The characters in this story belong to 10:13, and are used without permission, no infringement intended. The story belongs to me. I've been meaning to write something like this for a while now, but after hearing about "Leonard Betts" (which I haven't seen), I finally sat down and wrote it. Thanks to Vickie Moseley, Ra Enright, Lee Ann Wagner, Sara Van Looy and Amy Schatz for help and encouragement. Spoilers for "Leonard Betts". M/S Romance, some angst, but trust me, this is not a sad story. Apologies if I get any details wrong, as I said I've not seen the episode. Or A Cough. by Michelle Hiley. fbi_basement@hiley.demon.co.uk She sat on the bench gazing into the Reflecting Pool, and barely acknowledging him as he walked up beside her. He slid onto the bench, hands in pockets, wondering why she had called and asked to see him here. "Beautiful evening." She nodded, and said nothing. He glanced sideways at her. She was being quiet. You must have done something to annoy her Mulder. Time to snap her out of it. "So, what do you think of the Knicks' chances for next season?" He grinned impishly at her, his smile fading as she turned her head to look at him. Suddenly a spasm of coughing shook her, and, concerned, he watched as she grabbed a handkerchief, waiting for the attack to pass. "Scully? Are you OK?" She shook her head, and looked away from him, back at the pool. "I'm dying, Mulder." "What??" "I'm dying." Somehow saying it was easier than she had expected. "I've been to see a specialist. I have an unknown and untreatable cancer. A legacy of whatever they did to me. I don't have long, Mulder. You might need to finish looking for the truth on your own. I figured I couldn't hide this from you, so now you know." She turned to look at him again. His face was a mask of stone. She didn't know what she had expected to see, pity or worry perhaps. She was unprepared for the cold anger in his voice when he spoke to her. "You have cancer as the result of their tests?" She nodded, puzzled, until she realised he was simply stating it to himself. The next thing she knew he had scooped her into a huge bearhug, and was holding her tightly. Tears ran down his face, and she finally lost control and started sobbing too. A moment later she felt his lips on hers, and, surprised, gave herself up to the kiss. When he finally broke away, he held her against his chest, rocking her. "It's OK. It'll be OK," he murmured. ***** Two hours later. The owner of the apartment cursed himself mentally as he looked up at the gun being levelled at his eyes. He really should Mulder-proof this place. What did the man want now? He hadn't done anything that might annoy Mulder for several weeks, had he? "You son of a bitch. I should have shot you the last time." The man sighed, and lit another cigarette. "Mr Mulder, spare me the hysterics. We both know you won't shoot me. Now, what is it you want?" "I want you to contact Jeremiah Smith. Or one of his fellows. You know how to." The man's eyebrows went up. "That's a tall order, Mr Mulder. Those, ah *people* do not take kindly to being bidden. Why should I call them?" "Because," said Mulder, trying to keep his voice steady, "if you don't, Scully will die. She has cancer, you bastard, cancer from whatever you did to her. And if she dies, you die, I promise you." Cancer Man looked at him in total shock. Damn them. He'd stopped the experiment on Scully, when they'd observed Mulder without her. Scully was all that kept Mulder in check. He'd been told she hadn't been exposed to enough of the substance to permanently damage her health. Bad enough when she'd been so close to death before, and Mulder had come barging in here. That time they'd all been lucky when she pulled through. Cancer Man cursed under his breath again. Mulder might very well pull that trigger if Scully died. He'd never seen a man more in love than Fox Mulder was with Dana Scully, no matter how hard Mulder tried to hide it. So he was left with the choice of either contacting *them* or dealing with a Mulder who wanted only revenge. Neither of them appealing prospects. He sighed, and made a decision. "Very well, Mr Mulder. I'll see what I can do. For old times' sake." ***** "Mulder? What's going on?" Scully had answered her door to find Mulder, Cancer Man and a small black woman on her doorstep. Not exactly who she was expecting. "Scully, we need to come in." She stood aside in confusion, and let them in. "My mother's coming over. I needed to talk to her. So can we make this brief, whatever it is?" "It won't take long, Scully." Mulder ushered her before him into her living room. "Sit on the couch." Obedient, but puzzled, she sat down. The woman walked over to her, changing form as she did so, and Scully recoiled in horror at the sight of the alien bounty hunter. Had she let three aliens into her house? She dived for her gun, but Mulder prevented her. "Scully! Scully, it's me. It *is* me." He looked at her, love and warmth in his eyes, and she subsided. She wondered if she should tell him how she felt before the end. It might make it harder for him if he knew. Then again, she didn't think she hid it all that well. Mulder was speaking to her, gently. "Scully, he's here to heal you. Let him." Heal her? She stared at the watching faces. She'd only known for a day, but she'd already become reconciled to the fact that she was going to die, as if it were something she'd known for ages. Now....there was hope? She felt her heart quicken, and nodded once. The alien reached down, placing his hand on her head, and she felt suddenly cold. Could she trust him? But at the same moment, she felt Mulder take her hand, and she relaxed. If Mulder believed, then so would she. Her conversation with Clyde Bruckman came hauntingly back to her. <"How do I die?"> <"You don't."> Was this was he had meant? ***** A few days later she sat staring into the pool again, as Mulder sat down beside her. "Well?" "Clear," she murmured. "They're calling it a medical miracle. I had to insist on my rights as a patient, not to have Dr Smith call all his colleagues. It took a lot of convincing. In the end I hinted I'd sue him for misdiagnosing me in the first place if he persisted. Poor man." She smiled. He took her hand and squeezed it. "What did you tell your Mom?" "Nothing. When she turned up after you'd left, I figured I'd better wait and get some fresh test results. I'll never tell her." He nodded, and they sat in silence awhile. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "Thank you." "Welcome." Another long silence. "So." "So." "So, what do you think the Knicks's chances are next season?" She looked at him, and abruptly burst into tears. But she pulled him against her, and he could tell she was laughing as well. He held her tightly until she wiped her eyes and grinned at him. "Better?" She nodded, her face grave. "Better Mulder......" The end. In Snowshill, a place in Gloucestershire, England, there stands a manor house, containing a room in which a secret marriage took place in 1604. The couple failed to heed the advice of the proverb inscribed on the door to this room, which reads "Amor et tussis non celantur." Roughly translated this means "You cannot hide love, or a cough." Thanks for reading.