From: 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.   
      
      
   Shadows in the Starlight (part 4)   
      
   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."   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)