Title:  Spending Time

Author:  Obfusc8er

E-mail:  aobfuscata@hotmail.com

Spoilers:  "Dod Kalm"

Classification:  Post-ep, A, MSRish

Rating:  PG-13 for adult themes

Distribution:  Okay to Ephy, Gossy, and all previously 

approved archives. Others, please ask me first.

Summary:  Time is the currency of love. Spend it wisely.



Note:  My gratitude goes to Vickie Moseley and O2 for the 

time and comments contributed to this story.





~~~~~~~~~~~



I'm lying in bed holding her hand. Her skin is warm and 

silky, and her smile is utterly dazzling. I am floating, 

buoyed up by this slice of vitality, this moment of knowing 

that completion is merely at arm's length.



She is safe and secure, right beside me. I feel drawn closer 

to her with every tense thread of my being, so that her 

delicate fingers might weave me into her life. A fiery 

auburn halo surrounds her face as she tilts her head. I wrap 

my arms around her and pull her close, because this time 

will never come again. Every second is invaluable. Her 

warm breath dances across my stubbled cheek. I feel a slow 

ache low in my pelvis, and her eyes are lit with the same 

impetus. An urgent question shoves its way past primitive 

limbic urges to the forefront of my mind. I must know her 

feelings, gain a sort of permission, although I barely 

possess the faculties to speak right now.



"Scully, is this forever?"



She parts her lips to reply. As I search her eyes, we meet. 

For an instant we breathe the same air, and I blissfully let 

myself be assimilated. She is mint and citrus and searching 

taste buds. She controls my next gasp, and she holds my 

willing mouth hostage until my lungs burn and my head is 

swimming. My vision becomes hazy.



I could live here for eternity, in this surrealistic snapshot of 

perfection, and melt into her. I offer her my life, fractured 

and worn as it is, and she gives me this in return. She is 

amazing, and I have the incredible power to make her 

happy. 



As I begin to feel the rush, the exodus of blood away from 

my brain, she pulls back. Her eyes reflect fear. We are 

falling now, hopelessly entwined together. A dull wave of 

motion sickness steals my sense of orientation, and I am 

suffocating. The pressure leaves my lungs. I can't breathe at 

all. Dead weight settles slowly within my chest, and my 

muscles lunge for air.



"Damn it, Mulder, don't give up now!"



Suddenly, time slips out of its trance and springs forward 

like a trap. My grip on Scully's hand becomes more 

tenuous. I sense myself growing weaker. The force is 

pulling her away from me. She looks frightened, and I have 

no means to console her. God, this is so sickeningly 

familiar. 



Time is driving a wedge between us. Scully screams as it 

tugs on her. We're barely able to maintain our fragile 

connection as Chronos flaunts his power. I lie still, bone-

weary and sore. She needs me, but I can offer nothing.



"Mulder...my God, what's happening to you?"



Scully's eyes grow with alarm, and I feel her hand turn 

cold. She reaches out and touches me, rubbing her thumb 

across my cheek. I bring my free hand up to cover hers, and 

my fingertips brush against my face. I explore, finding new 

wrinkles, bumps, lose folds of sagging skin, crow's feet, 

and withered, papery surfaces. Scully's creamy complexion 

has not changed. It is not her being pulled away, but me. I 

have grown old and left her behind. My heart sinks, and my 

hands fall empty to my sides. The force continues to draw 

me in. I become immensely dizzy and hot.



"Mulder..."



The sheets beneath me stick to my back and legs. I fight to 

raise my head. I'm naked, pale gray, my skin draped over 

protrusions of bone. Scully pushes my head back and stares 

into my eyes. 



"Breathe, damn it!"



But my lungs are caved in, useless. I want to tell her that I 

love her, but I can only gurgle. My heart is slowing, and I 

marvel at the general lack of pain. Scully presses her ear to 

my emaciated chest. It is slightly disappointing, that I must 

whither away, that I will sink quietly into the darkness. 

Scully touches my throat.



"Oh, no you don't."



She turns and swings a leg over me, so that she is 

straddling my hips. I close my eyes briefly, trying to blink 

away the encroaching fog. I bite my lip until it bleeds. Even 

as I fade, I want her badly. She winds her hands together 

and shoves rhymically on my chest in a futile attempt at 

resuscitation. How lucky I am that my doctor is the 

pathologist who never says die.



She leans forward and seals her lips against mine once 

again. Her warm breath catches in my throat. It has 

nowhere to go. She sits up and continues to drive my heart, 

pumping sluggish blood through my body. The black edges 

are crawling in on me, even as Scully works frantically to 

salvage what precious time I have. I'm not sure why, 

because I'm no good to her now. I am tired, beaten and 

helpless, yet she does not stop. My chest cracks beneath the 

frenetic pumping of her hands. She shoves through my 

shattered ribcage. There is a gaping hole.



Scully removes her hands and leans close to say something, 

but I hear only the roar of death. As my vision is 

enveloped, I drink in every detail of her. I gulp one last 

time, and she kisses me deeply. I close my eyes. Warm 

water drops to my face one, two...three times. It runs into 

my mouth, and I can taste the bitterness of the moment. 



Oblivion leaves me with only a tiny, round field of vision, 

and at last, I see her rest one hand over the empty gap in 

my chest and plant a kiss on my lips. Then I am sucked into 

the night.



~~~~~~~~~~~



I snap to consciousness with the oddest sensation. It is a 

panic, but I can't recall what prompted it. I float largely 

carefree, satisfied with the fuzzy notion that all is going 

well, and I have only to sleep to keep it that way. As I drift 

back into the haze, a niggling thought enters my mind:  

there is something important I should be considering. No, 

some*one*.



Scully.



And then I know what has happened, how everything has 

gone horribly wrong. The last I remember, we were both 

deteriorating, fallen victim to a wormhole created by the 

military. She looked horrible, not only as a result of the 

rapid aging, but because of the vacant gaze of hopelessness 

in her eyes. I have to go back to her. This realization seems 

to dissipate the thick cloud of false contentment in which I 

was hiding. Feeling creeps into my arms and legs, sending 

pinpricks and signals of pain to my fingertips. The loud 

clamor in my ears resolves to the sound of air whistling 

through a small opening. There is a weight on my chest, 

although it still seems to be rising and falling.



The scents of bleach and plastic assault my sinuses. I have 

the vague impression of being inflated. My body feels 

puffy, and the air is a powerful cocktail, pulling me slowly 

out of the gray drudge of unconsciousness. I can feel a 

cannula in my nose, providing extra oxygen. I try to move 

my fingers. They seem to meet resistance, like swimming 

in thick gel.



A dull pain grows inside me, centering in my flanks and my 

fevered brain. I groan, but I can't manage to form words 

just yet. I hesitate to open my eyes, as the dark claws of the 

nightmare are still lodged firmly in my mind. What if it is 

real? What if I've failed her, and we are now both alone? 

This fear grips me for some time. No matter what the truth 

is, though, I must face it. This is one thing I have learned 

for certain. It does me no good to ignore and pretend 

otherwise.



My left eye pries open, and then the right. I see Scully 

scrutinizing my chart, her eyebrows furrowed together. 

Suddenly, I remember. I've been here, at Bethesda Naval 

Hospital, for three days of which I'm aware. Endless 

dialysis, IV fluids, hormones, and blood tests have 

improved my prematurely aged appearance, but I still feel 

damned old. My vision a little blurry, but I can tell that 

Scully's wearing a hospital gown. They must be detaining 

her for observation, I guess. Her face is drawn and a bit 

hollow-looking. The room behind her is blue, white, and 

steel. Scully isn't the radiant savior of my dream, but she is 

still beautiful to me, not to mention how adorable she looks 

in her gown. I watch surreptitiously for a while, and then 

she finally notices that I'm awake.



"Hey there, sleepyhead."



Scully smiles at me, and instantly her entire face brightens.



"How are you feeling?"



Her words are quiet and tinged with the slow inflection of 

relief. 



"I..."



My throat rasps horribly, and I fall into a coughing fit. She 

produces a cup of ice slivers. A couple of chips slide into 

my mouth and soothe the dryness. 



"I feel really sore and...puffy."



"Yeah. You're a real Michelin Man," she says dismissively. 

Then, with more concern, "How bad is the pain? I can 

probably sweet-talk another round of morphine for you..."



"It's, uh, manageable," I lie.



I say this only because I know she won't believe it for a 

second. My face has been set in a wince since I woke up.



"Where is it the worst?"



"Um..." I wait for the sensations to resolve, "my back's 

killing me. And my head."



I groan and roll it to one side for emphasis. Scully pats my 

chest, where her hand has been resting. I flash back to the 

frightening image of the gaping wound there. A few 

uncomfortable, silent seconds pass. Time to change focus.



"So, how are you feeling, good-lookin'?"



I waggle my eyebrows at her, and she blushes, hiding the 

lingering paleness in her face.



"I feel like shit, Mulder. It's hard work keeping up this 

look, you know. I do it all for you."



Scully stands up and circles, holding the corners of her 

hospital gown like a runway model's dress. Her standard-

issue paper booties make shuffling noises. The view when 

she turns nearly causes my heart monitor alarm to sound.



"It's the latest fashion. These gowns are all the rage in 

ICU."



I smile, probably in a goofy way.



"I can't wait to get out of these hospital duds," I complain, 

very aware of their particular limitations.



"That could be arranged," she says with a decidedly guilty, 

pensive look.



"Hey, now." 



My leg jerks, pulling on the sheet. 



"Don't get so excited, Mulder. We have an audience."



"And that bothers you?"



I am, of course, aware that our room is far from private, but 

it's fun to push her buttons. Just to prove the point, a young 

man in blue scrubs pokes his head in the door from the 

main hallway. He looks around for a moment, finally 

focusing on Scully. She waves at him, and he promptly 

nods and disappears. Very strange. She must be up to 

something. My leg jerks again and starts itching.



"This is getting annoying."



"I know, but it's a common symptom of kidney disease. 

You'll have to tolerate it until your renal output is back up 

to par."



I sigh.



"I wish everyone would quit discussing my renal output. It 

puts a cramp in a guy's style."



Scully pats my hand in mock sympathy. The intercom 

speaker over my head comes to life, spewing forth the 

customary assault of static that is indicative of an 

inexperienced operator. I seal my hands over my ears and 

frown. 



"Someone should pull the plug on that thing." 



Scully is bemused. I can tell by the raised eyebrow. 



"Just wait, grouchy. I arranged for a surprise."



"Oh, really?" I ask, intrigued.



"I think the hormones are getting to you. I *told* Dr. 

Laskos that the estrogen was a bad idea..."



"Ha. Ha."



Just then, the static falls silent. I tentatively expose my ears, 

awaiting whatever "surprise" Scully has seen fit to bestow 

upon me. There is only silence. I glance at her suspiciously, 

and she just grins, looking entirely too proud of herself.



"What the..."



Scully presses her index finger against my lips, my cue to 

shut the fuck up. The speaker overhead begins to emit a 

soft string of familiar chords, and then the introductory 

lyrics follow. I am impressed. No, shocked. 



"Ssscully...how did you manage to tahk dem into pphlaying 

the Beadles? I try to ask around her fingertip. She moves it 

away.



"It wasn't too difficult. It's Sunday, the CO is gone, and 

we're the only...guests."



"Sergeant Pepper's is a great album. You kick ass."



"I know it."



She sits on the edge of my bed and carefully reclines next 

to me, rocking slightly back and forth to the eclectic music. 



"Mulder?" she nearly whispers.



"Hm?"



"Please don't do this to me again. You scared the shit out of 

me." 



Her plea reaches me, but it is distorted in my mind by the 

disturbing idea of becoming only a burden to her. Perhaps I 

already have. 



"I can't very well promise not to grow old, can I?" 



"Hm..."



She glances down at the dialysis needles in my arm. 



"Just promise me that you won't hurry the process."



Scully swallows hard, her eyelids fluttering. I feel like dirt 

now for causing her this pain. I search for the magic words 

that will undo the damage, but I have to settle for my gut 

reaction.



"All I can promise is that I will jealously value every 

minute of your company."



I cringe at my cheesy wording, but she smiles and snuggles 

against my shoulder. Fortunately for me, women are 

suckers for cheese. The door opens again, and the same 

man in scrubs interrupts my hard-won moment of Scully 

contact. Then I get an idea. I motion him over and whisper 

my request into his ear. He smiles and shakes his head, and 

he disappears behind the door again. Scully sits up and 

shoots me an inquisitive, brows-knitted expression. 

Turnabout is fair play, and I grin smugly. 



"Wha..."



"Wait for it," I instruct, feeling entirely too clever. 

"Um...do you suppose that I could stand up for a little bit?"



She surveys my various medical equipment connections, 

still dubious of my intentions. 



"I think that's doable. Are you sure that you're up to it?"



Am I ever.



"Sure."



Scully helps me maneuver the IV pole to her side of the bed 

and untangles my dialysis tubing. The large, gray machine 

continues to whirr, so I sit up and start to swing my legs 

over the side of the bed. 



"Hold your horses, cowboy," she says, stopping my 

progress. 



She points down to the side of the bed, near the foot. Points 

to the damned urine bag. 



"Oh, yeah. That."



I fiddle with the clip for a few seconds before Scully 

decides to take pity on me and remove the bag from the 

frame. She holds it up.



"Your bag, not mine."



Fair enough. I accept it from her and try not to show my 

disgust at the warmth of the contents. It's nothing I can't 

handle, though. I loop some of the catheter tubing in the 

same hand to keep it from snagging. What a pain in the...



"Okay. I think you're all set."



She supports my other elbow and peers at me in that 

intimidating way as I wobble to my feet. I am dizzy for 

only a moment, although my legs are incredibly weak. I let 

Scully support a little of my weight, because I don't want to 

wear out too quickly. I'm beginning to wonder if my plan is 

going to ever take shape when the first verse of "Getting 

Better" is interrupted. The irony is not lost on me.



After a brief interval, a polka-esque, tuba laden beat begins. 

I wrap my right arm around Scully's waist and hold up my 

left in an invitation. She laughs in spite of herself, placing 

her hand on my wrist rather than touch the bag I'm still 

holding. Her other hand alights on the back of my neck. I 

shuffle my feet back and forth on the cold tile floor, and 

she follows my lead with her paper booties as Paul 

McCartney serenades us. I clear my throat, summon my 

fortitude, and vocalize my concerns.  



"When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now..."



I am so incredibly out of tune that I can't continue. We both 

have a snicker at my expense. As we sway from side to 

side, Scully rests her head on my chest. We continue to 

dance slowly to the deceptively desperate request for 

commitment. Or perhaps merely reassurance. 



"Mulder..."



"Hm?"



"We're being watched."



I turn us both so that I can see the door and adjoining 

hallway. There are indeed five people standing at the far 

end of the room, watching us, their tasks momentarily 

suspended. 



"It's okay."



For once, I really mean it. I close my eyes and lower my 

chin on the top of Scully's head. I inhale the sweet scent of 

her hair and instantly forget that we are not the only people 

on the face of the earth.



"Send me a postcard, drop me a line stating point of view," 

I sing, if the term could be applied. "Indicate precisely what 

you mean to say, yours sincerely wasting away. Give me 

your answer, fill in a form, mine forever more. Will you 

still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty four?"



My voice cracks, but this time it's not due to my lack of 

musical skill. Scully's muffled voice finds me.



"Forever, Mulder. Forever."



We continue to dance long after the music has fallen silent.