radar, apparently, he thought. Clandestine operations tended to have that effect. "You think that's it?" she asked. At his nod, she smiled. "Yes, I'm sure you're right. But that doesn't solve my real problem. I can't even find a date for the banquet!" "Well, it's not really a 'couples' kind of thing." Normally Mulder would have been willing to serve as Diana's escort. After all, their friendship spanned nearly a decade, and they had once been much more to each other. "I know you don't want to go with me, Fox," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You've made that abundantly clear." "It's just that the timing isn't good. There must be someone else who'd be really happy to take you," Mulder said hopefully. "The young agents have the worst manners. I wouldn't even want to go with any of them," Diana said. "Kids today." Mulder shook his head, and Diana's poisonous glare only made him snicker. "I thought at least Dr. Davis would be professional enough to enjoy the company of an experienced colleague," she sniffed. "But he wasn't interested," Mulder concluded. "You probably think you'll attend the banquet with Agent Scully," Diana continued, crossing her legs and lounging back in the chair. "Only you saw her cuddling up with Dr. Davis," Mulder guessed. "As a matter of fact, they did seem particularly close," she said. She seemed to take particular delight in that revelation. Mulder shrugged indifferently. Diana seemed disappointed at his lack of reaction. "That might explain why Dr. Davis wasn't free to escort you," he said, reasonably. Diana heaved a huge sigh. "It's pathetic, isn't it? After all my years with the FBI, no one is willing to take me to the banquet," she said. "I'm sure you didn't ask *everyone,*" Mulder said. "What about Simmons in Accounting?" "Who?" "Never mind." "It's humiliating," she said. "Your precious partner will be sitting up on the dais, and I can't even get in the door!" "Scully's going to be on the dais?" He wondered how Diana knew. "Indeed she is. I had to worm it out of the manager, when I was inquiring about... provisions for extra guests." She pushed herself out of the chair, and he hoped for a moment she was ready to leave. His hopes fell as she flounced over to the mirror and smoothed her hair. Poor Diana. She'd tried everything to bully her way into the banquet. He would suggest Diana check the phone book next for male-escort services, but she'd probably kill him. Might be worth the risk to send her on her way; he was growing impatient to get to the clambake. "We'll find your Prince Charming yet, Cinderella," Mulder said, taking her by the elbow and steering her toward the door. "Even if we have to catch us some fieldmice in the morning." "You're a riot, Fox." "And now, before you turn into a pumpkin," he said as he opened the door. "It's time to say goodnight." He shut the door on her annoyed expression and went in search of a clean shirt. As he pulled the shirt over his head, thunder boomed in the distance. Mulder opened the door carefully, peeking into the hall. Blessedly Diana-free. His trip down to the lobby was punctuated by the occasional clap of thunder. He'd made it down to the lobby when the doors swung open and drenched beach-goers began to hurry in. Man, had his timing sucked this week. He lounged against a column as dripping wet federal agents brushed past him. "Oh, look who managed to crawl out of bed," Elaine Cogan greeted him. "It must have been that orange juice I brought you." "Is that what it was? It tasted like some concoction from your lab," Mulder responded. "Have you seen Scully?" "She was with Dr. Davis when I saw her last." Figures. Well, Dr. Suave should enjoy it while it lasted because Scully was going to see the light very soon. "Look at me, like a drowned rat," Elaine said as she headed for the elevators. "Why don't you go fly a kite in the rain, Mulder?" A flash of lightning lit the lobby windows and doors. Mulder turned in the direction of the light to find Scully standing before him. Darkened red hair clung to her head in sculptured waves and her face glistened with rainwater. She took his breath away. Scully smiled at him, and he labored to read her smile. "You didn't eat your lunch," she said at last. "You're wet." "You should eat." People hustled past them, talking, laughing, shaking off the rainwater. Mulder was only vaguely aware of the activity around him. He couldn't tear his eyes from the woman he loved, and she gazed back at him, focused, quiet, and mysterious. The urge to kiss her again was almost overwhelming. Only his absolute certainty of a future full of kisses allowed him to resist. Scully was the most contrary person he'd ever met; no point in trying to convince her. She'd just have to work it out for herself. He used two fingers to flick the water from her forehead. "Get out of these wet clothes," he said. It was another minute before he could will himself to walk off toward the restaurant. ************** Later, back in his room, Mulder ate the turkey sandwich he'd brought back and listened to the sound of Scully's shower. He didn't even try to avoid picturing her curvy little body covered with lather. Mulder felt no guilt whatever as he imagined running his hands over her slick breasts and squeezing her slippery, wet ass. The rush of water stopped, filling Mulder with an odd wave of disappointment. No matter, he thought. Scully wouldn't be taking showers alone anymore, not if he had something to do with it. They'd be long, long showers. Late-for-work long showers. The whine of the hairdryer drifted through the wall. Mulder had to think for a bit, but he finally came up with a good fantasy for the new sound. Scully, naked and bent at the waist, drying her hair into auburn waves. The ring of his phone made him jump. "Mulder. You're a hard man to find." Skinner. What a pain in the ass. "Sir, I left this room exactly once in the past 24 hours." "You didn't answer your phone. I heard you were sick, but I trust you've recovered." "Somewhat," Mulder hedged. "Dinner dance tomorrow." Real men don't use verbs, Mulder thought. "You and your partner have a poor track record regarding social events. No excuses this time." "Wouldn't miss it for the world." "You're aware they'll announce this year's winner of the Purvis Award." "Is that the big silver cup that hockey players drink from?" In fact, the Melvin Purvis Award was given in recognition of excellence in the face of obstacles. Other honors held greater official weight, but for the working stiffs in the FBI, the Purvis award was the one that meant something. "Scully," Skinner stated flatly. "Holy shit." There was no one who deserved it more. Mulder felt a lump in his throat. "It's a surprise. Keep it quiet, but get her there," Skinner said. "I'm sure she'll attend," Mulder said. "Her friendship with Dr. Davis served as an excuse to seat her on the dais," Skinner said. "How convenient." "Be there." "I'm shining my shoes as we speak, sir." "One more thing, Mulder . . ." Mulder's eyes narrowed. Skinner's parting comments could be dangerous. "Agent Fowley. She's . . . attracting some attention." Mulder wondered wickedly if Diana's breasts had chosen someplace public to make their escape from her tight red top. "Mulder . . . an act of kindness now would be greatly appreciated. Take her to the dance." "Aw, come on, Dad," Mulder said. "I'll give you fifty bucks and the car keys," said Skinner drily. "Funny, sir. How about an extra week at the resort? Scully and me both." "Done." Skinner's quick agreement made Mulder wish he'd asked for more. "Call her now, Mulder. Before she embarrasses herself any further." ********** Let no star shine to light the night Till my own heart is filled with light Until my love beside me lies I seek the black of starless skies Let No Star Shine - 15 "I know he loves you, Dana. That isn't the point." "You're pushing it, Hugh." They had been friends a long time, but there were limits. Scully's gaze drifted out over the ocean, where the sky was darkening to match her mood. "This from the little know-it-all who spent four years lecturing me about condoms," Hugh said. Scully searched her memory but could think of no instance when she'd tried to tell him what to do once the condom was in place. "He's afraid of love. Can't you see that?" Hugh persisted. "Your lobster's getting cold," she reminded him. The opened carapace sat on his plate, forgotten and ignored. Scully idly noted its reproductive organs. "Oh, and it's a girl, too." Hugh laughed. "And we wonder why nobody wants to eat with pathologists." Scully smile, greatly relieved at the change in topic. "Have you noticed, though, that they always expect us to carve the turkey?" she asked. "You know what they say about pathologists, don't you?" Hugh asked. "I'm sure I've heard it all by now," Scully said. "How internists know everything and do nothing . . . and surgeons know nothing but do everything . . . while pathologists know everything and do everything, but it's too late." Scully let her fork drop to the table. Silent, she looked into his eyes, refusing to blink. "That's enough, Hugh," she told him when he finally looked away. "Excuse me." She pushed her chair away from the table. "Dana, I'm sorry. Don't go," Hugh urged her. "You don't have to apologize," Scully said lightly. "Anyway, it's going to rain." Many of the guests had started to retreat to the hotel, and the staff rushed about, pulling covers over the food and moving the chairs to shelter. Scully barely noticed the first drops of rain or the distant claps of thunder. Hugh's words echoed in her head. Was Mulder really afraid of love? He couldn't be, because he loved her. Mulder loved her deeply, and not only as a friend and partner. Whatever motivated the kiss, even if it was his sly attempt to keep her on the X-Files, that was not a kiss of friendship and loyalty. It was a kiss of love and lust and longing. Maybe what frightened Mulder was the word love. He loved her, but he didn't want to hear her say the word. Like at the pancake house. Suddenly Scully's doubts and turmoil melted into laughter. It was exactly the same. The Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity. Mulder's favorite breakfast, but he refused to use the name. He'd order bacon, eggs, and blueberry pancakes and let the waitress figure it out. Scully could deal with that. She could kiss those amazing lips and whisper, "I like you." She could melt into his arms and say, "Hi, buddy." She could pounce his fine body and scream, "Friends forever!" Oh, lord, what a loony he was. But he was her loony, even if he didn't know it yet. Scully stood in the rain, laughing to herself. Well, what of it. She was a loony too. She was dripping wet as she headed into the hotel. She spotted Mulder immediately, leaning against one of the marble pillars. She studied him as she approached, looking for signs of fever or muscle aches. Overall, he looked rested and comfortable. She was quite close when he spotted her, and he broke into a smile. Scully couldn't doubt it any longer; this man loved her. "You didn't eat your lunch," she said at last. "You're wet," he said huskily. "You should eat." Scully thought she felt him lean toward her, as if he was going to kiss her again. So unsure, like a little boy standing by the edge of the pool, but afraid to jump in. Tentatively, he reached forward to whisk a drop of rain that was trickling down her face. "Get out of these wet clothes," he said. Scully imagined the scene--Mulder, in a frenzy, helping her tear the clothes from her body. Mulder's preppy shirt and pressed tan shorts in a heap on the floor. She wouldn't have to imagine much longer. After a long minute, Mulder smiled and turned to walk away. Scully glanced back as she waited for the elevator, watching Mulder saunter into the hotel restaurant. Watching him move with that easy grace was one of her favorite pleasures. He must be starving, she thought, having missed lunch. She hoped he didn't order something heavy or greasy. Wouldn't want to overtax his convalescent stomach. Part of her yearned to follow him, but most of her was just too wet to be sociable. The elevator doors opened, and she forced her eyes away with a sigh. No doubt about it, that was one fine-looking man. The ride up to her room seemed to take forever. Fat drops of rainwater fell from the ends of her hair, snaking their way down her neck. Her saturated clothes clung uncomfortably to her skin. Scully stepped into her hotel room, shivering in the wet clothes. She hurried to the air-conditioning controls, turning the dial with shaking fingers. Of course, she was trembling from the cold. It had nothing at all to do with seeing Mulder in the lobby. A hot shower was definitely in order. Scully gathered pajamas and turned on the taps. Struggling out of the wet clothing, she pondered the best approach to take with Mulder. The warm water relaxed her, and she giggled as she pictured herself roping Mulder like a prize calf. She was still smiling as she turned off the shower and dried off. She ruled out marching next door in her pajamas. That smacked too much of the earlier debacle when she'd confessed her love. Scully yawned, as she slipped into bed. This was definitely something to consider when her head was clear in the morning. ***** Scully wanted to call her talk "Bloopers," but settled for the less provocative "Near Misses in Pathology." Unfortunately, it was scheduled at the same time as Mulder's seminar, "Interviewing Children to Maximize Information and Minimize Harm." If anyone at the conference doubted Mulder's intellect or knowledge, Scully hoped they'd attend his class. She was sorry that she couldn't go herself, but it was probably for the best. If he allowed some time for questions from the audience, she wouldn't be able to resist: "Agent Mulder, are you aware that you're in imminent danger of being ravished by your partner?" Her own presentation was received with great enthusiasm. She was no longer surprised by the relative ignorance that even experienced investigators displayed about forensics. "So if different tests give you different times of death, does that mean we can pick the one that fits the best?" asked one old-timer eagerly. Scully explained again that the physical changes that occurred after death could be influenced by various factors, and that one had to look at the total picture to arrive at a reasonable conclusion. "That's why it's so important for the field investigators to preserve the scene and record *all* their observations." She gave a nod of acknowledgment to the assembled students "Don't limit yourself to reporting the facts that seem relevant. Nobody knows what will turn out to be relevant--not even a trained forensic pathologist." A particularly youthful student waved his hand frantically until she nodded for him to speak. "Have you autopsied anybody famous?" he asked. "That brings up another important point," Scully said. "You'll find that it's particularly important as well as particularly challenging to secure a crime scene involving a celebrity. Don't let anyone bluster you out of doing your job; the same principles apply no matter who the victim is." The young man looked disappointed by her answer, but Scully felt she'd treated him quite gently, under the circumstances. "I wish I had more time to talk to everyone, but I'm late for my next engagement," she said graciously as she gathered her material. Hugh's publisher had arranged a luncheon for the pathologists at the conference. When Sculy had accepted the invitation, she'd been looking forward to it, but by now she would have preferred a quiet meal on her own. Hugh wasn't one to back down easily, and she was sure she hadn't heard the last of his misgivings about Mulder. At least now Scully would be able to listen to Hugh's nagging without becoming upset. She knew that Mulder loved her, and convincing Hugh of the fact wasn't a priority. Still, she wasn't disappointed when she got to the luncheon and found the guest of honor missing. It was a welcome chance to share shop talk and gossip with her colleagues without having to justify her love life. Hugh rushed in late, impeccable but informal. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize nine holes of golf would take so long," he apologized. "When did you take up golf?" asked one of the luncheon guests. Scully had been wondering the same thing. "This morning," Hugh replied sheepishly. "I'm a tennis buff, myself." "You must play golf. Golf is life. Golf is mandatory," another pathologist opined. "I believe failure to play golf constitutes malpractice," a well-tanned woman agreed. The banter continued throughout the meal, and while Scully found her thoughts drifting, for the most part she enjoyed herself. After a large, gorgeous dessert, which most of the guests declined, Hugh passed out copies of his new book for everyone. "I know it's tacky. Blame my publisher," he said. Scully opened the book, which was clearly aimed at the mass market. Hugh was a scientist but also a populizer, and he managed to fill both roles without losing the respect of his colleagues. He'd written an inscription in her copy. Now this was really tacky: *If you love someone, set them free. If they don't come back, they were never yours to begin with. Sorry, couldn't resist. With deepest respect and affection, Hugh.* As the luncheon broke up, Hugh waited by the door, exchanging good-byes with his guests. Scully waited until last. "I believe you're wrong, doctor," she said. "I hope I am," said Hugh. "If you love someone, hunt him down, handcuff him, and don't let him go until he understands that he loves you too." With a confident smile, she tucked the book under her arm and turned to walk away. Scully had kept her afternoon free, opting not to participate in any of the final classes at the conference. She had, instead, made an appointment with the hotel salon to have her hair done. Looking down at her chipped nailpolish, she decided to see if they could squeeze her in for a manicure while she was there. When she'd made the appointment the day before, she'd been miserable, convinced Mulder had rejected her. Men made fun of women who coped with stress by shopping for shoes or changing their hair, but they didn't understand. It takes courage to be kind to yourself when the world is cruel. Your first impulse is to give up and let go. Yesterday she'd booked the salon looking for pampering and self-affirmation. Today is was all about vanity. When she walked into the banquet tonight, she wanted Mulder to gawk and stammer and blush. She wanted him to sweep her into his arms and waltz her around the dance floor. She wanted him drinking champagne from her slipper. Pedicure, she decided. Squeeze in a pedicure too. Elegantly decorated in deep rose and gleaming chrome, the salon waiting room was bustling with activity. The young woman at the reception desk cradled the phone receiver against her shoulder, taking an appointment. Scully waited to give her name before retreating to a plush arm chair to wait her turn. "Dana!" Elaine Cogan called out as she reached the front desk, credit card in hand. Elaine's normally flyaway mop of short curls was now a tightly controlled blonde helmet. The scent of hairspray wafted off the tiny woman in gusts. "You look lovely, Elaine," Scully said. "I look like I should be riding a motorcycle, but thank you anyway. See you tonight." Scully glanced through a fashion magazine, idly flipping though the glossy pages. Models cavorted in dresses that looked like they were made out of plastic garbage bags and used dryer sheets. Scully was glad, sometimes, that she'd never been tall enough to carry off high fashion. Her name was finally called and she entered the salon. "Your stylist today is David," the receptionist said, indicating an impossibly thin man with wild ginger-colored hair. She pronounced it "Dah-veed." "What style were you looking for today?" David asked as he sifted through Scully's hair with his fingers. He nodded sagely at her suggestion of an up-do. David's accent was pure Brooklyn despite the pronunciation of his name. As David led her to the shampoo area, Scully recognized a number of female agents in various stages of beautification. Scully surrendered herself to the bliss of having someone massage her scalp as David lathered her hair. She had to restrain herself from purring like a contented cat. How long had it been since a man touched her in a way that brought pleasure? She decided David had gifted fingers as he kneaded conditioner into her hair. She was definitely going to have to teach Mulder how to do this for her. All too soon, David declared her hair clean and silkened as he wrapped her hair in a tiny towel. No matter how elegant the salon, it seemed they purchased the same skimpy towels. She could barely see as her wet hair slipped before her eyes as she followed David to his work station. "Agent Scully! I had no idea you had your hair done professionally." Feeling her jaw clench, Scully pushed the dripping hair out of her face. Diana Fowley beamed an insincere smile in Scully's direction as her hairdresser wound a strand of dark hair around the shaft of a curling iron. "Agent Fowley," Scully replied, keeping her voice cool and neutral. Diana was looking as pleased with herself as if she'd just stuffed a litter of spotted puppies into her sack. "This will be quite a change for Fox," Diana stated. The bored-looking stylist released another ringlet, then began gathering Diana's hair into a cascade of curls. "Yes, I suppose it will be," Scully answered. Diana's hairstyle interested Mulder about as much as Skinner's shoelaces. Maybe less. "I hope Fox likes this style. I want to look my best tonight. As his date." No one had ever suggested Diana Fowley was subtle. Poor Mulder. He'd always been a sucker for a damsel in distress. Diana had probably played the poor man's heartstrings like a Stradivarius. Scully watched as David combed through her hair. If Diana hoped for a reaction to her little bombshell, Scully was going to deprive her. The plain fact was--it didn't matter. Diana might be entering the banquet hall on Mulder's arm. She could sit next to him at dinner. Perhaps he'd even dance with her and it would mean exactly nothing. Because Mulder wasn't going to be leaving the banquet with Diana. The stylist finished Diana's 'do, holding a mirror up so she could see the back. Fowley gazed at her reflection for a few moments, apparently deciding the style passed muster. "See you tonight," Diana cooed as she left. "Not if I see you first," Scully sing-songed under her breath. David fired up the blowdryer and went to work. An hour later, Scully returned to her hotel room. Damn, she looked good. Not as pretty as Mulder, but nobody else looked that good. Her hair was swept into a sleek French twist that ended in a crown of curls. Scully raised her hand to admire her newly manicured fingernails. Her strappy sandals would show off her pedicure. Mulder rarely saw her bare toes; this last detail was definitely for his benefit. Silver. Because Mulder couldn't see red. She pulled her new Nicole Miller out of the closet, smiling as she hung it on the door. It was simply cut, the draped charmeuse molding to her in all the right places. Silvery green, it reminded her of willow leaves in the moonlight. After dozens of evenings as one of dozens of women in black dresses, Scully was ready to shimmer and shine. She'd found the dress in Neiman Marcus, a dangerous place for the civil servant on a budget. She'd argued with herself, because she really didn't need it. She had a perfectly good black dress, after all. Now she was glad she'd splurged. Scully wasn't certain that Mulder would fall into her arms tonight. Her final victory was assured, but tonight she might meet disappointment. Maybe Diana would find a way to corner Mulder for the evening. Maybe Mulder would pull his frightened rabbit act again. She thought again of the little boy at the edge of the pool. The trick was to get him into the water before he knew what was happening. **************** Let no star shine to light the night Till my own heart is filled with light Until my love beside me lies I seek the black of starless skies Let No Star Shine - 16 "Fox, are you listening?" Diana clung to Mulder's arm like a barnacle as they entered the banquet hall. Her exasperated tone told him that she'd been speaking for a while. "AD Stavros is an avid outdoorsman, so try to mention something about trout fishing. Congressman Wallers just wrote a book. It's called *Courage and Compassion* " Diana was full of excitement about all the contacts she would forge tonight, and full of advice for him about how to behave so as not to embarrass her. Mulder had only the barest tolerance for meaningless small talk. Usually he relied on Scully to jolly him through it. Tonight he had the added irritation of Diana babbling into his ear. "Remember to smile," Diana coached as she sipped a glass of wine. She gushed a greeting at Section Chief Hayward and his wife. "How was your cruise? Oh, that's wonderful. You look marvelous!" Mulder thought he did a creditible job of glad-handing, but Diana elbowed him sharply as the Haywards moved past. "You were staring at her breasts!" she hissed. The guests were still milling around, sipping drinks and snacking on hors d'oeuvres. The tables were dotted with a few agents who had already found their seats. Mulder carried his and Diana's place cards in his pocket. He hadn't seen Scully since the evening before and now he was desperately sorry that he hadn't found a way to talk to her. He should have explained to her why he would be taking Diana. "When we dance, I want you to look into my eyes," Diana commanded, her fingers digging into his arm. "No," he said quickly, shaking her hand off him. Skinner hadn't mentioned dancing, and it wasn't part of the deal. "It's a dinner dance, Fox," Diana said, pouting. "You're expected to dance." "Let's find our seats," he said. Maybe Diana would find some mover and shaker in the FBI upper echelon and leave him the hell alone. He and Diana found their table, and Mulder was glad to note that it offered an unobstructed view of the dias. Sadly, there were no important people to distract Diana. He watched with amusement as she discovered their table mates included Tom Colton and Scott Dakin, McCloskey's nemesis. Mulder's own discomfort at being seated with these whackjobs was far outweighed by the fun of watching Diana's hopes fall. She'd have to get away from the table and work the room if she had any hopes of making powerful connections. Tom Colton began to study the program for the evening's events, determined to ignore them, but Scott Dakin stared at them in horror as they took their seats. Mulder wondered if he was still upset about the impromptu training exercise on the beach. The young agent gulped and started to stammer. "Agent Fowley... I... um... stopped being sick a lot faster than I expected. Honestly." Diana glared at him. "I know how it must seem, but it's not. And I'm just, like, really, really glad that you got to go to the banquet." "Dakin--let it drop," Mulder advised him. "You look beautiful, Agent Fowley. Really beautiful. Your dress is beautiful." Some people couldn't help signaling their lies by protesting their sincerity. Mulder had noticed it many times. Diana sniffed and turned her face away, as if that would make Dakin disappear. "*You* haven't even mentioned my dress," she told Mulder accusingly. The truth was, he had barely glanced at her. He was pretty sure the dress was black. Mulder turned to face her. Yeah, it was black, and cut low. Diana wasn't one to cover her assets. "You look nice," he said, but his eyes were already scanning the room for Scully. Why hadn't she shown up yet? "Nice? I spend all afternoon in the salon and you don't notice a thing. I'm sure Dr. Davis will remember to compliment Agent Scully on her new hairstyle." "Scully got a new hairstyle?" he asked, brightening. His all-time favorite, if the truth be known, was the little ponytail when she just wanted it out of the way. But he also liked the soft look of a fancy style. "Yes. I was quite surprised to see her at the salon. Hopefully, she won't look so dowdy tonight." Mulder smiled to himself, trying to imagine anyone on the planet except Diana who'd describe Scully as "dowdy." He wished his partner would get there, so he could catch a minute with her. Last night, everything had seemed so easy. Scully would have to realize that she loved him, and she would have to relinquish Dr. Success. She was stubborn but she was honorable, and no other outcome was possible. Nothing had changed except the timing. She would be stunned and distracted when she learned she had won the Purvis Award, and then, for the rest of the night, she'd be swarmed by well-wishers. Mulder would have his woman, but maybe not tonight. Where the hell was she? Skinner would kill him if Scully wasn't there to receive the Purvis award. He reminded himself that Scully wouldn't have gotten her hair done if she hadn't planned on attending. After all, he was the one who preferred to blow off stuffy events. He listened to the buzz of small talk around him. To his right, Diana was complaining about seating arrangements and the draft of cold air on her back. If Diana was unhappy now, she'd probably turn into Linda Blair when she learned about Scully's award. Diana with her head spinning around as she sprayed everyone with green puke. That might be something worth watching. Diana continued to gripe while Mulder continued to scan the room. Then suddenly, Scully appeared in the doorway, and the rest of the room seemed to fade away. "Oh, mama," said Agent Dakin in a low growl. Apparently he didn't have it in him to ever keep his mouth shut. But this time, Mulder had to agree with him. Scully was amazing. Bodacious, curvy, delicious, erotic--he could go down the whole alphabet and never do her justice. Scully turned her head, laughing at something her companion had told her. Her hair... swept up, with those little curls tumbling down. Mulder wanted to touch it, to feel it, to smell it. Scully was beautiful under any circumstances. He'd seen her soaking wet in the middle of a hurricane, knee deep in mud, even covered with dung and she'd looked better than most women on their best day. Tonight, wearing a shimmery dress of soft green, she took his breath away. "Oh, look what the cat dragged in," Diana deadpanned. "Meow," said Dakin. Mulder decided that he might have some merit after all. He watched as Hugh entered the room, taking Scully's elbow and guiding her to the dais. Mulder had to admit, they made a lovely couple--like the figurines atop a wedding cake. Too bad. Mulder had plans to knock Hugh right off the frosting. Dinner seemed to take an excruciatingly long time. True to form, Diana sent back her fish--"Simply awful"--but was equally disdainful of the chicken they brought in its place. "Nobody comes here for the food," commented Tom Colton. "It's about the Purvis award." "I was on the short list, a few years back," Diana announced. "Isn't that right, Fox?" "I know I'm a contender. My supervisor made a big point of sending me to the conference," Colton answered. "That faggot Tim McCloskey stands a better chance than you," Dakin said. Mulder heard without listening. He couldn't peel his eyes off Scully. For her part, she seemed to look in his direction far more often than necessary. Again and again their eyes met, sending sparks across the room. When she smiled at him, he felt himself glow like a D-cell Maglite. Scully was glowing too. She laughed when Hugh leaned over to whisper into her ear, and it occurred to Mulder that this was far too rare a sight. So much of their time together had been filled with loss and sadness. Days ago, he might have wallowed in guilt at that fact. Tonight, he vowed to make Scully laugh as often as possible. He had to talk to her. He hoped for a break before the speeches started, but to his disappointment, Hugh rose and approached the podium even as the wait staff started to circulate with coffee and dessert. When Hugh began to speak, Mulder found himself forgeting his resentment. He had to admit, the man was brilliant and he knew how to impart dry material in an entertaining and rather stirring manner. Scully was obviously fascinated by the talk, her expression beatific. Still, she managed to glance Mulder's way many, many times. "He's almost too handsome," Diana sighed. "What do you think he's worth?" Finally, Hugh drew his remarks to a close. Always charming, he finished his speech by saying that while forensics held the key to solving cases, the agents in the room were the true heros, putting their lives on the line to make the arrests and bring the cases to completion and closure to victim's families. When the applause died down, Deputy Director Friedkin took the podium. Mulder sat a little straighter in his seat when he noticed Scully pick up her purse and turn to Hugh. Adrenaline began to pump through his body as Scully rose and headed for the door. "Fox, where are you going?" Diana asked as he pushed his chair back a little more forcefully than he intended. Mulder didn't answer her. He didn't even turn around. "Scully!" he called out as they reached the door. "I need to talk to you." She whirled around, her expression unreadable. She nodded, gesturing for him to continue. "So talk." Facing her, he found himself tongue-tied, an extremely unusual state for Fox Mulder. Her eyes flashed, the blue so intense he felt he could drown in them. Maybe he should throw her over his shoulder and carry her off caveman-style. "You look incredible," he said, finally. "Thank you," she said, her cheeks pinking up. "You followed me to tell me that I looked nice?" "No. I followed you to tell you... Scully... I want you to listen to me. . ." "I'm listening, Mulder. I always listen, even when you think I'm not." Her voice was gentle and encouraging. "Oh, Scully." He knew what he had to say, but once he said it, there would be no turning back. Scully stared at him, obviously sure he was insane. His hands found their way to her upper arms, grasping her as if she might try to run away. "The way you kissed me... do you remember?" he asked. "You kissed me too," she said softly. "You couldn't have kissed me that way if you really loved him." "What?" "You don't love Hugh. You may think you love him--" "What the hell are you talking about, Mulder? Who said that I loved Hugh?" "You did," he replied. She tried to shake him off, but Mulder held her a little tighter. "After I got sick, you came to my room and told me you loved Hugh. You said you couldn't help yourself." "I said what?" Scully's expression changed from shock to amusement as she started to giggle. This was not the reaction he'd envisioned. "Mulder, you really are an idiot." Scully's giggles escalated to out and out laughing. He'd planned on making her laugh often, but this was NOT what he had in mind. "You idiot," she said finally. Grinning, Scully balled up her fist and punched him in the shoulder. Hard. "You stupid, stupid..." "Ow! That hurt. What the hell is wrong with you?" "You threw me out of your room! You screamed for me to get out!" "You said you loved him. Now I know that can't be true, but then--" "I said 'I love you', Mulder. Not Hugh. You!" And then she kissed him. Scully grabbed him by the back of the neck, drawing him down and kissed him until he couldn't think straight. His knees threatened to buckle as her tongue ventured forth. His hands slipped around her waist and he gathered her to him. The fabric of her dress was slippery against his fingers. She felt soft and warm against him. Scully's arm pressed across his back and their upper bodies pressed together, but her other hand dropped lower. She stroked the back of his thigh and then his hip. As she shifted her position and balance, he adjusted to accommodate her, bringing his arm up to support her. She loves me, he thought. Scully loves me. Her hand traced up his inner thigh, sliding up until the unexpected contact made him startle. She was smiling at him when he opened his eyes. "You surprised me," he said. The room was dark and quiet, which only made sense when he realized that a video was playing on a large screen behind the podium. A glitzy documentary about the Purvis award, and the man for whom it was named. "The very words that John Dillinger told Melvin Purvis," Scully whispered. The reality of the banquet came back to him. "You have to get back to your seat. We'll pick this up exactly where we left off," he said. "Mulder, don't make me use the handcuffs." He couldn't help it, he had to kiss her again. Then it was back to business. "We need you up on the dais," he said. "Mulder, you can do this. I'll help you. Don't be afraid," Scully said. She wasn't making any sense. They really had to talk, but not in the middle of the banquet. "Afraid?" he asked. "You're not going to run, Mulder. I'm not going to let you." "I'm not going anywhere," he promised. "There's something I want you to say," she said. "I love you. I love you, Scully, more than anything." She hugged him again, which was nice, but it wasn't getting her back to her seat. "I love you too, Mulder. I always have." "Scully, when the video ends, you have to be back in your seat," he said urgently. She nodded her head toward the dais. "It looks like somebody's taken my place," she said. They both laughed. There on the dais, next to the guest of honor, sat Diana Fowley. She was leaning toward Hugh Davis, as if she was trying to get his attention. Hugh sat straight and stiff, arms crossed, lips pursed in a tight frown. Hugh's eyes searched the room, obviously wishing Scully would get back and save him. "I'm staying right here, Mulder, and so are you. Now kiss me again." She made it sound like an order, and for once, Mulder felt very compliant. He lowered his lips to hers, wondering how much time they had before the lights came on. One kiss--how long could it take? His lips touched hers, and he felt her relax into his embrace. He was drowning in the sensation of Scully's soft lips against his, her sweet, sweet mouth opening to his tongue. Her body was soft, too, her curvacious form molding to his angles. The world fell away, leaving them alone together. ********* Let no star shine to light the night Till my own heart is filled with light Until my love beside me lies I seek the black of starless skies Let No Star Shine - 17A From the dais, Scully could view the entire dining hall, but it felt like eating your dinner on a stage. Tim seemed especially nervous. "Be sure to warn me if I pick up the wrong fork," he whispered. "Nobody's looking at us," she assured him. "They're watching Hugh." "It doesn't matter which fork you use, as long as you do it with confidence," Hugh said. Scully hoped Mulder was feeling confident. Whether by chance or by spite, he was seated with Tom Colton. Tom Colton was in desperate need of a thrashing, but hopefully Mulder would be able to restrain himself. She wondered if Colton and Diana Fowley had ever met before. It was really a shame she wasn't sitting there as well, to hear how Mulder handled the dynamics. "You've been staring at him all night," Hugh remarked. "Why don't you just pull out your phone and give him a call?" Almost on cue, Mulder looked up. Scully searched his gaze, looking for the fear and confusion of two nights ago but saw only the smoldering heat she'd seen the night of the clambake. "I'm glad I'm not at that table," Tim said. "Scott Dakin *and* Cruella DeVille." The meal progressed, although Scully wasn't particularly aware of what she was eating. When it came time for Hugh's address, she noted with deep satisfaction how the room fell silent, with everyone focused on what her friend had to say. Hugh was an excellent speaker, and even though she was familiar with the content of his talk, she was deeply impressed with this presentation. "You were brilliant," she told him when he returned to his seat, and Tim nodded his enthusiastic agreement. "My very own fan club," Hugh drawled. "Dana, go check your make-up." Scully patted her mouth with her napkin. "Did I get it?" she asked. "Good lord, woman, we're not talking about a glob of frosting. You need to fix your lips." She tried to imagine Mulder complaining about her lipstick. He might dab the barbecue sauce from her face, or comment about the aroma when she was spattered with dung, but he would never mention her makeup. "Hurry," Hugh said. "I'm going, I'm going," she said. "I don't want to embarrass you with my worn-off lipstick." She picked up her purse and made her way to the door but stopped when she heard Mulder call her name. "I need to talk to you," he said urgently. "So talk," Scully said. But he didn't. He stood there, flustered and silent, and she wondered if he was struggling to explain that he felt the fire between them but he couldn't face the heat. "You look incredible," he said at last. "Thank you," she said, unreasonably pleased by the compliment. "You followed me to tell me that I looked nice?" "No. I followed you to tell you... Scully... I want you to listen to me. . ." "I'm listening, Mulder. I always listen, even when you think I'm not." She was listening, but if he thought he could tell her that he was running away, that he couldn't bear to accept her love, he had another thing coming. He was not going to get away from her this time. "Oh, Scully . . .The way you kissed me... do you remember?" As if she would ever forget. "You kissed me too," she reminded him. "You couldn't have kissed me that way if you really loved him." "What?" He sounded as if he was delirious again, but he didn't look as if he had a fever. "You don't love Hugh. You may think you love him--" "What the hell are you talking about, Mulder? Who said that I loved Hugh?" It had to be that foul bitch Fowley. And once again Mulder had believed her. After Scully manacled him to the bed, and seduced him, and forced him to admit that he loved her too.... after all that, she would give him a piece of her mind for continuing to trust that devious, twisted, manipulative she-devil. "You did," he replied. "After I got sick, you came to my room and told me you loved Hugh. You said you couldn't help yourself." "I said what?" What in the world was he talking about? She noticed, though, that he wasn't trying to run away. Far from it; he was gripping her arms as if she might run. She tried to untangle the twisted nonsense he was telling her, thinking back to that awful night when she'd poured out her heart and he had rejected her so sharply. The words she was almost too afraid to speak had stuck in her throat, but she had said them: *I love you.* How could he have possibly misunderstood? And then it made sense. Or rather, it made no sense at all, but that had to be the answer. She started to giggle. "Mulder, you really are an idiot." She didn't even try to stifle her laughter. This was so ridiculous. Mulder was shocked into silence, still clutching her arms as she howled and guffawed. Finally she gained enough control to speak. "You idiot. You stupid, stupid..." And she punched him. She hadn't planned it, and he seemed less surprised than she was. "Ow! That hurt," Mulder protested. "What the hell is wrong with you?" "You threw me out of your room! You screamed for me to get out!" "You said you loved him. Now I know that can't be true, but then--" "I said 'I love you', Mulder. Not Hugh. You!" She could wait for understanding to dawn in his eyes, or she could kiss him. She decided to kiss him. She had to grab him by the hair to reach him, but she was through with subtlety. A kiss was something he would understand. Mulder bent down, pulling her closer. She could feel his knees shaking. She savored his lush lips, slipping her tongue between them as she pressed closer against his chest. Mulder's mouth was perfection. It was the mouth of your dreams, the mouth that you imagined kissing, even before you knew that a mouth like that actually existed. Like his ass, which was also ideal. She rubbed his firm, muscled ass, the ass of which dreams are made. If a tiny part of her brain was worried because she was making out with her partner in the middle of a formal FBI party, Scully wasn't listening. Mulder's fine, firm ass was connected to his equally fine leg, and she followed the contour of his muscles around until her hand was actually between his legs, exploring and climbing up his thigh. Mulder was holding her in his arms, and she was kissing and stroking. Her hand climbed until she grazed his good parts when Mulder gasped and jumped. Scully opened her eyes and was rewarded with the sight of Mulder's slow-motion double-take. His face transformed from dopey bliss through alert confusion, and all before he even opened his eyes. The room was dark, Scully noticed. A strident, recorded voice was talking about Melvin Purvis, who held true to his principles through adversity and injustice. She remembered that the winner of the Purvis Award would be announced tonight. This was some kind of videotape introduction. "You surprised me," Mulder gulped. A nice surprise, she hoped, because she had every intention of spending a lot of time playing between his legs. "The very words that John Dillinger told Melvin Purvis," Scully whispered. "You have to get back to your seat. We'll pick this up exactly where we left off," he said. Oh, no you don't, Scully thought. You're not going to get away from me this time. "Mulder, don't make me use the handcuffs," she warned him sternly. Mulder's worried expression melted into a silly grin as he grabbed her and kissed her. That's more like it, Scully thought. But the kiss ended abruptly and Mulder was nagging her again. "We need you up on the dais," he said. "Mulder, you can do this. I'll help you. Don't be afraid," she said. "Afraid?" he asked. "You're not going to run, Mulder. I'm not going to let you." "I'm not going anywhere," he said. "There's something I want you to say," Scully told him. He had to learn that words couldn't hurt him. She would make him recite "Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity" again and again, until he could do it without wincing. Then they would move on to the "L" word. "I love you. I love you, Scully, more than anything," Mulder said, earnest and urgent. "I love you too, Mulder. I always have." She hugged him fiercely. "Scully, when the video ends, you have to be back in your seat," he said. Mulder was obsessed with the dais. Looking up, she saw that he wasn't the only one. There sat the foul bitch herself, trying to catch Hugh's ear as Hugh ignored her and leaned away from her. On Diana's other side, Tim McCloskey sat with his arms folded across his chest, a tight frown on his face. Scully arched her eyebrows in amusement. "It looks like somebody's taken my place," she said. Mulder laughed, and Scully let herself join in. It was mean, but Diana had earned it. Or maybe Scully should thank her; at least Mulder would have to give up on sending her back to her seat. "I'm staying right here, Mulder, and so are you. Now kiss me again," she commanded. It was even better than before. Their bodies fit together comfortably, and Mulder's tongue took no time to make itself at home between Scully's lips. He was so strong, so damn toned and perfect. Let everyone else watch a show about Melvin Purvis; for Scully there was no G-man more brave, noble, and stubborn than Special Agent Fox Mulder. She was aware of her surroundings in only the slightest of ways. The room was still dark; Scully felt as if she and Mulder were alone in a dark cavern. All that mattered were the strong arms holding her close and the warm body she was pressed against. And lots of passionate kisses. Somewhere out beyond the cavern, the strains of "God Bless America" signaled the end of the Melvin Purvis video. Then the microphone squealed as another live speaker began to drone. Scully wished everyone would just go away and leave her and Mulder alone in each other's arms. Mulder's hand found her breast, and she almost groaned at the sensation. A charge of pure desire surged through her body. Mulder's breathing was quick and huffy. *"Dana Scully!"* Somebody said her name, but it couldn't be Mulder, because his lips were still locked to hers. Somewhere beyond the cavern, the roomful of people had begun to buzz. *"Dana Scully--Look at her, folks. She's in shock!"* Again she heard her name, and Mulder jumped away from her with a sharp, "Oh, shit!" Scully ran nervous hands over her dress, smoothing the material and tugging down the skirt where it had ridden up during her makeout session. She looked around in stunned confusion, certain that every eye in the room was on her. She wasn't far from wrong. Tom Colton shook his head with disgust. Little Elaine Cogan was practically doing a victory dance in her chair, but when she caught Scully's eye, her grin broadened as she pointed to the dais. Scully turned to see. At the front of the room, a man in black pinstripes was trying to shove a microphone at Diana Fowley. "Come on, Agent Scully! Say a few words for us," he urged. Fowley's face was scarlet as she pushed her chair from the table, almost knocking it over in her haste to flee. Tim McCloskey jumped up in time to steady the chair and he offered her a protective arm as he guided her away from the spotlight and out of the crowded room. The pinstripe man seemed to take it in stride. "Little mix-up, everybody. Apparently we'll have to put out an APB for the real winner of the Purvis Award, Be on the look-out for the real Agent Dana Scully," he announced jovially. "Found her, sir!" shouted a loud male voice only a few yards from Scully's ear. Suddenly the bright glow that had been bathing the dais swung across the room as the spotlight was aimed to focus on Scully. As the light encircled them, Mulder grabbed her again and plastered her with one last delicious kiss. "Well, there she is...this year's winner of the Melvin Purvis Award--Special Agent Dana Scully!" the pinstripe man announced. She smiled gamely as Mulder released her, trying to look composed instead of overwhelmed. "You knew, Mulder?" she asked accusingly under her breath, blinking at him in the bright light. The room exploded into laughter and the buzzing of conversation. "I tried to get you back in time. I did try," Mulder said defensively. "Go on, Scully, accept your award." Mulder's hand was at her back, propelling her forward. She reached around and grabbed his arm If she was going to stand on the dais and accept the Purvis award with smeared lipstick and her face red from beard burn and embarrassment, Mulder was going to have to stand next to her with his equally red face. Hugh convulsed with laughter as she stepped onto the dais, dragging Mulder with her. "No handcuffs?" he asked innocently. Scully made her way to the podium, still clutching Mulder's hand. The pinstripe man, smiling warmly, handed her a plaque. "In recognition of outstanding contributions in the area of criminal investigation," he said. He shook her hand, then Mulder's, and returned to his seat at the table. Scully swallowed, hoping she could share her thoughts coherently. "Sometimes to do our jobs we have to risk alienating those around us, our co-workers, and even our superiors. To me, the Purvis award is the FBI's way of saying, go ahead and do your job, whatever it takes." The room burst into applause. Some of it had to be insincere, Scully knew. Someone like Tom Colton couldn't fathom the idea of following the truth even if it cost you some brownie points. "Doing the right thing, as you understand it, can be very lonely. But for me, it has never been lonely, because there's always been someome at my side. I want to thank my partner and best friend, Fox Mulder, who's always had the courage of his convictions, and mine, and who's always had my back." She stepped away from the podium. It wasn't a long speech, but she'd said everything she had to say. The pinstripe man retrieved the microphone. "Once again, congratulations Agent Scully. And now, since the Bureau was generous enough to pay for a band, I want to see everyone out on that dance floor." Let no star shine to light the night Till my own heart is filled with light Until my love beside me lies I seek the black of starless skies Let No Star Shine - 17 B "May I cut in?" Mulder turned around with no small amount of annoyance as a grinning Hugh tapped him on the shoulder. When he pulled her closer to him, Scully was sure her partner was going to keep on dancing and refuse to release her. "I suspect you'll be monopolizing Dana's time even more than usual, so come on. Let an old friend have his moment." Mulder scowled, but released Scully after a final squeeze. "*One* moment," he said, tapping the face of his watch. He leaned in to whisper in Scully's ear: "Let him down easy, but tell him to take a hike." Mulder walked off in the direction of the bar, glancing back at Hugh and Scully. Hugh took her into his arms, effortlessly moving to the music. It came as no surprise to Scully that Hugh was a fabulous dancer. "So, you haven't told him I was gay, have you?" "Your sexual orientation just never came up in conversation, Hugh," she answered. "You could have put him out of his jealous misery a long time ago. I think you liked seeing him stew over this." Scully smiled, but didn't respond. "So, you knew about the award, too?" she asked, changing the subject. "Is that why you had me sit up on the dais?" "Oh, no. I knew about the award, but you were a legitimate and very lovely beard for Tim and me. And now that you and Mulder are the talk of the town, no one will be paying any attention to a couple of queers. I bet Tim and I could take a turn around the dance floor and not even trip the gossip meter." "So glad we could be of service," she said sarcastically. "Ah yes, this was *quite* an amusing evening. I can't thank you enough. The look on Agent Fowley's face when your name was announced was worth the price of admission. And when the spotlight hit her, illuminating that sourpuss...it just doesn't get any better than that." "Poor Diana," Scully said, with some sincerity. She may not have liked the woman, but she didn't wish humiliation on her...as long as she kept her evil mitts off Mulder. The song ended and she and Hugh stood facing each other. "I want to thank you, Hugh. I think I'd have gone crazy if you hadn't been here for me." "Just doing my part for old friends and true love. Uh oh. Here comes your partner," Hugh said. "I better turn you over if I want to live to see tomorrow." Hugh bowed formally, saluting as he rose. "She's all yours, Mulder. And if you hurt her...let's just say, pathologists know the secrets to getting rid of bodies." Grinning, Hugh walked off and Mulder swept her into his arms as the band started playing the next song. "I'm not sharing you, Scully," he said, leaning down and speaking into her ear. "You better tell him to back off." She laughed, twining her arms around his neck. "You have nothing to worry about. I can assure you, I'm not Hugh's type." "Scully, I've seen the way he acted around you. How can you say you're not his type?" "What you saw was possessiveness. Believe me, Hugh is involved with someone else." Mulder gave her a skeptical look. "I think he's been carrying a torch for you since college." "I absolutely guarantee he isn't interested in me, Mulder. Not now and not in college." God, this was going to be fun. "The truth is, I don't have what it takes." Mulder snorted. "If you don't have it, I don't want it," he said. "Hugh would be much happier with someone like that." She nodded to where Hugh stood talking to Tim. "What are you talking about, Scully? He's with a guy." Scully had to admit that Hugh was right; she was definitely enjoying this. "Scully, what are you saying?" Mulder persisted. "You mean Hugh . . . and Tim . . . And you let me wallow in misery the whole time?" "*I* let *you* wallow in misery? I told you that I loved you. I kept you from starving even after you broke my heart. I took care of you when you were sick." Her scolding was gentle and teasing. Her body pressed against his as they moved to the music. "You gave me a bath," he reminded her huskily. "Next time I'll use my tongue," she murmured back. Mulder leaned in to answer, then turned around with a grunt of frustration. She saw Section Chief Hayward tugging on Mulder's shoulder. "Mind if I cut in?" he asked brightly. "Sorry, we were just leaving," said Mulder. "I hope Chief Hayward wasn't offended," she said as he hustled her out of the room. "I'm not sharing you with one more man, Scully. Even if they outrank me." By the time they reached the elevator, Scully wondered if either of them would be able to wait for the privacy of a room before the heat between them burst into flames. Mulder stared impatiently at the numbers above the door. "Comeoncomeoncomeon," he chanted. When it finally opened, she grabbed Mulder's hand and they raced down the hall with no trace of decorum. She fumbled her card in the door until it opened, and Mulder slid in behind her and slammed it shut. His mouth was on hers, devouring her as his hands moved frantically over her body. Finally, grunting satisfaction, Mulder found what he'd been searching for as he drew her zipper down. "Off," he ordered, tugging the dress down off her shoulders. Scully was surprised at how nervous she felt as the dress slid over her hips. It fell to her feet in a silvery green pool, leaving Scully in nothing more than her high-heeled sandals and a tiny lace bra and panties. She had dreamed of this moment for a long time, but now that it had arrived she couldn't help worrying about how it might go wrong. Her fears vanished when she caught sight of Mulder grinning happily. He started to speak, but what came out sounded like "Oh... whoa... yeah... oh...Scully... hey..." "Stop!" she said as he came closer. Laughing at his shocked look, she retrieved her beautiful, expensive Nicole Miller before he could trample it. The dress had no sooner been draped over a chair when he turned and lunged at her, pinning her against the wall as he kissed her and simultaneously unfastened her bra. "Looks like you've had a lot of practice," she said, gasping as he cupped her breasts, his thumbs stroking her hardening nipples. Mulder dropped to his knees to kiss her breasts, his hands roving to squeeze her ass. "It's all coming back to me...like riding a bicycle." "Oh, Mulder," she groaned as he took one nipple into his warm, wet mouth. She reached for him, her fingers groping and exploring for skin, but finding nothing but wool and cotton. "Mulder . . . Mulder." By degrees her "Mulders" turned from joy to frustration. He was wearing too many damned clothes. "What?" He looked dazed as he relinquished her breasts to respond to her complaint. "Get naked for me," she begged. She watched in glowing anticipation as his jacket and tie joined her dress on the chair, but when he unbuttoned his shirt, she couldn't hold back. She was on him, smoothing her palms over his flanks, nibbling at his neck. She kissed his throat and then the delicate curve of his collarbone as her fingers counted down his ribcage. Below the left nipple, in the space between the fifth and sixth ribs, she found where his heartbeat was at its loudest, and she blessed the spot with a kiss. Mulder fondled her ass, firm but gentle squeezes mixed with light, shivery strokes. Somewhere along the line, Mulder had been distracted from the task she'd assigned him. He hadn't even unbuckled his belt. "Bad Mulder. Bad, bad, bad," she told him as she opened his belt. "You go straight to bed." "Yes, Ma'am," he agreed wholeheartedly. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his shoes and socks. Scully climbed onto the bed behind him, pressing her breasts to his back as she fingered his nipples. "Don't you hate how shoes break up the rhythm?" she asked him. "Actually, I was totally looking forward to taking yours off for you," he said. He leaned forward and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers, and Scully realized she was about to experience one of Life's Great Moments. "Wait," she said. "I want you to stand up and ease them down nice and slow." This would be the very first time Mulder had undressed for her pleasure. She felt like she should sit back with a bowl of popcorn and enjoy the show. She'd make a fortune if she charged admission. But Scully wasn't going to share this view with anyone. "Like this?" He rose from the bed and turned to face her. His smoldering eyes locked on hers as he lowered his pants. Even through the layers of wool and cotton, she detected a most impressive erection. There was no bump and grind, just a few languid hip-swivels. He'd hooked his boxers along with the trousers to strip them off together. His gaze was intense, but his smile was a playful smirk. "So, Scully. What would you say was my best feature?" he asked. That was a tough one. His innate kindness? His uncompromising curiosity? His tenacity? His unique ability to combine analysis with intuition? "External obliques," she answered at last. "I get a lot of compliments on those." He didn't miss a beat, but she was sure he was faking. "Here." She got off the bed and stood before him, glad for the few extra inches she gained from her heels. She slid her hands down his sides and then around, down his abdomen to his groin. "These muscles right here." And then, because she was already there with her hands inside his pants, she put an end to his slow tease, crouching down to strip the last of his garments. The first time Scully had ever seen an erect penis, she'd found it almost comical--a one eyed man with a helmet. Nothing about Mulder's beautiful, magnicifent cock was at all funny. He took her breath away. "Scully, I seriously need to sit down," Mulder said. "Works for me," she said, pushing him back on the bed and falling to her knees before him. She fit perfectly between his beautifully muscled thighs, running her fingertips from knee to groin and watching him shiver uncontrollably. "Oh God," he shouted when she took him into her mouth. She suspected it had been a long time for him. It certainly had been a long time for her. Well, as Mulder had said-- it was like riding a bicycle. You never forgot how to do it. He moaned softly as stroked the length of him with her tongue, then sucking as much of him in as she could. Good lord, the man was hung. Mulder's hips were bucking slightly in obvious pleasure as she made love to him with her mouth. His hands roamed over her shoulders and arms, as her fingers strayed up his torso. She felt a firm tug on her hands. "Please...oh...Scully, if you keep that up, I won't be able to make love to you the way I want to." She released his cock, gazing up to see him look down at her. "You have plans, do you?" "Oh God, yes. Come here and I'll show you." Unable to resist, she climbed up his body, kissing his golden skin as she moved over him--cock, navel, ribcage, nipples, neck. Finally, she reached his mouth and she draped herself over the territory she'd just covered. She kissed him softly, teasing his mouth with her tongue, teasing the head of his cock with her fingertips. Mulder deepened the kiss, then, with one hand pressed against her ass and the other behind her head, he rolled her onto her back. "I worship your breasts, Scully. Did you know that?" Lowering his head, he licked her nipple, then took it in his mouth and sucked gently. Scully sighed happily and reached for his cock, but Mulder stopped her with a breathy "No." Eyes half-closed, he mouthed, tongued, and sucked both her breasts. His fingers explored her through the lace of her panties. "Oh, Mulder." Scully didn't think she'd ever been so aroused and yet so relaxed. She tried once more to stroke Mulder's cock, and this time his protest was more feeble. "I worship your breasts, Scully. Don't interrupt a man at prayer," he mumbled between mouthfuls. Despite his words, his hips rocked against her. "Gotta go. See you later," Mulder crooned softly to her left breast. Then, in case she had any doubt that his brain had turned to mush, he turned his head and kissed her right breast good-bye. "I love you too. You're my favorite, but don't tell." "You are certifiable," Scully giggled. "Don't eavesdrop. That was between me and the girls," Mulder said. Mulder fingered the elastic of her panties and Scully shifted her weight cooperatively. Mulder didn't take the hint, but continued tracing under the waistband, then sliding a finger along the leg hole. Scully gasped as he teased under the lace from her hip over her belly and into her russet curls. "Mulder," she whined, lifting her bottom for him. "Something wrong, Scully? Something you want me to do for you?" he asked innocently. "You're trying to drive me crazy, aren't you?" she asked, impatiently. "Why would you say that?" He reached to explore her slick folds, two fingers sliding ever-so-slowly against her swollen clit. "I like to take my time. People rush so much." Finally, he hooked two fingers into the waistband of her panties, drawing them down over her hips and thighs with excruciating slowness. When he got to her feet, he carefully unbuckled each sandal, sliding them off before slipping off the panties. "I've dreamed of this for so long." Gently, reverently, he parted her thighs. "I had a particularly strong fantasy," he said, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. "A fantasy?" she whispered, wondering if his fantasies echoed her own. "Yes." Another kiss. "I'd picture laying you down on my desk and pushing your skirt up. I'd imagine making you scream loud enough to shake the poster off the wall." Mulder was gifted, she had to hand him that. His tongue was amazing, teasing her until she did exactly what he'd fantasized with alarming volume. Scully reached down and gently tugged on his hair. She couldn't wait a moment longer to feel him move within her. He raised his head, grinning at her. "Why Agent Scully, who knew you could be so vocal." "Come up here, and I'll show you vocal. I'll scream the house down." "I love a challenge," he said, moving along her body until he covered her like a well-muscled human blanket. He fit himself between her open thighs, his cock hot and hard against her stomach as he kissed her. Mulder ground his hips against hers, nuzzling her neck. "Please," she pleaded, her hips bucking under him. She reached down between their bodies, her fingers closing over his cock. "What do you want, Scully. Tell me what you want." "I want..." she gasped as the head of his penis rubbed over her swollen clit. "I want you in me. Now. Please." With one smooth movement, he slid into her, filling her completely. For a moment he didn't move, his cock pulsing hot within her as he kissed her. "I love you," he whispered against her mouth. "I've loved you forever." Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew his cock from her. She groaned in disappointment until he thrust back into her. He continued this maddening pattern: leisurely withdrawl, powerful thrust until she thought she would go insane. Her hands drifted down his back until they reached that remarkable ass. Scully cupped the cheeks, as if she could draw him even further into her body. Slipping his hands under her thighs, he pressed them back, opening her deepening the angle of his entry. This is happening, she thought. It's really happening after all the craziness and misunderstandings. The air was filled with moans and gasps as he pumped faster and faster into her. She locked her heels together around his waist, bucking against him as her body began to vibrate with readiness. Mulder was moaning into her ear, "Love you, love you," as he moved urgently within her. She was close, so very close. Her gasps gave way to soft little shrieks of pleasure as light exploded behind her closed eyelids, and a warmth pulsated deep in her core. Mulder was apparently not far behind her as her sounds of pleasure pushed him over the edge into climax. He grunted out a final "love you" as he collapsed onto her. They lay quietly, breathing each other's breath, smiling into each other's smiles. Mulder raised himself up on one elbow, brushing back a curl that had come loose from her hairdo. "I can't believe how close we came to missing all this-- how much we almost lost because we didn't listen to each other." "I know," she replied, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Hurt and confusion got in the way. It was only when you kissed me that something came together inside me. It's as if my heart heard what my ears missed. I love you, Mulder. I'm glad my heart heard yours." "Maybe we should kiss instead of talk. We don't seem to misunderstand each other that way." "Hmmm...I don't know. It's an interesting hypothesis you have there, Mulder. I think it needs further investigation before it can be verified." "Well in that case..." he said, as he leaned down to kiss her again. The end.