TITLE: "Redrawing The Line"


BY: Ten


E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au





CATEGORY: S, MSR, angst, MulderTorture


RATING: PG-13


SUMMARY: Scully's abduction and return, near-death,


clarified Mulder's feelings towards her - now Scully


finds herself in the same situation when Mulder is


affected by the retrovirus. If she can save him, will


things then go back to normal?





TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Set during and after "End


Game". This story was written long before my recent


"Candles of Ice" and is completely separate to it. (I


only managed to keep Candles as deep friendship because I


knew I had this one lurking. <G>)





Disregard the meds that Scully ordered in the ER in End


Game. We couldn't make them fit this scenario.





DEDICATION: To Debbie Goldstein, my editor (and pretty


much co-writer after all the research she did for this


story). In my writing I am Mulder, always rushing in,


doing what I want without thinking of the consequences.


Scully/Debbie steps in and points out a few facts.


"Ahhh..." I say. "So...what can *we* do about it?" Thank


you for everything.





Deep thanks to Ainon and Suzanne Bickerstaffe too.


Author's notes at the end.





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: "Redrawing The Line"


by Ten, posted May 1998








She slapped the shock paddles to his chest.





/Come on, Mulder!/





His body jerked.





The monitor kept giving a Valkyrie scream. Flatline.





Again she tried.





Flatline.





/*Live*, Mulder!/





The field medic was saying something, but she didn't


care. She reapplied the paddles. Once. Twice.





The medic grabbed her arm, and she struck him away.





Again with the defibrillator. The brief zap of life was


not holding. He slipped back.





Desperate to sustain him, she continued pressing down,


sending a constant charge through.





It wasn't going to work.





Someone was coming towards them. Not dressed in scrubs.


It was Samantha. Or the woman who had claimed to be


Samantha. Her eyes were dead.





"He's coming with me."





"No! Leave him alone!"





"He traded me for you. Now we're both dead."














PRESENT, 1995:





Scully sat up, choking on a cry. Her sofa, her apartment.


/But was he...was he...?/





Had she made up his survival? Spun out all the details as


thoroughly as a case report?





She threw the blanket away and stumbled urgently into her


bedroom. "Mulder?"





He was there. But he was lying so still. "Mulder?"





Death pale. "Mulder!"





Unresponding. "No, please don't have..."





Frantically she pushed blankets down and T-shirt up and


placed a hand to his chest.





Warm.





Rising and falling.





Encasing a beating heart.





She cried. He was so exhausted he didn't stir. She cried


as her hands touched his cheeks and ran through his hair


and confirmed his living presence.





Scully went around the other side and climbed into bed,


snuggling against him. Her head rested against the crook


of his neck, arm over his stomach. Gradually her


breathing and heart slowed...














PAST:





Special Agent Fox Mulder was raced off the iceflow into


the ER at Eisenhower Field as little more than frozen


meat. Barely enough in the way of vital signs to qualify


him as living. His core temperature was 86 degrees...





Hypothermia was naturally diagnosed.





The ER staff tried gradual warming while waiting for the


tub of water to reach the correct temperature, all the


while watching his wavering heartbeat.





He seemed to be improving, responding. His temperature


rose, but he was still in danger, heartbeat weak. When


the time was right, they put him in the tub to complete


the treatment. On an IV and catheter. But they didn't


know they were awakening the retrovirus. Mulder


flatlined.





That was when Scully came to the rescue. Not on a white


charger, but wielding the charging pads of the


defibrillator. She cut through anyone in the way of her


helping him. She did not need a sword. Only she could


bring him back. It was not just vanity - she was the one


aware they were dealing with the retrovirus. Dana watched


as they pumped oxygen into him, with one person doing CPR


until the defib was ready.





She heard the CPR crack ribs on both sides, but it was a


necessary evil, one more injury to tally up. She applied


the charging pads.





He lived. But he was in a coma, and the retrovirus was


still inside him. Scully knew it was a horrible


adversary. An immortal one. That fact didn't stop her


from letting loose a stream of orders about his care.





The doctor was astounded. "This patient is not even


recovering-"





"He's going to make it." Dana ran a hand tenderly through


Mulder's hair as she watched the staff carrying out her


orders. What she could see of his face around the mask


was a mess. His body was badly bruised - newer bruises


than from his "run-in" with the car days ago - and an


ankle badly sprained. His left shoulder was dislocated,


the forearm sprained, and his wrist was severely abraded


from where the recon team said they removed one cuff of a


pair of handcuffs.





/And let's not forget the cracked ribs. The man gets hit


by a car and walks away, but the CPR gets him.../





Those injuries were the least of her worries now, as was


possible hypothermia and frostbite. The fact he was in a


coma and breathing so weakly that the staff were putting


him on a respirator was nothing. She had to lower his


temperature before his blood thickened any more.





Doctor Olsen was still lost as they worked with that aim.


But he had realised Scully knew what she was talking


about when a nurse reported that the blood sample they


took when Mulder was first admitted to the ER went "thick


and weird" when it warmed to room temperature at about


the same time as he flatlined.





Dana tried to explain again. "I've seen the effects of


this virus on another agent. His corpse is being studied


at Maryland USAMRIID. I've been kept up to date with


their findings. The blood is not infectious, but it would


be best to take precautions. The other agent, Weiss, had


polycythaemia, and I do mean *massive* red blood cell


production - it was hard to believe it myself. Either a


clot or clump of red blood cells caused his death. It was


hard to tell in the autopsy due to his blood being


curdled like jelly. We got to Mulder before his blood


thickened that much, otherwise nothing would have saved


him."





"But you've ordered transfusions. That isn't the


treatment for polycythaemia."





"I know standard treatment includes draining off the


blood and replacing it with diluting fluids, and we will


do that, but we're dealing with this retrovirus. When


it's dormant I want to clear as much of it as I can out


of him via transfusions." He was gaping at her and she


got angry. "I'm trying to save him! I wouldn't do


anything to deliberately hurt my partner!"





"May I also point out that the transfused blood will


rapidly mix with the contaminated blood and the


overabundance of red blood cells, making the transfusions


useless?"





"I'm hoping to buy him enough time right now to get him


cooled so the virus can go dormant, and then so the anti-


viral agents can work, or so he has a chance to hopefully


produce antigens."





"Antigens for this retrovirus? Is that possible?"





"I don't know," she admitted. She thought about Purity


Control - Mulder's other exposure. "But I won't give up


on it happening." All through this exchange she was


helping the staff and touching her partner, making sure


she did not get in the way of any procedures. "Stay with


me, Mulder." She threw a glance at Olsen. "And the anti-


viral agents might help."





"You can't use drugs meant for one virus or retrovirus


for another."





"We have to try. There *are no drugs* for this


retrovirus. From what I've studied of Weiss's condition,


the meds I've requested are the closest and best chance."





Olsen opened his mouth to argue again and appeared to


change his mind at her determined glare. He sighed. "Any


idea what he handcuffed himself to? Looks like it took


him for quite a ride..."














Scully sat beside her partner, dressed in a thick coat to


hold off the cold. The jellied blood sample had alarmed


everyone, so he was in a private room. She watched his


face, but it was so easy for her gaze to be drawn to the


respirator, the monitor readouts which showed he was in a


coma, still very close to dying. Flatlining had been just


as causative of the coma as the retrovirus. The burns


which had clued her in on his exposure now taunted her


that the virus was not down for the count.





Dana swallowed and dropped her gaze. She tented her hand


over his, fingers resting lightly. Even that simple act


was upsetting - his left forearm was in a brace so it


wouldn't get jostled and so the restraint could be


fastened around it while he was on the respirator. Some


of his upper arm was swollen from his dislocated


shoulder. She couldn't hold his arm tightly. Over on his


inner right wrist was an arterial line for bloodwork, now


that the Maryland US Army Medical Research Institute of


Infectious Diseases had confirmed that Mulder's blood


shouldn't contaminate anyone, but to take the same


precautions with him as they would with any patient


anyway.





She stroked his fingers. Despite the recon team's report


that he wasn't wearing gloves, frostbite had not affected


his hands. Usually his hands were so big and animated and


wonderful to watch, but not now.





A pad of legal paper sat on her lap, and Dana knew she


had to begin filling it. The base didn't have a laptop,


and there was no way she would take the risk around all


this equipment anyway. So she would organise her thoughts


here and tap it into one of the desktop computers later


on.





"I'm here, Mulder." She carefully squeezed his fingers


and lifted her hand away to pick up her pencil. "I just


need to do some writing. But I'll be here." Doing her


report would keep her eyes off the horror of the


situation, but she still had to write about it.





**Blood testing of Agent Mulder has proven difficult,


with the blood thickening when it warms up. Through


regulation of room temperature, the staff and I have


managed to delay this long enough to determine that


Mulder did indeed have polycythaemia with the retrovirus


as causative agent, leading to a clump of red blood cells


blocking off a small vein in his lungs. This affected his


respiration, causing respiratory arrest leading to


cardiac arrest.





There is no permanent damage from the Pulmonary Embolus,


and Agent Mulder has not experienced the severe effects


of hypothermia and frostbite.





But God, Mulder, I'm so scared.





I can hear one of my lecturers saying:





"You *never* get rid of viruses. Take a look at chicken


pox - caused by a herpesvirus. Your primary infection is


chicken pox. You recover from it. All's fine. Years later


your immunity is down - the infection will flare up


again, this time known as shingles - because you never


get chicken pox twice. Viruses *never* let go of you."





So, partner, where does that leave you? The ER staff


lowered your body temperature again. Not to as severe a


temperature as 86, but down until the virus became


dormant in response. We're trying to clear it out of your


blood with transfusions and a course of anti-viral


agents, but Mulder...**





Scully blinked and read back over the few paragraphs so


far. She had unconsciously begun addressing Mulder, just


as if he were there - /He IS there, Dana! He's not going


to die, and it doesn't matter what anyone else says, or


what that damn coma scale says! Glasgow can go get.../ -


putting down the fears she was too scared to tell him or


anyone out loud.





/I can't put that in my report.../ But this was just the


rough note gathering. She realised there was nothing to


stop her from using it like a diary, providing she


removed the "irrelevant" stuff as she was typing it in.


And she needed some way of getting those thoughts out of


her head.





She put her hand over his again, to touch base. "You have


the strength of your belief, Mulder. And of mine."


/You're going to wake up fine, I promise you./





Wearily, she kept writing. She focused on the mystery of


the lack of frostbite and hypothermia to keep her mind


occupied. **One of the usual complications of these


conditions is Disseminated Intravascular Coagulation,


where clotting factors migrate out to the extremities,


where they can cause gangrene, and leaving the central


areas in danger of hemorrhaging.





So why were you spared, Mulder? Why didn't your toes drop


off? Could it be the retrovirus? It could act in the


opposite way to D.I.C. It seems to mess up the central


areas first and not have so much effect on the


extremities. Did they cancel each other out? The slightly


thickened blood and the dormant retrovirus preventing


large clots from forming, but keeping enough clotting


factors through the body to prevent haemorrhaging? The


blood can't have been too thick, otherwise your poor


heart would never have lasted that long. The blood could


still travel through your veins.





It's so hard to watch and wait over you like this. But


you did for me. I just wish there wasn't a favour to


return.**














Over the first week since his infection, Mulder remained


in a coma. The staff had dressed up in full hazmat gear


to do the surgery to install a central line IV into his


heart, going in on the right jugular vein. They kept a


close eye on his swollen shoulder, not wanting a blood


clot to be his downfall.





Scully preferred to sit on his left side, but it depended


how he was positioned every few hours. Due to his


shoulder, he was only being shifted onto his right side


or his back until it healed enough. It frustrated her


that she couldn't touch him as reassuringly as she wanted


to, and if she sat over on his right side her back was to


all the monitor readouts, and she couldn't bear that for


long periods of time. She couldn't even rest a hand on


his chest with those cracked ribs and all those bruises.





During the times that she rested her voice, she exercised


her fingers, words flowing over the paper.





**We have removed the virus from your bloodstream. You


didn't die from either the transfusions or anti-viral


agents - I would have REALLY been pissed - and survived


long enough to produce antigens. You get an A for effort,


Mulder! So that's helping your body cope.





We're going to trial you at breathing on your own soon,


since you've started fighting the vent. The first time


you did that, you set off the alarms - one part of me


thought I was losing you, the other thought you were


waking up. DON'T joke with me, partner.**





Scully swore. Her violent underline had slashed the page.





**There's nowhere I can channel this all out apart from


onto the page. Where can I go on a snowed base? I had to


rush under the shower just to cry unnoticed. Wash it all


down the plughole.





So - you're improving. But I'm still so scared.





The retrovirus is alien - in the sense that it is unknown


- but somehow it was weakened by the drugsss we tried. You


may not think that's surprising, but let me enlighten


you, partner, anti-viral drugs *attack* a virus - they


can't *kill* it. Weak viruses versus the antigens may


mean the viruses will adopt a siege mentality and hide.


In your bone marrow.





God, Mulder, what if we can't get rid of it? I promised


you we would... Science will save you. I will.





We don't know the facts yet. It's probably gone. We're


running tests, and we'll have the answers soon enough.**














**I haven't spoken to you yet, Mulder. Even though I've


been sitting here for an hour now. I can't speak. Even if


I talk about the weather, my voice will betray me. You


are lying there, your coma is lighter. Your blood gases


were improved enough, so the respirator is gone - you


didn't even need it in long enough for them to consider a


tracheostomy - and I should be singing...even though I


can't carry a tune. I want to sing and cry with joy that


you will be okay.





But the viruses are still in you, Mulder. Deep in cells


of your marrow. Science has saved you. For now. But I've


failed you.**











She rang Skinner. He had shown more care for her partner


than Mr & Mrs Mulder did. She informed him about the


marrow. "So what does that mean?"





"It means he will recover," Scully said. "The retrovirus


is no longer attacking him."





"But if it's still in him, is there a chance -?"





She put her voice into a neutral tone. "By all signs and


of what we know of 'usual' viruses, he should eventually


regain consciousness and return to normal... Until such a


time as his immunity drops or the retrovirus has


successfully replicated itself to such vast numbers that


Mulder's immune system can't fight back any longer. Then


he'll fall sick again, only this time it would be much


worse. And the symptoms would probably be different, so


we may not even realise until..."





She ended that conversation in a hurry as the full


severity of the situation hit her. She hurried to the


church to pray.














She sat, business-like, at Mulder's side. She had lowered


the side rail, a gesture now as familiar as turning on


her office computer. Scully went to note on the top right


hand corner of the page the number of days since


infection. She paused. Eight? Ten?





She realised she didn't really measure the passing of


time by minutes and hours any more. Hands going around a


clockface were insignificant. But the gradual improvement


in the monitoring readouts, the whittling down of the


tubes and machinery, that was tangible.





And the only numbers that meant anything to her now were


his improving Glasgow scale.





Dana sighed softly, lowering the pencil and her


demeanour, gazing at his face. She let herself think down


paths she had stayed away from while busying herself with


his care.





/So this was what it was like for you when I was found...


An unknown toxin in the system, doctors at a loss,


patient not expected to survive. Seeing your partner pale


and motionless, smothered in wires and a respirator and


doom.../





At least as a doctor herself, Scully had been able to


take action. To use her knowledge of the retrovirus and


her determination to help Mulder wage the war.





He didn't have that "luxury" when he was in her shoes.


The doctor would not listen to him. Her mother was


insistent Dana's living will would be carried out.


Mulder's own signature was on the document. All he could


do was plead and rage, and try to get revenge and


answers... and in the end, thank God, he did the most


important thing - to simply be there for her.





Mulder didn't have a living will. In the first year of


their partnership when she gently tried to get him to


fill out one, he kept putting it off. Finally, after the


Boggs case, he told her if anything did happen to him, he


trusted her judgement as his doctor on his chances of


survival and recovery. Any decisions would be hers to


make, otherwise she could contact his parents. "I know


you'll weigh up the evidence very carefully and make the


right choice. Never regret it. Never think I'd hate you


for it."





When he said that, she was able to talk Mulder into


designating her as his primary on his Medical Power of


Attorney.





Now she was so glad there was no living will blocking


her, or a flimsy verbal comment, or his parents with a


differing opinion. She would have fought tooth and nail


if so. She was the one who stood between him and death.





/Weigh up the evidence carefully, right? Logically. Well,


Mulder, you didn't realise my decisions have been more


emotional than anything. Otherwise I'd have accepted


defeat and told them to let you go. In that way I'm a


believer. I'm not giving up on you./





"I'm here. You're not ready to go yet, Mulder. I guess


you're not ready to come back either, but please make it


soon."





The personnel here - doctors downward - were all in awe


of her. They had stopped attempting to argue with her


insistences and demands.





Whispers in the hallway: "If she was mine, I'd sure fight


my way back too!"





"They're FBI partners. And partners in much more, for


*sure*."





"Did you see the way she took on Olsen? Now he just hands


her the chart and asks what she wants."





In the mess hall the soldiers, the staff, everyone, all


kept asking how Mulder was. They offered to take her to


the tiny bowling alley as part of their Friday night


group, just to get a break. "They'll ring immediately if


anything happens."





She thanked them and declined.














The second week ended. The retroviruses in his marrow


didn't respond, awaken or reproduce in normal


temperatures. They remained dormant.





And Mulder didn't respond or awaken either. His coma was


getting lighter - as the days added up there was more


response to painful stimuli, and he made some movements.


But that was all. For Scully, tears down the shower drain


became a daily event. The female staff seemed aware of


this and tried to stay out of there at those times, which


of course wasn't always possible, but they made sure Dana


knew they were there for support if needed.





She wanted to be alone to mourn her loneliness. Just her


and water. The heating bill would be bigger than the


defence budget.





**What can I do, Mulder? I'd go in there myself and hunt


down each one if I could. You'd like that. I'd be like


Ripley, or from that movie where the scientists are


shrunk down to fit into the bloodstream...





I'm trying to work out what to say to you about the


retrovirus when you wake up... It's still in you and


could rear its "heads" again one day. *Could*. Should I


tell you? You'll be so weak and to add more stress... I


remember how I felt when I was told how long I'd been


missing. But it's your body and you have a right to know.


I so much wanted to be able to have you wake up and for


me to say: "You're fine" and MEAN it.





Please come back. Even when you were shot, you weren't in


critical condition for this long. I feel lost. Do I feel


that half of me has gone? That's the talk of poets. What


does my rational side say?





It tells me that before you I had a very full, fulfilling


life, where I got through med school and into the FBI and


into teaching, perfectly happy. Very good at my work. I


felt complete and I was.





So when and how did you become such a big piece of my


jigsaw puzzle? Because things change. I still enjoy


teaching, but when the X-Files were closed down it wasn't


the same. Life does expand to include new friends, new


interests, new beliefs...and changes to


relationships...?**














Seventeen days in, the miracle happened. Dana was


summoned to the phone.





"Hello, Agent Scully. This is Chief Medical Officer Fred


Calero."





Scully knew Calero - he worked at the USAMRIID which held


Agent Weiss' body for study. They were probably itching


to autopsy Mulder too. /No - Calero has helped me. His


experimenting with the cell cultures led to the discovery


that the cold knocks out the virus. And he has been


supportive in these last two weeks, trying whatever I've


suggested.../





"That dormant virus sample you saw - the one we've kept


cold - something happened to it."





"It was stolen?"





"No. An assistant put it under the scope a few days ago


for a routine check and noticed it was breaking down. She


made a note of it, but didn't tell me. I checked it today


and the dormant virus *is* dying and breaking down into


harmless waste that a body could remove by itself. It


could even disappear completely."





"Oh God... Could it be the consistent cold, or that the


virus wasn't getting its requirements met by being in the


marrow...?" She had a mad impulse to rush Mulder out into


the snow, but decided to wait and see.





Two days later, the same thing showed up in tests on


Mulder. The retrovirus was disappearing without harming


him further.





**It's true, Mulder. We took a bone marrow aspirate to


check for sure - I'm glad you were out for that - and


there was no trace. No trace!





The only theory I can come up with was that this virus


had reached the end of its lifespan. From research on


Weiss and you, it seems the virus is short-term, able to


kill its host within half an hour of exposure. But you


being stuck out on the ice had delayed that MO, made it


dormant. Apparently it could not exist in that state


indefinitely. And perhaps your first exposure with Purity


Control had helped.





Right now, I really don't care about the facts of the


matter. All I want is for you to wake up so I can tell


you the good news.





But can I hide from you what I've realised?**





Scully stopped and put down the pen. She wasn't ready to


explore it in her thoughts yet - what she had written a


few days ago had been enough of a shock. But the feelings


were there, in her blood more permanently than any


retrovirus, and made her heart pound.














He remained comatose.





**Come ON, Mulder. The virus has completely vanished.


What's keeping you? I guess you deserve a rest, but at


least give me a few seconds, huh? Then you can sleep for


another day.





They removed the a-line today. I can't believe it. I


thought they'd be forever sucking blood out of you to


monitor your condition. But the virus IS GONE!!!! I know


I keep repeating that, but let's face it, that is


something worth saying over and over.





Science and Weiss's death saved you. Show some gratitude,


Sunshine! WAKE UP!!





Well, let's do an injury catalogue, shall we? Your wrist


and forearm are healed, thanks to you being out of it and


totally resting your arm during that time. Wish I'd known


that after you were shot on the dock. The Corticosteriods


you were on to decrease the inflammation and swelling


from the retrovirus probably helped too. Same with your


ankle - that and your shoulder are nearly better. Your


ribs still need time - several more weeks.





And don't roll over onto your front left side. We took


the bone marrow fluid sample from your iliac crest. More


swelling. You've probably upped Corticosteroids shares...





We're doing our best to prevent contractures at your


joints - the Range of Motion exercises are helping your


arms, but its been harder with your ankles. I don't want


your feet contracting into the ballet-dancer-up-on-point


position. Could put a serious crimp in your basketball.


And I can't picture you in high heels. Oh, for a pair of


those old fashioned, high-topped tennis shoes! They'd be


perfect support for you. But finding them in a D.C. mall


now would be hard enough, let alone here... We've


improvised with splints and when you're on your back we


put you down in the bed so the soles of your feet are


against the footboard.





We got the Physical Therapist to show your team specific


exercises and positions to put you in - I'm the one doing


them the most for you because the staff aren't doing it


to my satisfaction. They rush through or do it


incorrectly. I nearly snapped at Sandra yesterday - she


could have hurt your shoulder by moving your arm like


that! But I guess I've got the time to kill every few


hours. They don't.





I'm not going to keep doing those exercises when you wake


up. Hey, is that why you're still asleep? Anything to


have my hands all over you, huh?





The pain-mongers are back. Sandra and Olsen with their


damn tests. Yes, you're withdrawing from it. You moan.


Nothing new.





Why don't you open your eyes and ask what the hell


they're doing? Tell them to stop in as many swear words


as you want - it'll be music to my ears.





But you lie there and take the pain. As usual. Am I


madder at them or you?





I wish pain didn't hurt. I wish love -





They leave after baking in my glare. At least I've been


in charge of the non-painful stimuli, though *I* feel it


when you don't respond.





The tape recorder is now playing Abba. "Mama Mia".


Actually, I'm not sure if you'd consider that non-painful


or not. I like them. I'll see if "Jailhouse Rock" stirs


anything in you. I think I've gone through every tape


that comes through this place. Anything I can remember


from our car trips - anything that got a caustic comment


or caused your fingers to tap on the wheel.





How long has it been since I sat in a car?





If the Beatles bring you out of it, I'll bless them


forever. I was so sure that recording of the ringing cell


phone would work. Your hand did twitch towards your


"pocket" but that was all. I'll try it again soon.





Smell stimuli came close. Dabbing my perfume on my


fingers and holding them under your nose produced a sniff


from that big but perfect-for-your-face nose. I got a


sniff! Inform the President! But I want the jackpot -


your eyes. I'll prise the damn things open and shine one


of our high wattage flashlights down there soon. I'm


serious.





Oh - I haven't finished about the perfume. I dabbed some


on the pillow and ten minutes later your head turned that


way, putting your face against it. I refuse to believe


that was a coincidence. When one of the Corpsmen lent me


his aftershave - your brand - I actually grinned when


repeating the tests had no effect. Don't tell me that my


smell holds some power over you?





God, I'm getting delusional.





We've tried familiar cooking smells...but even freshly


baked choc chip cookies aren't cutting it. The kitchen is


getting sick of me. "We can't get those ingredients."


"Why NOT?"





Familiar voices. Mine is nearly worn out - that's why I'm


writing so much, letting the Beach Boys wash over us. I


feel guilty, because I don't think I've been putting 100%


effort into the stimuli before the last few days. Why?


Ask me, Mulder. Open your eyes and ASK ME!!





I guess because, deep down, I haven't wanted you to wake


up before you were virus-free...





I'm still sitting on your left as much as I can. Force of


habit. At least I can hold your arm properly now. You are


going to HAVE to tell me about that handcuff, partner.**





Scully sighed. She was running out of things to write,


which was dangerous, because it gave her more time to


think.





/Three weeks.../





Three weeks of wearing a severely limited range of


clothes, because packing was the last thing on her mind


when she rushed after him. Washing them in a sink until a


nurse gently reminded her about the coin-op washers.


Getting brief snatches of frozen air. Sleeping in a cot


up against the wall in his room most of the time, even


though Olsen gave her a bed in the nurses' quarters. She


kept updating Skinner and asking for it to be passed on


to his family (who seemed terribly indifferent, perhaps


because of the loss of their daughter a second time. If


it *was* their daughter...), and exchanging brief but


heartening talks with her mother.





Mulder had willingly risked his sister for her. She


couldn't believe that. Samantha was the person he cared


more for than any one else in the world.





"Why did you do it?" she whispered, to no response.





Was he lost, unable to get her to hear? Fragmented


memories of her abduction came back to her - a mantra:


/Mulder will find me, Mulder will come... Where are you?/





Did he *want* to come back? After all the blows this case


had dealt him, did he have the desire? Did he believe the


woman they lost really was Samantha? Scully thought of


the way the body corroded before her eyes - some strange


chemical reaction.





Could she risk her sister, Melissa, in a similar stand-


off?





Scully talked about childhood memories and read out loud


from the newspapers and books the base possessed or the


nurses kindly loaned from their own collections, hoping


to fill in the silence for them both in the times she


needed a break from the music. She had heard people


talking while in her coma and remembered how it comforted


her. She hoped the same for him. His coma was very light


now. He responded to pain by shifting away from it and


was moving independently, if not yet in response to


commands. Sometimes he would mumble words she couldn't


understand. She studied his face so many times her gaze


threatened to wear grooves on his skin. The burns around


his eyes, nose and mouth were no longer visible.





Since Mulder only needed intermittent meds now and no


anti-virals, the central line IV had been capped off into


a heparin lock. Then the Nasogastric feeding tube became


clogged beyond fixing, and the decision was made to leave


it out for a few hours. Usually NG tubes caused


irritation after a period of time and a switch would be


made to a PEG tube, but no signs of trouble had appeared


on Mulder and Dana wasn't going to waste that luck. At


the moment his face was unspoilt and she could almost


pretend he was just asleep. At times she had felt the NG


tube was the final thread binding him to the dark.





Its removal had set Olsen off again about doing the


surgery to insert a PEG tube directly into his stomach


instead, but Scully thought that would be worse,


especially when there was no apparent need. Did Mulder


really need *another* scar? Bad enough about the IV. The


central line had been necessary though. She shuddered to


think of the state his arms would have been in after so


long on a normal IV. Having to move it around all the


time when the sites got blocked... And they'd have to


reopen it to give him fluids if she didn't make up her


mind about the tubes soon.





"You're going to make it, Mulder. You have to. Come on,


before they put the tube back in. Or one that's more


*permanent*." She stroked his forehead and ran a hand


through his hair, through that rather short, spiky cut


she disliked, but would uncomplaining live with for the


rest of their lives if he would just...





The nurse came in. "Nothing?"





"No, not yet."





"It's time for his bath."





"Okay, I'll be in the mess hall. Send someone to get me,


please."





Hopefully the bath would bring him out of it.














No change. Damn, his head was turned away - they knew she


sat on his left, the *chair* was there for God's sake!





/Dana - Range of Motion exercises, remember? Otherwise


he'll be as stiff as a board... Calm down!/





Talk about stressed. How could she forget that? Or he


could have moved on his own. This was getting to be too


much. Three weeks...





/He didn't know where you were for *three months*./





/No, and neither do I./





There was no energy to move the chair to the other side


of the bed. She prayed over him in the silence, clutching


his arm. /Please, God. Just a little bit further. He's


almost home. Please give him back to me. I miss him. I


need him. I.../





"Mmmm..." Mulder's eyes were open - his arm moved under


her fingers.





They'd won. They'd won!














Her Mulder was back, hoarsely joking about freezer burn,


then more seriously saying his faith was reaffirmed.


Relief filled her. She wanted to run a hand through his


just-brushed hair, push it back off his forehead.


However, the intimate gestures and deep talks she had


bestowed on him under the shadow of the axe now seemed


dangerous things to repeat in the light. After all, they


were already falling back into their normal roles. Why


risk reaching for the moon again when she had just


received one miracle?





"What day is it?"





She told him.





"Three weeks? Skinner'll kill me. *You'll* kill me..."





She smiled, but with eyes rapidly filling with tears.


Fortunately his eyes closed again and he went back to


sleep before he noticed - or so she hoped.





She swallowed the tears - a trick only she could manage -


and slipped out to tell the doctor the good news. All the


staff were ecstatic, cheering.





One nurse laughed and clapped her hands, "At last I'll be


able to see if his eyes are just as gorgeous as the rest


- " She coloured and hastily busied herselllf with a handy


piece of paperwork.





As Scully went back down the hallway, she heard another


nurse scold: "Jennie! For Goodness sake - you *know* he's


already taken!"





/Oh yes, the entire nursing pool have probably drawn


straws over who gets to 'attend' to him and turn on the


charm./





Then she realised that may not have been what they meant.





She wanted to sleep, knew she had to, but was too keyed


up, and went back to his bedside. Olsen came in.





"I'll put him on painkillers for his ribs and hip. I'll


run more tests when he's awake, but it looks like he's


avoided Urinary Tract Infection and pneumonia. We'll


start him on deep breathing exercises - or as deep as he


can go before the ribs play up - and adjust the physical


therapy."





Dana nodded, eyes still fixed on Mulder. "And lots of


rest. Which is usually the hardest to enforce, but I have


a feeling this time will be different."





"Well, we don't need to put the feeding tube back in, or


restart the IV. For the moment. We'll see how he goes


with eating." Olsen paused. "You said he seemed alert


enough, that he knew you and could hold a conversation.


Did he seem to have any trouble with his eyes?"





Scully stopped herself from biting her lip. "No, he


focused on me without apparent difficulty. He was closing


his eyes a lot, but that was due to tiredness. He wasn't


squinting or struggling."





"You were only three feet away. When he's awake and alert


enough, probably tomorrow, I'll determine whether he can


see distances and read."





She nodded. It was a possibility which worried her. What


if Mulder couldn't see well enough to shoot? What if


there was some damage from the cold or the coma or the


retrovirus that prevented his reinstatement to the


Bureau?





Mulder reawoke two hours later. He cut her off when she


began to explain about the virus and his remaining


injuries and instead asked her about the submarine and


the man he had pursued.





"Still no trace."





"When can we get out of here? I've got to talk to my


contacts - find out..." He trailed off at her look.





"Mulder, you are not going *anywhere* for a while. You


nearly died!"





His face got the pouty annoyed look. "I've spent three


weeks recovering."





/I don't *believe* this man!/ "You were exposed to the


retrovirus, Mulder, the same thing that killed Agent


Weiss! I'm hoping you can tell me how, but one thing I do


know, if you weren't such a lucky little FBI agent and


been in such cold temperatures at the time, we'd have


buried you by now! Its progress gets hindered by the


cold; that was the only thing that saved you." Her voice


was in danger of breaking up. "Mulder, do you know just


how close you came...? It's going to take a while to get


back on your feet. You need to take some time."





"I've lost too much time already."





Both blinked, realising their role-reversal.





Mulder swallowed and attempted to steer the conversation


off the thin ice. "I think it happened when I shot the


Pilot. Green blood, Scully. I'm sure I saw green blood


and it didn't slow him down. And a second after I got him


my face began to burn...just like in the attic with


Doctor Secare."





She stayed quiet, remembering the near-identical burns


around his eyes, nose and mouth in both instances.





"It felt like my system was trying to fight it, but at


the cost of killing me. Sam...the clone...she said their


blood was toxic, fatal to humans."





"This...'Pilot'," Scully considered. "He could have been


another of Doctor Berube's lab rats injected with Purity


Control."





"Why? Deep Throat told us the others were killed. Secare


was the only 'success' - the only one who could live


outside Zeus Storage." They were back to their usual


debating.





"But this Pilot could have been part of those


experiments, perhaps a new lab rat given an increased


dose. That could explain why you were so affected by his


blood. The last time, you said it knocked you out, and I


saw the burns - you were a bit wobbly for a few days, but


nothing like the condition you were in this time."





"Hypothermia didn't help. Well...apparently it did.


Anyway, I told you the Pilot is an alien, *that's* why


his blood really did a number on me. It wasn't diluted


like in Secare, a human."





Scully got *her* pouty annoyed look out. "We'll debate


that issue, and your discharge, later. Much later.


Mulder, you're wearing yourself out. You have to rest."





"You too."





She smiled. It would be her turn to drive him crazy in


recovery. Constantly eyeing him and fretting when he was


released, asking "are you okay?" every five minutes...





Another shared bond drawing them closer and closer


together.








* * * *





1994:


Georgetown Hospital, D.C.





When Missy and Mom had left, she slept. And at a point


she was aware that Mulder had reentered the room alone.


She so much wanted to talk to him, but she was drifting,


so tired, and she just had to keep doing so while she


enjoyed the sense of his presence and the feel of his


hand gently on hers. Then later she sensed his despair.


His hand was gone and it gave her enough worried strength


to open her eyes to see him still sitting there, but


gazing sightlessly at the window, quietly crying for all


he was worth.





She managed to touch his hand, reach out with her arms,


and he collapsed, crumpling against her, pouring out in


tears all the agony of the last three months.





"I'm sorry. I tried - so - hard - but - I - I - couldn't


find you..."





"It's okay. We're both back now. Come up here."





He somehow managed to get up on the narrow hospital bed


next to her. The springs protested. He held her around


the waist, head in the crook of her arm, and they soothed


each other to sleep.





Scully woke up when a surprised and frowning nurse


entered. Dana's fighting spirit kicked in.





The nurse opened her mouth and stopped at the Look, the


finger to the lips. This frail woman was suddenly


radiating power, tightening her grip defiantly and


protectively. The nurse left without a word, returning a


few minutes later with two blankets, one to cover Mulder


with, the other to drape over Scully's arms and chest.


She made sure the IV line was uncompromised. Scully


mouthed her thanks and the nurse let them be.








* * * *





Eisenhower Field Hospital, Deadhorse, Alaska:





She got some sleep in her chair, but couldn't settle


properly. She needed a good cry, and damned if she'd have


it here. Time to visit the showers, but she felt if she


did, she'd recreate the Great Flood and go right down the


drain. She had to hold it in.





Both she and Mulder woke when the doctor came in.





"I'll leave you two alone," Scully said, deciding some


fresh air would be a Godsend. "And if he's difficult,


send for me."





Mulder watched her go, thinking of when he first opened


his eyes in this hospital. He had seen bright sunlight


through the windows, light he never expected again after


lying on that giant morgue slab of ice-flow in the


constant dark, slowly freezing.





Then he turned and found Scully - smiling so radiantly


that the sunshine was nothing. He felt warmth entering


his body just by looking at her. He knew she was there


the whole three weeks. There was no sense of time, but he


had heard her. He tried to move his hand over to hold


hers, but his body was too tired and weak to respond.





At least this time all the suffering had been on his


shoulders.





"Mr Mulder, you are a very lucky man. You've survived


something we're still scratching our heads over, and on


top of it, you've got a woman like that. I'm surprised


she didn't want to hang around to ensure I don't tire you


out."





"I know." As the doctor talked to him, Mulder became


aware of two things: just how much Scully had fought to


save his life, and that the doctor thought they were


romantically involved.





"She brought you back, you know. I'm telling you, she was


sitting in this chair so long she was like some fixture.


Believed you were gonna make it, and she was going to


kill anyone who didn't believe her. Hell of a woman. If I


were you, I wouldn't let some other guy get her. Buy an


engagement ring when you're back in Washington." Olsen


winked.





Mulder considered what he was left with. He didn't have


Samantha. His parents...God only knew what they thought


of him now. The Pilot had given him hope though. That was


something. He still had himself, his faith, his work.


Scully.





So in a way he had more than he ever thought he deserved.


The hope alone wasn't enough to lead him back or see him


through recovery. It was his partner.














The doctor was gone and Mulder was asleep again by the


time she got back. The chart showed that a nurse had fed


him and he'd kept it down. Scully sat there for a long


time, and then the tears began to fall, silent and heavy.


She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself.





There was a tap on her knee. She sniffled and opened her


eyes to find Mulder reaching out for her with both arms,


trying to sit up.





"Dana..."





She slid forward into his embrace and sobbed anew.





"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry for leaving you.


For putting you through this..."





"Just hold me, please."





He tugged at her, the painkillers and worry making him


forget his injuries, but unable to find the strength to


pull her completely onto the bed, so she moved up, the


springs creaking and groaning. She shifted over carefully


to his "good" right side so she could lay down without


affecting the bad spots and the catheter paraphernalia.


Dana tried to be careful of his strapped ribs, but she


needed to be close to him, she needed to be able to touch


him, even if he couldn't easily return it.





Her head rested at his shoulder, not touching the hep


lock. Their locked gaze had more weight than any hold.





"You've been so strong for me," he said.





She lay on her side, her left hand holding his right, and


in answer her other hand went to his chest to feel the


beat.





He looked at her hand. So deceptively small. But it had


saved him. And now it held his heart. "The doc said you


started it again. I'm not surprised."





"When you flatlined, my heart stopped too."





His left hand found her heartbeat. "Thanks for saving us


both." His voice was getting sleepy. "You are my faith to


keep looking..." He gently kissed her forehead. Then what


they saw in each other's eyes brought their lips together


for a few precious moments. Strengthened, holding, they


then drifted into the best sleep either had experienced


for many long weeks.





Later the nurse came in and surveyed the scene. Smiling,


she checked the IV, fetched some blankets to cover


Scully, then left the couple alone.














They slept through all checks and a doctor taking a


polaroid... They woke late in the morning and lay staring


at each other. Scully touched his face. "You need a


shave," she said as an excuse.





Mulder grinned. "Thank God I slept through the burns


healing - last time I could feel each individual hair


follicle coming up through those burns. It itched!" He


touched her chin. "You don't need one - no whiskers." He


traced her lips, then stroked her hair.





She didn't move away. It was nice to see his fingers


alive again. Nice to feel too. His fingers caught a group


of strands and held them out, toying. Studying the


colours.





Scully went crosseyed watching him and hoped he was *not*


looking for different coloured roots. A nurse came in.


Scully scrambled off him like a teenager caught necking


in her bedroom.





Mulder wondered if he could feign another coma to make


himself the innocent party in this incident.





The nurse, Jennie, having heard the 'sleeping


arrangement' from her fellows, merely smiled. "Well, Mr


Mulder, you seem to be progressing nicely..."





When Scully's blush died down, she realised she didn't


feel that ashamed. She just hoped she hadn't jabbed her


partner in the ribs on her way up. Where Mulder had


traced her lips it felt like he'd applied lava lipstick.





Mulder realised he could recognise Jennie from her voice.


He swallowed his meds like a martyr and then fidgeted


through a shave. /I hate this - that's one thing I want


to do myself./ He noticed the heparin lock as Jennie


checked it. "Hey - what's that? That's not a normal IV!


What gives?" He hated IV's at the best of times. He


hadn't even noticed he was adorned with one until now,


because it wasn't on his hand or forearm, it was way up


on his neck, and he'd been too tired and distracted. Had


they thought if they placed it up there, he wouldn't


realise and complain?





"Central line IV, Mulder," Scully said. "You had to have


one directly into your heart. It was clear you were going


to be out for a while, and needing one for a while more,


so an internal jugular was easier than making a mess of


the rest of your arms every time we had to move the site


when it got blocked."





"I'm awake now. You can remove it."





"Not yet, Mulder." He whimpered pitifully. She carried


on. "Not until you're out of the woods. At the moment


you're still in the outer treeline. You're still weak."





"I'll have you know I'm a manly man in the full bloom of


my manhood."





She rolled her eyes. Thank God the NG tube had been


temporarily removed in the hours before he woke. If he


had woken up with that in... And what would his reaction


have been if he found himself wearing tennis shoes in


bed?





To halt his complaints, Scully fed Mulder his


breakfast/lunch. He was like a big sick kid. Though he


did insist he was capable of feeding himself. So she let


him try with dessert.





"It's jello," she said apologetically.





"I love it," he deadpanned back. "That's why I keep


getting myself injured and hospitalised, so I can be fed


it every day. The plain old stuff at home just doesn't


taste the same."





Scully wrinkled her nose. "You're sick!"





Keeping his arm up proved too much, and he ended up


giving his navel a spoonful of jello. Probably a


deliberate attempt to ditch the unappetising fare, but he


let Dana take over again without further comment.





She didn't want him feeling embarrassed. "Mulder - this


isn't about weakness. This is being sensible." He gave


her a strange look, but said nothing.





She remembered her Mom's words: "When I had to take care


of your Dad when he was sick, I used to get bowled over


by the rush of love I would feel." Nightingale syndrome?


If that was true, then she was in a *lot* of trouble with


Mulder.





/No, I was in trouble long before that. This time just


helped me clarify what I feel for him./ She held up a


glass to give him a drink.





"Cranberry juice..." He groaned.





"Do you *really* want a UTI? Now come on, we've got to


finish this - you've got deep breathing exercises


scheduled, and I want Mick to see how much hot air you're


capable of. He won't believe me. And we'd better do - I


mean, get Raelene to do - some ROM with you."





The corners of his mouth quirked up. "Computers, Scully?"





"Range of Motion exercises."





"Can't we skip those?"





"Yes, when you're able to skip by yourself. At the moment


you can't even turn over or move much on your own. We


have to build up to that manly bloom again."














After some exercises, they were alone again. Scully knew


Mulder was puzzled because she'd kept correcting the


nurse about the ROM. Would he comment?





Instead Mulder asked quietly, "My parents...?"





She struggled to work out what he wanted to hear and how


to balance it with the truth. "Um, they're being kept


informed about your progress. Alaska is a long way.


They've been very -"





"Indifferent. Don't worry; it's their way."





She looked at his calm face and tried to judge how hurt


he was. "People of their generation can find it hard to


express their feelings."





"They don't really have feelings to express... It's


okay." At the moment he'd been placed on his side again


and felt a strong urge to curl up in a little foetal


ball. /Thanks for your support, Mom and Dad. As sterling


as ever. At least I have no illusions about what to


expect from you two. It's always been the drive to find


Sam that got me through times like this in the past.


Beforehand. Before Scully, do you realise that I felt I


had no one who cared if I lived or died? Now you've got


her feeling guilty for something which isn't her fault.


Enough of this. Focus. Get back on track. Can't just lie


here moping./ "The big question is: when can I be cleared


for active duty again?"





She could tell by the hint of fear in his eyes that he


was really asking not 'when', but 'if'. "They still have


to run tests, but there doesn't seem to be any permanent


damage."





"Great." /Pity I can't dance with joy./ "Before - did you


say Eisenhower Field...?"





"Yep. We're in Deadhorse, Alaska."





Mulder felt very, very guilty. They were almost at the


northern tip of the state, north of the 70-degree


latitude line, and 10 miles from Prudhoe Bay, where the


Alaska oil pipeline originated. /Waitaminute!/





"Prudhoe Bay... Airport!" He could see their way home. He


could picture them on the plane. He could feel his good


old couch beneath him -





"Not yet, partner."





"Scullee..." he pleaded.





"Your basal temp was 86 degrees, Mulder. Your *core*


temperature! People die before they hit that. Or lose


fingers and toes and possibly even part of their feet."





He scrunched his face up at that.





She sighed, annoyed. She was being extremely serious and


Mulder was pulling faces at her... She didn't know


whether to order restraints or laugh or deck him.





But her words had given him a scare, and the contortions


were not in fun. "I'm trying to count fingers and


toes..."





"All there. I'll do a round of 'this little piggy went to


market' with you to prove it."





He gave a grin more wolfish than foxy, then got confused.


"But hypothermia...frostbite... I was on the ice for..."





"Somehow, despite all your exposure, it was only mild. I


think the retrovirus had something to do with it. I know


that sounds bizarre, because a virus that thickens the


blood is just as likely to cause you to lose your toes


because they tend to have the poorest circulation


anyway." She knew she was sounding very textbookish about


it, but putting his case into cold technical terms


distanced it from the alive man before her. She was


worried her voice would shake if she wasn't careful. "But


somehow it preserved your body even as it tried to kill


you."





"The least it could do for me..."





She didn't go into any more detail; instead she picked up


his left hand and showed it to him. Then she held up each


finger in turn, counting. The urge came to her to slip


her mouth over one finger to kiss and suck... This time


her head overruled her heart. Or her lust. She tried not


to drop his hand like a hot brick.














"When you were brought into the ER, you didn't only have


the retrovirus. You had a bumper crop of sprains,


dislocations and bruises. And a very unusual bracelet,"


she accused, tapping his left wrist, knowing he had not


told her everything. That was perhaps unfair - since he


woke up he hadn't been in any condition to deliver a


statement of his experiences. And there was so much more


that could have gone wrong with him - death for one, the


possibility of pneumonia from being so inactive and not


doing any deep breathing and coughing...





"Tossed around by the Pilot in the sub - I had him


handcuffed to me. I shot him, got infected, he dragged me


up the ladder to dump me outside. Carted me along by the


hand like I was a toy... I took a swan dive off the


conning tower. Well, reverse swan dive."





"Then it's a wonder you didn't break something. There was


probably enough snow over the ice to insulate."





"Or my jelly blood protected me. Made me bounce."





There was a few minutes of silence. Mulder's eyes went to


the tape recorder on the trolley, seeing it for the first


time. He frowned slightly, a myriad of songs flashing


through his brain, bringing with them a patchwork of


other things. A cell phone ringing in the darkness; a


desire for brownies; other people having more control


over his limbs than he did, /Scully, make them stop


hurting me! Please... You're there, why aren't you making


them stop? Are they people? Oh God - they're aliens!


Scully!/; the touch of tubes everywhere, entwining him, a


big one down his throat - /The lifeform Firewalker found


in the volcano! Its infected me!/ - and trying to cough


it out; Scully's touches; "Lady in Red"; Scully's


voice...





"What about the retrovirus?" he asked fearfully.





"All gone. Completely."





He breathed with relief. "Thanks."





"For what?" She hadn't told him all the details.





"Everything. Not letting the bedbugs bite. Not letting


the doctors kill me. Giving me something to come back for


-" They both hesitated at this implicationnn. Were they


ready to admit it? How slowly did they want to take


things after their confessions of yesterday? They had


both said 'I love you' in very roundabout ways. "I knew


you'd kill me if I didn't," he finished for cover.





"You still believe your sister is alive though - that


woman wasn't her. You had that to bring you back and your


determination."





/My determination answers to the name 'Scully'./





He wanted her to pick his hand up again. Learning to


count was never *that* sensual in school. His voice was


stronger now, and he used it as he stretched his legs out


a bit, feeling the splints, wincing slightly. "Why was I


so far down in the bed the first time I woke up?"





"Contracture prevention."





"Oh, joy. Hope it's successful."





"So far, it seems to be."





The ankle and shoulder which stabbed with pain out on the


iceflow before the cold lifted the pain had obviously had


enough time to heal, but he felt more discomfort now than


the other times he'd woken up. Perhaps from shifting


around or being more alert or the drugs were wearing


thin. "My hip and ribs hurt the most. Is that from the


bruising?"





"No." Scully mentally told herself off for lying against


his side all night. She knew about his ribs, but God, she


had needed to be with him! "You have cracked ribs from


the CPR, and the pain in your hip is from the sample of


bone marrow fluid we had to take to make sure the


retrovirus wasn't lurking."





"I *have* been missing out on all the fun..."





"CPR could have easily broken your ribs clean through -


and displaced the pieces! I'll get them to give you


another painkiller. So just take it easy for a few


minutes." She was about to head out, but saw he wasn't


really listening.





Mulder looked around at the splendour of their


accommodations. "This place is so dull...and I've only


had to put up with it for a day. You need some colour.


When can we get you home?" His voice was becoming fainter


and his eyelids fluttered.





"We are not going anywhere until you're stronger."





"I'm..." The next second, he was asleep.





"And until you can stay awake." She chuckled softly.


Since it was now safe to, she leaned over and kissed his


lips.














Several hours later he woke and resumed his attack. "Come


on, Scully. Spill our escape plans. You must have checked


out our travel options sometime in the last few weeks."





/For the first week my only concern was keeping you


alive. I didn't want to think about any travelling


because all I could picture was me and a lonely adjoining


seat, with you in a box in the cargo hold... Or held in


quarantine, never to be released./ She shuddered.





"Can't they med-evac me? I don't mind staying in another


hospital if we're back home..." /I can't believe I said


that... But at least Scully would be able to go to her


own apartment then./





"Med-evac copters are for flights up to 300 miles - that


kind of falls short of Seattle and D.C. And with a


special medical jet, that's TONS of money. The insurance


carrier is having kittens about you already - there's no


way they'd authorise it."





"What if I paid...?"





"With what? You'd be in hock for the rest of your life.


Best if you stay up here out of everyone's hair until all


parties calm down. No one wanted you taken back down


until you were cured. Look, I know it isn't that great


here. But be grateful for what you've got. Your life."





"And you. I am grateful, but I wish you weren't here.


It's not fair on you." He sighed. /But if you left me


now.../ "You're *sure* about the medi-vac?"





"We'd have to take a jet, and the only regular med-evac


jets capable of a flight like that with no stops would be


military 747's - and they'd never use that for one


person. Or in your case they might use it, to ship you


right up to the North Pole and leave you there! A small


med-evac jet, military or civilian, would need many


refuelling stops, and that many landings and takeoffs


probably wouldn't be good for you. Unless we sedated you


for the entire trip."





Her posture showed that was an option she was not happy


with, and at the moment he wasn't up to debating it.


Mulder had imagined she would be relieved to have him out


for the flight! He toyed with the possibility of asking


Senator Matheson about the lend of his private jet, but


had a feeling it would not be forthcoming.





Another option popped into his mind. "Commercial flight


with a gurney and nurse? Or would they waive the nurse


seeing as you're a doctor?"





"I want you well enough to go home, not to go straight


into hospital again at the other end. And it costs too."





Mulder thought for a minute. He really did want to go


back to D.C. on his own two feet and be able to travel


straight from the airport to his apartment. She was


making sense. And she wouldn't be as worried or disrupted


if he could avoid the hospital. "If I hang in there for a


bit longer, what about commercial flights?"





"Okay, there are two flights per day from Prudhoe Bay to


Seattle, both in the afternoon. One has no stops along


the way, so we have to make sure that you're strong


enough to handle it. Which will not be just yet! The


other is a puddle jumper, and that many stops isn't good


for you either."





"I can't do *anything*..." he complained, then kept


gathering facts. "Times?"





"One gets in to Seattle at 2:52pm, the other at 8:22pm."





Mulder grinned. As exacting as ever. No "around 3pm and


8:30pm" for her.





"The earlier flight is a big plane, flight time about one


to one-and-a-half hours. The other is a puddle-jumper.


Four hours."





He perked up further. "If we get the first one, we could


be back in D.C. by -"





"Not a chance! Mulder, whichever flight we take, whatever


time we get into SeaTac, we are going straight to a motel


to spend the night. *Then* we fly back to D.C."





"Scully, it really isn't necessary..."





"This is just as much for me as you. There would be a


long delay between flights to D.C. and a change in


airlines. We'll need a break. Besides, I might want to


get you alone in the motel and have my way with you


before we get back to reality."





"Typical. Taking advantage of me in my weakened


condition... You could have your way here with me now..."





"Nah," she said, "these doors don't lock."





Mulder gaped at her grin.





Luckily, the Physical Therapist chose that moment to come


in.














It took another week and a half for Mulder to improve to


a satisfactory enough standard for Scully, Dr. Olsen and


the independent doctor that Worker's Comp. sent up on the


case to agree he was well enough to leave Alaska and last


the flights home. His ribs were healed enough, though


Mulder still took some pain meds and decided to put the


velcro rib belt back on to support and protect them


during the flights. Previous experience had taught him


this, since he couldn't lie down and take all the strain


off them. His hip wasn't sore any more. There were no


serious contractures. The central line had been pulled


after three and a half weeks. Tests proved that his


eyesight was his normal average, much to Scully's silent


relief, as was his cognition. His co-ordination and


attention span were good considering he still tired


easily. The staff were being extra careful with him


because of the strange nature of the retrovirus.





He deigned, without argument, to stay overnight in


Seattle. (The fact that his throat was worn out from


whining might have had something to do with it.) He was


so glad to be getting out of the hospital. /Four and a


half weeks! Thank God I was out for the first three./ All


those exercises they had him doing...more like an


aerobics camp!





It took several more days to arrange everything and to


wait for a spell of bad weather to lapse.














Mulder thought he had behaved extremely well today. He


had not overexerted himself by going crazy when at last


allowed out of bed - well, he had been previously allowed


out for walks along the corridors, but that was different


- and into civilian clothes for his dischaaarge. He ate


with appetite, seemed quite perky on the copter ride to


Prudhoe Bay's airport ("Aren't you going to miss Alaska?"


"It's got the wrong kind of wildlife. Parasitic worms and


viruses don't do it for me.") and then slept most of the


way on the flight to Seattle. /Perhaps I should have


talked Scully into a flight last week, because what's the


difference between being sedated and sleeping all the


damn time anyway?!/





"Sorry for not being sociable, partner."





"That's fine, Mulder. I like you that way. So easy to


deal with." So damn cute to watch. Even when he wasn't at


100%, he was handsome. The woman across the aisle and the


air hostesses seemed to think so, from the rate of up and


down appraisals of his sleeping form.





"You must have really worn him out on the honeymoon,


sweetie," one commented, giving her a wink. "I can see


why you chose Alaska instead of some tropical beach. With


him, who'd care about the rest of the scenery... I'd


never leave the bed."





"You're right - I didn't," was all she could answer in


reply.





This opinion was given more weight when Scully insisted


on escorting Mulder to and from the facilities when


necessary. /Mile-high club my -/





"Scully - I'm housebroken. I'm a big boy now. Or do you


want to find out?"





"I've seen you naked, Mulder. In an ER." That shut him


up.





He was a bit pouty and *very* quiet all the way back to


their seats, before muttering, "We were in the


*Arctic*..."





Scully debated whether or not she should tell him he had


nothing to fret about. Well, 'nothing' wasn't the right


wording. She settled for laughing until he couldn't help


joining in.














At last, Seattle. People everywhere. But Scully only had


eyes for her partner. She was paranoid that someone would


accidentally elbow him in the ribs, and was prowling


around him, eyeing people so no one would dare enter


their personal space, and ready to intercept any close


contact.





He liked her air of propriety, like: "He's mine. Stay


back." Then again, after all the time she'd spent on him,


she wouldn't want her work undone.





He flat out refused a wheelchair to get through the


terminal. Scully didn't blow her top because he did seem


to be bearing up well. And there were golf carts and


large slidewalks, which were more inconspicuous and


acceptable for his ego. He sat guarding their meagre


luggage in the baggage pick-up section of SeaTac as


Scully phoned their hotel to get a pre-arranged shuttle


bus to come to the exit they were closest to. Her medical


rank and FBI credentials had allowed that to come about.


Then - refusing to let him even heft a small carryall -


she escorted him to the departure door to wait. She kept


studying him.





Mulder let out a tolerating breath and held up a little


sign he'd made in the pick-up section. The piece of


cardboard declared: "I'M FINE" with a smiley face next to


it.





She gave him a mock glare to match his grin, but was


still worried. After all, she had said the exact same


thing to him on the Pfaster case.





He shrugged. "I thought it would save my jaw..."





"From talking, not from my punch."





As they walked outside, Mulder sighed in relief


(inwardly, so not to worry her). /Ahh, Scully in sunlight


at last. Decent sunlight - more hours of light than a


handful. And no other woman has ever shown so much


interest in my body...or my well-being. We're nearly


home./





Scully was glad for the shuttle bus. She was worried sick


Mulder would be worn out. They had a half mile drive to


their hotel.





Mulder stared out the bus window as it slowed down. "The


Seattle Airport *Hilton*??"





"Yep. Only the best for you, Mulder."





"Skinner is not going to authorise this..."





"Olsen and I convinced the Worker's Comp. guy that the


expense was necessary. It's not like it's in the same


league as a medi-vac expense. You need to be close to the


airport to save unnecessary travelling. The chef can


prepare special diets, and there's an MD on call, which


is useful because I don't have my Mulder-medical bag,


only what meds you're going home with. Besides, after


your medical bill for this little jaunt, why not finish


the whole thing off in style? Skinner said after five


weeks in Alaska that *I* deserved the luxury!"





He gave a sad smile, and she could see the tiredness


behind it.





"Come on, you can have a few hours' nap before dinner.


Then if you're really good, I'll let you watch a bit of


TV before bedtime."





His eyes lit up. Paradise.














The Bell Captain stared at the couple coming into the


foyer. They did not have much luggage, and what there was


was being carried by the woman. Roger admiringly checked


her out as they approached, an easy thing to do as her


attention was on her partner. Great spread... He gave the


male a disguised sneer. Weak-looking and geeky. Walking


as if the carpet might trip him up. Probably drunk or


hungover.





"Hello," the woman said, smiling. "We want to be at the


airport early tomorrow morning, for an 8am flight. When


should we be in the lobby by?"





"Yes, ma'am." /Great smile. I can make it bigger./ He


gave her the information. He could care less about her


partner, currently leaning very quietly against the desk.


/I could take this pale wimp, easy. Speaking of take.../


Roger eyed the woman's trim, short form as she turned,


oblivious, and he pictured what he could do with it. Then


the man straightened up and stared at him.





There was nothing weak about the fury and possessiveness


in those hazel eyes.





The Bell Captain decided to leave them alone. Well alone.














They had two adjoining rooms. Scully gave Mulder his meds


and put him to bed. He didn't complain. But he was


secretly disappointed she didn't join him. She had done


so twice more in Alaska, but there had been no more


kisses. The closeness was plenty.





Then she went into her room and stared around. Space. No


corrugated iron. Chairs with decent padding over them.


Windows with views. A closet, not a locker... Bliss! The


contents of her two bags would barely cover a few hangers


though. Packing had not been high on her list of


priorities when Skinner gave her Mulder's coordinates so


many weeks ago. Soon she would be back in her apartment


with all her possessions. It was surprising how little


she missed them.





She noticed a package peeping out from a side pocket on


her larger bag. She had forgotten about the present


Jennie handed her as they were leaving for the


helicopter. Mulder hadn't noticed, and Scully slid it


into the pocket to open later. Now she did so. A few


moments later she was holding a framed polaroid of


herself and Mulder asleep together.





/It's beautiful... But I can't have it on my sideboard,


as much as I'd love to! We look so... This is the first


polaroid I've seen where I actually resemble myself. Who


am I kidding - I look better! Okay, exhausted, but


content. And everyone would jump to the wrong conclusions


about why. You can't even tell we're in a hospital./


Smiling through a blush, she carefully put the photo in


the bag between some clothes.





She checked out the bathroom...a spa bath. /Oh yes.../


That would be the perfect way to kill time before getting


ready for dinner.














Sleeping in a bed did have major advantages over the


couch and aircraft seating. Mulder thought he might even


get used to it...at least while so exhausted. He slept so


soundly he even ignored the fact there was a TV in the


room, just beckoning to be turned on.





Scully woke him and he got dressed in the spare set of


clothes the nurses at Eisenhower managed to procure for


him from the Corpsmen. They felt loose, and he chose to


believe they'd picked poor fits instead of him actually


losing any weight. Would he ever have his old level of


energy back? To jog... To not see a stranger in the


mirror. It all cut too close to the time Scully was


returned to him.





He felt her eyes judging him again, weighing the choices


of room service or going downstairs. He refrained from


begging.





She smiled and gestured to the door. "Let's go."





He blinked and grinned with delight. He did feel all


right, but Scully's definition - when it came to him at


least - was a lot more stringent. He had been sure she


would order room service, so he really must be doing okay


for her to agree that he was strong enough to eat "in


public".





Dinner was eaten down to the last morsel (with real


appetite, not just to keep Scully happy) and as they


relaxed in the dining room amongst the other patrons,


Mulder felt normal again. Not a specimen to be prodded or


a frail object. Scully seemed more animated too - less


doctor, more Dana. She needed this. The last weeks must


have been stifling for her. They smiled a lot at each


other, talked about events on the news, and enjoyed their


meal.














That night in bed, Mulder couldn't settle. He was out in


the real world again! And with a decent TV! He wasn't


worried about not being able to sleep - God knew he'd


done enough of that already. So much for insomnia.


Exhaustion would probably catch up with him, but he could


fix that by sleeping on the plane to D.C. He turned the


TV on with the sound down low, and lay in bed to watch


it. He kept one ear razor-sharp for sign of Scully,


knowing she would be doing regular checks through the


night. If he held the remote in his hand at the edge of


the bed, just peeking out from the covers, he could zap


the TV off the second she began opening the door, and she


would be none the wiser. Or if she saw the remote, she


could think he was holding it as a comfort/teddy


substitute.





But when she did come in, he had become too complacent,


wrapped up in an old black and white thriller. As the


door opened, Mulder fumbled and dropped the remote off


the bed. Fortunately, the carpet was so thick it


disguised the thump. He lay there in fear, eyes closed,


waiting. Hopefully she would just think he had the TV on


for white noise, to drift off to...





The covers were tucked more closely around him.





He felt the press of lips to his forehead. /My God - she


*was* serious about having her way with me in a hotel! Oh


yes... Mulder - stop that! She's just acting like a


mother with a kid; that's all. Nothing to get excited


about./ But it did seem to linger... Then little kisses


began working their way down past his eye, onto his


cheek, and along his jaw.





/Scully.../ He wanted to meet her gaze, to measure the


depths of her feelings, to show how intense his were, to


pull her into bed and generate enough heat to melt the


bedsprings, but he knew he couldn't manage it. He


couldn't quite believe it was happening. /She's probably


just testing to see if you're really sleeping!/





Her lips pulled away from his skin abruptly. The universe


wept. Her embarrassment hung around her like an aura. He


heard her leave. But the path of her kisses burned a


track down his face.





/Definitely no sleep tonight.../ Mulder lay there for a


long time, staring at the door, before going in search of


the remote control.














He looked so gorgeous. Lying there in sheets and blankets


that weren't hospital issue. Not in a blue gown or


sterile surroundings. Her mouth had quite gotten away on


her. Thank God he was out of it - a week ago she had


woken him up at around two in the morning because she'd


gotten mixed up and stumbled half-asleep into his room


and begun doing ROM exercises on his 'comatose' sleeping


form. "Is this a come on?" he'd mumbled, befuddled. She


convinced him he was dreaming and fled. Well, this visit


was more in the line of his dreams. Or those videos.





Dana went back to her room and set her alarm so she could


check him again in another three hours. And cursed when


the shrill noise obediently woke her from a dream in


which Mulder was completely recovered. And uncovered. And


pleasuring her senseless...














In the morning Mulder had a bath - nothing unusual in


that, apart from the fact that he had to leave the


bathroom door open so Scully could sit in a chair outside


the door, facing away, leafing through a magazine and


having a conversation with him, so if something went


wrong, she could rush in.





Mulder silently wondered how long that little arrangement


was going to be enforced.














They left Seattle on American Airlines because it had the


wider choice of flights, and at better times. The problem


was still the length of the flight, literally all day,


with a 90-minute stopover along the way. Scully discarded


the earliest arriving flight, which left at 6:47am and


arrived at 3:55pm, as too hard on Mulder. So they got on


the 8am one, which would touch them down in 6:20pm, which


included the three hour time difference.





Plus she hoped they could avoid the traffic standstill


that choked D.C. when people were all heading home from


work.





Mulder silently hoped he could catch up on his sleep


along the way. He felt wiped out. He *had* tried to go to


sleep at the hotel, but no go. He passed the time


congenially with the TV and plans of what he was going to


do back in D.C. And replaying Scully's little night


visit. That morning, both had acted like nothing


happened. Besides, if Mulder mentioned it, he thought the


only thing he'd then get on the lips would be a punch!





"Nearly home," he whispered to his partner to see her


smile.





But he could not get comfortable in his seat to rest.


Scully watched in concern as he shifted, his expression


frustrated and eyes at half-mast. Sleeping sitting up was


not the best. She wished they could have taken a train


with a sleeper compartment in Canada, but it would have


been too long a trip, sold out far in advance, and they


would have been too far from a hospital for three days


and nights. How could she lull him off to sleep without


him catching on? She didn't exactly have anything to read


to him as a bedtime story apart from the airline


magazines. A light went on in her brain. /Perfect./





"Mulder, let's talk about your medical insurance."


*She'd* handled the paperwork. Every time she brought up


the subject in Alaska, he'd fall asleep. She couldn't


tell if that was deliberate or coincidence, but she would


take advantage now. Even if it had been deliberate, he


should be bored insensible in a few minutes.





In the hospital Mulder had asked a few questions, signed


things where she'd told him (or let her, since she held


his Medical Power Of Attorney) but spent most of his time


sleeping and harping about going home. But now he was


awake, on his way home, and intrigued.





"You're on the regular insurance plan; the government


covers your premium. You rarely get sick or injured that


isn't work related, so -"





"Oh God!" he interrupted. "It wasn't work-related... It


was personal - I lied about it and ran off. Worker's


Comp. won't accept it - I'll have to pay..."





This was a bad idea. He was even more awake and looking


terrified, so much so he'd forgotten about the Worker's


Comp. doctor she kept mentioning and who kept examining


him - surely he'd worked out they'd accepted the claim?


She supposed all the carers had become one big annoying


blur to him. Perhaps if she sang the news to him,


crooning like a lullaby... Forget it. She may score


perfectly on the firing range, but not in the vocal


range.





She leapt in hastily. "Relax, They agreed that you were


injured on the job, so they *are* paying 100%."





"Now that's an X-File..."





"Yep. You won't have to live off beans."





He gave a shaky sigh of relief.





Scully looked at him. "But they're going to start a


special high premium rate just for you if you keep this


up."





He shrugged and changed the subject. "Ahhh, if only the


FBI would let me use my vacation time since my sick leave


has expired. I certainly didn't have any sick days left


over from '94. What with being shot, quarantined twice


and going into toxic shock..." The last two he said


quietly - they weren't things to be bragged about in


public. "And I think I've blown this year's lone


accumulated day. Several times over. When can I go back


to work?" He hadn't dared to ask about work - there had


been no further news on the missing sub and he'd just


been focused on getting home. "I've got to start


accumulating again, or I'm in trouble."





"You won't be ready to go back to light work for at least


another seven days, probably more, so that will be six


weeks racked up. You can get short-term disability."





"Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it. I suppose it beats


living off my savings." He knew he did need the extra


time off. And the money.





"At least you'll be reimbursed. Not like you could blow


it in Alaska anyway. Sixty percent of your wages for this


'holiday' is better than nothing."





"Sixty percent... That irritates me more than a


catheter." He tilted his head back and stared at the


ceiling.





/Why aren't you dropping off?/ "Lucky you chose the


highest monthly premium, or you wouldn't get that much.


Let me point out that my treatment of choice may have


been correct, but it was certainly *not* the treatment of


choice for hypothermia, which is all the doctors


initially knew about, and, as you say, you ran off to


Alaska unofficially. By *your* way of thinking. That


usually makes it *not* a Worker's Comp. illness, but we


got it through."





"You would have had fun convincing them of the legitimacy


of my claim. I mean, they pay my premiums, and I've


missed a heap of work and I can't even do desk duty yet,


but -" he dropped his voice to a whisper, "- getting an


alien retrovirus past them???? Well done!"





"An *unknown* retrovirus," she retorted just as quietly.


"Though since you're alive to argue with me, you can call


it 'Bob' for all I care. You're making the paperwork a


nightmare for me and the doctors. We've been arguing


about what to put down as your return to work date."





"Hey, you only have to fill it out every month. And


believe me, I'm not hanging around home after *two*


months are up... Six weeks, even seven - fine, if I must.


But no more."





She got back to answering his question. "Skinner reviewed


my reports after the fire at the clinic and decided it


really was a legitimate case. Agent Weiss, that killer,"


/Him kidnapping me.../ "all of it. Skinner was putting


together a team of agents to look into it - he didn't


want to disturb you until you'd had that time off you


requested, and he wanted to keep on this investigation.


Then you were gone, chasing the killer. Still part of the


case, even though to you it was personal. *Then* came the


study of 'Bob'. In depth, up close, and very personal. It


is valuable information. We have documented proof of it -


so, to Worker's Comp, you had a covered accident."





"Thank God..."





/I have,/ she thought silently. /Many times in the last


five weeks./





He was on the edge of sleep. "How...how much did I cost


this time?"





/Nearly my sanity./ "As usual, Mulder, you proved


priceless. Ask no questions and you'll get no lies. Let's


leave it at that, okay?"





He nodded and lay his head back on the seat, but again


moved restlessly. She saw his fingers tighten against the


armrests.





"Here," she said quietly, patting her shoulder.





"More comfortable than a futon..." he murmured gratefully


as he accepted, and no more was heard from him.





She sat feeling his sleeping weight against her side and


his hair against her cheek. Her hand stole over his and


held firmly. She remembered their kiss back in Alaska.


The brief but sweet touch of lips and feelings. They had


not said anything about it. /Will we dismiss it? Should


we?/ The thought excited and terrified her. /The


risks...the gains.../ Once Mulder recovered enough to


stop falling asleep in the middle of conversations...then


they would see. Meanwhile, Scully lived on the progress


he made and how his eyes brightened when he saw her.





After such a concentrated time trapped in each other's


company, both had the right to be heartily fed up with


each other and want a break. But, no. Mulder had lived


through three months of Scully not being there, and she


had no knowledge of that time. Now she had three weeks


sans-Mulder, which he couldn't remember. No wonder they


weren't sick of each other. They were even more aware of


what they could lose.





At one point his lips rested against her neck, and it


took all Scully's resistance not to arch and moan and


demand more.





Mulder did sleep, though there was a period where he just


enjoyed lying so intimately close to Scully. The least


little thing seemed to wake him. Yesterday, on the way to


Seattle, he had slept through the kids playing up and


announcements and people going past to the toilet, though


Scully had woken him up for the meal and beverages.


("Sorry, Mulder. But you need to take your medicine and


eat just as much as you need to sleep. We can't have you


being a well-rested dehydrate.") He kept down his food,


but the light bugged him in a way it had not yesterday.


He felt awful. A night-time flight had sounded really


peaceful, but Scully had vetoed that idea: it could be


crowded with business people, or even if it was half-


empty, it would still be noisy; he would get off the


plane even more exhausted; and he needed a decent night's


sleep on top of what he got during the day. And that was


that! Mulder refrained from telling her that even with


the hotel, he still didn't get a restful night.





The rush of the travelling, the crowds, the hotel and the


excitement was all getting to him. The lack of the normal


sleep he needed with his extra sleep was draining him.


The agents were always travelling, and Mulder had long


ago learned the knack of ignoring the hustle and bustle


at various airports... But now they were back in D.C. he


was so exhausted he had reached the hypersensitivity


stage, where his brain could not block out the background


noise and activity. It all assailed him.





/Just hang in there. Not much further. You're almost


home./ He was missing the quiet of Alaska. /You held on


against the virus, don't flake out now!/ "I'm fine," he


kept telling his partner. He didn't feel he could keep


lifting the little sign.





Scully was fretting silently as they travelled on a


luggage mover to the elevators. She *did* think that


Mulder had slept most of the time, but there was still a


tiring period ahead before they could rest properly. He


didn't want a wheelchair to get through the ground floor.





She was going to take Mulder to her place, but first they


would have to navigate the airport, wait for the shuttle


bus to her parking lot, get to the car, load it, wait in


line to pay to get out of the lot... At least they didn't


have to wait for the luggage to be unloaded, because they


had hand items easily stowed in the overhead


compartments. National was a two-hour drive to


Annapolis... She prayed the traffic on Route 50 would be


kind. Hopefully Mulder could sleep more in the car.


Perhaps she would stop at a motel if the journey


stretched out too long.





At least the weather was holding up. She gazed into the


darkness - no rain or snow, otherwise there would be no


way that traffic would be even moving.





It turned out she didn't need to worry about all that.


Mulder solved that problem while giving her even more


cause to panic...





It was when they were waiting for the shuttlebus. There


were a lot of people of various ages already there, so by


the time they reached the spot, all the benches were


full. Scully had to ask a teenager if he'd mind giving up


his space on the bench for her partner, as Mulder did his


embarrassed best to hide behind a pole.





The youth was not moved. "Lady, if he was pregnant or


elderly or willing to hand over your phone number,


there'd be no problem."





Scully felt like saying she'd worn him out on the


honeymoon, but instead flashed her badge. The kid


vanished like vapour.





When the shuttlebus came, Scully leapt in to intercept


the driver so he could save seats close to the door for


them. Then he was inundated with people wanting to stow


their gear, so Scully was cut off from Mulder, still


sitting on the end of the bench as he waited for the rush


to die down.





"Mommy - look at the man!"





Scully's gut twisted. She pushed through people and


possessions to find Mulder had collapsed.





He was lying half on the cement, the top half of him


sprawled across a fortunately soft-looking piece of


luggage.





"Mulder?! Mulder..." People got the hell out of her way,


and in a second she was beside him. He moaned, shifting,


his eyelids fluttering.





Fear and anger raged in her. /God - don't let this be a


relapse, *please*. Just let it be exhaustion... though if


it is, I'll be furious! The last place I want either of


us to be is back in hospital when we're so close to home!


To begin putting this whole nightmare behind us. Why


didn't he tell me he wasn't well?/





She immediately began taking his pulse with one hand and


pulled out her cellular with the other. Mulder's eyes


were open now, and he went to raise his head. Her fingers


left his pulse to flatten out against his cheek. "Stay


still."





He saw the phone and redoubled his efforts to get up.


"Scully - I'm okay! I just tripped over a suitcase strap,


and it knocked the wind out of me."





"Can it! You were unconscious. You collapsed. Do you want


me to ask one of these people for an eyewitness report?


End of discussion." She summoned the paramedics.





Mulder found he was too tired to argue. He was lucid but


drained. And cursing himself for not holding on a bit


longer - he could have collapsed into bed without


sounding any bells.














The airport staff cleared the area, setting up a


temporary shuttlebus stop 500 metres away. The ambulance


arrived. Scully showed her badge, declared her doctor


status, then began a discourse on Mulder's medical


situation. Since the public were now dispersed, Scully


could mention the retrovirus to let the EMTs know the


risks of taking him on as a patient.





One EMT began bringing out IV paraphernalia, asking


Scully if starting one could lead to exposure. Mulder


noticed and freaked out. He yanked his arms away.





"No! No IV, *please*, Dana!" He was in tears of near-


hysteria, tucking his hands in his armpits. "I'm sorry -


I'm sorry - I just wanted to see you in the sunlight


again!"





She ran a hand through his hair since she couldn't get


near his arms. "Please, Mulder, we have to take you to


the hospital. It could be a relapse. We have to find out


- I don't want to lose you again..."





"Okay! Okay...but no IV. Surely all my blood must've been


replaced by saline water already?" As if to prove it,


more salty tears slid out of his eyes.














Debbie, one of the EMTs, held her radio, not quite


knowing how to relay *this* little scene to the hospital.


Male in early thirties, in meltdown at the prospect of an


IV, with a no-nonsense FBI Agent Doctor partner watching


him and the EMTs simultaneously. The Agent Doctor saying


he was recovering from an unknown retrovirus infection.


The man muttered "Alien!" once, then subsided.





Must be a joke...





As she professionally did her job, on another level


Debbie had to admit he was a looker. Even pale and weak


and in tears, he was *so* appealing. It just made you


want to hug him and run your hands... Not that Agent


Doctor would let you anywhere near. Ring up the


ambulance, and then not let them do their job... She just


stopped herself shaking her head. Redheads... This one


fitted the stereotypical bill. But *was* Agent Doctor a


real redhead?





She informed the hospital as to what was going on, and


got the verdict back: since there was a doctor at the


scene, the doctor could make the final decision about the


IV.





Begging hazel eyes shot back to Agent Doctor.





Debbie saw her sigh and consider carefully. It looked


like she wanted to follow usual procedure, but didn't


want to stress her partner out any more than necessary.


He wasn't unconscious, so they didn't need to start the


IV "TKO" to keep the vein open, just in case. Agent


Doctor had said that an IV needle would not cause the


virus to spread, and gloves were worn as standard


procedure anyway, but if this was some weird virus, did


they *want* to risk sticking him out here?





"Okay, no IV."





Handsome seemed ready to father her firstborn in


gratitude... Debbie felt jealous - until they arrived at


the hospital and she realised just who the patient was.


The Legendary Fox Mulder. /Avoid him like the plague,


girl. Because with his track record, he's bound to *pick


up* the plague eventually!/














In the ambulance, a still upset Mulder stared up at


Scully, who was sitting by his head. Haltingly, he tried


to explain. "I was so sick of IVs and hospitals and


catheters, and I just wanted to be home, to feel human


again and to see you in sunlight for a change. I wanted


you to be home."





Her fury at him melted. She forgave him and realised she


had let Mulder convince her he was ready to leave Alaska


on his own feet because she *wanted* to believe he was


fine. She wanted to get him home too.





"It's okay." /This isn't the retrovirus again. I won't


let it be that!/














In the hospital, Mulder did not complain about the blood


samples. Well, having blood drawn was less painful than


having an IV started in the back of a hand. The blood


didn't jelly up. They were keeping him in the ER until


they could figure out what was going on, which service


they would admit him to, and who his doctor would be.





The prognosis was cumulative exhaustion. A catch-all


phrase which basically meant he was worn out and needed


lots of rest.





Mulder was not dehydrated - Scully was not surprised. He


had eaten every meal, though he could have thrown them


back up in the toilets on the plane and hotel. So he


didn't need an IV. He almost wept with relief. And he


hadn't worsened his ribs in the fall.





They kept him in for twenty-three hours for observation,


during which time he slept a lot and kept down what he


ate. If they kept him 24 hours, it would be an


admittance, which cost more. (The insurance carrier


already had Mulder as their number one pin up boy...on


their dartboard. But they forked out for this too because


Mulder had been cleared for travel by their own doctor.)





He fully admitted in private to being overexcited in the


Hilton and faking sleep when she checked him. Scully


sighed - she should have realised... She had just thought


the TV was his white noise, and she'd been so relieved to


be in a comfortable bed for a change that she hadn't been


as regular or sneaky in checking on him as she was in the


hospital.





Apart from the up-close examination with her lips...





/OH GOD - he was *awake* for that...??!!/





Now wasn't the time to curl up in embarrassment though.


She was too worried about Mulder's attitude towards being


in hospital again. Namely that he didn't seem to have one


now!





Scully had expected protest about spending nearly a day


in there, about wanting to go home and be left alone, but


he didn't seem bothered one way or the other as long as


he could lay back and sleep. That definitely meant he


wasn't feeling well. After all he'd been through,


depression could easily be setting in. She would keep a


close eye on that.





She stayed the whole time, beginning the arduous task of


breaking in another bedside chair to her body's contours


and sleeping in the waiting room. When 23 hours was up,


Dana looked at the more rested Mulder. He didn't say


anything, but she could tell his mind was screaming: "Let


me out of here!"





"Is it still all right if we still go to my apartment,


Mulder? I know you'd like to be in your own bed - couch -


...but Mom's had my fridge stocked and kept the apartment


aired and so on while we were away. I don't know what


your place would be like by now. Do you mind?" /And it's


only a few steps up the front, not three flights./





"No... Whatever's most convenient for you. I'll be home


either way. And it'll be nice for you to be in your own


home instead of being stuck at my place or a hospital


room." He knew there was no way he could get out of being


looked after by her. He didn't really want to.





Her neighbours were intrigued at the sight of Scully


carefully helping Mulder up the steps.





"That's it, dear. Get him straight to bed."





"Promises, promises..." Mulder grinned.





Scully was firm. "You *are* going straight to bed."





"And you?" delivered huskily.





"The sofa."





"Role reversal... We could share...if it's a double, of


course. Not that lack of space stopped us before."





They were back in D.C. now. She had to be firm with him


and herself. And she didn't want her feelings distracting


her when she should be monitoring him for depression.


Time enough for all that when he was well again. "You're


sleeping alone."














PRESENT, 1995:





That sentence proved half true. Dana enjoyed lying next


to him for a while - much better than in a hospital bed -


but couldn't go back to sleep. The nightmare was hard to


shake. She'd battled so much in reality to save him


without a flatlined Mulder reappearing in her


subconscious and bringing his ghost sister along as well


as the ER staff. Amazingly, Mulder hadn't suffered any


nightmares that she was aware of in the last two weeks.


Perhaps a combination of exhaustion and sedatives and


medication had prevented them. Or the fact that he didn't


believe that woman was his sister, but that his real


sister was still alive.





Scully eventually got up and resumed work on her report


for Skinner. There was a knock at the door and she found


a delivery man there with a package needing her


signature.





She examined the package and laughed as she brought it


into the sitting room. She knew what it contained.





"What's up?" Mulder's voice, hoarse but curious, just


reached her from the bedroom.





"You've got a present. Hang on a minute and I'll bring it


in."





Soon she went into the bedroom with her hands behind her


back.





Mulder eyed her from where he was lying. "If the Gunmen


have sent me a snow globe, I'll put their photos in the


tabloids..."





"Actually, this is from Skinner."





"Now this I have to see."





Scully presented him with a brand-new cellular phone tied


with a ribbon. Exactly like the phone ruined when he was


hit by the car.





Mulder laughed. "I hope the bow was your touch."





"Yes. I told him how we kept missing each other's


messages and calls and what it led to. You with a phone


is dangerous, but I'd much prefer you with one and


accessible instead of going through all that again."





He closed his eyes, smiling. "You insinuating that I call


you too much, Scully? That I don't leave you alone?"





She snorted. "You're the only man I know who's just as


irritating in a coma as he is out of it!"





/You'll keep./ He turned his head to the right, burrowing


half his face against the pillow, getting comfortable


again. He sighed deeply - and Scully's perfume filled his


nostrils.





Mulder's eyes opened. He sniffed again, then turned to


look at his partner. She was standing near the end of the


bed. The smell was coming from the pillow. /Ah ha!/ And


the bedclothes on the other side were rumpled.





"And just what are you insinuating, Mulder?" Her


expression was that sheen of ice he knew she put over


panic or guilt.





"Nothing. I just think it's nice that you keep air


freshener in your linen closet that's the same as your


perfume." He smiled the smile of his that usually


guaranteed a quick thaw.





Her face was summer as she shook her head and put the


phone down on the nightstand next to him.





"I lost my gun too," he reminded her hopefully.





"That's going to be a bit harder to fix. I don't think


you get letters of censure in your file for losing


phones, although if you keep up such a rate, I'm sure it


will start... But as for the gun...you'll have to


requalify first, and we'd better make sure Skinner's


bruises have healed completely before we approach him."





"Bruises? What do you mean?"





That was something she had not got around to telling him.


In full detail at least. Perhaps he assumed she'd found


him by psychic connection. "When you ran off I managed to


contact your contact at your apartment." She smiled at


his startled look. "You're not the only one who can light


up an 'X'. I was desperate. He wouldn't give me any


information and left. Next thing I knew, Skinner was at


your door, face a mess, rattling off your co-ordinates.


So I don't know if you've lost another source...but you


gained also. Skinner really put himself on the line for


you."





"My God... I'll be such a model agent from now on, he'll


think I'm a clone." His face darkened at his own poor


choice of words. "Well, at the least I'll try not to lose


my next gun for a full month."














Mrs Scully came to "babysit" when Scully had to go meet


with Skinner, as well as make a trip to Mulder's


apartment for clothes and his mail.





Maggie eyed her pale charge. "Try running off on me,


young man, and you'll regret it."





/I'd rather face the retrovirus again.../ He shifted


uncomfortably on the sofa under the gaze of two very


determined women. /No wonder I ditched Scully via e-


mail.../





Mrs Scully's face softened. She knew why her daughter


could not stay mad with him. She was all ready to settle


down with Fox and catch up, but Dana was still hovering


around. "Hon, are you ready to go? We're fine here."





"Um, yeah... In a minute."





Maggie realised. "I'll go make myself some tea."





Mulder opened his mouth to say she hadn't wanted any when


she came, but instead asked her to please hand him the


remote control on her way past.





Scully stood over him. /God, I'm *dithering*! I don't


'dither'!/ She tried to hide her nervousness at leaving


him. This would be the furtherest apart they'd been in


weeks. "Um, I'll be back soon, okay? Then I'll set up a


mini basketball ring on the back of the bedroom door and


you can throw toy balls at it and scrunched paper and


stuff."





"What if you come in and I hit you instead?"





"Ten points."





"It'll leave a mess - they won't all land in the bin, you


know."





"I know." She plucked at a hair on the sofa. "I'll be


back soon, okay?" she repeated.





"And if you go now, you'll be back sooner. I'll be here."





Scully hesitated, then quickly leaned forward and kissed


him on the cheek. She hurried out.











Maggie smiled at him as she came back in, ignoring the


faint lipstick imprint. Though her next words: "Incentive


to stay." brought a blush, until she presented him with a


bag of sunflower seeds.





Mulder's eyes lit up. He hadn't had the pleasure of


crunching seeds for ages. He delved into the bag eagerly,


only to find it seemed to take an effort to crack them.


The reverberations felt like they went through his whole


frame and hurt his teeth and head. His taste buds were


dulled. His stomach wasn't eager.





But Maggie was sitting in the armchair, watching him


closely, worriedly. One of those mothers who served up


tables groaning with food and knew all was right in the


world when it was devoured. He would do anything to keep


her happy, so he soldiered on doggedly, and she was


content.





They had an enjoyable chat. He and Scully said goodbye to


Maggie later on, then Dana remembered a few minutes later


she needed to go to the drugstore. Mulder was propped up


in bed, purusing the newspapers and subscription


magazines that had piled up on his doorstep in his


absence, and said he would be just fine while she ducked


out.





Scully eyed some of the magazine covers. "Go easy there.


I don't want your heartrate getting too fast."





"I need exercise! Tell you what, I'll only look at one,


just enough to build up to a brisk walk. I'll put the


others aside then and concentrate on the conspiracy


reviews."





It was great to finally have some decent reading.


Deadhorse and the aeroplanes were not literary meccas.


Not that he could read for hours on end... The most


interesting thing he'd read there was his med chart


(Which he'd snuck a look at when strong enough to get up


and look around unaided. Oh sure, he had a legal right to


ask to see it, but he had a feeling it would upset


Scully.) He knew enough to get the gist of his condition


in the bad stage. His Glasgow scale had been below


Scully's requirements for *herself*. That fact was


something to ponder on, but now he was really alone for


the first time, no one - someone - not in the next


room...and he didn't know if he liked that or not.





He needed time to *think* though, think without dozing


off or being interrupted. So much had happened. After his


collapse at the airport, Mulder found it almost a relief


to be back in the hospital once he was there. He guessed


he still had to shake off this 'patient mentality'. Of


the real world being overwhelming.














Scully arrived home after forty minutes to find Mulder


had been ill just inside her bedroom door and was


attempting to clean the mess up himself.





/Oh God, he's vomited. Is the virus back? Is he sick with


something new, or was it the stress of going to the


bathroom by himself? I can't go through this again.../


She tried to disguise her alarm. "Mulder - oh Mulder,


it's okay. Leave it! I'll do it; get back to bed."





The pale and sweating man ignored her. He dipped a rag


into the bucket of hot soapy water he'd managed to haul


in, despite feeling like pressing it into a more urgent


service on the way. "I'm sorry...I went to the bathroom


and it wasn't until I was coming out that I felt - I


tried to get back in time..."





"It's okay. Come on, Mulder, please. I have to examine


you." She could not keep the fear out of her voice.





"It was the seeds..."





"What?"





"Your mom gave me sunflower seeds, and I ate too many." A


tiny apologetic smile appeared. He was disgusted with his


recovering body. "I knew my stomach wasn't in the mood,


but she was looking so anxiously for a sign of the old me


that I kept going. Please don't tell her..."





Dana's sigh of relief was shaky yet heartfelt. She


offered up a silent prayer, then went back to dealing


with her partner. The humiliation and shame was coming


off him in waves. "It's okay, Mulder. It's not your


fault. None of this is. Now back to bed; it's cold."





He pushed back on his knees and actually laughed.


"Believe me, Scully, this isn't cold."





"True, but I still don't want to have to nurse a man with


pneumonia. We already came too close to that. Come on."





He resisted. "It's my mess." He felt so tired. Carrying


the bucket had exhausted all his resources. But he kept


cleaning. "I don't want to be one of those guys who act


like they're dying and get the poor woman to race around


after them."





"Been there; done that. Mulder, this isn't just a cold


you had. You were very sick!"





"So were you," he said pointedly. "But you didn't want me


helping you then."





It was Scully's turn to rock back. She had stayed at her


mother's for a while when recovering from her abduction.


When Margaret and Melissa both had appointments, Mulder


came over. Then she felt dizzy in the hall and he wanted


to carry or at least aid her to the sitting room sofa.


But she valiantly insisted she would be all right, that


she would get there. She had. Carefully, slowly, hand on


the wall, and in small steps. Sitting down on the sofa,


she had looked up at his anxiously hovering presence and


smiled triumphantly. But he did not look happy. He was


worried and wanting to help. He had needed to help her.





Knowing when to *accept* assistance was just as important


as regaining independence. And knowing when someone


*needed to give* assistance. She had hurt him. And made


herself unnecessarily lightheaded for hours afterwards.


For what?





/I know I'm strong. This inner strength had allowed me to


survive so much. I don't have to keep proving it in that


way./





Scully waited until he put the rag back in the bucket,


then leaned across to hug him. A big, tight hug she never


wanted to break.





Mulder was surprised, but it was what he needed too - his


ribs barely protesting - and he gratefully returned the


hold, though he couldn't make his grip as strong.





Scully rubbed her cheek against his t-shirt. "I should


have accepted your help. I was too stubborn. Let's learn


from that mistake and not repeat it, okay?"





She felt his nod against her shoulder.





"Come on, back to bed."





This time he didn't resist and was asleep in seconds.














Mulder opened his eyes to find the Pilot glaring down at


him. And holding Samantha. The eight year old struggled


in his tight grip.





Mulder tried to get up, but he was so weak it was


impossible. "Please...please give her to me." He


stretched out a shaking hand.





"An exchange," the Pilot said. He pointed.





Mulder looked. Scully was lying beside him in the bed,


arm around his waist in sleep.





"No..." Mulder whispered.





"Fox..." Samantha whimpered.





He looked back and forth between his partner and sister.





"CHOOSE!" the Pilot bellowed.





Mulder screamed.














He sat up yelling, "Samantha!" But the space beside the


bed was empty.





"Scully!" he cried, and threw aside the blankets, but she


wasn't there next to him.





"NO!" He punched the pillows. "No no no nonono!" It


blurred into a wordless scream.





"Mulder!" Her arms were around him, trying to hold him


down. He immediately went limp, on some level not wanting


to accidentally strike her.





Scully cradled him in her embrace, whispering tenderly.


She had heard the names he yelled.





After an age she judged he was calmed down enough for her


to risk broaching the subject they knew had to be


confronted. Had known ever since a freezing morning on a


bridge.





"Why did you risk your sister for me?"





"It wasn't her." He would not look at her. He kept his


head down, his arms clinging to hers.





"At the time you thought it was her."





"You couldn't be the price for her return. I thought I


could save you both...but I should have known I couldn't


hold onto two valuable things." His voice wavered. "The


universe just doesn't work that way, does it?"





"I wish you had her. I'm so sorry you don't."





His head came up. His eyes met hers. One hand


disentangled to cup her cheek. "I have you. I still have


you. If I'd lost you again, I don't know what I would


have..."





"Mulder, if you ever have to choose like that again -"





"I'd do the same."





"You'd have to tell me who she was! It was my choice


too."





"No. I'd do the same, just like I knew your reaction if


you had known her identity. And it is *not* going to


happen a second time."





"Good. So you're promising me you won't leave me like


that again?"





His jaw set. He couldn't. He let go of her and busied


himself rearranging the bedsheets.





She kept a hand on his shoulder. "Mulder, we're going to


have to discuss this. I don't want a repeat performance.


I don't want you running off on your own."





"You said it yourself: a line had to be drawn."





"Then we're going to have to redraw it! With the both of


us over the same side!"





Mulder shook his head, more convinced of this than his


UFO convictions. "Over the side of constant danger, cut


off from the rest of the world. That area isn't for you."





"I'm a Federal Agent, dammit!"





"With a risk of getting shot at or facing down criminals,


yes. But due to who else could you end up abducted for


months then turn up in hospital buried in wires and


tubes...?"





"Mulder, the same thing just happened to you. If you'd


let me in, you wouldn't have ended up that way."





"We *both* would have, Scully. One of us would have shot


the Pilot, and we both would have been exposed to the


retrovirus. There would have been no one to charge in and


stop the ER crew from inadvertently killing us."





Both were getting frustrated and Scully could see that


Mulder was still exhausted. It was only a few hours since


he had vomited. "We'll talk more later - settle down for


a while."





She felt tired too, but decided to stay up and read.














Mulder woke up hearing Scully making frantic noises. He


looked around, disorientated, then scrambled up and raced


into the sitting room. She was slumped against the sofa


arm, crying desperately: "Mulder? Mulder?"





"I'm here; wake up, Scully, I'm here!"





It took her several minutes to come back to herself


enough to realise he was indeed there. They sat and held


each other silently, trapped in horrifying thoughts.





Mulder gently rocked his partner, his chin on her hair.


"You dreamt about Barry, didn't you? That I wasn't there


to save you."





"No, about being in the ER and not being able to keep you


alive..."





That rocked *him*. He thought he was the cause of her


nightmares, not the subject.





"I keep having it... This time it was longer. Your sister


wanted to take you with her, but I wouldn't let her. She


was saying that you wanted to be with her and I knew it


was in death and I couldn't let you go. But you weren't


fighting, Mulder, you wouldn't live... You were going


towards her, and I didn't know if you wanted me to stop


you or not." Her tears flashed to frustration. "For God's


sake - don't you know that these five weeks have been


more terrifying for me than how I could *ever* feel about


whatever happened to me after Barry? I was so scared and


we didn't know for so long whether you'd be okay or


not..." Their eyes locked. She stepped off the cliff.


"Mulder, I love you and..." She couldn't go on.





His face broke into the most wonderful smile she had ever


seen him use. "I don't think there's anything more you


can say. Or need to. I can say that I've loved you for so


long. I knew for sure when Barry took you, and I had a


lot of time during those months... I couldn't bear losing


you again. So there was no decision to be made when the


Pilot had you. I knew what I had to do."





"And I began to realise when I heard you calling out to


Sam on the bridge, and I knew just what you had done.


When I saw you in the ER... I had a lot of time to think


about it too."





"I've been thinking about doing *this* for a while..."


With that, Mulder put his lips to hers. The universe


cheered and began throwing streamers. This was not just


one brief meeting of mouths - this was conflagration and


both of them were full participants.





Eventually they pulled back enough to look at each other.


They grinned.





"I've been thinking about doing a lot more too, but I


think it'll have to wait a while yet!" Mulder admitted.





Scully laughed and nodded. "But I don't want to wait to


do this again." She kissed him, he responded. He made her


feel like her blood had turned to jelly in the best


possible way. /Kiss stimuli! Why didn't I try that


before!/





He chuckled. "I keep feeling that a nurse or your Mom is


going to walk in." That didn't stop him sucking at her


ear.





"I know. Makes it more exciting, don't you think?"





A snort of amazed and delighted laughter tickled her ear,


and he hugged her tighter.





"Are your ribs okay?"





"They ain't feeling no pain."





Her hands traced over his chest gently, then explored his


face and arms and came to link with his hands, which were


on her face. Mulder lifted their joined hands for them to


look at. She was bringing him out of long weeks of


hibernation. "I much prefer this sort of ROM. Keep giving


me this, and I'll be 100% in no time."





"Behave!" she mocked.





"Like you were in the hotel room? Just what were you up


to, Agent Scully?"





She pulled her hands out of his. He got worried. Then she


pushed him, gently but firmly, so he was lying back


against the sofa arm. His legs were on the floor, so


there was still enough room for Scully on the sofa.





"Dana?"





She leaned over him. "You asked a question, Agent Mulder.


I'm just providing the answer. Or do I have to draw you a


diagram?" She kissed his forehead, then began tracking


kisses down his face. This time she didn't stop short of


his lips.





"Ten points," he said when he could think again.





"No, if you hit me it's ten points. I hit on you, so I


get twenty."





"Want to try for another twenty?"





"I'm listening..."





"Mind showing me what that finger counting thing was all


about? I don't think I got the full lesson."





"Okay, but just to make sure that your finger joints have


no contractures." Her hands and mouth gave each digit a


thorough test. "And now I think it's time for a rest."





"After THAT maths lesson? I won't be able to sleep for a


week!"





"You've only had a few broken hours of sleep so far. You


need more than that - go and nap while I fix something


for us to eat."





"Order a pizza."





"Mulder -"





"So we can have a nap together. So I can feel you in my


arms instead of just your perfume and instead of hospital


life going on around us. No guilt or uncertainty."





"Pizza." She folded her arms and stared at the phone.


"This goes against every grain in my body."





"Hey, so do I, but somehow, we work."





Scully phoned their order in. Once wouldn't hurt. Then


she got up and held her hands out to him. He stood and


they put an arm around each other to move into the


bedroom.





Mulder noticed she was looking at him very seriously, and


knew their talk had not ended. "What is it?"





"We'll have to redraw the line," she said firmly.





He nodded, leaning down to kiss her again, accepting her


totally into this last little isolated bit of his life.


"Into a circle around us. A ring."








And three days later Dana Scully was wearing the


affirmation of their bond.








THE END.








"Outwitted", copyright by Edwin Markham





He drew a circle that shut me out--


Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.


But Love and I had the wit to win:


We drew a circle that took him in!








Used without permission, no infringement intended, not


for profit, but because it was perfect!








AUTHOR'S NOTES (Well, ramble & Thanks... Optional read):





When I told friends I was slaving over a cold Mulder, I


never imagined it would get this involved!





This originally began as an unposted vignette and its


sequel, but then Debbie held the sequel up to the light


and showed me the holes. So we set about changing the


scenario so it would work, and she kept giving me more


and more information I couldn't resist...and it sort of


ballooned. (For anyone who I mentioned "While I Watch and


Wait" to, it was the first vignette but along the way the


offspring swallowed the parent...)





Ainon joined the fray - to her I owe thanks for all the


additional help, the lowdown on viruses, and for agreeing


that the last act of "End Game" is a thing of beauty and


a joy forever. Our discussions about the retrovirus


sparked off a post-End Game story of her own - our


stories fed off each other.





Suzanne came next, patiently and generously giving her


time to read about five versions of my MulderBash


timeline,  go over several story drafts to check the med


facts, and provide additional information. Much


appreciated!





Ainon and Debbie kept suggesting more and more torturous


things to do to Mulder - most of which I incorporated


because they were realistic - but I drew the line at face


droop! (Scully stroked his cheek a lot and kept it toned,


okay?) And our conversation about the joys of jello was


too weird to be believed... Ainon and Debbie are terrors


- they aren't romos and kill him off in sooome of their


fanfic. Ainon's reply to this is that I am even crueler:


"You turn him into the ultimate torture victim - a


heckled, henpecked hubby!" They kill him, I give him


romance. It all balances out...





And thanks to: Gerry, Kristina J, Lisa, Crash and


Frogdoggie