Step-down Unit Atlantic City Medical Center. 1.56am --------------------- "Okay, on three. One. Two. Three." Ah, shit. I know they are trying to be gentle, but even so, the movement is enough to send a jolt of agony coursing through my thigh. By the time Craig, and his new assistant, Tim-the-human-mountain, have me off the gurney and onto a real bed, my jaw is aching from clenching my teeth together and a new pool of sweat has gathered around the neck of my hospital gown. And the Grand Canyon of all headaches is pounding away behind my eyes. "Mulder, are you okay?" Scully is at my side, studying my face very closely. "Mmm. Think so." Then again...maybe not. Suddenly the room takes on a very surreal atmosphere. I wonder vaguely why the bed is tilting dangerously to the left. And why the walls don't quite meet the roof in a straight line. And I wonder why my stomach feels like it is about to climb into my mouth. I close my eyes and for a few seconds my head seems to spin even faster. "Mulder?" Scully rests her hand on my arm. Her voice reverberates around the room. Or is it just in my head? Can't be sure. "MUU...UU...ELL...DE...ERRR." A hollow sound rings through my ears. I swallow against the rising nausea. It doesn't help. "HE...E...'S VOMMM...IT...ING." I feel myself being tipped to the side. The distorted voice still echoes in my head. I can't make out words. My stomach heaves relentlessly and my head pounds until I think it might explode. Some incomprehensible amount of time passes in which I am vaguely aware of all kinds of activity happening around me. People come and go. Voices fade in and out. Words hang in the air. "4mg Compazine, IV push." "Fever. 102.1." "Spiked suddenly." "Vitals?" My body feels as boneless as a rag doll. A BP cuff is wrapped around my arm. The pressure builds, squeezing, hurting. The room is hot. I try to push the blanket off, but there's nothing there. Only my hospital gown. Clinging, pressing on me. Suffocating. Scratching my skin. A figure looms over me. Dark, can't see its face. It squeezes my thigh. Tighter, tighter. Gnarled, bony fingers digging into my flesh. "NOOO! Stop. Get off me!" Its eyes are red. Glowing. An ugly cavernous mouth opens. Wider. Wider. Teeth, sharp and menacing. Dripping with saliva. It bends over me and sinks its fangs deep into my leg. "AARHH! STOP IT! NO!" Hot, burning pain escalates along my thigh, encompassing my calf, my toes. "Hurts..." "...ulder!" The creature lets go. Laughing. Mocking me. Then it changes shape. A child. Scared. Dirty. "...Mulder." It floats above me. I see its eyes. Blue. Lips moving. Trying to tell me something. "Mulder! It's me." "Scully?" "Yes. I'm here, Mulder." I reach up and touch her face. It is her. She takes my hand and clasps it in her own. "Scully. I'm...hot." Her face shimmers in and out of focus. "Shhh. Mulder, it's okay. We're trying to get you cooled down. You're going to be fine." I can't see her properly. The light hurts my eyes. A cloth, cold and wet is draped across my brow. Mmm, feels good. "Mulder? We need to take your gown off, can you lift up a bit." I try, but as soon as I raise my head the room spins and the pounding increases. "Can't." Doesn't matter. Gentle hands grip my shoulders, support my head, lifting me. The gown disappears. Cold. I start shivering. A sheet is draped across my waist. Not enough. Still cold. "Free...ee...eezing." It takes three attempts to get the word through my chattering teeth. A cool sponge glides across my chest. "No." I hit at it. "Cold." "I know, Mulder. Sshhh, it's okay." My body shakes harder in response. My teeth rattle together, making the pain in my head even worse. "Scully. Please...need a...blanket." "No blanket, partner. I'm sorry. Just the sheet for now." I feel her hand caress my cheek. Her fingers icy against my skin. Hurts. I try and turn my head away, but don't have the energy. "So...c...c...cold." I force my eyes open and for a second her face comes into focus. Her worried, tired face. She fades out when a particularly violent bout of shivering grips me. Hot again. The damp sponge makes another sweep across my chest. Arms too. Cool. Nice. I swipe at the cloth on my forehead. Too warm. It disappears briefly, then someone wipes my face. "Scully?" "I'm here." "Glad...you're here...Scully." "Me too. Try and get some rest, you'll feel better if you do." The sponge traces over my shoulders. "Mmm. Stay...with me?" "Always, Mulder. Just relax." She picks up my hand and washes it with the sponge. Over my palm, between my fingers. "Thanks." "Don't mention it." Her breath tickles my ear. Her lips graze my cheek. "Tired." "I know. Try and sleep." "'kay, Scully. Think...I will." ******************************************** Step-down unit Sunday 6th June 6.36am No beeping from a heart monitor. No hissing from a respirator. No Scully sitting in the chair beside my bed. Hmmm, no Scully? No nurse standing over me, either. No way am I going to be lying in a dry bed if I don't empty my bladder in the next sixty seconds. I give the room a quick once over. Yep, definitely here on my own. And there, some fifteen feet from my bed is the door leading to the bathroom. All right! Cautiously I attempt to push myself into a sitting position. Within seconds, the effort of moving forces a cold sweat to break out under my arms and across my forehead. Eventually, the thought occurs to me that despite all my effort, I don't seem to be going anywhere. Then I realise the fault is with my right leg. For some reason it appears to be anchored to the bed, preventing me from achieving anything more than a half recline. I lower myself back onto the mattress, then lift the sheet to see what the problem is. There are pads, or something, covering my leg from thigh to calf. Leads run from under the sheet, snake along the side of the bed then disappear behind the bedside cabinet. More leads trail from my chest, connecting with some sort of transistor-radio-type contraption attached to a belt around my waist. A homing device maybe? Does Scully trust me so little in hospitals that she feels the need to track me? It doesn't seem to be contributing to the anchor-like affect on my body so I let it stay. However, the more urgent my bathroom needs become, the more reasonable the idea of removing the pads from my leg seems to be. So I do. Then I sit up, and am pleasantly surprised to find that movement is relatively pain-free. Until I swing my legs over the side of the bed and rest my toes on the floor. A slow ache starts to throb in my calf, a dull accompaniment to the more insistent pounding in my thigh. A fierce argument breaks out between my bladder and my leg. Bathroom! Back to bed! Bathroom! Bed! Bath... "Mulder!" "Mr Mulder!" Dammit. Too slow. "Mulder what the hell are you doing?" Scully stalks to the side of my bed. The nurse follows in her wake, busily fussing over the fallen leads and carelessly discarded heat pads. "Scully, I gotta go." "I thought we'd been through all this, Mulder. You are..." "*Scully*. I have to go *now." I nod in the general direction of the bathroom. A look of understanding crosses her face. "Mulder, lie down. I'll get you a urinal." "Uh-uh, no way. I'm not peeing in a bottle when there's a perfectly good bathroom just fifteen feet from here." "I'm afraid you are, Mr Mulder." The nurse decides its time to assert her authority. "Scully, tell her. Tell her I don't pee in bottles or tubes or any other damn thing except a toilet when I'm conscious. Go on, tell her." I insist. "Mr Mulder, I don't think you..." "No, it's okay, Peg." Oh, so she's on first name terms with the hospital staff already. "I'm sure if Mulder says he's okay to walk to the bathroom then he's probably right." I nod smugly at Nurse Peg. "You better believe it." "Agent Scully..." Scully lays a reassuring hand on Peg's arm, effectively halting any further protests. Then she turns to me. "Go ahead, Mulder." Scully holds out an arm, inviting me to make my own way to the bathroom, but at the same time steps closer to the bed, hovering. It's about time she realised I know what's best for me. I edge a little closer to the side of the bed so my feet are firmly planted on the floor. With my left hand I take hold of the IV pole for support, and quietly tell myself that my leg is not hurting and that I can do this on my own. I nod towards Scully, just to let her know she made the right decision. Then I push myself upright. Then I feel all the blood drain from my head and pool somewhere south of my knees. Then I feel my thigh and calf up the ante on who will win the battle for pain supremacy. And then I feel myself slowly sink towards the floor, the IV pole disappearing into obscurity, along with my balance, equilibrium and for the umpteenth dozen time: my pride and dignity. But one thought of reason does manage to break through the buzzing in my ears and the fog clouding my vision: I will not pee myself in front to these women! When my head stops spinning and I feel confident enough to open my eyes again, I realise that I have somehow managed to get back into bed. Judging by the look of annoyance on Scully's face, the equal amounts of stunned horror and concern on Peg's, and good ol' Tim--the 'WCW-wannabe-turned-orderly'-- glowering in the background, I can pretty safely assume that I didn't make it back in bed under my own steam. "Scully...What happened?" I croak out. "You nearly fell." A clear-cut, no-nonsense, reeking with 'I-told-you-so', statement. But I still gotta pee. And Scully knows it. She holds out her hand to Peg, who passes my smug partner the dreaded plastic bottle. It could be worse, I suppose. I should be grateful that I *do* need to pee and didn't empty my bladder on my way to the floor. Never let it be said that Fox Mulder doesn't know when he's beaten. I stretch out my hand and take the damned bottle off Scully, then cast a disparaging glare around the room. "If you don't mind, I think this is something I really can manage on my own. Without an audience." The on-lookers pass an amused smirk amongst themselves then leave the room to let me pee in peace. I have to hand it to Scully, though. It was a very clever tactic: using me against myself to teach me a lesson about getting out of bed. I did think--albeit only a fleeting observation--that she was giving in too easily. A few minutes later Peg and Scully return. The hated urinal is removed and if body language is any indication, it looks like I'm in for another lecture on 'how not to piss off the hospital staff', versus my personal favourite: 'how to be the patient from hell'. Something tells me I need to do some pretty fancy fast-talking to regain some brownie points with Scully. And a little sweet-talking the nurse wouldn't hurt either. I open my mouth to apologize, but before I have a chance to utter a word, a thermometer is placed under my tongue. Peg steps up to bat first. "Mr Mulder, my name is Peg..." Like I hadn't figured that out already?..."And I'll be your primary nurse for your stay in the step-down unit. Now, let's get one thing straight: patients do not get out of bed on their own and collapse to the floor on my shift. Is that understood?" I glance between Peg and Scully. Both sets of eyes are firmly locked on me and seem to be waiting for an answer in the affirmative. I nod my head slowly. "Good. This here..." She holds up the call button..."is for you to use when you need help. There is no monitor in your room but this ..." She points to the electronic gadget attached to the belt on my waist..." is a telemetry monitor. It sends signals to another monitor in our office. It makes it easier for you to move around the bed and later, and I do mean *later*, to move around the room. Are we clear on that?" More expectant looks from Peg and Scully. I nod again, the thermometer still trapped beneath my tongue. "You, Mr Mulder, are on complete bed rest. No illicit or clandestine visits to the bathroom." She glares at me, daring me to question her authority. With the thermometer trapped under my tongue, it's a little difficult to question anything. When I don't look like arguing, her demenour softens a little and she finally removes the thermometer from my mouth. The result seems to please her. She smiles up at me. "Well, this is much better. Almost back to normal." "Can I see?" Ah, the ever diligent Dr Scully. Just making sure. She snags the thermometer from Peg and checks my temperature for herself. She smiles at me too. All I had to do was drop my temperature to get these two back on side. How easy is that? "If things keep improving like this, we could have you on solid food by tonight. How's the nausea?" Peg asks as she jots down the latest reading in my chart. "Actually, I feel fine. I could probably go a Big Mac for lunch." This gets the predictable 'Mulder don't be an idiot' response from Scully. A roll of the eyes and click of disgust from her tongue. Peg just smiles at me again. "Let's try walking before we run, Mr Mulder. If all goes well, you can have some broth and crackers at lunchtime." As far as I'm concerned, there's not much difference between broth and crackers and bread and water. I knew this was more like a jail sentence. "So, the nausea is under control and you seem to have your appetite back. How's the pain?" Peg the inquisitor is still grilling me. "It aches a little." Okay, so it aches a lot, in fact it's kicking up a real stink. I guess my attempt at walking didn't do me any favours. But there's no need to burst their bubble with unnecessary details. "Which is one of the reasons you are confined to bed." Peg slips the blanket back so my leg is exposed and proceeds to wrap it in damp terry cloth. "I'm reapplying the K-Pads to your calf and thigh. This will help ease the pain; you should find it very soothing." "It looks like a wet towel." I tell her. She gives me a pretty good impression of one of Scully's favourite looks. "It is a wet towel, Mr Mulder. The K-Pad is placed over the top. Simply, the K-Pad is a heat pad that circulates warm water. We'll keep it on 24 hours a day with intermittent checks to give the skin underneath a rest. We don't want your leg turning into a prune, now, do we?" No we don't. "If you manage to keep your lunch down, you'll be able to switch from morphine to Tylenol with codeine. I'll be relying on you to let me know when you need something for pain relief." Peg wraps one of the pads around my calf and the other across my thigh as she speaks. "And don't try to be all macho about this, Mulder. *Tell* someone if you're hurting." Scully just can't resist the urge to add her two cents. "Yes mom." I reply, wondering if now would be too soon to request something and still maintain any amount of dignity. "Okay." Peg resumes her run-down on my treatment. "To help dissipate the clot in your leg you are on anti-coagulants. This means you will need to be careful during your daily routine. If you get cut your blood will take longer than normal to clot. Which is why I don't want to see you getting out of bed unaided. If you fall badly you could start bleeding internally. Oh, and be careful brushing your teeth, and shaving - I suggest you try using an electric shaver." "I'll bring you the one out of your overnight bag, Mulder," Scully offers helpfully. "Fine." I feel a pout forming on my lips. "Over the next 24 hours, we'll be checking your prothrombin, or clotting time, every 4 hours. This will help us determine whether you are receiving the right dose of heparin. Basically this means you'll get a little stick in..." "Would you like to check now?" I ask, offering her my middle finger in the customary 'bird' position? "Mulder!" Who needs a conscience when you have Scully? Peg just smiles at me. "Venipuncture, not finger stick." Peg rests her hand in the crook of my elbow to illustrate her point before continuing. "You know, Mr Mulder, I've been a nurse for 20 years. In that time I've seen all types come through this hospital. For all your bravado, I don't believe you're nearly as tough as you make out you are. My job here is to ensure you get well and to keep you as comfortable as possible while you do. So how about you drop the 'tough guy' act; because I'm not buying it." She glances quickly at Scully and winks. My loyal and faithful partner, I notice, is hiding a not-so-subtle smirk behind the fingers of her left hand. "Now, is there anything you'd like to ask me?" "Yeah, when can I get something to eat?" "I'll speak to the kitchen staff and see if I can get some soup and crackers organised for you. How does that sound?" "I guess it will have to do." "Good. If all goes well and the doctor okays it, we'll have you disconnected from most of the equipment by lunchtime. The IV will stay so we can administer the heparin. Now, remember, you need to tell me when you want something for pain relief." She smiles at me and lays a hand on my good leg. "We're not so bad in here, Mr Mulder. And with a little cooperation on your part, you should be out of here in a few days." A few days. The kid doesn't have a few days. Hell, the kid may not even have a few hours. But for now I keep those thoughts to myself. Instead I decide to at least pretend to be well behaved and co-operative. "Thanks, Peg. I promise to be a good little patient." She smiles. Scully scowls. I might be fooling Peg, but Scully knows me too well. *** Step-down unit Atlantic City Medical Center 11:00 a.m. "Sweat pants, clean shorts, cell phone, laptop...Scully? Why aren't you writing?" "This is a joke, right? No. No, it's not. I know what the problem is. Your head injury is obviously more severe than we first thought. I'll ask your doctor to include an MRI and CAT scan as soon..." "Scully, what are you talking about?" "I can only assume that you are suffering the after effects of a head trauma. Or, you are completely delusional. Maybe both. If you think I am going to help you set up office in a hospital room, then you can just ..." "Scully," I say reasonably, "I only want the bare essentials. I need underwear. Have you any idea how short these hospital gowns are?" "Oh, I think I might have the general idea, Mulder." A smirk slides across her face. "Good, then you understand the necessity of bringing me clean shorts. And while you're at it, just throw in the laptop, my cell phone...Aww come on, Scully, don't look at me like that. What am I supposed to do while I'm in here?" "Well...you could try resting." "I *will* be resting. Tapping a few computer keys and punching in some phone numbers is hardly strenuous. It's my leg that's damaged, not my mind." "That's debatable." "I heard that. Scully, if we don't do something to help the kid, Thompson and his cronies are going to kill it. It will only be a matter of time." "Mu...uw...ulder." My name creeps out around a yawn. And it's then that I realise how exhausted she must be. "Scully, go back to the motel room and get some sleep." "I'm fine. I will go and take a shower though, and bring back some things for you. Electric shaver, toothbrush, clean underwear." "Sweatpants?" "You won't be needing sweatpants. Unless maybe you were thinking of trying to escape?" "Scully!" "You might have the hospital staff bluffed, but I know all your tricks, and I won't be party to helping you on your path to self-destruction. No sweats, no computer and no cell phone. Rest. Mulder. Get better." "Would you at least call Dr Diamond and run my theory by him. Tell him about the bones." She gives me a doubtful look. "Please?" Scully huffs out a long sigh. "Mulder, I don't even know if he is still with the Smithsonian." "You're a trained investigator. Track him down." "And then what?" "Tell him about the bones. Tell him what's going on up here. We can't just sit by and let Thompson hunt this kid down." Scully covers her face with both hands. A muffled reply leaks out between her fingers. "Okay. I'll call him." I reach up and pull her hands from her face, taking one of them in mine. "We've got to at least try," I say, trying to convince her. She nods her head and squeezes my hand before letting go. "You get some rest, Mulder. I'll see you in a couple of hours." An overwhelming sense of loneliness fills the room as soon as Scully pulls the door shut behind her. I hate it when she leaves. A few minutes later the door swings open again and my heart leaps with anticipation. She must have forgotten something. But it's not her. Instead, a man enters, a doctor, I presume if the white coat covering his clothes is anything to go by. "Ah, Mr Mulder, you're awake." With powers of observation like that, maybe this guy should consider a career with the FBI. "No, I'm not. It's just a figment of your imagination." I say, unreasonably. He gives me a brief look of confusion before rearranging his features into a bland expression. "I'm Richard Gillespie. I'll be your doctor while you are in this hospital. How are you feeling?" He strolls over to the end of the bed and picks up my chart, flicking idly through the pages. "I'm good." "Pain?" He runs a critical eye over me. In the butt. "No," I lie. "Really?" "Yeah, really." I feel my irritation climb a notch. "That's quite a recovery." "I'm a fast healer. I've had plenty of practice." "Good. I'd like a to take a look for myself. Is that okay with you?" I swallow hard and squirm restlessly beneath the bed covers. I've never known a doctor yet who just looks. "Fine," I say, thinking how much I'm beginning to dislike this guy. "Mr Mulder, are you able to move around the bed okay, without too much pain?" He places the stethoscope against my chest as he speaks. "I tried to earlier and nearly caused a national incident." "Yes, I heard about that, and if I remember correctly, you tried to move *out* of the bed." He gives me a look of amused disdain, before changing the subject. "I'd like to take a look at your leg, please." "Why not? Everyone else has." "Lie back." He reaches up by my head and presses the call button, then pulls the blanket back to the end of the bed. Peg pokes her head around the door. "Yes, Doctor?" "Would you give me a hand, please?" As Peg moves all the way in, Doctor Gillespie begins unwrapping the heat pads and terry cloth from my calf and thigh, not bothering to be careful about how he pulls and jostles my leg as he goes. I remind myself never to criticise Scully's bedside manner again. Compared to this guy, she's a saint. He starts his examination by palpating around my lower abdomen. I should have guessed-- even his hands are cold. The next port of call is my groin. Pressing lightly with his finger tips, he pauses and checks his watch. "Pulse is nice and strong now. A little fast maybe. You're not worried about anything are you, Mr Mulder?" "Should I be?" He smiles at me. Actually, he bares his teeth, but I err on the side of optimism and call it a smile. Slowly, his hand moves along my leg, pressing here, pushing there, easing closer and closer to... "AAAH! FFFFssshit." "Did I hurt you?" "No, I always cuss and swear when someone plays with my leg. It's a real ice-breaker on a date." My fingers clench tightly around the bed sheet. "Sorry." His tone would indicate he's anything but. He continues his examination. I continue to envisage a slow and torturous death for the good doctor. "Uh-huh." He pulls out a tape measure and wraps it around my thigh. "Swelling is down." He moves towards my calf, pressing and pushing before doing his thing with the tape measure again. "Good." He scribbles something on my chart. He moves to the bottom of the bed and takes my foot in both his hands, then without warning gently pushes my toes up towards my knee. "AH! Shit." I hiss between my teeth, as sudden pain shoots through my calf. "On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the pain just now?" "About a six," I manage, but my voice betrays me as the words tumble out in a hoarse whisper. "I think we'll mark that down as an eight, Peg. I suspect Mr Mulder's not being entirely honest with us." This time he offers me what I think is a genuine smile. "Peg, we'll set Mr Mulder free of the IV drip now and just leave in a hep lock." He turns his attention back to me. "Everything seems to be coming along as expected. The PT tests indicate the heparin dose is right and I believe you're in good enough shape to move to a regular room tomorrow. No nausea?" "No." "Good. And you handled the soup and crackers all right?" He turns to Peg without waiting for an answer. "Soft diet tonight, regular tomorrow. Seems you are true to your word, Mr Mulder. A text book recovery." "Could you put that in writing? My boss might appreciate the fact that there's *something* I can do by the book." He ignores my remark. "If you keep improving like this, we'll lose the heparin lock tomorrow too and start you on coumadin. Now, if there's nothing else, I'll be on my way." I watch his retreating form, willing the door to slam on his fingers or something. But it doesn't. "Nice guy," I mumble under my breath. "What he lacks in bedside manner he makes up for in expertise. He's one of the best, Mr Mulder. You're lucky." Peg starts to dismantle the IV. Luck? Yeah, I've certainly had my fair share of that this weekend. "How's the pain level now?" "I'll survive." "I'm going to reapply the K-Pads, that should help some." She pats my arm gently. "Try and get some sleep." "Yeah, maybe." With nothing else to occupy my time, I reluctantly agree that sleep might be the best option. "Um...if my partner, Agent Scully comes back, can you tell her to wake me? I need to speak with her." "I'll be sure to let her know." **************************************** Step down Unit 4:00 p.m. "Scully?" "Hey. How are you feeling?" "Mm. Fine. I think. What time is it?" I scrub at my eyes with my right hand. "Just after 4. You've had quite a sleep." "Yeah. Kind of snuck up on me." I try and work through the fog surrounding my thoughts. "I brought you some things. What is it with you and loony toons, Mulder?" Scully reaches down by her feet and pulls something out of a bag. A pair of boxers. Yosemite Sam stares angrily back at me. "Not me. My mom." She arches an eyebrow. "It's a long story," I say wearily. "I'm not going anywhere." I heave a gusty sigh. "I was visiting my mother one weekend a couple of years back. She insisted on doing my laundry--I guess she had a maternal moment or something. Anyway, I had a pair of 'Elmer Fudd' boxers. I can't even remember where I got them from. Somehow she latched onto the idea that I was a 'Loony Toon' fan, and from then on she sent me loony toon boxers for my birthday and Christmas. Happy now?" "Very. I called Skinner." "What?" I carefully push myself to a sitting position. "Mulder, he was going to wonder why we didn't turn up for work tomorrow. I had no choice." "What did he say?" She gnaws briefly on her bottom lip, without giving me an answer. "Scully? What did he say?" "He's coming up here." "He's...Why?" "It seems that someone else informed him of our whereabouts before I did." "Scully, will you stop beating around the bush and just come out and tell me what the hell is going on." "Thompson called him. He made a complaint about us interfering -- uninvited -- in a police investigation. One we had no jurisdiction over." "Bastard. He's just trying to stall us, Scully. Any way he can. How did Skinner react?" "Pissed." I nod slowly. "Too bad I'm already in the hospital. I'm sure he'd like to have had a shot at putting me here himself." "Mulder. He was pissed at Thompson. Not you." I pull my head up sharply. "He said that?" "Not in so many words. But his tone certainly indicated he was on our side. From the way he spoke, I think Skinner might have had dealings with Thompson before." "Then why is he coming to Atlantic City?" Scully shrugs. "He didn't exactly say. I can only assume that he wants to investigate Thompson's allegations for himself, and to check on the well-being of his injured agent." She smiles at me. "Great. Fantastic. This is just what I need. Skinner hovering around, reeling me in." "Reeling you in? Mulder, you are not being reeled in. You are already cleaned, gutted and halfway to the frying pan. And have been for the past 24 hours. I don't know why you think Skinner is going to be a problem. Your investigation is over. Unofficial or otherwise. Get used to the smell of antiseptic and the squeak of gurney wheels because this is your home for the next few days." "Did you talk to Dr Diamond?" "I did." "And?" "And, after an hour and a half of playing telephone tag I finally managed to track him down in Orlando, Florida. He's on vacation." "Did he have an opinion as to what's going on up here? What did he say about the bones?" "He was very interested in what I told him. He doesn't believe it is a Neanderthal, but he likes your theory that we might be looking for the dead woman's child." "Did he offer to help us?" "No. But..." "Scully, I know I promised I wouldn't give you any trouble, but I've got to get out of here." I push the bedcovers back and start pulling the leads from my chest. "Mulder..." "If Diamond won't help, then..." "Mulder..." "Then I've got to find someone who will. Maybe the park ranger. What was his name? If I..." "MULDER." "If I can get a hold of the file from the motel, I can find his name listed there. Then..." "MULDER! STOP!" Scully's hand grips my wrist before I get a chance to pull what's left of the IV out. She opens her mouth to speak to me just as two nurses burst through the door pushing a crash cart. They stop a few feet inside the room. Peg follows behind. "Mr Mulder! What are you doing?" She nods to the nurses with the cart. "I think you can put that away. The patient looks remarkably healthy for a man with no vital signs." I look down at the leads dangling from the monitor around my waist. "I'm leaving," I inform her. "Dana?" Peg looks to Scully for support. "No, he's not. He only thinks he is. Mulder, stay in that bed." "Scully, time is running out. We have to find the kid. I'm fine. The doctor said so, I'm making a text book recovery. Now, where are my clothes?" "And you'll have a text book complication and a text book funeral to follow it, if you don't get back in the bed." "Sorry, Scully. No can do." I pull the K-Pads from my thigh and calf and unwrap the terry cloth. "Can I have someone take this IV out or am I going to have to do it myself?" "I'll get someone," Peg says, swivelling on her heel to leave. "Thank you." I turn to Scully. "At least somebody around here is listening to me." I scoop up my shorts from the edge of the bed, and release the monitor from around my waist. With the main IV gone and only the heparin lock to deal with, I am able to move around freely. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. "Ah. Dammit." I forgot about keeping the weight off my leg. Holding on to the bed rail for support, and keeping my right leg off the ground, I rummage around in the overnight bag Scully brought me, in the hope that she relented and threw in some sweat pants. "What are you trying to prove, Mulder?" "I'm not trying to prove anything. I'm going to rescue the kid." "Fox Mulder, Super Hero extraodinaire," she says dejectedly. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean? Did you bring my sweats?" Pushing aside the t-shirts, underwear and shaving bag, I dig a little deeper through my things. Yes! Way to go Scully. With an air of triumph, I pull my sweat pants from the bag. "Mulder. Get back in bed." Her voice barely carries across the few short feet between us, they are so quietly spoken. But, it is more effective than if she'd yelled at the top of her lungs through a megaphone. I lift my head and look at her. "I can't do that, Scully. You know I can't." "I know you believe you're the only one who can save the child, Mulder, but that's not true. Wait. Wait for Skinner. He's on our side, he'll listen. I called him just before I left the hospital this morning. He should be here soon." "There's been enough time wasted. I have to go." Leaning against the bed, I pull my shorts and sweat pants on, and stare down at my bare feet. Dammit. I need shoes. "They're in the car." Scully's words slip out on a wave of resignation. "Thanks." I pull the hospital gown over my head and replace it with my t-shirt. "You're taking a big risk, Mulder." "When I know the child is safe, I'll come back." She looks at me sceptically. "Scully, I don't have a deathwish, I really don't. But I can't sit here idly and do nothing." She nods, but doesn't look any more impressed. "Can you take this thing out for me?" I point to the tube attached to my arm. "...I don't know, Agent Scully's with him." Pegs voice penetrates the room as she swings the door open. Dr Gillespie follows her in. "About time. Did Peg explain I need you take the IV out?" I say to Gillespie. "I'm sorry, Mr Mulder, I can't do that." "What?...Well, I say you can." "What seems to be the problem?" He edges towards me. "I'm checking myself out of here." "Mr Mulder, you are not ready to..." "Hey! Either you take the IV out for me, or I'll do it myself." I start tearing at the tape holding it in place. "Mulder..." "Mr Mulder! You are making a serious error of judgement here. I suggest you get back into bed... "I don't give a damn what you suggest. I've tried being reasonable, and it's getting me nowhere. Scully, tell these people I mean what I say." "Mulder, listen to them..." "No, Scully. I'm done listening." The tape rips free and I pull out the thin plastic tube. Dammit! Blood spills down my hand, dripping off my fingers and splattering the floor. "Mulder! What do you think you're doing?" I snatch the discarded hospital gown and hold it over the puncture mark. Gillespie takes another step towards me. "Mr Mulder, sit down. You're in no shape to go anywhere. You need continued medication. Too much activity could break off a piece of the clot and cause a pulmonary embolism. I'm sure you realise the medication you are on is an anti- coagulant." He nods towards my hand. "You need to control the bleeding." "If you want to help, get me a Band-aid. I'll take care of it myself." A faint buzzing hums through my ears. I shake my head to clear it and take one faltering step forward. Pain shoots through my leg when I am forced to put weight on it to keep my balance. "Look at you. You can barely stand. And you're still in pain. It would be unsafe for me to release you from the hospital in this condition." "Doesn't matter." The words come out thickly, slurred around my tongue. Gillespie moves closer, reaching out a hand to steady me. I sense Scully moving in from behind. "No. Don't. Don't try and stop me." Gillespie's face turns dark. "Look, Mr Mulder, if you leave the hospital you risk a complication. *My* license is on the line here. If you don't care about your own health, think about my situation." "Don't worry, I'll sign the damn papers that will get you off the hook." "Well, then, go ahead Mr Mulder. There are a lot sicker patients here I could be spending my time with, instead of babying you around." He crosses his arms over his chest, but doesn't clear my path. "Mulder, please. You're not thinking clearly," Scully pleads with me. "No, Scully, you're wrong." I attempt another step towards the door. Gillespie blocks my way. The buzzing noise in my ears gets louder and my head starts to reel. I feel the hospital gown slip from my fingers as blood runs freely down my left hand. I push past Gillespie, who makes a half-hearted effort to grab my arm, but I shake him off and stumble towards the exit. "AGENT MULDER!" A figure looms in the doorway. I squint, trying to identify him. "Agent Mulder, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Skinner. "I'm getting out of here." My voice rasps through my lips. "Agent Scully? What's he talking about?" "Sir, Agent Mulder believes the child we spoke of earlier is in imminent danger of being killed. He believes Captain Thompson intends to hunt this child down in much the same manner as he did its mother." "And you?" "I believe Agent Mulder is acting with the child's best interests in mind. However, he is sick and shouldn't be out of bed. Sir...Agent Mulder is risking his own life." I feel my breath start to hitch in my throat. The ache in my leg getting worse the longer I'm forced to stand here. Skinner is still blocking the exit. Gillespie has placed himself to the right of me, with Peg at his side. Her face is strained as she watches the scene before her. Scully has positioned herself on my left, just behind me. I make a quick calculation and decide my best form of attack is surprise. I give my head a quick shake, clearing away the fog gathering across my vision, then, without warning, make a run for it. Shouldering Gillespie to the side, I stumble awkwardly in Skinner's direction, barrelling into his chest as I try to squeeze between him and the door jamb. "What the hell..." Skinner is surprised but not defeated. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back. "Let go, sir. You don't know what you're doing." "Agent Mulder, cut it out!" I lift my right arm and attempt to elbow him in the ribs. But he grabs me and twists me around so my back is up against his chest with his arm wrapped tight around me. I struggle hard against his iron grip, the adrenaline rush spurring me on, giving me added strength. I bend over suddenly, forcing my butt into his groin and the breath whooshes from his lungs. Still he hangs on. "Agent Mulder." My name is squeezed out in a tense plea. I don't care. Instead, I try to twist free, but all this achieves is to knock us both off balance. Skinner holds on firmly as we topple to the side. My right foot slips out from under me and I hit the ground on one knee. The added momentum of Skinner's weight drives my leg hard into the ground and the force reverberates through my body as my thigh explodes in pain. "AAAAAAAHHHHHH FUCK!" Except for my own harsh breathing and the renewed buzzing in my ears, a strange silence seems to hang in the room for a few short seconds before a surge of activity erupts around me. Voices all talking at once, melding into an unintelligent thrum. My own whimpering and moaning only adds to the melee of confusion around me. "Mulder!" Scully by my side. My chest constricts in a painful spasm. Can't breathe. Can't breathe. "Scu...lly." "Dr Gillespie. He's having trouble breathing." "Hurts." "Where, Mulder? Where are you hurting" "Leg. Chest. Tight." My eyes roll around in my head. I can't seem to focus on anything. "Let's get him back in bed." I think it's Gillespie speaking. Strong hands wrap around my upper arms and lift me off the floor. My head lolls listlessly from side to side. "Peg! Let's get his vitals, and I want a new IV started." The cuff around my arm. Another needle shoved in my hand. "Where's the pain, Mr Mulder? Can you show me?" I grab at the center of my chest. "Does the pain move anywhere? Down your arm, up into your jaw?" "No...stays...the same. Can't...breathe." "BP's 130 over 85. Heart rate 110. He's diaphoretic." I recognise Peg's voice. "Are you nauseous?" Gillespie again. "No...no." "Can someone get a dressing on that puncture wound? Are you dizzy, Mr Mulder." "Yeah...some." "Okay, I want an EKG STAT, portable chest, and blood gasses." Oh, god, another needle, digging into my arm. I hiss as this new pain mingles with the others. Someone clamps a dressing over the site, pushing down hard. "I want those blood gas results, ASAP. Let's get him on an oxygen mask rebreathing 4 liters. This looks more like a panic attack than a pulmonary embolus," Gillespie mumbles, more to himself than anyone in particular. "Give him 3mg MS IV push. Mr Mulder, I want you to try and slow your breathing down. Agent Scully, can you help quiet him." The plastic mask is placed over my face. I try and concentrate on the flow of oxygen, waiting for the inevitable relief it brings. A tingling sensation burns along my arm. Scully's face hovers in front of me. "Mulder, look at me. Slow down your breathing. Slow, slow, that's it, let the medication work. You're okay, we're all here helping you. Good, good, Mulder, that's it, nice and slow." The pain eventually subsides and breathing is easier. As the flurry dies down, I glance around at the anxious faces staring at me. Scully, a deep furrow between her eyebrows, Skinner, his jaw clenched so tight I wonder why I can't hear his teeth cracking. Peg just wears the same strained look she'd had earlier. Gillespie is the only one whose face is expressionless. Someone attaches EKG leads to my arms and legs. "How's the pain now, Mr Mulder?" "Mm. Better," I mumble under the mask. "Good." Another nurse enters the room and hands Gillespie a piece of paper. His eyes give it a quick scan then he lifts his head and looks at me. "Blood gas is normal. It doesn't appear to be an embolism or a heart attack. But, just to make sure, we'll get a picture of your chest. Have you ever had an anxiety attack before, Mr Mulder?" "Once or twice." "Well, I'd say you probably just had another one." I close my eyes and sink back into the pillows. "No shit." "I've got to find the kid." I say quietly, to no-one in particular. Skinner clears his throat. "Doctor? Is he going to be all right." "If Mr Mulder follows some simple advice and stays put, then yes, I don't see why he shouldn't make a full recovery, and be out of here in a few days, just like we originally planned." More equipment arrives. Skinner steps outside while another barrage of tests are done. Scully hovers protectively at my bedside, stroking my face and speaking comforting, reasuring words to me. This is my luck. Not the bad things that have happened this weekend, not the brilliance of Dr Gillespie, but Scully. She is the greatest stroke of luck that has ever happened to me in all of my miserable life. Even through my drugged haze, it is the one thing that is crystal clear to me. I wrap my fingers around her hand and hold it tighter. "You okay?" She whispers into my ear. "Yeah, Scully, I'm fine." "Well, Mr Mulder, it looks like all your tests came back clean. No sign of pulmonary embolism, no damage to your heart. You were lucky. It could have been much worse," Gillespie says accusingly. "I know." I say quietly. "Peg, let's replace the mask with a nasal cannula, I think he's resting comfortably now." Gillespie turns to me again. "You stay put, Mr Mulder. I don't want to hear anymore nonsense about you giving my staff a hard time and trying to leave." He strips off his gloves and tosses them into a nearby trash can before turning and walking out of the room. The mask disappears, and the cannula is put in place. Peg and a couple of other nurses clear the equipment out of my room. Scully and I are left alone. "Mulder..." "I know, Scully. It was a stupid thing to do. I..." A quick rap on the door interrupts me. Skinner walks in, his face bearing a look of grave concern. "Agent Mulder. Agent Scully." "Sir?" "I've just received some news regarding the child." Even through drug-laden eyes, Skinner's discomfort is still obvious to me, and a rumble of dread rolls through my stomach. "I had a couple of agents from the field office go and check out Thompson's allegations. Apparently, while they were there, word came in that a perpetrator had been located out in the state forest." "Is it the child?" "I believe it was an adolescent child, female, approximately 15 or 16 years old, but that will be confirmed after the tests..." "Tests?" I ask suspiciously. "An autopsy will need to be performed..." "Autopsy? That goddamned son of a bitch killed her!" "It seems she attacked an officer and fled. I believe there was a warning shot before another officer opened fire on her." "Oh God." I close my eyes momentarily, taking it all in. Knowing that I'd come so close to finding her and now it was too late. "Mulder...I'm so sorry." Scully puts her hand on my shoulder. My eyes snap open and I try to sit up straighter, but my arms are completely drained of strength. "Thompson's got away with it again. Cold-blooded murder under the guise of taking out a criminal. I won't sit by quietly and let that happen, I can't. There's got to be a way to make him accountable." Anger surges through me, making my stomach churn and my head pound. Skinner catches my attention. "He will be made accountable, Mulder. I'm initiating an investigation into the whole affair. Scully told me how Thompson treated you. His manhandling of a federal agent is enough to get started with. I'll be putting in an official complaint, one they can't ignore. And with your testimony and the evidence you found, I'm sure there'll be enough to have him brought to justice." "A fat lot of good that's going to do now." I drape my arm across my head, the incessant thud behind my eyes just about driving me to tears. "It's not ideal, Agent Mulder, but it's a start. Agent Scully, if you've got things under control here, I'm going to drive over to the field office and start proceedings." "Thank you, Sir." "And Agent Mulder, stay put. No more heroics while you're in the hospital. I'll call in later before I head back to D.C." And with that he takes his leave. "Are you okay, Mulder?" "No, Scully, I'm not okay." "This isn't your fault." "Maybe not directly, but I knew what would happen and I was powerless to stop it." I scrub at my face, trying to push the headache away. "That's right. You were powerless to stop it. You can't always prevent bad things from happening. You're not responsible for all the evil in the world. Sometimes you just have to do your best and hope it will turn out right, but that's not an automatic guarantee that it will." "I hear what you're saying, Scully. And maybe in a few days it will make sense, but now? Now I just want to wrap my hands around Thompson's throat and let him have a taste of what it feels like to be on the receiving end. God, my head hurts." "Let me get you something to help you sleep." I cover my face with my free arm, and nod gently. "Yeah. I think I'd like that." She leans across me and presses the call button. A nurse pops her head through the open door. "Could you ask the doctor for something to help Agent Mulder sleep?" "Sure, I'll be right back." Scully slips her hand around mine as we wait for the nurse to return. "Here you go, Mr Mulder." I hitch an eye open. It's Peg. "What is it?" Scully just can't quit being a doctor. "Benedryl. It'll give him a good night's sleep." "Thanks Peg. Could you get me a basin of warm water and a wash cloth? I'd like to clean some of this blood off him. Oh, and a new gown." "I can send a nurse in to do that." "No, thanks. I'd like to do it myself." Scully pours me a glass of water as Peg hands me the pill. I watch Peg's reaction. She just smiles. "Not a problem, Dana. I understand." Some kind of silent communication passes between Scully and Peg. I'm dammed if I know what it is, though. *** Six Weeks Later Mulder's Apartment 6:00 p.m. ************************************** "Mulder, I can't believe you did this, I really can't." "Are you telling me you find this harder to believe than genetic engineering? Than the prospect of alien colonisation? Than...than David Copperfield being able to make the Statue of Liberty disappear?" "No, Mulder, I'm not. I'm telling you that I am having a very hard time believing that you could be so stupid!" She grunts quietly as she forces the front door open with her hip. "Well, here I am, Scully. Living proof." I say light-heartedly as I reach inside the door and flick the light switch on. "One. One day back on field agent status and here we go again." She eases me on to the couch, squatting down to remove my shoe and sock. "Not quite. We're at my apartment, not the hospital, and it's just a little sprain. Actually, it barely even qualifies as a sprain." I say confidently as I examine my foot. "Mulder! Look at your ankle. There's swelling and bruising from front to back. With your luck it's probably a compound fracture." "That's not bruising. It's the dye from my sock. I twisted my ankle in a hole full of water." We both stare at the wet, soggy, blue sock lying on the floor next to my shoe. The news has only a marginal affect on Scully's mood and she forges ahead anyway, unconvinced that this is only a minor injury. "I'll get some ice. Elevate your foot and don't move from the that couch!" "You know, Scully, sometimes you come across as very bossy. Why is that?" "Because, Mulder, when you are sick or injured, you seem to do everything within your power to hinder the recovery, rather than promote it." "I do not." "Stop that. I'm not having this argument. Now, lift your foot up." "Hey! Hey, Scully. I caught the guy." I call to her as she disappears into the kitchen. "Congratulations. Your display of boyish agility was very impressive, epecially when you brought him down. Too bad he wasn't the one we were looking for." From the kitchen her reply is muffled, but not enough to hide the sarcasm in her voice. I decide not to tell her that my 'display of boyish agility' was actually me stumbling after I twisted my ankle. But I do feel the need to remind her why I gave chase. "He could have been the right guy. He matched the description perfectly." I reply defensively. "You're lucky no one was hurt, Mulder." She calls back. Well, go figure. What am I, chopped liver? She returns with an ice pack wrapped in a cloth. "Move over." I scoot up against the back of the couch and make room for Scully at the end near my foot. She spends a few seconds examining my ankle before placing the icepack over it. "Ah! OW." "I thought you said it wasn't bad?" She says accusingly. "I said it probably wasn't a sprain. I never said it didn't hurt." Scully graces me with a self-satisfied glare, the expression spewing out accusations of 'I told you so.' She must realise how unreasonable she's being because her tone softens, "Would you like something for the pain?" "No, thanks. I've had enough medication these last few weeks to last me a life time." "Hmm, okay then, but let me know if the pain gets worse and you need something." She wraps a bandage over the icepack to hold it in place, then slips two cushions under my foot. "Scully? Do you think there might have been siblings?" "Excuse me?" "The girl in New Jersey. Do you think she might have had a brother or a sister?" "Well, that came out of left field," she looks at me strangely before her expression turns thoughtful. "It's possible there were others, I suppose, but unlikely." "I hope not." I say quietly. "I hate the thought of another child roaming around in the forest alone." "Mulder, I think if there'd been others then they would have been discovered by now. Something happened to cause the girl to attack the two hikers and reveal her whereabouts.We'll probably never know why or what it was." She pauses, watching me intently. "You know Skinner had the area thoroughly searched, and there was no evidence to suggest the existence of another human being living where the girl was found." "Yeah, I know. I don't believe she killed them, Scully. The more I think about it, the more likely it seems that the hikers fell, like the ranger said. I think the girl found the bodies and used them for food." "Maybe, but without autopsies on either of the dead hikers, I guess we'll never know for sure." "At least Thompson's being made to answer for his actions this time. Skinner really came through for us." I shake my head increduously. "Sometimes I can't figure him out. I thought he'd have my ass for sure." "Technically, you didn't do anything wrong. For all of Thompson's noise, you didn't impede his investigation. Pissing someone off is not a punishable crime." Scully smiles at me reasurringly. I snort quietly. "Just as well, or I'd be serving a life sentence." "Are you hungry, Mulder?" She looks at me expectantly. "I'm starving. How about I order us in a pizza? One with everything." "Now you're talking, Scully." I narrow my eyes suspiciously. "What's the catch?" "No catch. I'm just feeling adventurous." She says, cryptically. "Ooh, bring it on, Agent Scully." I pull my feet up and make a move to stand. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?" "To change out of my wet pants." I hold up my foot, showing her the soaked hem at the bottom of my pants' leg. "Here let me help you." She stands and holds out her hand to me. "You really want to help me change out of my pants?" I ask innocently. "To stand up, Mulder," she says with an exasperated sigh. "Oh." She grabs my hand and hauls me to my feet. "AH!" Pain shoots through my ankle when I inadvertently put weight on it and I stumble awkwardly. Scully slips my arm over her shoulder for support, but as we go to move, I step on the wet shoe lying on the floor, which in turn sets off a disastrous chain of events. Completely losing my balance, I topple backwards, landing spreadeagled on the couch, dragging Scully down on top of me." "OOMPH. AH!" "Mulder! Are you okay?" "Scul...lee. Move...your...elbow." She glances down between our bodies and realises her elbow has landed in the worst possible place it could have...for a guy. "Oh, my God. Mulder, I'm sorry." Her elbow moves from between my legs and I curl over onto my side, waiting for my stomach to drop from my throat. "Are you all, right?" "Just...peachy," I squeeze out in between gasping for breath. Slowly and carefully, I ease myself back into a sitting position, hunching protectively over my groin. "Here, lie back a bit." Scully picks up the cushions previously used to elevate my foot and stuffs them behind my head. "Let me see." My eyes snap open as her hand reaches for the top button of my suit pants. "Scully, I know you like to play doctor, but there are limits. And this is one of them," I grind out painfully. "Mulder, you might have ruptured something. I need to examine you." "No, you need to give me a minute to recover. I'll be okay. Trust me, I've had worse, you barely made contact." I paste a smile on my face and hope it isn't coming out as a grimace. Then I try to straighten up a bit as the shock and pain subside. "Are you sure you're okay?" Scully asks, guilt and concern written all over her face. "Scully, it's a guy thing. Even the slightest threat of anything hostile coming in contact with the family jewels sets off an automatic pain response. Really, I'll be fine." I readjust myself then suck in a deep breath letting it out slowly, effectively chasing away the last remnants of pain from my near-miss encounter with her elbow. Scully's hand lingers on my top button. She has no idea how tempting it is for me to just give in and let her continue her examination. My resolve almost crumbles when the back of her hand brushes gently against my crotch. Suddenly, all traces of pain are forgotten. A much more primal sensation rises in its place. Losing all sense of self-control, I groan quietly in appreciation of this non-hostile contact. Scully looks at me enquiringly. A smouldering light dances in her eyes. Maybe she does have some idea of what she's doing to me. I swallow. Hard. Then attempt to clear my throat and say something, but my voice seems to have gotten lost and the only thing I can focus on is her hand hovering near my lap, and the shapely curve of her mouth. A soft pink curve: lips slightly parted, revealing perfect white teeth. She murmurs my name. And my appetite for pizza is boldly usurped by an overwhelming desire to taste only one thing: Scully's lips on mine. Without a single thought for the consequences, and without any conscious act of movement, I plant my lips firmly on hers. Kissing her, tasting her...until reason and common sense clip me under the ear and I pull away suddenly. "Scully! I...I'm sorry. I shouldn't..." She places her hand against my cheek. "Shhh. Don't apologise. God, Mulder don't apologise for kissing me." Her face brightens with an enigmatic smile, one I don't recognise, yet one that reveals something new and promising. She moves closer to me, leaning her hand on my thigh, the warmth pressing through the fabric of my pants and making its way to my groin. Her lips brush gently against mine. Soft, warm, chaste. However, chaste is the last thing on my mind and I nudge at her mouth with my tongue, trying to control my urgency, but failing miserably. She lets me in, and I realise then that her urgency is equal to my own as she slides her hand behind my neck and holds me tighter. "Scully." I sigh breathlessly against her cheek, my lips still tingling from the kiss. Her hand inches along my thigh. "Mulder, I think I better check for swelling, you never know what damage might have been done earlier," she says with a hint of mischief. "Oh, trust me, Scully. There's swelling." "I hope so, I'd hate to think I caused you any permanant injury. Especially there--where I have a vested interest." "No damage. Permanent or otherwise. I guarantee, everything is in perfect working order." She kisses me again: deeper, longer, trailing her hand to my fly and tugging at the zipper. I groan into her mouth and gently pull away. I need to know exactly where we stand before reaching the point of no return. "Are...Are you sure about this, Scully?" "About what, Mulder?" "This. Us. Everything." I gesture ineffectually with my hands. "After seven long years, you're asking me if I'm sure?" She looks at me incredulously. "Yes. I'm asking because it's taken seven long years. I need to know that you want this, that you're sure about it." "I've never been more sure of anything in my life." She holds my gaze, and I see the same intensity there she usually reserves for arguing in favour of a scientific explanation on one of our cases. Blue eyes imploring me to understand and accept the strength of her conviction. I close my eyes and fight the need to pinch myself, afraid of the possibility that this is just another dream, tormenting me, teasing me. But when I open my them again, she's still there. Scully is still at my side, staring at me with open honesty and sincerity. Waiting for my response. "I just want to be sure you know what you're getting yourself into. With work, the people who are against us...it...it could all become very complicated," I warn her. "After all I've seen in the past seven years, and all I've been through, all *we've* been through..." She pauses, gathering her thoughts. "Mulder, this is a simple complication. And I want it in my life, I want you in my life. Not just during office hours and not only as my work partner. The risks we've taken together, I'd do it all again, all of it, if by taking those risks it meant I could be here with you now. Like this." "I want this too, Scully, but not at the risk of losing you. I couldn't stand it if anything else happened to you because of me, because of our relationship. I've caused you to lose so much, sacrifice more than I ever had the right to ask of you." "'Risk is what separates the good part of life from the tedium.'" She looks at me thoughtfully, before continuing. "Charlie said that to me when I couldn't decide between a career in medicine or the FBI. Mom and Charlie were behind me when I was recruited into the bureau, but Dad and Bill were sure I was throwing away everything that I'd worked so hard for. I took the risk, Mulder, I went with my heart and despite what you think, I don't regret one single minute of my time with the FBI. Or with you." I laugh quietly. "What, Mulder?" She asks softly. "An English professor in Oxford once quoted that line to me. He told me to never let others stand in the way of reaching my full potential just because they were afraid of taking a risk. I've never been afraid of the risks, Scully, not when I'm the only one who will be affected by them. But I am afraid for you, what has happened to you, and what will happen to you in the future, especially if we take this next step." Scully takes both my hands in hers, rubbing her thumbs back and forwards across my knuckles as she speaks. "Mulder, *you* are the good part of my life. *You* are what makes it worthwhile for me to get up in the morning. The only thing we risk here, is losing the opportunity to move forward. If we let our enemies prevent us from taking this step for fear of how they'll use it against us, then they've won. As surely as if they'd put a gun to our heads and pulled the trigger." She pauses, the idle doodling with her thumb stops and she grips my hands tightly. "I want this. I have for a very long time." She releases my hands and reaches behind my head pulling me towards her until our foreheads rest lightly against each other. "I love you, Mulder. That's the truth. The real, honest to God truth, and at no time have I considered my love misplaced or risky." Right now, there are no words in the English language that are able to sum up how I feel. Emotion wells up in me until it has no place to go but outwards. And that's what it does. My eyes tear up and my body shudders against Scully's as she pulls me into a tighter embrace. I hold on to her for all I'm worth and pray that the fallout from my emotions won't crush her. "Scully," I mumble into her neck. "God, Scully. I love you too. I love you so much." I lose track of any real passage of time, content to rest in her arms. Letting her words sink in, and revelling in the relief of knowing that she shares the same feelings that I've had bottled up for so long. Eventually, I pull away, kissing her lightly on the lips. "Come on, Scully. Help me up." "Where are we going?" "To the bedroom. I want to make things really complicated." The end.