From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 16 Nov 2004 13:06:34 -0000
Subject: Shadows in the Starlight (1 of 2 ) by Taffy Northwood by taffyxf
Source: direct

Reply To: taffyxf@yahoo.com


Title: Shadows in the Starlight
Author: Taffy Northwood
E-Mail: taffyxf@yahoo.com
Summary:  Getting together was the easy part. Making
it work was harder than either of them imagined.
Spoilers:  Season 6 
Rating:  NC17
Category:  MT, MSR  
Archives:  I'd be honored.  
Feedback: Please?  With a cherry on top?
Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, Skinner and any 
other XF characters are on loan only.  
Author Notes:  "Shadows in the Starlight" is a
sequel to "Let No Star Shine."  It isn't necessary
to read that story first--you just need to know that
after a wild weekend at a FBI seminar, Mulder and 
Scully are now in a romantic relationship. Hugh Davis
is a world famous forensic expert and friend of 
Scully's from college who was at the seminar where 
he met Tim McCloskey, an idealistic young FBI 
agent. 

I'm posting this in two parts for anyone who may have waited
until the story was finished.
 

Shadows in the Starlight 


In Scully's experience, good news was never delivered 
at 2:30 in the morning.  The ringing phone seemed
ominous as she propped herself up on one elbow and
reached for it.  Normally, a call in the middle of
the night meant that Mulder had gotten himself hurt
or arrested, but Mulder was a warm, sleepy weight
curled against her back.

"Scully," she croaked into the phone.

"Agent Scully, it's Skinner."  Her boss' tone was 
deadly serious as he went on. 

"Tim McCloskey was shot tonight.  I need your help."

"Oh my God, sir," Scully said, pushing herself 
into a sitting position against the headboard.  "What
can I do to help?" 

Mulder was wide awake now, his expression concerned.
He opened his mouth to question her, but closed it 
again when she laid gentle fingers over his lips.

"Tim's been shot," she mouthed.

"Scully, I'm going to call Mr. and Mrs. McCloskey,
but I need you to get in touch with Dr. Davis.  I...
uh...Agent McCloskey has always been very private
about his personal life.  I'd like to maintain 
that privacy for him."

"I understand, sir.  Where is Tim?"

"He's at George Washington.  Scully...it's 
pretty bad."

"I'll call Agent Mulder and we'll get Dr. Davis.   
Is Tim still in the ER?" 

"Last I heard.  I better place that call to the 
McCloskeys," Skinner said, his tone indicating how
much he hated having to do that.    

She hung up the phone, turning to Mulder who appeared
to be bursting with questions.  

"We have to get Hugh," she said, jumping out of bed.

"How did it happen?" Mulder asked, as he pulled on 
his jeans.  

"Skinner didn't say," she answered.  

They dressed quickly and gathered up their cell phones, 
IDs, weapons--the tools of their trade.   Scully caught 
a glimpse of herself in the mirror on her way out the 
door and took a few seconds to smooth her tousled hair 
into place.

As Scully drove through the deserted streets from
Georgetown to Hugh's incredibly upscale neighborhood,
she remembered how Hugh and Tim had met.  Last year,
she and Mulder had attended a professional conference
where Hugh had been the keynote speaker.  Tim had been
there too--a green young agent whose enthusiasm and 
inexperience made him something of a target for his 
peers.  Leave it to the debonair Hugh Davis to see 
behind the farmboy naivete and appreciate Tim for his 
integrity and values.  
 
She stopped the car in the circular driveway of the
Ashborough, Hugh's exclusive apartment building.  
Even at three in the morning, a doorman strode over 
to them.  The man's face betrayed his distaste at the 
non-descript sedan parked where Lexus's and BMWs 
normally resided.
 
Their FBI credentials may not have wiped that look
off the attendant's face, but it impressed him
enough to allow the car to stay where it was.  

"May I help you?" the doorman said, his voice 
'middle-of-the-night' low.  

"We need to see Dr. Davis," Scully said.  "It's
urgent."

The doorman looked suitably concerned.  This was
clearly not a common occurrence at the Ashborough.

"Certainly," he said, a little flustered.  "Dr.
Davis is in our of our rooftop apartments--number
919.  I'll let him know you're on your way."

In minutes, they were at Hugh's apartment, ringing 
the bell to announce their arrival.  Hugh opened 
the door almost immediately.

"Where's the body?"  He was wearing a bright white
tshirt and flannel pajama bottoms.  

Scully realized that Hugh thought their early-morning
visit was a business call.  As a world-class
pathologist, he was accustomed to the occasional 
rude awakening, although most requests were made 
by telephone.

"No, Hugh, it's not like that."  She touched his
forearm.  "It's about Tim."

Scully and Hugh had been close since medical school, 
a friendship that had put Mulder through an agony of
jealousy until he finally learned that Hugh was gay. 
Tim McCloskey was a rookie agent.  If a gay man could
be described as a "straight arrow," then Tim was that
man.  

"No.  Oh no."  Hugh's voice was dry and furious.

"He's been shot," Scully said gently.

God, there was no easy way to break bad news.  
She and Mulder had to deliver more than they
wanted, and it never got easier.  Hugh's face
showed his shock.  He staggered back a few feet
and sat down hard on the carpeted landing of the
circular staircase leading to the second floor.

"Come on," Scully said, crouching next to Hugh.  
"Why don't you get dressed and we'll go to the 
hospital."

Hugh stood up, his legs looking as if they might 
give out on him, so Mulder stepped forward to
take his arm and move him up the stairs.

Scully glanced around the room while she waited
for the men.  Trust Hugh to have the very best,
she thought.  The room looked like a magazine
layout, from the rich colors of the upholstery
to the bowl of apples and pears on the coffee 
table.  

"Let's go," Mulder said, as he followed a tense
looking Hugh down the stairs.  

They didn't speak as they descended in the elevator.
Hugh was pale under his perpetual tennis tan.   He
made no comment as they climbed into Scully's car--
no jokes about not being caught dead in a Taurus,
no suggestions that they take his Lexus.   

"What happened?" Hugh asked quietly from the back
seat.  "How the hell did he get shot."  Hugh's 
voice broke on the last word.

Mulder had his phone to his ear, nodding as he
listened, interrupting occasionally to ask a 
question.

"We'll see what we can find out," Scully said.

"And why GW?  Why the hell did they take him 
there?"  Hugh barked.

"I'm sure they took him to the nearest appropriate
facility," she answered soothingly.  "It's a good 
hospital, Hugh.  They've pulled Mulder through many 
times."

Mulder closed his phone and turned around in his seat.

"Tim's in surgery.  Chest wound.  He was the seller 
in a sting operation.  One of the buyers just flipped 
out and started shooting.  The shooter is dead.  
Tim's partner took him out."

"I don't understand how this happened.  Tim would have 
worn body armor.  He promised me," Hugh said in a choked 
voice.  

"He did.  But one shot went in above the vest," Mulder
explained.   

Hugh grew quiet, but Scully could hear him whispering
to himself, just two words, again and again.

"Oh no.  Oh no.  Oh no."

********************************

There was very little they could do once they got to
the hospital.  Scully stuck by Hugh's side, lending 
an ear when he needed to share his fears or lash out 
in anger.

Hugh was an extremely dynamic individual.  A leader in
his field, he'd been used to giving orders and being
catered to.  When the two men had first become involved,
Scully had feared that the younger, less experienced Tim
would be dominated by Hugh.

Hugh had found that concept rather amusing as Scully
recalled.  Hugh had informed her that Tim had a will 
of iron and a strong moral compass and if anyone was 
going to scramble to keep up, it would be Hugh.

Regular progress reports from the operating room 
also helped Hugh keep his cool.  The news was not
particularly reassuring, but at least he didn't 
feel totally in the dark.

Mulder managed the tricky task of shielding Tim's
private life without seeming to do so.  It was the 
same fine line that Tim tried to walk; his sexual 
orientation was not a secret, but he didn't feel 
that it was anyone's business, either.

It was simple enough with the press; once they had
their answers about the shooting and Tim's prognosis, 
they were satisfied.

Scully detected curious stares aimed at Hugh by some 
of the FBI agents who circulated around the waiting
area.  She just hoped that they would treat him with 
respect, as she and Mulder were doing.

Around six in the morning the OR reported that they
were "closing."  That meant that the damage to Tim's 
body had been identified and repaired.

Tim wasn't out of the woods yet, but he was a step 
closer.

"I'll be able to see him soon," Hugh said.  "Thank
God."

Scully pressed the heels of her hands over her eyes,
trying to relieve the gritty feeling of a broken 
night's sleep.  Her cell phone rang and her fingers 
felt stiff as she flipped it open.

"How's McCloskey?" Skinner asked.

"Holding his own," she answered.  "They're closing 
now--we'll know more after the surgeon comes out."

"I won't be able to get to the hospital until later
this morning--things are still a mess down here at
the warehouse."

She could only imagine the scene of a bust gone 
bad.  Skinner would earn his paycheck from the 
damage control alone.  

"How did the McCloskeys handle the news?" she asked.

"I think they're in shock.  They're flying out this
morning--should hit Dulles at 2:30."

Loud voices on the other end of the phone made it
hard to hear Skinner.  "I have to go," he said after
a few muffled moments and the line clicked into silence.

Scully's head ached with stress and fatigue, and
Mulder tried to get her to rest.

"Why don't you stretch out," he said indicating the
fake leather sofa.  "You'd barely take up half of 
it."

With a sharp look, she refused the offer, so instead 
Mulder went to get coffee for the group.

"I don't understand you people," Hugh said with an
edge of bitterness.  "Do you think this is normal?  
Getting shot, shooting people... This is not normal, 
Dana."

How could she answer?  Normal or not, it was part of
her world... and Mulder's... and Tim's.

"We were going to go to Hawaii," Hugh mused.  "He's 
never been there."

"You'll go," Scully said.  Tim had made it from the 
scene to the emergency room, and from the emergency
room to the operating room, and now it appeared he
would make it out of the OR.  His chances were
improving with every minute.

Shortly after that the surgeon appeared, looking 
tired but confident.

"Mr. Davis?  Tim came through well and he seems to 
be holding his own.  I'll take you to see him, but 
it will have to be a short visit."

Hugh nodded numbly and followed him, not even
bothering to correct the surgeon that he was "Dr.
Davis" rather than "Mr. Davis."

Alone in the waiting room, Scully said a silent prayer
for Tim and Hugh.  The days ahead would be difficult,
but a good outcome would make it all worthwhile.

Scully took a moment to call Skinner and update him
on Tim's condition.  Her boss seemed relieved at
the news, suggesting that she and Mulder take the
morning off to get some rest.

When Mulder returned with the coffee, he was
accompanied by a man who looked as rumpled as she
felt.  He was African American, about Mulder's height
but broader across the shoulders.  When Mulder
introduced him as Tim's partner, Agent Webster, she
understood his haggard, disheveled appearance.

"Tim's out of surgery.  So far, so good," she informed
him.

"Thank God," the man said, giving Scully the distinct 
impression that he didn't use those words lightly.

"Webster's review is scheduled in a couple of hours," 
Mulder explained.  "I've been telling him not to
worry.  His use of deadly force was clearly
justified."

"Is this your first kill?" Scully asked
sympathetically.

Agent Webster looked dismayed.

"My last, too, I hope."  He dropped into a chair
across from Scully, his broad shoulders sagging with
fatigue.

"It doesn't get any easier," she told him.

"Bottom line, agent.  You saved your partner's life," 
Mulder said.

Far from looking comforted, Webster all but flinched.

"I should have been quicker.  I should have been 
closer," he said.

There were no easy answers to the thoughts that were 
plaguing Agent Webster.  He was right to review and 
rethink everything that had happened and to learn from
it if he could.  In the end, though, he would have to
accept the terrible responsibility that came with his
job.  Sometimes he would be forced to make
split-second decisions that spelled the difference
between life and death.

"You save your partner's life," Mulder said again.

Webster spoke slowly, and Scully wondered if he'd
gotten any sleep at all.

"Ten years with the bureau, and this is the first time
I ever drew my gun off the firing range. It wasn't
supposed to go this way."

"Things can go wrong, even with the best of plans," 
Scully said.

Webster took a sip from his coffee.

"How well do you know Tim?" he asked.

"He's a good guy.  A friend," Mulder said.

"You know, the first time we met was when they made us
partners.  I heard he'd had some trouble in his old
division, but I was ready to give him a chance,"
Webster said.  "I told him I did things by the book, no
cheating and no shortcuts.  I told him if that was
going to be a problem, he should let me know right
now."

"A match made in heaven," said Mulder.

"Then Tim laid it our for me.  He was gay.  It had 
nothing to do with our work, but if I had a problem
with it, well, we probably shouldn't be partners,"
Webster said.

"I see you decided to stay," said Scully.

Webster nodded.  "It's not what I'm used to.  But if
it's okay with the FBI it has to be okay with me,
right?  Tim's a good agent, a good partner.  I should
have had his back."

"You did have his back," Scully reminded him.

"We spent weeks staking out the warehouse.  So we got
to talking.  Sports.  Movies.  Politics.  And of
course I told him about my wife, my kids.  I asked
him, what about you, buddy?  What's going on in your
life?"

"He's a very private person," Mulder observed.

"That's just what he said.  I said okay, as long as
it's not on my account.  I told him be who you are,
'cause it's okay with me."  Webster stirred his coffee
absently.

Scully saw Hugh Davis walking toward them, a definite 
smile on his face.  

"Must be good news," she said.

Hugh's smile faded when he saw Webster.  Scully had a 
moment to wonder if she should introduce them before 
Hugh spoke up.

"You must be Agent Webster.  I always thought partners 
protected each other."

"Hugh!" Scully exclaimed.

"Chill, Davis, you're out of line," said Mulder.

Hugh bowed his head, rubbing his forehead with two 
fingers.

"I'm sorry.  It's been a long night, and I
hope you can accept my apology."

Webster shrugged it off.

"Forget about it," he said.  "How's he doing?"

"He woke up enough to open his eyes, and he squeezed
my hand when I asked him.  He's a strong man," Hugh
said.

"That's good, that's really good," said Webster.

Hugh turned to Mulder.

"I'm going to catch a few winks in the doctors'
lounge.  Why don't you and Dana go home and get some
sleep yourselves?"

Mulder was nodding his agreement, as if Webster wasn't
right there to hear every word.  Scully did her best
to undo the damage.

"Yes, Hugh, try to get some rest.  And I'll drive
Mulder to his place, and then go back to my
apartment, so we can all get some rest."

Hugh smirked at her, shaking his head.  "Sounds like
a plan, Dana," he said as he ambled down the hall.

"I better go," Webster said, looking at his watch. 
"I'd like to see my wife before the hearing. 
She...uh... worries."

Mulder patted Webster on the shoulder and then
watched him moved wearily toward the door.  

"Gee, Scully," he said as he turned to face her.  
"I hope you weren't too subtle.  I'd hate for 
Webster to have gotten the idea that we were a 
couple."

His eyes glittered with anger as he towered over her.
Using his height advantage may have worked at the
beginning of their partnership, but she'd seen this
man in the throes of an orgasm.  The field had
been leveled.

"Mulder, I'm just trying to protect our privacy."

"Thank you.  I'll sleep better knowing Webster
doesn't think we're shacking up.  Scully, you 
act as if we have something to hide.  Are you
ashamed of our relationship?"

"Of course not," she said, softly.  She glanced
around, grateful that the waiting area was empty.

"Then what is it?" he asked, sputtering with 
frustration.  "Why do we drive an hour and a half 
for dinner on a Friday night?  Why do you always
say you'll meet me in the parking garage instead
of walking out with me at night?  It feels like
I'm committing adultery when I want to spend time
with the woman I love."

It felt like a giant hand was squeezing her heart
when she heard him say things like "the woman I
love."  She loved him, too, more than she ever
thought possible.  

For as long as she could remember, it had been 
hard to open herself up to love.  Too many years 
of leaving friends behind when the family had to 
pack up and move to another base, another house, 
another school.   She'd learned to guard her 
heart so it wouldn't get broken. 

Loving Mulder back was not the issue, though.
She wasn't hiding herself from him, she just didn't
want to feed the Hoover gossip mill.  Was that 
wrong?

"I'm not ashamed of our relationship, Mulder, and
you know it.  I just don't see why we need to be
water-cooler conversation fodder."

"Scully," he laughed.  "It's a little late to be
worrying about that.  Let's face it--we couldn't
have made a bigger spectacle of ourselves at the
conference.  The only people that don't know we're
an item are the guys on the space station, and
I'm not even sure about them."

"That's just it, Mulder.  We embarrassed ourselves
more than enough that night.  It's not going to 
be easy to live that down."

Mulder threaded his fingers through his hair, 
sighing and looking out into the hallway.  

"That night was special to me," he said after
a few moments.  "I never felt the need to live
it down."

If she lived for a hundred years, she could never
forget that night.  Kissing Mulder in the shadows
as both of them realized how profoundly they 
belonged together was a cherished memory.  Having
everyone in the crowded banquet hall watch as
the spotlight found them in the middle of a 
passionate makeout session was an image she
recalled in perfect detail.   Whether she 
wanted to or not.

"Let's go," he said.  As she followed him through 
the hospital, she tried to find the words that
would explain how she felt.  Mulder walked ahead
of her, his hands in his pockets, a studied
casualness that she knew masked his anger.

They stepped out into weak early morning sunshine,
and got into the car.  She still wasn't sure how 
to explain her views, but the silence as they
drove had begun to get on her nerves.

"You have to understand," she said, her voice
sounding strange in her ears.  "It's different
for women in the workforce."

Mulder turned in his seat, as if to give her
his full attention.  Ironically, now that she
had what she had always wanted, his concentration
made her nervous.

"In every office romance I've ever known about,
the man comes off looking pretty good.  He's a
ladies man, a stud.  But the woman?  She's 
unprofessional, sleeping her way to the top,
whatever."

"No question there's a double standard, Scully.
It's not like I want to make out in the lobby--"

He broke off, turning to look out the window.
Mulder wasn't wrong.  He wanted to be open and
above board about the woman in his life.  It was
natural, wasn't it.  

But she wasn't wrong either, damn it.  The FBI
didn't prohibit relationships between partners,
but those partners had better not come to the
attention of the powers that be.  She and Mulder
set off flares with their superiors on a weekly
basis.  They broke rules and took chances. 
There was no way they wouldn't come under 
scrutiny.

They had arrived at Mulder's apartment.  There
had been no discussion of going back to her 
place, though that would have been natural since
they'd left her bed hours ago.  If Mulder 
had anything to say about that, he'd kept it
to himself.

She pulled the car into a parking space and 
turned the key in the ignition. 

"I just think we should keep a low profile."

Mulder nodded, his hand on the door handle.  
"You want to come up?" he asked, his voice
low and husky.  

God, she had no resistance when his timber 
dropped like that and his voice was intimately
sexy.  But she had to be strong.  Someone had
to.  

"I...um...better get home.  We both need to
get some sleep and I don't have a clean suit
so I'd only have to go back to Georgetown
before work and..."

"Well, I guess I'll see you at work, then,"
Mulder said when she'd run out of steam.  
He got out of the car and shut the door.
As he walked into the building, he turned
and waved.  Her breath caught in her throat
at the sight.  

Scully started the car and pulled out of
the parking lot, finally losing her battle
to keep the tears at bay.

**********************

Scully arrived at work around 11:00.  She didn't 
feel exactly chipper, but she'd slept enough 
that she knew she would make it through the day.

She'd given a lot of thought to Mulder's 
complaint.  He didn't like sneaking around as 
if their relationship was a dirty secret.  
She'd tried to explain that a workplace 
relationship didn't hurt a man's career 
the way it did a woman's.

Now she realized there was more to it than that.  
Mulder was simply a more open person than she 
was.  He didn't mind answering questions about 
his finances, his rent, what he paid for his 
car. Even his bathroom habits were an open 
book.  He'd say, "See you later, Scully," as 
he headed out the door with the sports section 
in his hand.

Scully was a private person.  It didn't make 
her better or worse, just different.

She unlocked the office door, surprised that 
Mulder wasn't at his desk.  He never seemed 
to need much sleep, and she'd half-expected 
him to change his clothes and go directly 
to work, after she dropped him off.

The phone rang.  Probably Mulder.

But it was Danny.  He started right in, as 
if she would know what he was talking about.

"Okay, the call definitely came from 
southwest DC.  I can't pin it down closer 
than that, but I figure your guy was where 
he said he was."

"Thanks.  And, uh, who is my guy?"
 
"James Leffert, the guy Mulder was asking about."

"Thanks, Danny."

Her jaw tightened as she hung up the phone. James  
"Dime" Leffert was a psychotic junkie.

She could hear Mulder's voice in her head, as he 
explained it once again: 
 
"It's natural for abductees to appear strange to 
us, or for them to use drugs to help them cope with 
their trauma."

What was even more natural was for Dime to 
recognize an easy mark.  She didn't want to know 
how much money Mulder had handed over, from a 
mixture of gullibility and pity.  She couldn't 
count how many times Mulder had been stranded 
at street corners or seedy bars waiting for 
information and evidence that never seemed 
to materialize.

"Dime's harmless," Mulder would mutter 
in his defense.

Scully disagreed.  Dime was a drug addict, 
and that made him dangerous.

But Mulder saw a damaged spirit where Scully 
saw a con artist.  She'd fully admit that Mulder
had been right about some of the lost souls that
had drifted into their lives over the years.  
He'd believed in Lucy Householder even when all 
the evidence had been against her.  

But Dime was different.  There was something
about him that set off all Scully's alarms.  For
one thing, on the rare occasions that Mulder had
dragged her along to one of their meetings, 
Dime had looked at her as if he could see right
through her clothes.  

There was nothing to do but wait until Mulder arrived
at work.  If events followed their normal course,
a sheepish Mulder would arrive in a few hours, 
making excuses for why Dime didn't show.  If
she was really lucky, he'd try to get on her good
side and bring her favorite Starbucks Caramel 
Frappucino.  It had a hideous amount of calories,
but she was really in the mood for something sweet.

Scully dropped into her desk chair and sighed 
deeply as she opened an autopsy report from a
case on which she'd been asked to consult.   
A broken night's sleep had taken a toll on her, 
and she had to force her eyes to stay open.

Her cell phone rang, offering a blessed reprieve
from the report.  With a quick glance at the 
number displayed in the window, she answered
the call.

"Scully?" Mulder's voice sounded oddly hollow.  
     
"Mulder, what's going on?" she asked, annoyance 
creeping into her tone.  "I told you I wasn't
making excuses to Skinner anymore."

"You were right," he said, so softly she barely
heard him.  

Something had to be seriously wrong for Mulder
to admit that.  She sat forward in her chair as
if that would help her hear Mulder better.

"I was right about what?"

"About Dime.  He was a no show.  Uh, Scully
can you come pick me up?"

"I have to run up to the lab for the Carrington
case, Mulder.  Can't you take a cab?"

Something that sounded almost like a moan came
through the phone.  Worry prickled at Scully's
nerves.  

"I...uh...I'm kind of bleeding here, Scully."

"Oh my God, Mulder.  Why didn't you say that
before?  I'm going to call the paramedics--"

"NO!" Mulder would have been more convincing
if he wasn't groaning.  "It's not bad.  Only
a little blood, really.  Just come get me."

Against her better judgement, Scully agreed
to forego the ambulance.  Mulder gave her his
location, an alley between a seedy bar and a
bodega. 

Traffic was light in the early afternoon, and
Scully was able to make excellent time.  She
found Curley's Tavern and thought this
was typical Dime--the rankest dive in 
town was his favorite kind of rendezvous.

Scully parked the car, hoping it would still
be there in this lousy neighborhood.  A 
vehicle could be stripped in the time it
took the owner to buy a newspaper.  

She peered into the dim alleyway, picking
Mulder out quickly.  He was sitting on a box,
his back against a brick wall.  He'd taken
off his coat and was using the bunched up
material to stanch the blood that was 
soaking the upper arm of his white shirt.

"Oh my God, Mulder," she said as she rushed
over to him.  "What happened?"

"Dime never showed," he answered.  "Big
surprise, huh?"  

She crouched next to him, touching his face
so she could get a look into his eyes.   

"Nothing surprises me these days," she said,
pulling Mulder's jacket away to inspect the
source of the blood.  "So what happened."

"I was supposed to meet Dime in the bar
at 11:00.  When he didn't show by noon, I thought
he might have gotten spooked, so I came outside
to look around."

Mulder hissed in pain as she tore the fabric
of his shirt to get a look at the injury.  

"Sorry," she said as she pressed the jacket 
back over the wound.  "Go on."

"I interrupted a knife fight back here.  I got
sliced when I tried to break it up."  

Mulder's head dropped back against the brick wall
as his eyes squeezed shut in pain.  Scully applied
pressure with one hand as she used the other to
examine her partner.  He had a deep cut to his
left upper arm and a superficial one on his right 
palm, obviously a defensive wound. 

She tenderly brushed the hair back from his 
forehead.  Mulder smiled slightly and seemed to
lean into her touch.  

"You'll live," she said.   

"Thank you for coming to get me," he said, eyes
still shut.

"I'm going to call for an ambulance," she said,
flipping open her cellphone.

"I just want to go home, Scully.  Can't you just 
bandage me up?" he pleaded.

"Mulder, the cut on your arm is pretty deep.  
You're probably going to need surgery to repair 
the muscle."

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

Scully looked away, fighting the urge to ask 
which part of this mess Mulder was sorry for.
Was it ditching her, chasing a worthless lead
or scaring her when she was already worried 
about Tim.  

"You need to go to the hospital," she said,
resolutely.

"Okay," he said, resigned to the fact.  "Okay, 
but no ambulance." 

Even as she shook her head, Scully knew she
would cave in.  

"You're gonna bleed all over my car again."

"It's okay.  I know a place that does a really
good job on upholstery."

***********************


Mulder knew the knife wound wouldn't kill him.  It was
painful, messy, and kind of embarrassing, but he
wasn't in fear for his life. As he waited in the alley
he knew Scully would manage things and make it okay.

Which is what she did.  She took him to the hospital
and handled all the details.   He signed his name a
dozen times, in an awkward, left-hand scrawl.  He
didn't even know what he was signing, but he knew
Scully did, and that was enough.

Scully gave him a kiss before they wheeled him to the
operating room, in front of everyone.  Of course
*everyone* was just a bunch of doctors and nurses, and
nobody from the FBI.

If you really want to experience lost time, anesthesia
is the way to do it.  The next thing he knew he was
waking up, and a voice was telling him his operation
was over and he was doing fine.  He wanted to ask what
time it was and if Scully was there, but he couldn't
quite form the questions.  The next time he woke up
Scully was with him, as well as the surgeon.

"Overall, I'm very pleased.  Really a neat piece of
work, if I do say so myself," he said heartily.  

"What about nerve damage?" Scully asked.

"Minimal, as far as I can tell.  For now I want to
avoid any stress to the area.  We'll know more in a
week or two."

"When can I go home?" Mulder asked.  His throat felt
as dry as tinder.

"It's very important for you to rest that arm, Mr.
Mulder.  You're not yet ready to be on your own," the
doctor said.

"He'll be staying with me," Scully said.

"In that case, I can discharge him tomorrow, barring
complications. With a few weeks of physical therapy,
he should regain most of his function," the surgeon
said, and Mulder wondered if he'd heard right.

"Most of my function?" he asked, his voice raspy and
unsure.

"Certainly.  The surgery was smooth, you're young and
healthy... We'll take it one day at a time."  

The surgeon was smiling and even Scully was smiling, 
but for the first time since he'd been cut, Mulder was
afraid.  What did that mean, most of his function? 
Enough to shoot a gun?  Enough to qualify as a special
agent?

******************

The first few days home with Scully were like a
vacation.  She insisted on helping him with almost
everything, but he was content to go along with it. 
When she wasn't actually taking care of him. she was
his fellow couch-potato.  They watched old movies,
read the paper, listened to music.  Food was microwave
or delivery.

At the end of a week, Scully returned to work. 

After years of working with her and months of sleeping
with her, Mulder thought he knew Scully pretty well. 
But now, living in her apartment and observing her in
her normal habits, he began to feel like an
anthropologist among the aborigines.  The land of
Scully was full of exotic customs and tabus.

For example, she enforced a curfew for her dishes.  By
ten o'clock, every plate and glass had to be gathered
up and washed, or at least rinsed and placed in the
dishwasher.  As if some secret curse would turn the
dishes into demons if sunrise found them out of place.

Then there were the ceremonial dishtowels, for display
purposes only.  The real dishtowels were kept hidden
in a drawer.

He puzzled out the intricate details of Scully's rules
and attempted to obey them.  Scully seemed satisfied
with his efforts, until the incident of the orange
juice.

He was sitting at the table, pondering the attractive
but empty salt and pepper shakers, when Scully
approached him.  Though his conscience was clear,
something in her eyes warned him that he'd trespassed
in a major way.

Wordlessly, Scully held up the half-gallon container
of orange juice and waggled it in his face.

"I swear, I didn't," he said.  She'd been *very* clear
about drinking directly from the carton.

Scully emptied the container into a glass, which
remained three-quarters empty.

Aha, thought Mulder.  I drank too much orange juice.

"Sorry I drank your juice," he said.

"Mulder, it's not my juice.  You can drink as much as
you want," she said impatiently.

He decided to approach the matter head on.

"Then what's the problem?" he asked.

"The problem is you put an empty container back in the
fridge," she said.

"It wasn't empty," he said.

"Mulder, there were two ounces left."

"As I said.  Not empty.  Did you want me to throw it
out?"

"Why didn't you just finish it?"

"I didn't want it."

"You put away an empty container so it would look like
we had orange juice when we didn't!"

"There's another carton."

"That's not the point!"

She didn't seem to realize she'd created an impossible
situation.  Mulder tried a fresh approach.

"I bet you were really looking forward to a nice tall
glass of orange juice," he said.

"Don't you dare play psychologist with me!"

The orange juice incident was the only time she
actually raised her voice.  For the most part she
followed in his trail, silently undoing the damage.  
Reversing the roll of toilet paper.  Rescuing a mug
that he'd put away among the teacups.

Thank god for sex, or they would have probably killed
each other.

His first night out of the hospital, with his left
hand bandaged and his right arm in a sling, Mulder had
been entirely at Scully's mercy.  Possibly the most
unbefuckinglievable night of his life.  Now his hand
was healed and his arm was on the mend, and while some
things were impossible, many were not.  

Frequent, mind-blowing sex was the oil in the machine,
the lubricant that let two difficult people live
together in limited space with some degree of harmony.
Mulder might forget to help with Scully's nightly
glassware round-up, but when he'd nuzzle her neck as
she stood by the sink, she couldn't help melting into
his arms.  

When Mulder started griping about the slow pace set
for his rehabilitation, Scully moved closer to him on
the couch.  He said he was damn well going to the
firing range before he forgot how to shoot,  and she
unzipped his pants.

Transparent tactics but effective and much
appreciated.

Scully knew Mulder was afraid his arm would keep him
out of the field.  

"I can't promise you but I think you'll be just fine."

"Let me shoot a few rounds just to see how it feels."

"Go right ahead.  The worst that will happen is you'll
disrupt the repair and cripple yourself forever."

"Bite me."

"Mm.  Okay."

*********************

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Mulder went to physical
therapy, where he was forced to lift, push, and pull
until his arm was trembling with exhaustion.  The
remainder of the week he was supposed to rest his arm
in a sling.

Scully had a perfectly logical explanation.  His
activity was supervised at physical therapy, so it 
was safe.

Officially, Mulder was back in his own apartment, and
he and Scully no longer drove each other nuts over
housekeeping preferences.  They were together as much
as ever, but the dynamics had changed.  It was easier
for Mulder to do things Scully's way now that he was
in guest-mode instead of roommate-mode.  Scully was
too good a hostess to get worked up over socks on the
floor.

In his own apartment, Mulder found he liked the idea
of getting dirty glasses out of the way before he went
to bed.  The first time Scully noticed what he was
doing, she had a field day.

"What's your hurry, Mulder?  They'll still be there in
the morning.  What if you want more soda?"

In effect they were cohabiting, but in two apartments.
It was inconvenient but actually living together was
inconceivable, with each of them so set in their ways.
Scully seemed to really need a sense of order at
home, especially when the larger world became
threatening.  A hand towel folded the wrong way was
just another reminder that she couldn't control
things, couldn't protect the people she loved.  

Control and safety were big for Scully.  Huge. 
Sometimes she'd even talk about them . . .

*************

"You ditched me for no particular reason--"

"It was the day after Tim was shot.  You'd been up all
night."

"You went into a dangerous situation without backup--"

"I was just meeting  a guy in a bar--"

"In the worst part of town--"

"Hell, Scully, I had a gun--"

"Which you didn't use when you decided to break up a
knife fight."

The key to defusing a fight was to de-escalate, to
cool things down.  Guns weren't good for that.  When
the attacker was already in physical contact with the
victim, you couldn't expect a clear shot anyway.  But
it was a matter of size, too.  Scully would have had
to handle it differently.  She would have needed to
draw her weapon.  

"Look, you weren't there," he said.

Her eyes widened till they nearly popped out of her
head.  Her nostrils flared and her shoulders rose and
fell with each breath.  He could see that she wanted
to rip him apart and he was pretty sure she was
counting to ten before she trusted herself to speak. 

"I wasn't there because you ditched me," she said
quietly.  She didn't sound angry, she sounded sad and
resigned.  "I love you, Mulder and I know you love me.
I was stupid to think that would change things, or if
it has, it's changed things for the worse."

"How are things worse?" he asked, genuinely alarmed.  

"Because you think it's thoughtful to let me sleep
late.  You know what would really be thoughtful,
Mulder?  If you'd try to keep yourself alive."

He didn't know how to answer her.  She had blown the
knifing incident way out of proportion, but her pain
was real.  She stiffened for a second when he took her
into his arms, and then she collapsed against him. 
They both knew she was trying not to cry and that she
would fail.

"I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry, Scully."  He patted her
back and leaned his face down against her hair, the
embrace unbalanced because his right arm was still
trapped in its sling.

"You're sorry I'm crying, but you still don't think
you did anything wrong," she said.

"I was wrong.  The first rule when you enter a
situation is to keep from becoming a victim.  I broke
the rule."  He knew that was what she wanted to hear.

"Think about it.  I know you're only trying to appease
me, but please think about it."

"I will, I will."  He kissed her, bending down to
reach her mouth.  "I'll think about it."  

"I love you," she said, making it sound like a
complaint.  

"I love you too."  He kissed her eyelids, still wet. 
"Come on."

He didn't really need to guide her to the bedroom, but
he didn't want to break contact.

"You're a bully, Mulder.  Any time I win an argument
you--oh, god!"

Like most women, Scully had sensitive breasts.  Not
that Mulder's hand was driven purely by the urge to
please her. She was a handful, a generous handful.  
It felt so damn good to cup her and feel her weight,
her warmth, her softness.

"Oh god, Mulder!"

He threw her on the bed, or at least gave her a push
in that direction, then shucked his arm out of the
sling.

He was allowed to do that now, they'd told him that in
his last therapy session.  The sling was supposed to
protect his shoulder muscles from the weight of his
arm, which was different from the stress of supporting
his own weight.  God he hoped he'd remembered to
explain that to Scully.

"I can take it off in bed, remember?" he pleaded.

"I know I know."  Scully was busy ripping off her own
clothes.  Since Mulder's injury she'd become a speed
stripper, wriggling out of her own clothes and opening
his belt and buttons at the same time.  She pulled
ferociously to drag off his jeans.

Sometimes Mulder thought he detected a certain amount
of anger in Scully's lovemaking.  

"Hey!" he yelped when she slapped his bare ass.  Not a
hard slap, but enough to sting.

"This is mine, Mulder!  Don't go getting it killed!"

He pushed her onto her back, letting most of his
weight rest on her.  Scully needed this.  She needed
him on top, proving he was okay, and he needed it too.
 
"Let me help you with your nipples," he said,
straddling her and shimmying down her body until he
was properly aligned.  "Mm.  So hard.  So tight."

He sucked and nibbled.  Scully kneaded his ass with
one hand while the other clutched the back of his
head.

"Flip over, Mulder, I gotta fuck you right now,"
Scully groaned.

If he wasn't already as hard as a rock, that would
have done it.  

"Soon, Scully.  Mm.  Such tasty nipples.  I wonder
about your neck."  

As he slid up to kiss her soft throat, he used his
sneaky right hand to visit the warm, moist nest of
curls between her legs.

"Mulder, Mulder, Mulder . . . "  He felt her hand
close around the base of his cock.  "Don't hurt
yourself . . . "

He wanted to tease her some more, he wanted to pin her
beneath him and feel her writhe as he kissed and
tickled and stroked and squeezed.  But that would have
to wait, because right now he wanted to fuck her.

He raised himself off her body and Scully guided him
in.

"Arm's okay.  It's okay, Scully.  Love you, Scully."

"Like this, like this, oh, Mulder."  She wrapped her
legs around his waist and pulled him down on top of
her.  She pushed against him, rubbing, grinding, but
not letting him pump.

He turned a fraction, so that more of his weight was
on the bed.  Not how he'd planned it, but . . .

"Don't stop!  Mulder, don't stop!"

He didn't dare stop.  He knew he wouldn't go all the
way until he put Scully fully on her back and hammered
her the way he wanted, but this was good for now.

"Come on, Scully, come on."

"I am I am I am I am I am I am!"

She shuddered and clenched for what seemed an hour,
and then she reached back, stroking behind his balls,
under his balls, cupping, exploring, probing.  

"Oh, god, Scully.  Oh, god."

"Now, Mulder!" she commanded, and damned if he didn't
obey.

*******************

continued in part 2


Mulder's doctor wouldn't certify him to go back to
work, not even for light duty.

"You have a reputation, Mr. Mulder.  I'll let you 
return to work when you're fit for active duty."

Mulder was too pleased with the implication that he
would be back in the field one day to argue the case
that he needed to go back immediately and sit at a
desk.  Still, he was bored.  He was tired of reading
and movies and Starbucks and swimming.  Still saddled
with his sling, he couldn't run or shoot hoops.   
He'd long ago worn out his welcome at the Lone Gunmen, 
and  anyway, they got on his nerves.

The highpoint of his day was when Scully arrived home
from work.  He waited for her like a pet poodle, and
like a pet poodle, he wanted to go out.  But Scully
would come through the door kicking off her shoes, and
it seemed that nothing Mulder said would convince her
to put them back on.

He understood.  She was drained and she wanted to
relax.  He'd pour her a glass of wine and press her
for the details of her day as he one-handedly set 
dinner on the table.

"I saw Agent Webster," she told him one evening. 
"He was at the Shamrock, picking up a couple of
chili dogs for Tim."

"Now there's a partner for you."  Damn, his mouth
was watering.  The Shamrock Grill was a favorite
hangout for the local agents both for its comfortably
scruffy ambiance and the best chili dogs in the city.

"We brought them over while Hugh was at work.   You
should have seen Tim's face when he was eating 
those drippy things.  Part bliss and part fear that
he was going to drop chili on Hugh's offwhite rug."
 
"Wait a minute.  You brought Tim chili dogs from the
Shamrock, while I was sitting here in the dark eating 
Cup-a-Noodles?"

"Mulder, it was a spur of the moment thing.  Webster
wasn't sure where Hugh lived and..."

"Shamrock chili dogs, Scully.  You know how I love 
them."

"I also know they give you gas," she said, laughing.

Actually, she knew that all too well from up close
and personal experience.   But that was immaterial.
If she was going to bring anyone a chili dog, it 
should have been him.
 
"Scully... I'm not joking."  

Her laughter stopped.

"Okay.  We're going out," she said.  

"The Shamrock?" Mulder asked, hopefully.

"No chili dogs.  Fancy.  Formal.  Expensive."

Well, it wasn't what he was craving, but maybe
this was better.  A chance to show off his beautiful
best girl in public.

"You'll wear your red dress?"

"Yes, only it's black.  I don't have a red dress.  
And you'd better get yourself spruced up too."

"You got it," he said.  "Where are we going?"

"Chez Marcel.  You'll love it," she said.

Mulder fumbled out of his sling, drawing his shirt 
off with exagerated care so Scully wouldn't have to 
remind him about his arm.

"Sounds great.  Where is it?"

"Baltimore."

"Baltimore," he repeated.  One hour away Baltimore.

"You've heard of the city, right?"

"Oh, I have. I have.  And as I recall, it's a bit of a
trip to get there.  So, have all chi-chi Washington DC 
eateries closed their doors?  You want to drive over 
an hour to go out to dinner."

"They have great food, Mulder.  I went there the
last time I visited Mom."

"I'm sure they have great food, but I bet the real
attraction is that there is virtually no chance of
us meeting someone we know while we're obviously
fraternizing."

She turned away, rearranging the items on the
already neat kitchen counter.  He knew he'd struck
a nerve.  The whole sneaking around thing had been
vaguely exciting in the beginning--like an illicit
affair without the betrayal of a spouse.  But now,
it was just frustrating.

"They really do make a great chocolate mousse,"
she said, weakly.  

Mulder sighed.  Scully's phobia about public 
displays of anything resembling a relationship
was no less strong than it had been weeks ago.
Fighting her on this took energy he wasn't willing
to expend.  One day, he was going to plant a big
wet kiss on her in the middle of the FBI cafeteria
and when she finally came up for air, she was going
to beg him to kiss her again.

But, she wasn't ready for that yet.

"Okay," he said, with resignation.  "Go put on
your red black dress."

*************

Mulder had to admit the chocolate mousse was pretty
fabulous at Chez Marcel.  And Scully was conciliatory
when they got home.  In fact, she gave him a workout 
between the sheets that just about took the top of his 
head off.  

Unfortunately, large amounts of sex only went so far
to counteract boredom, and Mulder was going stir-crazy.
When he realized he was arranging his whole day around
daytime television--he got worried.

He watched the soaps with the kind of rapt interest 
he usually reserved for porn.  His favorite show came
on at 2:00.  Things were heating up on "All Our Days and
Nights."  Ciara was cheating on Dakota with bad boy Slick 
and there was a very good chance that the big confrontation
scene would be today.  

When the phone rang, Mulder was tempted not to answer.
He glanced at the caller ID, recognizing Scully's 
number at work.  His hand rested on the phone as Dakota
walked down the hall to Ciara's apartment.  As the scene
faded to the commercial, he picked up the phone.

"Hey Scully," he said, as a commercial for Tampax played
in the background.

"What are you up to, Mulder?" 

"I'm giving myself a pedicure."

"You're what?" 

"A pedicure," he said.  The show was back on, and now
Ciara and Slick were rolling around in her red satin 
sheets.  It was pretty clear that Ciara was naked from
the waist up.  "You don't mind if I use your red nail 
polish, do you?"

"No really, what is that noise in the background?"

The noise was Ciara's loud moans as Slick kissed his
way down her neck and the very dramatic music playing 
as Dakota pushed open the bedroom door.

"Nothing...just the TV," he mumbled, a bit distracted.  
He was rooting for Ciara's sheet to slip just a little.   

"Are you alright, Mulder?"

"Yeah...I'm fine..." Damn, Dakota was calling Ciara a
slut and he was missing it.  The whole week had built
up to this one moment and it was slipping by.

"Mulder?  Stay with me for a minute, okay?  Hugh asked
us to come for dinner tonight."

"Hmmm?"  Slick was out of bed, clad in just his boxers,
and looked like he was going to hit Dakota.  "I don't 
know, Scully.  I thought we were going to order in and 
get comfortable tonight."   

"We can get comfortable when we get back from Hugh's.
He said Tim is really going stir crazy.  Hugh thought
some company would do him some good."

"Well, I can definitely sympathize with the stir crazy
part."

"See--it will do you good too."

"I don't know.  Hugh'll probably challenge me to a
polo match or something."

"I don't think it's the right season for polo, Mulder,"
she replied.  Her voice dropped an octave to the cool,
sexy tone that made him crazy.  "I'll make you real 
comfortable after..."

"Okay," he said, reluctantly.  "But I'm getting my wish
list out."    Hell, he was already too invested in the 
Ciara/Slick/Dakota love triangle for his own good.  
It might do him good to get out.

"Great.  See you when I get home."

*************

"Mulder, stop fidgeting," Scully said as they stood
at Hugh's door waiting for him to answer. 

"I'm not fidgeting," he said, trying to adjust the
twisted strap on his sling.  If Scully wasn't with
him, he'd have pulled it off long ago--and to hell
with doctor's orders. 

"Hello, you two," Hugh called out as he swung the
door open.  

"Hello Hugh," Scully said, embracing their host
who kissed her on the cheek.  "Ooh, something
smells delicious."

"Hope you came hungry," Hugh said, just as his
gaze settled on Mulder.  Or more specifically,
Mulder's arm in his sling.  "Well, isn't this
remarkable.  I'm having dinner with three FBI
agents and two of them are injured.   Makes 
one wonder how much of our current federal 
deficit is due to medical bills."

"So tell me," Scully said, taking his arm.  
"What amazing things have you been cooking?"

Scully had managed to at least partly distract
Hugh from whatever was bugging him.  After a 
moment, his face relaxed and he guided them
into the apartment.  

"Come out on the terrace," Hugh said.  "I've got
cherry tomatoes stuffed with arugula and bleu
cheese and bacon-wrapped oysters.  Tim's having
a rest before dinner."

"Oh my," Scully said, walking to the edge of the
terrace and looking down at the view.  The lights
of the city were spread out like a blanket of 
stars.

"In the daylight, you can see the Capitol Building,"
Hugh told them.  "I come out here with my coffee
and watch the sunrise."

Mulder figured each glittering light set Hugh back 
a hefty fee.  He turned to survey the terrace with
its ornamental shrubs and wrought iron and glass
furniture.  Trays of hors deurves were set out on
the table amid little plates and glowing candles.

"These are delicious," Scully said, taking another
bite of bacon-wrapped oyster.  "Mulder, you have
to try these."

He was going to say that he didn't care for oysters,
but Scully was raising one to his lips.  He opened
his mouth.   Well, at least he liked bacon, he 
thought as he chewed.  And oysters were purported 
to be aphrodisiacs.  

"What can I get you to drink?  Beer?  Wine?"  Hugh
gestured to the ice-filled shiny tin bucket filled 
with chilled drinks.  The choices were all upscale.
Hugh didn't buy his beer at the supermarket.

Mulder accepted a Corsendonk Brown Ale from Belgium 
with some skepticism.  Trust Davis to find some hideously
expensive obscure foreign brew. It tasted better than 
he thought it would.  Hugh poured Scully a Pinot Grigio.  
 
"Well, look who's up," Hugh said, as he noticed Tim
in the doorway.   His face changed then, open affection
transforming him from pompous ass to a man in love.

Tim smiled at them as he walked onto the terrace.  
He still looked pale and moved carefully.  He lowered
himself onto a chair.  

"It's great to see you guys."   His voice, at
least, was strong.  "What the hell happened to you?"
he asked, nodding at Mulder's sling-wrapped arm.

"I ran into the business end of a sharp object," 
Mulder answered.  

"Dana, I can't believe you didn't tell me that 
Mulder was hurt."  Hugh looked at her sharply.  

"Oh Hugh," Scully sighed.  "You had so much on your
mind--Tim was still in critical condition."

"Was this in the line of duty?" Hugh asked.

Mulder wasn't sure how to answer.  As he considered
his choices, Scully jumped in.

"In a manner of speaking," she said.  "Mulder came
upon two men in a knife fight.  He was hurt trying 
to diffuse the situation."

Tim let out a low whistle of admiration.  Scully 
looked tense as Hugh shook his head.  

"How do you people live like this?" he asked.  
"Risking your lives every time you go to work."

"We're trained to take care of ourselves," Tim
said quietly.  "We don't take unnecessary chances."

"All I know is, all three of you have come close
to death because of your work.  It's too much."

"A smart man once told me that every life is in 
danger, every day," Mulder said.  "Nobody is
free from that.   When you strap on a bulletproof
vest, you acknowledge the risk."   
 
Hugh cleared his throat.  "I better see about
dinner."

"I'll help," Scully said, following him from
the room.  "Why don't you two visit for a while."

Mulder returned to the hors deurves, popping 
another bacon-wrapped oyster into his mouth.  They
weren't half bad once you got used to them.  He put 
a couple of stuffed cherry tomatoes on a plate
and turned to Tim.  "You want anything?" he asked.

"I'll wait for dinner," Tim replied.

"Hugh's frightened," he said, returning to his
seat.   

"I know.  I don't think the reality of my job
really hit him until I got shot.  He just hasn't 
been able to get past this and it's making me 
crazy."

"Hovering?" Mulder asked.

"Major league hovering.  He makes my mother look like
a rookie.  Does Agent Scully hover?
  
"She tries to be subtle, but...yeah."

"At least she understands, right?  I mean, she has 
a dangerous job too."

"Scully and I have different styles," Mulder began.
"She's extremely methodical.  By the book, but not
to the exclusion of intuition.  I'm big on intuition,
but not to the exclusion of the rule book."

"So?" Tim probed.

"So...she thinks I take too many chances."

"Do you?"

"Maybe I do.  I've been thinking about it a lot lately,
especially after this," he said, indicating his sling.
"I was on my own for a long time.  Even after Scully
and I became partners, I still considered myself a 
'one man operation.'  Oh, I listened to her and trusted
her and was probably already in love with her, but I
kept my own counsel.   A lot of things changed when
Scully and I got together.  I guess some things don't
change as easy as others."

Tim laughed, mirthlessly.  "I know what you mean."

"Dinner's ready," Scully said from the door.  

He wondered if she had heard the end of the
conversation.  Mulder thought she hadn't from the 
relaxed set of her features.

He and Tim followed Scully to the dining room.  Like
the living room, it exuded 'designer chic' without
looking stiff and formal.  

The first course of tortellini with a red sauce
was already on the table as they took their seats.  
Mulder was surprised when he took his first bite
to find that the sauce was made from red peppers
instead of tomatoes.

"This is delicious," Scully said.

"Yeah, it's great," Tim agreed.  "Hugh's a great
cook."

"You're going to make me blush," Hugh said, beaming.
Mulder hoped Hugh's head wasn't going to explode
from massive swelling.  It would ruin the tortellini.

"Tim," Scully began.  "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better.  I just wish I didn't get so tired."

"I remember," Scully said, nodding her head.  "A trip
to the doctor wipes you out for the rest of the day."

It wasn't all that long ago that Scully had nearly
died from a stomach wound.  If she hadn't made it,
Mulder was sure he would not have survived either. 
He'd been wounded himself, more than once but he 
would suffer a dozen bullets rather than sit by
Scully's bed, wondering if she would live or die.

Hugh stood up, his back stiff and his expression
unreadable.  "I'd better get the salmon before it
dries out."

Scully helped him clear the plates and carry in 
the next course.  Mulder wondered if Hugh had
planned everything to be so easy to eat.  The
poached salmon and wild rice didn't need to be
cut with a knife and fork, which would have been
hard for Tim to manage.  Mulder was glad too.  
Having Scully cut his meat would have been too
humiliating.

"So, tell me," Hugh began.  "Have either of you
thought about life after the FBI?"

"Actually, I've had my eye on becoming a greeter
at Wal-Mart.  I'm partial to that blue vest."
 
Hugh gave a pained smile.

"Yes, that's how Tim explained it."

"Excuse me.  I said that a job in corporate security
would seem trivial compared to the challenges we face
in the FBI."  It was clear from Tim's tone that Hugh
was returning to an ongoing argument.

"Problems like inventory shrinkage and misuse of the
Xerox machine aren't very compelling after you've 
done the real thing," Mulder agreed.

"Work's no fun without personal danger," Hugh said
acidly.

Mulder could have answered, but for once he saw the
advantage of silence.

"Most agents don't remain in the field indefinitely,"
Scully said.  "Mulder and I are very much the
exception."

"I've been trying to tell him that," said Tim."

"I just wish you'd consider it," Hugh said, turning
to Tim.  "I have a lot of contacts through some
of the consulting I've done.  You could do so
much--"

"I'm doing what I love," Tim said, quietly.

"And it came damn close to killing you."

Tim didn't reply, studying his plate instead.
Hugh shot him a look, worry in his eyes, but
didn't speak again.  Scully took a big gulp of
her water.  The air practically crackled with
tension to the sound of four people breathing.

"I read a newspaper article the other day," 
Scully said, breaking the silence.  "It said
they anticipate power shortages and phones not
working when we hit January 1, 2000.  Some people 
are so concerned they've started to stockpile 
supplies."

Mulder smiled at her attempt to smooth over
the evening's rough spots.  He didn't think
there was enough sand-paper in the world to 
smooth this out, but when you sleep with 
someone, it behooves you to give them a 
hand.

"I think I read something about that.  Computers
have to be modified to recognize 2000, right?"

"Yes," she replied.  "The article put
a kind of Armageddon spin on the whole 
thing which was kind of humorous when you 
consider that the year 2000 is not the new
millennium."

"It's not?" Mulder asked.  Hugh and Tim were
still sneaking little looks in each other's 
direction.

"The new millennium doesn't start until 2001."

God, how he loved his little science geek.  

****************

 Mulder planned to arrive early for his first day back
at work. He set his alarm clock.  He picked out a suit
and tie.  He shined his shoes.  

"You must have been one of those little kids who was
out at the bus stop before sunrise," Scully said,
watching as he set up his ironing board.  He seemed
to be moving comfortably now, though a bit carefully,
no longer hampered by the sling.  

"I never thought I'd say this, but I can't wait to get
back.  Even if I will spend most of the day running
paperwork for my reinstatement."

Scully waited in suspense.  Was he really going to
iron wearing just his boxer shorts?  

"The disability office doesn't open until 9," she
said.

"Still..."

"I know.  You want to get in at 7.  It's fine, Mulder,
just don't expect me to carpool with you."

Mulder took a shirt from the closet and draped it over
the ironing board.  Scully refrained from mentioning
that it was a pressed and laundered shirt.  Obviously
"Trust no one" included the dry cleaning store.

"I want to get back in the football pool before the
good spots are all taken," he said.  

He might be joking, but Scully decided to accept it at
face value.  Mulder couldn't be that concerned about
the exchange of a couple of dollars but he might be
eager for the chance to talk about sports with people
who actually gave a damn.  Meanwhile, he was doing an
expert job with that iron, smoothing out the few stray
wrinkles in a couple of deft passes.

Scully resolved that she would never touch an iron
again.  

Mulder put away the shirt and the ironing board,
leaving the iron to cool.  He still seemed to bristle
with nervous energy.

"Want to watch a video or something?" Scully asked.

Mulder turned and slipped his hand between her legs. 
He stroked gentle circles on her inner thigh as he
gazed into her eyes.

"*Something* would be nice," he murmured.

A half-naked Mulder was a beautiful thing, all toned
muscles and golden skin.  A half-naked Mulder with
sexual energy to burn was beyond beautiful.  She
cupped her hand at the back of his neck, bringing
him down for a kiss.  

Her hands strayed down the smooth expanse of his
back to rest at the waistband of his boxers.  His
mouth was minty, his lips soft and pliant.  He
hummed against her lips as her hands slipped 
down, cupping his bare ass.

Scully had admired her partner's remarkable bottom 
for years, sneaking glances every time he bent
over to pick up a file.  To have access to that
ass was something she continued to marvel at.

"Mine," she said, squeezing the firm flesh. 
"Don't forget that."

"Really?" he laughed as he did a little exploring
of his own.   Her pajamas seemed to be dematerializing
with every passing moment.  Mulder's hands were on
her hips now, pulling her to him.  She felt the hard,
hot length of him pressing against her belly.  

"This is mine, too," she said, slipping a hand 
between them.  With one deft movement, she divested 
him of his boxers.  "In fact, I have plans for it
right now."

"Do tell."  

"Mmmmm," was all she could manage while she put her
plans into action.  "Mmmmm, hmmmmm."

"Sweet fancy Moses," he gasped as she drew him in
deeper.  

Dana Scully may have found her partner frustrating,
even maddening at times, but she always knew she
was a lucky woman to have this complicated, flawed, 
passionate man in her life.  As Mulder pulled her to
her feet, lifted her into his arms and carried her 
to the bed, she reflected on how very lucky she was.

*****************

The sun shown brightly the next morning.  The birds 
sang, the flowers bloomed, the air was fresh and 
sweet.  It was all Scully could do not to whistle
"Oh, What a Beautiful Morning."

She had a bounce in her step as she walked
down the hall to Mulder's basement office--a 
bounce usually seen in people who had been
blessed with a really good sexual experience
the night before.  

"Good morning," she called out cheerily as she  
opened the door.   Only silence greeted her and
her mood deflated just a tiny bit.

Mulder had obviously been here.  The lights
were on and a stack of files teetered on his
desk.  The files had been safely in their 
cabinet when she'd left the office on Friday 
night.   The scent of coffee hung in the air.

She crossed to the small table designated as
her workstation where a folded piece of paper
was taped to her monitor.

   S,
     HR lost half the forms from my doctor
   and they're threatening not to pay me for
   the last 3 wks.  I have entered the 
   Inhuman Non-resource Zone.  If I'm not
   back by lunch you may need to rescue me.
                            M

   PS--this is not a ditch.   

It was a good thing she would feel sorry for
him when he got back from HR or she'd punch
him for the ditch comment.  The really scary 
thing about working on the X-Files wasn't the 
mutants or the men in black or the monsters.  
It was dealing with the wizened little dragon 
in charge of medical disability claims.

Even Skinner was afraid of Ms. Delvecchio.  Scully
remembered him muttering that getting shot in the
stomach was a walk in the park compared to having 
your claim forms worked over by the enforcer.

Scully busied herself with the weekend's email
before taking a few files from Mulder's pile 
for review.   She'd gone through one or two
cases when the phone rang.

"You'll be happy to know I didn't strangle
Ms. Delvecchio this morning." Mulder said
without greeting.

"I'm proud of your self-control.  Everything
straightened out?"

"Sort of.  I still have to get copies of a
couple of forms, but I feel like I dodged
a bullet."

"We should have lunch somewhere nice to 
celebrate," she said. 

"Damn.  I wish I could.  I still have to
get out to the shooting range and requalify.
Noon is the earliest they could fit me in.
I wonder if picturing Ms. Delvecchio's face
in place of the target will improve my
score," he mused.

"It works for me," she replied.

Oh well, she'd have to brave the cafeteria
for lunch, she thought as Mulder hung up.  

Scully grabbed a few more files and sat down
at her desk.  She'd started to make some
notes when the phone rang again.

"Hey Dana," Hugh greeted her.  "I had an
appointment near the Hoover building this
morning.  Any chance I can steal you away 
from 'The Nightstalker' for lunch today?"

She fought the urge to giggle at Hugh's
nickname for Mulder.  Mulder had his own 
endless supply of less than complimentary 
terms for Hugh.

"Just so happens I'm free."

They arranged to meet at an expensive little
bistro a few blocks from the Hoover building.
As she walked to the restaurant, she wondered
how Hugh and Tim were doing.  She also wondered
why Hugh wanted to have lunch alone with her.

"Hello Gorgeous," he said in a Streisandy voice
as she reached the table.  "That's not too 
stereotypically gay, is it?"

She laughed and kissed him on the cheek.  
"How have you been?  How is Tim?" she asked.

It had been a week since she and Mulder had 
dinner at Hugh's.  She'd thought often about 
the two men, wondering how they were managing
in light of their obvious differences.  It 
kept her mind off her own issues with Mulder.

"Tim's improving," he said, fingering the
white linen napkin on his plate. "Getting 
stronger every day."

"And how are you doing?" she asked gently, 
covering his hand with her own.  Something 
told her Hugh's heart was burdened.

"I'm not the one who was shot," he sputtered.

"Sometimes, these things are harder on the 
loved ones.  So, how are you?"

"Confused," he said, staring down at his hands.
"Dana, I...I don't think I'm very good at 
relationships."

"Why do you say that?  Tim loves you very much."

"If he loves me so much, why does he want to move
back to his place?  My god, Dana, it's a cookie-cutter
condo in Arlington--everything in it is beige."

"He probably just misses home," she said as
kindly as she could.  

"No," he responded.  "It's me.  I'm driving him
away."

"I'm sure he just needs his space.  It's hard to
give up that independence when you're used to living
on your own.  Think about it--what if things 
were reversed.  What if you were the one who'd 
gotten hurt and were staying at his place?"

"Dana!  It's not the same thing.  My apartment is
bigger, more comfortable--Tim has one bedroom
and one bath."

"Hugh, I do believe you're a snob," she laughed.

"I am not," he protested.  He glanced out over
the crowded dining room.  "Well...maybe I am. 
I've worked hard for the life I lead.  Am I 
wrong to want to share it with the man I love?"

"Of course not," she said.  "You may be a snob,
but you're one of the most generous people I've
ever met.  It's just...some of us really need
time by ourselves."

"What about you and Mulder.  Is he still staying
with you?"

"Mulder went back to his place as soon as he
could manage it," she replied with a wry smile.
"I think I was driving him crazy.  I *know* he
was getting on my last nerve.  Why do men put
a container holding a tablespoon of milk back 
in the fridge?"

"So we won't have to rinse it out," he replied,
innocent as a baby.

Scully laughed.  "I confess I have a similar trick
regarding rental cars and who gets stuck pumping the
gas."

"Of course you could use the full-service pump and
avoid the problem entirely.  Or would the Macho Police
arrest you?"

"It's not about the macho, it's about the money,"
Scully said, knowing that the explanation would be
lost on him.  To Hugh, dollars were like pennies.

Instead of arguing the point, he changed the subject.

"I don't understand the whole *partnership* thing. 
FBI partners, that is."

"It's a little hard to explain.  It's about loyalty
and trust, but it's not the same for everyone."

"Obviously.  Or Tim would have gone home with Webster."

"You can't blame Webster for Tim's injury.  I've
studied the reports and he's truly not responsible,"
Scully said.

"I don't blame him.  I'm. . . jealous."

Hugh fixed her in his gaze, daring her to dismiss his
concern.  She knew he wasn't jealous of Tim's partner
in the conventional sense.  Webster was straight, a
solid family man devoted to his wife.  Tim had never
given Hugh any cause to question his fidelity.

"He drops in after work, and it's like Tim comes back
to life.  Like he's been waiting all day for this."

"You know the work is important to him, Hugh."

"I can't even understand their conversations.  Tim
says, 'Hey, remember?' And Webster says, 'Oh, yeah.' 
And then they both laugh.  Or sometimes they hardly
talk at all."

"Sounds like a good partnership," Scully said.

"I'm devoted to my work and I enjoy a little shop
talk.  It's not the same, is it?"

Hugh and his colleagues shared stories and
discoveries.  It wasn't about life and death.

"No, it's not.  But it is something that's very
important to you even though it doesn't include Tim,"
Scully said.

"The Websters came for dinner, you know.  What Tim and
Webster discussed I'll never know. I spent the whole
evening talking to Mrs. Webster.  About teeth."

"Teeth?"

"Teeth.  She's a dental hygienist."  

"I see," Scully said.  "So, how does
Mrs. Webster deal with the 'partner thing'?" 

"Why do you assume I asked?"  

"Because I've seen you in action with a scalpel," she
laughed.  "What did Mrs. Webster say?"

"That the partner relationship is what keeps them 
alive."

"Smart woman." 

************

"It's not that I mind going to the doctor," Mulder
began.

Scully sensed a rant coming on.  Mulder would say that
he was totally recovered.  That it was ridiculous for
the FBI to first challenge whether he was entitled to
time off for his injury, and then to challenge his
fitness for duty with equal vigor.  He would complain
about endless hours in the doctor's waiting room, all
for a 5-minute check-up to confirm what he already
knew.

"It's your last visit, Mulder.  Just suck it up and
get it over with," she said.

"Why can't *you* write me a note?" he asked as he put
on his jacket.

"I'm sorry, but I don't take your insurance."

Mulder's whining would have been more annoying if he
wasn't obviously preparing to leave.  

"What about that annual QA summary of resources
utilization?  I really wanted to help you
with that."

"I won't touch it until you get back."

"It will be hours.  Hours and hours.  And dammit, I
was planning to take you to lunch at... What's it
called?  The Wet Hen?"

Mulder hated *The Green Finch,* and Scully liked it,
but that didn't mean she had a fanatic desire to make
him go there.

"I have a luncheon meeting at Quantico.  You can buy
me lunch tomorrow."

"Hours and hours in a waiting room that doesn't even
have any good magazines."

"Take a book.  Good-bye, Mulder."

Even though it would serve him right if she did set
aside the QA summary so that Mulder would have to work
on it with her, Scully decided to finish it.  It
didn't matter what you wrote as long as you created a
pretty spreadsheet.  

She completed the task quickly, surprised how easy it
was without the accompaniment of Mulder's moaning and
groaning.  She even had time to return a few phone
calls before she had to head out to Quantico.

Her meeting there was as dreary and pointless as she
had expected, with the same people saying the same
things they said at every meeting.  The food was the
same too, although everyone pounced on it eagerly. 
Somehow free food, no matter how mediocre, turned
otherwise civilized people into scavenging hyenas.

Even if Mulder was still stuck in the doctor's waiting
room, he couldn't be any more bored than she was. 
Still, she hoped that he wasn't, or he'd wish he had
brought a sandwich instead of a book.

Scully's phone rang while she was chewing on her slice
of Italian 6-foot hero.
 
"Scully," she answered, gulping down her mouthful of
food.

"Hi, *Scully,* it's *Davis.*"  

Hugh Davis was not in the habit of calling her cell
phone during working hours.

"Hugh.  Is everything all right?" she asked.  

"I tried to call Agent Webster, but he's not in the
office.  Do you happen to have his cell number?"

She hesitated before asking the obvious question.

"Why don't you ask Tim?"

"He's not here," Hugh said flatly.

"Oh, Hugh... "

"His things are still here, but I came home for lunch
and he was gone.  I checked the rehab center, his
doctor... "

"Now don't panic," Scully told her old friend. 

"He's not supposed to drive."

"Then maybe he took a cab, or somebody picked him up. 
I'll give Webster a call, but I want you to get a
grip."

She ducked out of the meeting to go back to her
office.  She reached Webster on his cell phone, but he
wasn't with Tim and didn't know where he might be. 
She called Mulder, to see how he fared at the doctor,
but he didn't answer.

Hugh called her again as she was pulling in to the
Hoover parking garage.

"You still couldn't find him?" he asked angrily. 
"You're the goddamn FBI, Dana.  Do something!"

"He's a grown man, Hugh.  You don't have to 
assume the worst."

"He could have passed out.  He could have been 
mugged.  If you're not going to help me I'll 
call Walter Skinner."

"Before you do that, I want you to picture Tim's
reaction when he finds out about it."

"I have to do something!"

"All right.  Meet me in my office and we'll 
figure out a plan."

For the moment she was more concerned about Hugh 
than about Tim.  Tim was merely unaccounted for, 
but Hugh was going off the deep end.  Between 
herself and Mulder, they would have to babysit 
Hugh and somehow locate Tim--without creating 
the kind of fuss that would turn the  young 
agent's career into a farce.

She returned to a Mulder-less office, an 
inconvenience that was magnified when she 
couldn't reach him on his cellular.

Hugh had managed to pull himself together by the 
time he arrived at Scully's office.  He looked 
around the place with a shadow of his normal 
curiosity, then took the visitor's chair, across 
the desk from Scully.

"We are going to find him," he pronounced.

"Yes.  Even though he isn't lost," said Scully.
 
"Where do we start?"

Scully carefully avoided questions about "the last
time you saw him."  

"Tell me about last night," she said.

"Perfectly ordinary night, Dana.  No clues there."

"Okay.  You got home from work... what was Tim doing?"

"Let's see.  I think he was on the phone, talking to
Agent Webster.  To Webster's son, actually.  The boy
needed help with his math homework."

Scully nodded for him to continue.

"He got off the phone.  I had a glass of wine.  He 
had a beer.  We fixed dinner together."

"What did you talk about?"

"Nothing in particular.  Bibb lettuce versus redleaf. 
Imported cheddar or Vermont.  I reminded him about
using the salad shears to trim the lettuce," Hugh
continued.
 
"Sounds pretty ordinary," said Scully.  It sounded
suffocating, but she withheld that opinion.

"Then we had dinner.  He told me he'd made
reservations for our kayaking trip."  

"Kayaking?" she said.  "I thought you were going to 
Hawaii." 

For the first time, Hugh smiled.  "I...ah...I'm trying
to be more flexible.  Tim told me I would have to get
along without my salad shears, since all our gear
would have to fit into a couple of backpacks."

"I have a difficult time picturing you in the
wilderness," Scully said.

"But Tim loves the outdoors.  And... " Hugh's gaze
dropped to the floor, and his voice dropped as well. 
"He's very concerned about who knows we're together. 
A camping trip, a remote location... less chance of
being seen."

"Privacy is important to some people," Scully said,
remembering Mulder's annoyance when she insisted on
driving to Baltimore for their big night out.  

"I'm trying not to take it personally.  I know he
loves me," said Hugh.

"If he goes along with the salad shears, he must."

"Seriously, its been a learning experience for both 
of us.  I never knew I liked Garth Brooks.  Tim 
finally admits that thread count matters.  Dana, I 
bought chips!  I have bags of Doritos and Ruffles 
in my home, and I don't say a word when he eats 
them."

"You don't say anything, but do you make faces?" 
she teased.

"Give me some credit.  I know those things are
garbage, but it's what he wants.  He told me
goat-cheese canapes and NASCAR don't mix."

"We all have our comfort foods," Scully mused.  
"Did he ever mention chili dogs?"

"I made him chili dogs!  I found a recipe for
bratwurst stewed in crushed tomatoes with zucchini,
chilipeppers, and pinto beans," Hugh said.

"Hmm.   I think I know where he might be."

She remembered her mission of mercy, with Agent
Webster, to bring Tim a couple of chili dogs from 
the Shamrock.   

"You know where he is based on bratwurst?"

"Elementary, my dear Davis."

They wouldn't even need a car because the Shamrock 
was just a few blocks away.  

"What if he's not there?" Hugh asked as they walked
along, his long stride forcing Scully into a trot to
keep up.  

"What if he is?" she shot back.

"What are you talking about?  I hope he's there, don't
you?"

"Of course I do.  But I want you to think about how
you're going to act, and what you're going to say."

"I know.  I don't want to make him feel that I don't
trust him, that I don't think he's competent."

"Not only that, Hugh.  Remember where you are."

Hugh stopped in his tracks, and at first Scully
thought he was angry.

"FBI turf.  You go in, I'll wait outside," he said.

"I didn't mean that."

"That's just it, Dana.  I don't know what you meant. 
You and Tim, you talk about discretion and privacy.  I
wish the FBI would issue a rule book, and then I'd
know once and for all how I'm supposed to behave."

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.  
How could she explain to Hugh what was making
less and less sense to her.  What good was privacy
if it strained your private relationships?  Maybe
it was time to come out of the shadows.

"Come on," she said.  "We're almost there."

Scully had no trouble keeping up with him as they
walked the last hundred feet.  A neon shamrock in the
window identified their destination--the sign over the
door said only, "Bar."

They pushed the heavy wooden door open, squinting
into the dark, cavelike interior, temporarily blinded 
after the bright afternoon sunlight outside.   

Scully scanned the clumps of bar patrons, most drinking
beer and eating hot dogs and chili dogs as they 
commented loudly on the game being shown on ESPN.  She'd
always loved the atmosphere here: the unique blend of
comradery, teasing and understanding.  She'd always
felt comfortable here.  Gender, race--none of that 
mattered in the Shamrock.

They spotted Tim sitting at a table.  Hugh stood beside
her, watching him as he laughed at something someone
shouted at the TV.  Tim looked far more relaxed than
Scully had seen him since the shooting.  From his 
tanned face, Scully surmised he'd been spending a lot
of time out on Hugh's terrace.

"He belongs here," Hugh murmurred close to her ear.  
"Look at him.  This is his milieu."

There was a sadness there as if Hugh was finally seeing
the vastness of the gulf between cops and the rest of
the world.

The connection between agents was stronger than blood.  
Scully knew of marriages that were strained by the 
bond of a work partnership.  Humans were capable of
loving many people, but the gift of knowing someone
as no one else knew them was given to only one person
at a time.  When that person was the guy you worked
with, it left little room for the person you slept
with every night.

She and Mulder were lucky--they had it all.  They 
had the unbreakable bond of partnership and the
intimacy of a sexual relationship.  Hugh had to
settle for the part of Tim that didn't belong to
his job. 

"He does belong here," she agreed, taking his hand.
"But he also belongs with you."  She drew him along
as she approached Tim's table.  

Beyond Tim, she spotted a familiar darkly handsome,
slightly demented bundle of energy moving in her
direction.

"Hey Scully," Mulder called as he made his way to the
table, carrying two chili dogs in one hand and two
beers in the other. He placed the food and beers on
the table. "Damn, I forgot to call after the doctor,
didn't I?" 

"Yes, you did," she answered, her voice more tart than
she intended. "It's okay. I wasn't ready to send out
the search party." 

"But I was," Hugh said. 

Tim looked surprised.

"I'm sorry, Hugh, I wish I'd left you a note.  I
didn't think you'd be back before dinner," he said.

Hugh pulled out a chair and sat down.

"I ended up with some free time so I decided to come
home.  Last minute change of plans," he said.  His
anger had dissipated in the face of Tim's simple
explanation.

"This was spur-of-the-moment too.  Mulder called and
said he was coming here for lunch, if I wanted him to
bring me a chili dog," said Tim.

"And he shanghaied me into taking him here instead.  I
even told him he should leave a note," said Mulder.

"Instead of trying to get me into trouble, why don't
you go get another couple of dogs?" Tim suggested.

"Oh, Scully won't want one.  They give her gas,"
Mulder said.

"Extra onions on mine, thanks.  And a couple of cold
ones," Scully said.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," said Mulder, but he
made is way to the bar.

"So this is the famous Shamrock," said Hugh, craning
his neck as he took in the decor.
  
Tim leaned closer to Scully.

"He's imagining the place with recessed lighting and
a granite countertop on the bar."

"If he pulls out a measuring tape we'll just pretend
we don't know him," said Scully.

"Such disrespect."  Hugh shook his head in an
exaggerated show of sorrow.

Mulder returned with their beer and chili dogs,
setting everything on the table before he dropped 
into the seat next to Scully.

"Here you go, Dr. Debonair.  *Boudin noir avec chili
con carne.*"

"How's that arm, Mulder?  Ready for some tennis?"
asked Hugh pointedly.

"How is your arm?" Scully asked suddenly.  "What did
the doctor say?"

"Clean bill of health," he answered, flexing his
muscle "Popeye" style. "Arm is back in working order."

"Great," said Hugh brightly.  "I'll reserve a court
for Saturday morning."

"I may have other plans for him," Scully said
reaching, out to take Mulder's hand. His eyes opened a
little wider.  It wasn't the first time  they had held
hands in the Shamrock, but it was the first time
they'd done it above the table.  

"Scully?" he said, giving her hand a squeeze as if to
remind her what they were doing.

"What the hell," she said, squeezing back.  
 
"Brave move, Agent Scully," said Mulder.   

"Let me understand this," Hugh said, shaking his
head.  "Dodging bullets is part of the job.  Holding 
hands is brave."

"'Brave' is different for each of us.  Sometimes brave
is just living life on your own terms."  Mulder slid a
glance in her direction.  "Not worrying about what other 
people think."  

"You know what would be brave?" Tim asked.  "I want to
see Hugh taste his chili dog."

Hugh eyed the plate Tim pushed at him with suspicion.  
Finally, he lifted a chili dog, holding it before him as 
if it was a sacrificial offering.  With a nod to Tim, he 
took a cautious bite.  

"Ith na bad," he mumbled as he chewed.

"Mikey likes it," Mulder laughed.  
  
Hugh closed his eyes mid-chew, a look of intense 
concentration on his face.  He cocked his head to
the side.

"Fresh jalapenos, and the cilantro is fresh too. 
Garlic, shallots, red wine vinegar, and I believe I
detect a hint of nutmeg--very clever."  He burped
loudly.  "Dana, pass me a brew."

The End