TITLE: "Back To Normal" 
BY: Ten
E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au

CATEGORY: MSR, A, MT, S
RATING: PG-13 for intestinal stuff and adult stuff
SUMMARY: After months of repressing their fears and
feelings about her condition, Scully is in remission and
things can go back to normal. But how do both partners
react when Mulder gets sick?
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Post "Redux II". Mentions:
"Demons", "Host", "Anasazi", "Tooms", "End Game".

THANKS: to Suzanne Bickerstaffe for giving me the med
facts on my latest Mulder-affliction (and for putting up
with daily e-mails for the last millennia, asking just
'one more' question...), and to Frogdoggie for giving me
the insight from the POV of the sufferer. And also to
Debbie and Ainon, always, for editing 'just one more
draft'.

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder and
Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions
and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be
gained.


The X-Files: "Back to Normal" (1/3)
by Ten, Dec 97 - July 98, posted July


Dana Scully never thought she'd love paperwork so much.
But here she was, filling out form after form and barely
able to keep a grin off her face.

She was alive. The cancer was in remission. Even doing
the most tedious task was a source of enjoyment.

She did not know how long this wonderful feeling would
last. She would do her best, though, to remember it
forever. For now she would marvel that she could work
such a long stretch without feeling dead-in-the-chair
tired or having a nosebleed. Not having to cover how
drained she was.

Which was just as well, because there was a lot to get
through on her first day back at work after her hospital
stay and Mulder's "suicide" and their leaves of absence -
her leave had naturally been longer. On desk duty, Scully
offered to do as much paperwork as possible, eager to get
back into the swing of things, to show herself and Mulder
that she was fine.

"Back to normal." She grinned at him in delight.

He'd accepted with a shrug and gone to his desk to check
over the parts of the follow-up reports which needed his
input. After all, most of the legwork on the case was
his. And the evidence she gathered before her collapse
was gone. Big surprise. But the repercussions were still
going through the Bureau. The Director was instigating
widespread internal investigations after the revelation
of Section Chief Blevins' corruption.

She rose slightly in her seat to check out her partner's
progress. Sometime in the last hour Mulder must have
needed to confirm a fact and disappeared down onto the
floor behind his desk to check out the bottom drawer of a
filing cabinet. At least that's what she assumed he was
doing because he'd been silent all morning apart from
some muted coughing. He must have struck the files that
stayed undusted since Hoover first started working here.
The quiet helped her concentrate as she marvelled how
fast she worked through her in-tray.

Mulder had not resurfaced. She couldn't hear any
shuffling of files. "Mulder? Mulder, do you want some
coffee?"

Nothing. She stood up and craned her neck. Then she saw
his reflection in one of the glass panels of a cabinet.
His head was bowed, body slumped against the cabinet
door.

"Mulder?" Scully went around her desk, feeling uneasy
even as her brain told her he'd just fallen asleep.

He was sitting with a lapful of folders, some in danger
of falling off. His arms were lying across his chest. His
eyes were closed. /He looks so cute.../

"Mulder?" she said softly, coming to squat beside him.

"Mmmm?" His head rolled forwards.

She didn't want to wake him, but this couldn't be a
comfortable position. He needed rest and she intended to
make sure he got it. She would send him home and cover
for him for the rest of the day. Normality indeed!

A folder fell off his lap. Scully's hands shot out, one
to catch it, one to come down between the back of her
partner's head and the cabinet as a buffer. Just in time
as he woke and jumped, startled.

"What?" he gasped. His eyes darted to her face and around
in confusion.

"It's okay. You just -" She caught a good look at his
eyes. They seemed very bright. Was it just a reflection
of the fluorescent lights? His breathing was fast - it
could be just from the fright... And his face seemed...

Scully reached out to feel his forehead, brushing his
bangs aside.

Mulder grimaced and tried to shift away, but found he was
blocked. Cabinet at his back, open file drawer to his
right, Scully both to his left and leaning over him. No,
he just wanted to be left alone...

"Mulder, you're sick! You've got a temperature. A high
one." Scully clicked easily back into Doctor mode. "God,
why on earth did you come in to work today?"

That made him see red. Not just red hair either. How dare
she... He tried to shake her hand off, but it was
attached like a limpet. As if the headache he had wasn't
bad enough. And this damn coughing - which he was
refusing to do because it hurt.

"Scully, leave me alone," he growled, failing to move her
back enough to get up. He had no energy. "So I fell
asleep in the office; not exactly a hangable offence."

He was relieved when she did pull back. The relief lasted
two seconds.

"Sit down in your chair - I'm going to get my thermometer
and some aspirin. Then I'll take you home."

"No!" The need to cough jumped him again. A few escaped
his grip and stabbed his lungs. He kept them as mute as
he could, trying not to let it show on his face.

Scully sighed, with an inward grin. It was a ritual. Him
getting a cold or such and denying it and them going
through the same old lines until he saw reason and went
home. "Mulder, don't argue with me. You can't be at work
in this condition. You need to go home and rest."

Anger surged him to his feet - right arm subconsciously
going across his chest to brace his ribs - but somehow he
was able to hold the fury off his tongue for long enough
to reason. "I just have a touch of the flu, okay? That's
all. *I'm fine*," he said very pointedly. He could feel
long months of anguish and resentment strain to be
released.

Scully shook her head as she rummaged in her desk
drawers. "No you're not. Stop being so stubborn."

"I am not being stubborn." His voice was deadly quiet. He
watched with satisfaction as it stopped her in her
tracks. "I'm going by *your* rules. But you aren't, are
you, Agent Scully? Your rules conveniently alter
depending on who's sick." The strain and fever focused
his anger completely on her and frothed over. "HOW DARE
YOU lecture me, how dare you order me around about my
health. I wasn't allowed to fuss over you," he snapped.
"I'm not deathly ill; if any fluid comes out of my nose
it isn't going to be blood. You stayed at work while you
WERE DYING, dammit!" The words, like his headache, just
wouldn't stop.

Scully's mouth opened and closed without sound. What had
happened to their script? She recovered slightly,
trembling. "Mulder... I'm a doctor. I know the limits of
the human bo-"

"But you never obeyed the orders of your own. Being a
doctor exempts you from that, does it? Stops me from
being allowed to care and share? Well, excuse me for not
getting a medical degree. Excuse me for thinking that I
had enough qualifications *as a friend*."

She was edging around her desk towards him slowly,
bewildered and scared. Her hand was out cautiously, as if
they were back at the summer house and he was holding his
gun. "I wasn't that sick - I mean, the symptoms didn't
keep me from working..."

"Those times after you had the treatments - did you
seriously think that I believed you were just going to
the lady's room to powder your nose?" He was sardonic,
leaning heavily against his chair. "You were throwing
your guts up. You were coming back too soon from the
treatments, but *rest*? Oh no! What an alien concept! You
had a facade to keep up. A partner to keep at arm's
length. What about if you'd gotten worse? The tumour
swelling, distorting your face, ballooning your neck
out." He choked. "I'm sick of it, Scully. I'm sick of you
keeping it all from me. Protecting me just made me go to
others to find out what was happening to you."

"Mulder, please sit down. Just sit down and stay calm.
I'll -"

He began reciting a relentless list of facts about her
type of tumour.

"Mulder, stop it!" she cried, frantic.

He let out several large coughs, wincing and digging his
fingers into the back of the chair. "Y'know what?" he
suddenly asked, looking at her almost calmly.

"What?" she asked hopefully, eyeing him warily.

"You know that joke we have? About all the times I get
discharged from Georgetown?"

"Yeah, of course." In her mind's eye she saw countless
reenactments of their departures down the hallways of
whatever unit he'd landed himself in. The staff - whom
they were on first name basis with - would always wave
and say "See you soon, Mulder." Patients would do the
same. They bet about how long it would be until he turned
up again. The short term ones shook their head in
amazement at meeting the man behind all the legends.

And on his departure day, all the newbies were firmly
told the Rule: At Georgetown no one ever said goodbye to
Fox Mulder.

"Eloise said goodbye to me."

"Eloise?"

"The Lady of the Garden."

So that was her name. Mulder's wheelchair journeys to
freedom usually took him down a covered walkway that
showed some of the hospital garden. Out past the glass
was a wrought iron garden bench. And its habitual
occupant in good weather: a woman in her twenties,
dressed in baggy casuals, who obviously revelled in the
sunshine. She never failed to look up and smile and
salute in a becomingly impish way. They'd never actually
met - and by the time he was in the chair heading for
freedom he always wanted to get out as soon as possible -
but the partners found themselves always going slow down
the walkway as part of the ritual. Mulder and Scully were
never sure if she was the relative of a long term patient
or was herself there for outpatient treatment. Scully
tried to unobtrusively look for telltale pallor and
thinness, but the ten metre distance, the clothes and the
sunshine were shields.

Mulder parroted on. "I went to Georgetown... I had
questions to ask Dr Chatwin about the information he gave
me on your condition. He didn't give me *your* medical
file - he couldn't have anyway, and you went to a
separate hospital for all that - but I mean on your type
of tumour. I went down the walkway and it was a sunny day
and Eloise wasn't there. Now that didn't necessarily mean
anything, I mean, why should she be there? She can't sit
there all day. And it's actually been a while, amazingly,
since I was a patient. But I just got this feeling. And I
got scared. I asked Claire..." Claire was a nurse who was
in her forties and doted on Mulder like he was an adopted
son.

"Claire was all upset. All the nurses were. Eloise was in
the final stages of..." He swallowed and shook his head.
"She was in her room and they expected her to pass away
at any time. She didn't have any family; a nurse was with
her. I asked if I could see her."

Scully stood next to him. She didn't dare say anything.
She didn't want to interrupt him. But she did gently put
her hand on his arm.

"Claire checked and came back and took me to her room.
Eloise was so skeletal... I couldn't believe it was
her... I wanted to scoop her up and race back to the
garden to put her in the sun so she'd bloom again... She
opened her eyes and smiled at me. She said she knew I
would come. She thanked me for being with her. She tried
to salute but she was too weak, so she said goodbye. She
wasn't supposed to say that!" Distressed, Mulder kept
talking in the same flat voice, tears running down his
face as he shrugged her hand off and went for a pace
around his desk.

"And I was there watching her and I couldn't make myself
say anything and all I was thinking of as this woman
looked up at me, entrusting me with her last minutes, was
that I was wasting time! That I should be off doing my
research and hunting down a cure for you. That this shell
on the bed was a fast forward to you in several months'
time. But you never would have let me get that close,
would you? You would have rather crawled off somewhere
and died than shown me."

"Mulder - I didn't want to say goodbye to you either...
Not then; not ever. That's why I -"

"And now we're back to 'normal'," he spat out hoarsely,
managing to clamp down on more coughing. "Months of pain
just dismissed and filed away like a report. Over. Your
well-being is none of my business. Fine. Accepted. SO
JUST BUTT OUT ABOUT MY HEALTH!!!!"

The yelling drove the pain through his skull. He clutched
at his head as his tolerable headache momentarily
redefined itself as agony.

Scully rushed forwards.

"Don't touch me!" He hurried away to rip his coat off the
stand and opened the door. Skinner stood there.

Mulder blanched, then recovered. "Yes, sir?"

The A.D.'s eyes darted from him to Scully and back and
appeared to make a judgement. "I came to welcome Agent
Scully back and ask about the estimated completion time
of the reports," Skinner explained carefully.

"Well, I'm sure that Special Agent Scully is more than
qualified to accept your welcome and to answer any of
your questions about the reports. I'm not. I'm on sick
leave." His voice was caustic as he marched past Skinner.

"Mulder, please -" Scully couldn't remember being more
frightened as she begged. "- don't drive. You're not -"

Her partner halted in the hallway, staring at nothing.
"Please inform Agent Scully that I will get a taxi."
Mulder headed off.

Scully went to follow him, but Skinner held up his hand.
He stepped into the office and closed the door. "You can
follow him in a few minutes, but I need to speak to you."
He sighed and lifted his glasses to rub the bridge of his
nose. "How sick is he? I would have reamed him out for
his behaviour, but even I could tell he's bad."

"I think he's got the flu and everything that's happened
has made it worse." As she spoke, Scully was gathering up
as much of the reports as she had so far, as well as her
purse and coat. Stinging tears made the motions harder.
"Um, here... If you have any questions, please use my
cell number. I have to go after him."

Skinner accepted the folders, but he wasn't finished. "I
wanted to see you in private first thing this morning;
unfortunately I was called in to see the Director again
about the Blevins suicide fallout. He's studying what I
gave him, and after that he may want to call me in again
sometime today with you and Mulder - as well as one of
the Deputy Directors - to hear your updates." He
hesitated, then plunged in. "Did you know I served in
'Nam, Scully?"

"Yes." Not that she cared at this moment.

"When I and my surviving buddy finished our tour, we
couldn't wait to get back home. To stop wearing the
combat gear and the weapons...just to throw ourselves
back into suburbia and forget. But we couldn't. We were
too changed. A backfiring car exhaust had us hitting the
deck. What we'd been through wouldn't let us alone in our
heads. It affected us and spread to our families too,
because they didn't know how to deal with us. Or help us.
And we weren't inclined to let them because how could
they know? They weren't there. *We* experienced it. But
they still suffered all the same."

She nodded her understanding and thanks. Skinner stared
at her then left.

Her mind was reeling, but everything was insignificant
compared with catching up with Mulder. Scully was about
to head out when the phone rang. She answered, hoping it
was Mulder at the front desk, having seen the error of
his ways. Knowing their luck though, it would be the
security guard at the front desk, having seen her sick
partner keel over.

It was the Director. He wanted to see Mulder and her in
an IMMEDIATE meeting, just like Skinner had predicted -
right down to his own expected attendance - and the
Director was not happy to be told that Mulder was
unavailable. There was no way she could get out of it.
She had to deliver their side of events. This was
important to the X-Files, to all they'd suffered through.
Oh God, what could she do? When he hung up, Dana dialed a
familiar number.

"Lone Gunmen."

Dana didn't care if the tape was on or not. "Langly, it's
Scully."

"Hey! How's it going?"

"Falling apart all around me... I need a big favour." She
explained about Mulder's condition.

"Uh oh. You want us to check the soft water tanks at his
apartment?"

"No. This is different." She told them about him storming
out, and her urgent meeting. "Can one of you please go to
his apartment and wait for him? Look after him until I
can come? Make up some excuse. I'll be as fast as I can."
/I'm being completely overprotective. He's not going to
keel over yet. Why am I doing this? I hope it's nothing.
He can ream me out about it later. But he's never been so
angry at me before... He really isn't well./ And her
senses were screaming at her, tugging at her to go to
Mulder.

* * * *

Mulder eased out of the taxi, careful not to dislodge his
head or ribs. He automatically paid the driver and made
it up the front steps. It felt like the night he'd caught
Krycek snooping around. He'd almost welcome Krycek coming
and blowing his brains out now if it would stop the pain.

Letting out all that rage felt damn good. But pain had
rushed in to fill the void it left. And his words hurt
Scully. But she was hurting him!

In his apartment he headed for the couch, then halted.
No. He would show Doctor Scully he could take care of
himself. He'd go get a jug of water and aspirin and a
bucket and actually put himself to bed.

/I must really be sick.../ he thought. /No, the only
thing I'm sick of is her attitude. This whole nightmare./

Necessities gathered, he crawled into bed and pulled the
covers over his head. Cold. Then he had to throw them
aside as his stomach lurched and the bucket was needed.
He dug his hands into the mattress to brace himself. His
head felt like it was a planet orbiting his body. As for
his chest...once more he fought the urge to cough.

Revolted, Mulder washed his mouth out and took an
aspirin, hoping it would stay down as he tried to settle.
He rolled back and forth for a minute, trying to find a
less painful way to lie, shivering and waiting for the
medication to take effect. He considered his partnership.

For months he'd wanted Scully cured and the darkness to
end... Why wasn't everything all right now? He tried to
think back to a time, pre-cancer, when everything had
been all right. He was alarmed when he couldn't come up
with one.

"No...no, that can't be..." He whimpered. Suddenly he
couldn't breathe and his body was too hot.

Too hot. That was it. He surged to his feet, bumped
against the bucket, and fumbled for his socks. He could
fix this. Everything would be all right.

* * * *

The second she was out the Director's door, Scully got
out her cellular and dialled Mulder's apartment. Frohike
answered.

"Is he okay?" she asked immediately.

"Um...he's not here. He obviously was, for a little
while, unless this is leftover from this morning..."

"Frohike, what are you talking about?"

"His bed's been slept in. There's a jug of water & some
aspirins, and a bucket. He's vomited. It was warm."

"You checked the vo-" Scully asked, incredulous, before
he cut her off.

"I mean the bed. So I must've just missed him. I tried
his cell phone; zip. Then I phoned the guys and they're
out looking in his spots. Unless he snuck back to the
office."

"I'll check that out now. Can you stay there until we
find him?"

"Not a problem. I know where all the good viewing
material is."

"That's good to know..."

"Hey, he doesn't just gaze at Celebrity Skin," Frohike
leapt in to defend his pal. "He's got this great shot of
you in a swimsuit he keeps mooning over - uh, bye!"

* * * *

This was better. Mulder stumbled up the short flight of
steps, fumbling with his keys. As he laboriously tried to
get the key in the lock he became faintly aware of eyes
watching him. Mrs Bourke from number thirty-two was
eyeing him, half in concern, half warily. "You okay,
dear?"

"I will be," he assured her, feeling breathless.

He got through the door and stopped in Dana's kitchen for
more water. Then he went into her bedroom and pulled his
trenchcoat and shoes off. He didn't bother removing any
more clothes - just lifting up the comforter and sheets
was like hefting a whale. He fell in - /Ouch.../ - and
belatedly realised he should have got a bucket. Oh well,
he didn't feel like being sick again just yet.

Actually, he was going cold again. Did that mean he was
doing this wrong? Should he have gone back further? Cold
- Alaska? But he'd barely made it to her apartment -
there was no way he could make it back to Deadhorse!

No; he would stay here for a while. Give the magic time
to work.

He lay shivering and drifting in and out for an age.
Where *was* she? Then another solution came to him.

* * * *

Scully was beyond frantic. He wasn't in his office, he
wasn't in his car in the FBI parking garage, and a guard
confirmed he had called a taxi from the front desk. She
headed for her home. She didn't think he would be there
though - he'd make it clear enough he wanted her to leave
him alone. /That was the fever talking, Dana./ She bit
her lip. /The fever making him tell the truth...to tell
what he's bottled up./ But she didn't know where else to
look.

Cold wind blew as she pulled up at her apartment. It was
freezing. Scully wasted no time getting into the
building.

Her heart actually hurt as she stared at the rumpled,
empty bed. "Mulder, what are you doing?" Then she saw the
discarded trenchcoat. /Oh God, he can't be out there in
just his suit jacket.../ Quickly she searched the rest of
her apartment. He was gone.

She hovered in the front doorway, struggling not to burst
into tears. Where on earth else could she look?

"He left a while ago, dear."

Scully whirled to find a worried Mrs Burke. "He was here?
When? Was he okay?"

"He didn't look at all well, Dana. He was mutterin' away
to himself."

"Mrs Burke, this is very important. Did you hear anything
of what he said?"

* * * *

Yes, this was much better than her apartment. How stupid
he'd been. Mulder sat and let the wind eat at his burning
body. This was the place. She'd probably already come
looking for him here. This place didn't have the bad
times which were the cause of all this. They hadn't
touched it with their darkness. It was safe and would
heal them. He just had to wait for her.

"Mulder!"

He smiled as she ran towards him. She was clutching his
trenchcoat like a security blanket.

"Mulder, thank God!" Dana charged towards the bench, not
focused on the Potomac visage, but the hunched figure
which the wind threatened to pick up and carry off. She
threw the coat over his front like a blanket and put a
hand to his forehead. "Oh, God..." Hell, if she was
wearing a ring on that hand, it would be melting. His
temp had to be at least 104 - dangerously courting
convulsions. It was a wonder he was still conscious.
"Hang on, Mulder, I'm here. I'll calling the ambulance."

Mulder shivered, his smile fading. "You're not her.
You're not doing it right..."

"Mulder, it's me, Scully! It's going to be okay."

"No! The real Scully knows the line! She knows how this
goes. You stay away from me!" He began coughing - awful
wracking coughs. Each one seemed as painful as a gunshot
wound.

Scully was trying to dial 911 as well as hold him down
and keep the coat across him and work out what on earth
he meant by 'line'. "You're sick," she started to
explain. Then in a flash of clarity, she realised what he
meant. Had it been so long she'd forgotten?

"Is this seat taken?" she asked as a tear ran down her
face, almost turning to ice.

"No, this isn't working! You're not her! I have to go
back further - the half-way house!" He scrambled to rise,
but Scully pinned him to the bench, all but sitting in
his lap to weigh him down with her smaller frame.

He kept rambling hoarsely about the 'half-way house' as
she made her 911 call.

"Everything will be all right if I can go back there..."

"What house, Mulder?"

"I'll get it right this time, Scully. I'll let you call
me Fox. That's the key," he told her perfectly seriously.
"That's where we went wrong... We'll go back to Tooms."
Then he was overtaken by more coughing.

"Oh, Mulder, we're going to be all right. I'll be fine as
long as you are, so you have to get well for me." She
wrapped her arms around him. It was like embracing a
furnace.

/This isn't the flu... Not with such a high temp.../

As the ambulance siren cut through the wind, his
shivering became convulsions.

* * * *


Bacterial pneumonia.

Dana sat at Mulder's side in Georgetown Hospital. Since
bacterial lung infections are highly contagious, he had
been placed in an isolation room - everyone going in had
to be masked, gowned, gloved, and so on.

His temperature would not drop below 104, despite a
cooling blanket and ice packs and fans and Scully bathing
his face. A central line IV provided him with fluids and
nutrition rather than risking a tube down into his
stomach which could be vomited or coughed up. A cannula
could not provide him with enough oxygen, so it was being
given via mask, as well as aerosolized medication to
break up the gunk in his left lung. Antibiotics were
having no effect. The fever was sucking him away from
her.

/He doesn't want to live.../ But there had been no more
convulsions - no damage to his brain. Yet.

This was horrible. There was an invader in his body she
could do nothing to stop. In the space of a few days she
was experiencing all the agony he must have felt in
watching her all those months.

When Dana had first glanced over his hospital chart, she
nearly dropped it.

"What is it?" Claire asked.

"That can't be right - that can't be his weight! He can't
have lost that much..." Then the memory of the scarecrow
frame she held on the bench came to her.

She lifted the sheets and the gown and saw for herself.
He was so thin. All that light-yet-firm muscle his
jogging and swimming had built up was gone. She couldn't
believe it

"He can't have lost that much just since the infection
set in..."

For just how long had he been sick? After her discharge
from hospital, Scully had stayed at her mother's to
recuperate. Mulder came over occasionally - busy trying
to juggle the work that two usually did. But he phoned
daily. Scully cursed herself; she'd been so wrapped up in
the joy of living again, of regaining strength, of seeing
Mulder - but not REALLY seeing him, not looking closely
enough to see any signs. A little voice told her that
this was understandable, but she ruthlessly knocked it
aside. Her evidence against herself lay right before her,
shivering and moaning her guilt.

Some pneumonia strains did sap at a person's energy and
body over a long period of time. /God, Mulder, I totally
failed you... I'm so sorry.../

The x-rays to check his lung congestion showed that his
ribs were intact - Mulder literally could have broken
them coughing. Even though they weren't, Scully
remembered him trying to resist coughing because of the
pain - which had allowed the infection to stay in his
lungs and make things worse. /Why didn't I realise? The
way he was favouring his ribs.../

He mumbled a lot in his delirium, but she couldn't make
out many words. And the ones she did catch didn't make
any sense. Mulder kept drifting in and out, his eyes
eerie-bright and blank, showing no recognition of her
whatsoever. He was responding more to the hauntings of
his fevered brain and the need to cough than to her
voice.

She felt every one of his painful coughs, not in her own
lungs, but in her heart. He still had just enough
strength to bring up the gunk himself during his "in"
times, but they were getting fewer. The longer he
remained at this temperature, the weaker he became. In
the "out" times the nurses suctioned him, or the
respiratory therapists did it during treatments - a more
efficient means to clear the stuff out of his lungs. A
procedure Scully made sure she did not witness. She
couldn't make herself leave Mulder at those times, but it
was so unpleasant that she held his hand and stared
fixedly at the wall, talking under her breath to shut out
the noises.

Dr. Pitley was the recipient of her galloping emotions.
"He's on the wrong antibiotic! It's not doing any good!"

"Agent Scully, our hands are tied until we get a culture
and sensitivity back from the lab. Forty-eight hours'
wait - as you know. Then we'll know exactly what we're
dealing with and what to use."

Dana bristled. She could look intimidating even behind a
mask.

"Until then, we have to go with my educated guess on what
antibiotic to use. This one is broad spectrum -"

"And my educated guess, also as a doctor, is that it is
NOT working! It's been nearly two days and look at him!
It's a wonder that gown hasn't burst into flames!"

Her tirade was interrupted by Mulder beginning to cough
again. But he couldn't cough very well any more. His arms
flailed weakly, hands opening and closing in his struggle
to get this alien out of his lungs.

"I'm here, Mulder, I'm here."

"I'll call -" Pitley began.

"No! Just wait - I think he can get this lot out by
himself." /Come on, Mulder, co-operate, or you're going
to be suctioned again.../

She slipped the oxygen mask off her partner, fortunately
was able to rouse him enough to help him, held the curved
bowl, and swallowed hard in revulsion as he got rid of
the crud. But as the hours went by she was beginning to
desensitise to this aspect of it. She had no choice.

She sighed in relief at the avoidance of suction. Though
it was only a matter of time before the therapist would
come back in to check on him, and do what had to be done.

"Agent Scully," the Doctor's voice was kinder now, less
frustrated. "How long has it been since you had a break?"

She kept cleaning Mulder up and ignored him.

"We'll take good care of him - you trust Claire, don't
you? At least go down to the Doctors' lounge and lay on a
cot for a few hours."

"Thanks for the offer, I'll keep it in mind." Both knew
she wouldn't.

"Dana - you're still recovering yourself -"

"Go away," she snapped.

Pitley sighed and exited.

* * * *

She dreamed.

She stormed the labs and held them at gunpoint, demanding
that the technicians ignore all the other samples and do
her partner's RIGHT NOW. Then when she tried to leave to
find the correct antibiotic, the halls became a maze. A
maze with Pentagon symbols emblazoned on the doors. She
searched and searched, running out of time. A huge room
full of filing cabinets. Full of little white cards like
a giant library.

She found "Mulder, FW". She followed the serial number it
gave, and in an archive box located a chip in a little
metal tube. His antibiotic.

But she couldn't find the way out.

* * * *

Upon waking, she cried and cradled his burning head.

He moaned and mumbled, "Tooms..." then lapsed back into a
stupor.

That set her thinking. Just what had he tried to do?
Going to his apartment, then hers, then the bench... They
hadn't used the latter since before her abduction - when
he'd been thinking about leaving, quitting. Just like
now. And now it would be even more than a professional
loss if he left. A few days ago on the bench he was all
set to race off to that 'half-way house'. Tooms.

The halfway house Tooms stayed at after his release from
prison. The one Mulder watched on his three day sleep
deprivation stakeout. Where he brushed aside her attempt
to call him Fox.

Was the fever making him regress?

* * * *

As Scully battled for his life on the outside, Mulder's
mind and body had two different missions of their own.
His body was reacting independently, trying to make him
cough like hell because the desire to get the garbage out
of his lungs was strong enough to overtake all else.

Mulder's mind, on the other hand, didn't know or care
what his body was doing on his behalf. He was seeking
what he couldn't find and growing more and more
despondent.

* * * *

Bill Scully Jr halted in the doorway. Maggie saw his
surprise, and stopped too instead of rushing over to her
daughter. Dana didn't even register their presence. She
was in the middle of tending to Mulder.

At first all Bill could see was how pale his sister
looked - from what he could see of her face - and he
cursed her partner to Hell. The last thing his family
needed was more trips to the hospital. Then he looked at
Mulder. In his job, Bill had ridden giant waves with a
cast-iron stomach, but when he saw what Fox Mulder was
coughing up, he longed for some seasickness pills.

What he also saw was how his sister was tending to this
family-destroyer, all her emotion focused on the man she
knew was inside that feverish body, detaching herself
from the awful stuff she had to clean off him. There was
devastation in her eyes as she softly rested her covered
cheek on his forehead, murmuring.

He had seen the same look on Mulder's face outside Dana's
hospital room - back when it seemed it would be her
deathbed. Had seen it, but didn't register it when he was
so angry.

His sister and her partner hadn't slept together yet -
apparently - but their devotion to each other staggered
him as he finally realised the extent of it. What had he
said to Mulder? Something like: "She's only trying this
crazy cure because she doesn't want to disappoint you."
To keep on with her part in his precious "work". But it
wasn't to do with the job or disappointing Mulder at all.
It was to stay with him. She had been uncertain about her
faith, but never about him - his insistence that she
would live, just like after her abduction, giving her
someone to want to fight to stay with.

And he had found that chip. Saved her.

Maggie looked at her son and her eyes said: /Now you
know.../

Scully realised these two latest gowned figures weren't
med staff. "Mom? Bill? What are you doing here?" She came
over to hug her mother.

"Dana, you had us scared." After a few seconds Maggie
stepped back slightly from the embrace. "I hadn't heard
from you for the last few days, and I knew A.D. Skinner
wouldn't send you out in the field yet. You weren't
answering at work or your phone and neither was Fox. Bill
had my car and when he came back I was determined to go
to your apartment or the office and find out what was
going on. I had a nap while I waited...and I dreamed
about Fox... I knew...then the A.D. rang - he's worried
about you both."

"He said you've been with Mulder day and night," Bill
said, his voice beginning to regain some of the anger
he'd been nursing on the drive. Someone had to think
about his sister's health, especially if she wasn't.

Maggie continued: "The second Bill drove into sight I had
him bring me to Georgetown."

Bill couldn't keep quiet. "Dana, if you get whatever he's
got, you could -"

"As you can see, precautions are being taken. And my
immunity is okay again, otherwise I wouldn't have been at
work. That's what my leave time was for. I'm back to
normal." She realised what she said and nearly broke
down. "I'm *not* leaving him. I'm sorry, Mom, I just
forgot to contact you... He's been so ill..."

"What with?" Maggie held Mulder's hand and tried not to
flinch at the heat obvious through the glove. /Why didn't
I see he wasn't well? I was so glad about Dana, and
focused on her...and when he visited I'd leave them alone
to spend time together.../

"Pneumonia - bacterial - we still don't know exactly what
type."

"But once they know what type, the right antibiotics will
fix him up, won't they?" Bill asked. So that's why Mulder
looked so sick now - he just wasn't on the right stuff
yet. "Pneumonia's very curable, isn't it?"

Scully's voice was barely audible. "It still accounts for
37% of hospital deaths in general."

"Honey, don't say such things..." Maggie was alarmed that
Dana was showing such despondency and expressing it in
front of Fox.

"He can't hear me. Or he won't. He's not listening to
me," she said dully.

Before Maggie could ask what her daughter meant, the
doctor came in. Scully introduced her family and saw the
file he was carrying. "The test results?"

"Yes." Dr Pitley glanced at Maggie and Bill.

"They can stay," Dana said firmly. "Tell me."

"The bacteria is pneumocystis carinii..."

"What?" She stared at Mulder. Out of all the strains he
could have gotten, that was one she and the staff *never*
would have bet on.

"Which leads me to think we had better take a blood test
-"

"He does NOT have HIV!" Dana cried angrily.

"HIV?" Bill couldn't work out the leap from pneumonia to
THAT all of a sudden. "Why HIV?"

"Pneumocystis carinii - generally only AIDS patients get
it...or others that are really immunosuppressed. Oh,
Mulder..." she whispered, worrying his hair, then she
flared at the doctor again. "He is not HIV positive!"

Pitley shifted uncomfortably. "Dana, we're going to have
to check. I'm sure he doesn't do drugs and that he
practises safe sex..." Well, one would think the guy did,
but of course he couldn't be 100% sure about Fox Mulder's
private life - he didn't dare be so undiplomatic in front
of Scully though. "However, there are other ways of
contraction to consider - like blood transfusions and how
often you and he are around dead bodies and blood stains
and being cut with knives and such in your job."

"It's because he's so run down, that's all!" She winced
at her last word. "'All'... God, his weight...he let
himself go - no eating, working himself to death, no
sleep -"

"You can't be sure of that -" Bill began.

"He's fallen victim to something that the body usually
fights off. He blamed himself for my cancer, my nearly
dying...plus the loss of his faith - just when I got mine
back... All this time..." His own death wish had
gradually turned off his immune system.

Pitley said, "Now that we know how immunosuppressed he
is, this will now be reverse isolation - precautions to
prevent him catching something from someone else.
Protective gear still stands."

Maggie drew in a deep breath, watching Fox struggling to
do the same. Her mask felt cloying. "All right, you're
going to check for AIDS. He does have this pneumonia - is
there an antibiotic for it?"

"Yes."

"Then I suggest you give it to him. My son will take Dana
home for a rest - YES, Dana, he will - while I sit with
Fox." Her voice was that mix of gentle and firm that only
a mother could manage.

"Mom - I can't expect you to -"

"I know how important he is to you, how much he loves
you. Don't you know how important that makes HIM to ME?
When he gets better, he'll want you there, not in a
hospital bed of your own from being worn out. You're not
at full strength yet - let's do shifts as a compromise.
I'm not foolish enough to suggest that you stay away
entirely."

"Mom..." Dana's voice was tiny. "What if he does have
HIV?"

"He doesn't. We're going to get him better. And when he
comes home, I'm going to look after you both and cook
huge meals to fatten you up, with lots of his
favourites..."

"For now though, we'll keep giving him the TPN." Pitley
gestured at the IV.

Scully saw Bill's blank look and automatically supplied
the explanation as the doctor summoned a nurse and gave
orders about the antibiotics. "Total Parenteral
Nutrition. It rests his system - no digestion necessary.
It does have a possible risk of infection though."

Pitley heard her say that. "He's in such bad shape that
we've got no choice - he has to have his nutritional
needs addressed."

Scully just nodded, a brittle figure, staring down at her
partner.

Bill frowned at the doctor for dragging this out. "But
you should already know if he's got AIDS or not. The test
is standard upon ER admittance, isn't it?"

Scully gave a humourless laugh. "They SHOULD routinely
check, but they don't. Unless hospital staff get stuck
with a needle or they have reason to think that the
patient could have HIV. Here we have a good old middle-
class straight arrow FBI agent - so they assume he's
clean. Cost-conscious American hospitals, you know..."

Pitley cleared his throat. "I think it's time you got
some rest."

* * * *

Mulder didn't have HIV. Maggie and Dana took shifts,
Maggie going through the same period of desensitising,
watching as her daughter automatically got through the
gross moments, beyond revulsion, doing it quickly and
efficiently so she could comfort him.

It was romantic, in a gross way, to watch her daughter
caring for her lover.

Bill had to head back to San Diego. He came to the
hospital to say goodbye.

"Dana... Um, I really hope that Mulder gets better very
soon," he said sincerely. /Mulder, I know I've hated you
and wanted you out of my sister's life, but if you die
like this on her, I'll hate you even more./

* * * *

Coming in for her shift, Maggie saw the tears. "Dana?"

"He's not listening to me. I told you he wasn't..."

"Why? What's happened?"

"Nothing! He's - he's been on the correct antibiotic for
well over 24 hours. We should have signs by now that it's
working... But there's no drop in temperature, no
sweating. The sputum cultures are showing no lowered
bacterial count... His breathing is getting weaker and he
can't cough enough any more to..." Scully turned her full
focus back to the patient. "Mulder, please don't punish
me this way. I was wrong, I'm sorry. Please give me
another chance. No goodbyes... Just knowing you were
there for me gave me so much strength and faith. I've
just always hated people hovering over me, worrying,
pitying... You forced yourself not to hover and I know
now how much that cost you..."

* * * *

Dana spent most of a brief break on the phone answering
some of the Director's questions. Skinner had done an
admirable job of keeping the pressures of work off her
back during this nightmare time, dealing personally with
the inquiries and panels held on the X-Files division's
findings, but there were some things that only she could
answer, with no chance that she would spare the time to
go to Headquarters to discuss it. But she wanted to make
sure the information was correct so that if - WHEN - she
and Mulder got back on the job...

The janitor had just finished some work in his room.
Scully came back in and wearily took her seat. She closed
her eyes and could almost imagine herself in a pine
forest thanks to the disinfectants.

* * * *

Mulder's nose started twitching. Sniffing. Inhaling the
pine that reached him through the perforations in the
oxygen mask. Air freshener... The stakeout. The car! At
last, his goal. He fought to reach it. /Everything will
be fine, Scully. This is the key.../

*It's getting a bit ripe in here, Mulder, don't you
think?*

He leaned over and proudly produced an air freshener from
the glove box. *Pine scented...* He waved it around
lavishly, then hung it on the rear-view mirror like a
trophy.

Talk flew back and forth about his stakeout. Her concern
and offer to lay her job on the line to help him. Then
came the crux. He closed his mouth and waited for those
beautiful words.

*Fox, I - I wouldn't put myself on the line for anyone
but you.*

All thoughts of Tooms fled from his mind as no
interruptions, no rebuttals, no jokes came from his lips.
Instead he smiled a huge smile. Hers blossomed too. He
reached out and took her hand. He'd done it.

* * * *

She must have dozed for a little, because when she woke
up, Claire was shaking her excitedly. "Dana, his fever's
breaking! That's our boy - took him a little longer than
usual, but he always gets there!"

Dazed and confused, Scully turned her gaze to Mulder.
Sweat. Glorious sweat covered his skin, condensed inside
the mask, and dampened his gown, cooling him, more
welcome than a shower of rain to a dying landscape.

Claire rushed out to page the doctor. Scully put her hand
to her partner's soaked forehead and was amazed by the
drop in temperature. He'd been hot for so long it was a
struggle to reconcile or remember the well Fox Mulder.
Not that this version of him was going to make a comeback
for several more weeks at least. He had just skirted the
edge of needing to be intubated, as his exhausted body
was losing the ability to fight to breathe on its own...

But now the scales were tipping back towards a balance.

Then those hazel eyes opened at her touch and focused on
her. He recoiled slightly at being confronted by a masked
face and a gloved touch.

"It's me, it's okay," she reassured.

His eyes filled with recognition. "W-w-w-...wh-" formed
under the oxygen mask.

"We're at Georgetown, Mulder." Dana ran her hand down his
cheek, through his damp hair. "You've been very sick, but
you're going to be fine. All this is just a precaution."
She filled her gaze with her love and relief and gave the
special 'Only For Mulder' smile to match, obscured though
it was - it was good for *her* to smile again - hoping he
could register her joy despite his weak and dazed state.
It was the expression she always gave, but this time she
wanted to do more. She gave his cheek a kiss - not that
the oxygen mask left much cheek to kiss, and her cloth
mask was another impediment. But she didn't care.

He sucked in breath, and his lungs sounded like they held
a stack of broken dinner plates. His lips moved again,
made sounds, and she lifted his mask away enough to hear.
He uttered the first clear sentence she'd heard in...four
or five days? "W-w-why...aren't...w-we..." He swallowed.
"...in...t-t-t-the car?" he croaked.

Clear - yes. That didn't mean that it made sense. /The
car? We haven't been in a car together since...before my
collapse in front of Blevins... Oh God, how confused is
he? He's lost all those memories?/ She got the mask out
of the way, then replaced it after supporting his head to
give him some water.

"We're not in the car because you have pneumonia and
needed to be in the hospital."

"Oh." His face fell as he fully realised. The magic had
not worked. He'd fought his way back to the reality he
didn't want. There was no energy to back out of it now
though. He was stuck. He'd chosen to live. In a reality
full of physical and mental pain. Fortunately his weary
eyes closed over the emotions and he slept.

* * * *


Coughing woke him with even more urgency than an alarm
clock.

"Hot... Wet..." He felt so uncomfortable. "My chest..."
He gasped.

Scully was still there. "Your fever is breaking. That
means you're sweating a lot and we have to keep changing
you and the bedding. I know it must feel like someone's
sitting on your chest -"

"Not someone - *thing*. Damn whale... Hurts!"

"Come on." She began levering him up and reaching for the
bowl. "Just a bit of bad stuff." Hardly "just a bit",
however she was trying to encourage him to get it over
and done with.

He began to cough this lot up, tears running down his
face at the pain. "Ribs...gonna break!"

She knew Mulder wasn't exaggerating. "Cross your arms
over your chest - it acts like a splint." He managed to
obey. He obviously couldn't remember the cough pillow
he'd used to the same end in the 'more in than out'
periods when he could follow directions.

"Deep breaths." Scully gathered him up against her and
tenderly but firmly rubbed and knocked against his back
to break up the muck. "It's okay, it's okay..." /Please
let him be able to do this.../

"N-no -" He tried to keep from bringing it up, struggling
to get out of her arms.

She knew he didn't want to bring it up on her or in front
of her, even in his agony, but she held him fast. "Let it
up, Mulder. You have to - I've dealt with it for days. If
you can't do this, they'll suction you!"

Vague but highly unpleasant memories of something
squirming down his throat immediately surfaced. THAT...
No way was he going to put up with that again!

"You've got to get it out." He did so. Dana was relieved.
Now his temperature wasn't as high, he could follow
directions and not be as fatigued, so hopefully there
would be no more need for suctioning. "There, that's more
infection out of you."

"As long as...no lung...with it."

"No." She finished cleaning him up.

He nodded and turned his head away as she hugged him and
lowered him down. He was ashamed, she knew. /And angry
that while I fled from him to throw up after the
treatments or to hide my nosebleeds, that he doesn't have
the strength to? We'll discuss this, but not now./

He was bathed in sweat. Scully began stripping the sheets
and his gown off. He was sore enough without developing
bedsores.

/Dana Scully is stripping me./ He knew he should be
feeling embarrassed or amused or interested or touched,
but not under these circumstances.

He didn't even care about the IV or the catheter. Sleep.
It didn't let him down.

* * * *

"Mulder, lad, you're in my bad books," Claire scolded as
she escorted the doctor in.

He peered at her, then realised who she was. This
protective gear was a pain. "Ohhhh," he managed to whine.
"I thought I was in your little black book..."

"Giving us a scare like that. After we lost Eloise and
nearly lost Dana too." As Mulder's lips pressed together
in pain, she seemed to realise she'd overstepped the mark
and hastily allowed the doctor to go about his business.

This time it was Doctor Chatwin. He decided that Mulder
was cognizant enough to answer some questions and give
informed consent. "Mr Mulder, what's the last thing you
remember before you woke up in hospital?"

"Driving to work."

"When?"

"Um, Monday. Scully's first day back. Sorry I flaked out,
partner." His tone was light. Dana tried to work out if
it was fake.

He didn't remember their fight. She didn't know whether
to be relieved or regretful. They had to deal with this -
when he was better obviously, but if he -

Wait. That was convenient. Too convenient.

He did remember. She could tell. It had just been so long
since she'd tried reading Mulder's expression to gauge
his true feelings. During the cancer she was scared of
his feelings and did not search them out. So now she was
a little rusty, but could still interpret. He was lying.
He could remember every single word of their fight!

For now, she would have to place that fact to one side.
He was too weak for her to confront him.

The doctor was prattling on about his treatment. "You'll
continue to get regular chest PT to drain your chest of
collected mucus. Respiratory therapy. And general
physical therapy to get your muscles back on their feet."

"Oh damn, have I lost the toned look?" Mulder managed to
say teasingly. "I'll be floppier than Frohike." He'd
decided never to mention the argument again. They would
go back to normal - which was whatever his partner
wanted, post-cancer. If she wanted to quit, or pick up
the X-Files again, it didn't matter. As long as she was
cured, that was enough for him. Over everything else,
including his anger, Sam, and the pain of the revelations
about UFO sightings.

Another bout of hacking ensued. He 'assumed the
position'. Another gown change. It was annoying. He felt
so uncomfortable and ill and wanted to sleep and she kept
putting on gowns and sheets that would need changing
again within half an hour.

When it was over, he asked: "When can I leave the
hospital?"

"That depends," Chatwin answered. "You need a lot of care
to fully recover. The discharge planner will come along
and discuss options with you both. Once you decide, I'll
work out what Mulder will need and how often. You'll need
to make arrangements, either a nursing home bed, or a
home health agency for a nurse and therapy."

Scully's reply was definite. "He'll be staying with me.
I'll take him to the sessions or co-ordinate with the
nurse and keep an eye on him."

Both stared at each other; the echo of Mulder's raging
filling their ears as the Doctor finished off what he had
to say and do, then left. Scully had kept Mulder at arm's
length throughout most of the cancer, now as soon as
their positions were reversed and he had a lucid tongue
in his head again, would he let her get so close, or
would he yell at her to leave him alone? She shifted
uncertainly in her seat. "I'll hire a home health nurse
when we know how many times a week you'll need one. But
you need someone with you 24 hours a day. I'd really like
to keep an eye on you. So would Mom."

He just shrugged. "Whatever you think best. If it won't
put you out." He felt bitter but it wasn't worth arguing
over. Let Scully take care of him if it made her happy.
Or eased whatever guilt she might be feeling.

And he slipped back to sleep.

* * * *

If it wasn't the coughing waking him up, it was Scully
and/or the nurses. Or the therapists. The latter people
kept doing torturous things to him, like turning him from
side to side - even tilting the bed upside down so his
head was lower than the rest of his body... - and
clapping and pounding on his chest and back to help
loosen things up so he could cough it up and spit it out.
He'd christened the stuff "lung oysters".

Mrs Scully was in a lot too, giving Dana breaks and
looking after him.

After about the 1,000th change, the sweating, shaking,
stinking, miserable heap that was Fox Mulder snapped. He
was aching and shaking so much that when Scully was
peeling the gown off, it just about killed him. He grit
his teeth then screamed, "Get away from me, Scully! Leave
me alone!"

Tears were in her eyes, but her devotion held her fast.
/Just be glad that he's in enough of a state *to*
complain. You don't want him to revert back to that
delirious state where he had no idea what you were doing
or who you were... And you'd want to be left alone too./

"Okay, we'll leave the gown off - just drape it over. But
we still have to do the sheets..." she managed to say
without breaking down.

Next time Mulder woke up, it was to face Maggie. He saw
her, remembered his outburst, and panicked. "Scully?"

"I sent her off to get some rest. My turn." Her
reassuring smile showed in her eyes as she stroked his
forehead.

"I - I - didn't mean to -"

"She knows you didn't. She said she'd be back at three,
but I'm sure it will be earlier. I know it's embarrassing
for you, Fox, that you feel so incapable of looking after
yourself, but you saved my baby girl's life. You spared
us having to do this for her, for her to end up like this
- you took it on yourself instead. If she lost you, her
life would mean nothing to her. Let us take care of you."

So Mulder bit his tongue and gave himself over.

* * * *

Mulder had just finished a series of uncomfortable deep
breathing exercises with the respiratory therapist and
was resting when something occurred to Scully.

"Mulder, I meant to tell you - I'm sorry, with everything
else, it slipped my mind. Your mother would be here, but
she had a bad bout of the flu and couldn't make the trip.
She's still recovering. But my mom has been keeping her
up to date on you."

"Not the rainbow of colours I'm producing, I hope?"

"No, she wouldn't be impressed."

"Neither am I... All those horror/sci fi movies where the
monster spits gunk - never thought I'd be doing it
myself."

His temperature was finally stable, so he wasn't sweating
buckets. However, he was still very weak and tired and
the pneumonia was still in his lungs and hurting, so
Scully was still cleaning him up.

"Do you...do you mind me doing this for you?"

He shrugged. "Beats a sharp rock to the head...
But...thanks."

Scully knew he minded very much, but he was too worn down
to protest. She knew she wouldn't let him do it for HER -
he was right: he was trapped. He wasn't a doctor, it
seemed unthinkable to let him change her gown or wipe her
chin...all he could do was respect her wishes and keep
the distance she deemed suitable. His only other course
of action would be to gamble for information or break
into facilities and try to gain the Holy Grail.

* * * *

"When is this gonna END?" Mulder cried out in frustration
and pain. His chest hurt and rattled. All he was good for
was sleeping. The heaviness in his chest scared him. His
ribs ached - he ached all over.

Scully gently rubbed his back and tapped at it. "I know."
Five minutes later she said, "It's over for the moment.
And you're getting better. Here, let's get some soup into
you."

That turned out to be one of Mulder's few fond memories
of the illness - Scully spoon feeding him. She was
touching him so much, fitting caresses in even as she
changed his sheets or worked at breaking the mucus up.

The attitude of a lover, not friend to friend or mother
to child. Too bad he didn't have the energy to ponder
that observation. He was trying to direct his frustration
at the illness, not inadvertently at her.

"Looks like we both need to regain a lot of weight,
Mulder. How about we go to dinner when you're better and
pig out? Some place we can eat greasy food with our
fingers."

"I guess. Yeah. My treat."

"If the hospital bill leaves any survivors in your
account."

He suddenly scrunched his face up, peering up at her
closely, frowning.

"What?"

"You don't look too good... Tired..."

She gave a snort of laughter. "Have YOU looked in a
mirror lately?"

A smile flittered across both their faces.

* * * *

He was fully off the oxygen now. Labwork was showing that
his own immunity system was taking charge, thanks to his
resting and improved nutrition. So the high protective
levels had eased. When Mulder woke up and saw Scully
sitting there, mask-free, she gave him the Deluxe version
of the smile and kissed his cheek properly. Every kiss
he'd given her during that last hospital stay had boosted
her, burned into her memory.

He looked at her as if he were dreaming, then closed his
eyes again.

It was time. He was improving physically, but was just
going through the motions in physical therapy, and
mentally he was listless. Soon he would be discharged and
have to move in with her and need a lot of help while he
regained strength. If she didn't solve things now,
neither of them would start to recover properly.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah."

"My first day back at work - why did you go to my
apartment?"

His eyes popped open. He swallowed. "Scully, you know I
can't remember."

"Were you trying to recreate the night your father died?"

"Why the hell would I want to recreate that?" Mulder
prayed for a coughing fit. "Look, Scully, why the
questions? I can't remember."

"Yes, you can. Don't lie to me. I know you can recall the
fight. Why did you go to our bench? Why did you want to
go back to Toom's halfway house? What we you trying to
do? What were you hoping to find?"

She was relentless and he knew she would not leave him
alone until she was satisfied or shattered. "Our
partnership," he admitted, not looking at her.

"But Mulder, we still *have* our partnership." /Oh God,
was it really that far gone?/

"I just felt I had to go back to when it was a friendship
too."

"You don't believe it has been?"

"Before all the darkness and heartache, it was. I - I
accused you of wanting to get back to normal, but I guess
I wanted things back to normal too. I thought if I went
back to places we did have some semblance of happiness
and wished hard enough, you would come and we could take
it from there again, only get it right. The night my dad
was shot... That night...if I went back to that night, to
your bed, it was before your sister died and before you
got the microchip removed. You wouldn't get the cancer."

"Your father would still be dead."

"Some things matter to me more than others." He swallowed
and continued. "Then I thought going earlier was even
better. Our bench. That was something from before your
abduction; before all the anguish. It was unblemished."

"It was from a time when you were still in a dark place
though - you wanted to quit the Bureau. You were so
depressed."

"And you saved me. You didn't want me to go. You opened
up to me and I knew you didn't want me to leave."

/Then they took me.../ she thought.

"It was worth trying to change things by quitting and
erasing your abduction - to live without the facilities
to find Sam if it meant you would be safe." Mulder
shrugged and coughed briefly. "And then I realised if I
went further back it would be even better. I convinced
myself that it all hinged on the moment you called me Fox
in the car. I'd get it right this time. Given enough time
I probably would have decided to go back to the office
and think myself back to our first meeting and tell you
then and there to run."

"I'm so sorry, Mulder. All the times you describe, that
you wanted to regain, that you treasured, are the times
I've stopped hiding behind my armour."

"As if I didn't give you enough reasons to stay in there
for all time." He closed his eyes, not inclined to open
them any time soon.

Her voice came hesitantly to him. "Mulder...there's
something important I have to tell you. Something I only
just found out recently. I need therapy too."

His eyes shot open and he sat up. "What? Oh God - is it
the cancer? What's wrong!?"

She eased him back down, bright red at panicking him. "No
- it's not the cancer, though that did affect it. It's my
heart, Mulder. It's forgotten how to share, how to let a
person hold it or get close. The head keeps overruling it
as much as it fights."

He shook his head in protest. "No! Dana, that's not how
it is at a-"

"My heart needs work and I'm a difficult patient,
but...you're the only one I trust with it. You're the
only one I want to give it to. If you want it."

That cut off his denials. After a minute of gaping, he
recovered his voice. "Dana, I accept your heart with all
of mine."

A smile bloomed which was even stronger than the one she
gave him when she said her cancer was in remission.
"Good," she sighed. "I don't want to go back to normal if
it will cost me you. You nearly dying and Skinner giving
me a talk taught me that. But we don't need a bench or a
bed to get on the right track. Well, a bed might come
into it eventually!"

"I'm open to varied kinds of therapy..." he said with
that sly fox look.

She could barely speak for trying not to laugh. She tried
to stay serious. "We can start our own path right here
and now. We'll talk...and...express our feelings..." The
giggles were bubbling up in her and suddenly she wondered
why she was bothering to fight them. Her head was *not*
going to repress them. The man she loved was all right
and they were going to take care of each other. Why
shouldn't she show her joy? Her heart let it out.

And in a room full of pine and laughter and promise, Fox
revelled in it all.


EPILOGUE:


"Again," came the demand.

"I can't..." He gasped. It was hard to draw breath. He
was drowning in sweat. He prayed that his therapist would
cease.

"Once more," cajoling now. "You can do it."

"Later. I promise - just a little later. Geez - hasn't
your heart had enough therapy for today?" He could feel
it pound against him. "If I hack up a lung, it's on your
head. Or in a bucket..."

Scully laughed, leaning her head against his chest. No
crackles or pain - it was completely free of the
pneumonia and had been for several months. Her heart was
full, however - she was the only therapist he needed now.
Or wanted. Or loved. Bringing the bed into the equation
had proved a master stroke. Literally. Once Mulder
realised the quicker he recovered, the quicker they could
enter into joint therapy sessions...

"I'm just trying to get you toned again, Fox. Build up
your endurance. Or something. Can I help it if you made
me feel so satisfied that I want more?"

"Satisfied means content and sated for the moment, not
hunting for more."

"I can't help it if you're good - WE'RE good - at what we
do..."

"I may never recover, you shameless torturer..."

She settled fully against his chest with a shrug. "I'll
remind you of that tomorrow morning in all your glory.
Then we'll see who's begging..."

Sure enough, she was awoken at dawn by Mulder kissing her
neck and oblivious to any reminder of his previous words.

"You got to strip me countless times in the hospital -
isn't turnabout fair play?"

"I think you've sweated up this bed enough. Hmmm, you
feel hot, I think you need an aspirin."

"Is that what they call it in doctor language these days?
Very...clinical."

"I'll serve up oysters for lunch unless you're careful!"

"Oh great, that's a mood killer... Thanks!"

"How about you tell me about this bathing suit photo
Frohike says you have of me? Then I can dig the suit out
and model it for you sometime."

"I'd like that. And I like this..."

"Mmmm... I hate people hovering over me, but in your case
I'll make an exception! Come here."

He certainly did. A hands-off attitude was 'fine', but
hands-on was much more fun.

That afternoon they went to put flowers on Eloise's grave
- the ever-present Mrs Burke smiling broadly as they
passed her. Scully had reassured Mulder that his mere
presence would have been great comfort to Eloise without
him having to say anything.

Scully's own therapy had certainly been a success. Even
Bill remarked at how happy she was and looked and she'd
regained her weight.

"So has Fox," Maggie said. They were in her kitchen at a
family get-together.

Mulder grinned. "Mrs Scully's cooking works wonders."

Scully came up to where he was sitting and wrapped her
arms around him from behind. "I've developed quite an
appetite for many things... Is this seat taken?" She slid
around into his lap.

Mulder wrapped his arms around her. "Very much so."

"I'm going to go check on the kids," Bill said, but in an
amiable enough voice. He and Mulder certainly weren't
buddies, but it was a start.

Maggie flicked a tea towel at the couple. "Go on, you
two. Either outside with the others or upstairs while my
back is turned!" She laughed at their blushes. "Well, why
not? Just don't trip on the stairs. I think we've all had
enough of hospitals." /Unless it's for the birth of
another grandchild./

Mulder and Scully stood, Mulder giving his partner the
choice of their actions. Dana pulled him out into the
hallway. Mulder couldn't help a gleefully wicked grin,
but his kiss was wonderfully tender. They headed for the
stairs. All in all, this was a much better normal.


THE END. 


And thanks to Gerry, Macspooky, Annieb, Crash, Jaime,
Lili, Kristina J and Lisa for the read-throughs, and for
putting up with me when I had a cold (but moaning as if I
had pneumonia...)