THE FIGHT
Date: 27 Apr 1996

OK, folks. Never let it be said that I didn't have a few old (moldy)
stories sitting on my hard drive for times when MaryKate screams
"We Are Out Of Stories!" I did this one a while back, but it was
fun, so what the hey, right.

MSF--yeah, that's right, it's strictly friendship. I am not turning in
my relationshipper merit badge, I just needed a change of pace.

No Spoilers (it's old), some naughty words (I'm in politics, give me
a break) and no guns and bombs although there is one white
paneled van.

Disclaimer: If you decide to sue me, even though I do not intend to
infringe on your copyright, Mr. Carter, keep in mind that I have
nothing but debts children and you don't really want them Thanks.

Comments to me, vmoseley@fgi.net. I have my really neat e-mail
program now and I love using it!

The Fight
by Vickie Moseley

Washington DC
outside the FBI Building
August 11, 1995 11:56 am

Dana Scully had stormed out of the building so fast that she
almost ripped her purse strap on the door handle as she left. After
a violent tug, the strap had fallen free and she continued to stomp
down the few steps and onto the sidewalk. She was all the way to
the corner and waiting for the light to change when she heard him
coming up behind her.

Fox Mulder was at least a foot taller than his diminutive partner
and had much longer legs, but even he couldn't keep up with her
when she was angry. And today, she was angry--at everything, but
especially at him. He tried frantically to remember if the last time
she had gotten this mad at him had been toward the middle of the
month, too. PMS. That could explain everything. But how to go
about proving his theory, short of following her into the bathroom
or, worse yet, asking her outright, was beyond him. <Turn on the
charm, Mulder> he decided to himself. <She isn't really mad at
you, she's just mad at the world.>

As she heard his footsteps slow down and could smell his
aftershave, she suddenly saw red. "Mulder, get the hell away from
me," she growled, just as the light changed and the pedistrians from
the other side of the street started toward her. She stepped off the
curb, her heel caught in a chink in the pavement and she started to
stumble. Strong hands grabbed her arm, and gently helped her
regain her balance.

The minute he did it, he knew it was the wrong thing to do.
That was what started the whole argument in the first place: his
overprotectiveness. <I can't let her fall on her butt on Pennsylvania
Avenue, for cripes sake!> he reasoned. As she glared up at him, fire
in her eyes, her answer was unspoken. <OK, maybe I should've let
her fall on her butt in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue.> She
whipped her arm out of his hand so hard, it stung. But it was the
look in her eyes that hurt more.

"Scully, can we talk about this over lunch?" he asked meekly.

"If I had to eat across from you right now, I would only throw
up," she seethed.

"Then can we go somewhere on the Mall and just sit for a
minute. You know, outside of the building. Someplace quiet," he
suggested.

A gleam formed in her eyes. "Someplace with no witnesses,"
she hissed.

"Scully, I did not do anything that I haven't done a thousand
times before," he objected, trying with one last hope to defend his
actions of the previous day. By this time in the argument, he was
having difficulty remembering exactly what he had done to set her
off.

They were on the other side of the street now and suddenly she
stopped, dead. She put her arms on her hips and looked up at him
with the same kind of fury she usually reserved for serial killers and
people she was just about to blow away. "Get it through that thick,
testosterone-saturated, male head of yours that I do not need, do
not want to be your little china doll! Now, if you don't leave me
alone, I am going to count to three, pull my gun and shoot you
where you stand, Mulder!"

There is a very good reason why retreat is a battle strategy--
sometimes, it's the only thing that works. He bit his tongue to keep
from saying something really stupid and turned around to return to
the building. <It will be OK,> he reassured himself. She would go
window shopping, grab a sandwich with enough sprouts on it to
choke a cow, soak up some August sunshine and Baltimore smog
that hung over the city at this time of year, and come back down to
the basement like nothing had ever happened. <This is why you are
single, lad> he reminded himself ruefully. <You are too smart to
take this kind of abuse at home and at the office.> With a sigh of
resignation and with warp speed, his mind started to try and
untangle the case that he had left on his desk when the whole fight
began. Which explains why he wasn't really looking as he made his
way back across Pennsylvania Avenue at one of it's busiest times of
the day.

The minute Scully heard the 'thud' and the squeal of tires and the
scream, she knew what had happened. Her heart stopped, her
stomach dropped out from under her and she almost fell as she spun
on her heel and ran as fast as she could to the street. <Maybe, it's
not him. Maybe it's a tourist from Ohio, or someone from one of
the Embassies. Maybe we got real lucky and it's a terrorist,> she
tried to convince herself. The second she saw the leg, at a very
precarious angle, she recognized the suit. It was everything she
could do to keep from screaming herself.

She shoved her way through the crowd mummuring "I'm a
doctor" to anyone who would pay attention. A couple of men
heard her and helped her get to the center of the circle that had
formed. It was too tight, there was no air. "Could you all please
step back," she asked, her voice finally taking on the tone of
authority it always had in emergency situations.

He was unconscious, lying on his back with his head to the left.
His left arm was pinned uncomfortably underneath him, she was
certain it was broken or the shoulder was dislocated, maybe both.
His left leg stuck out a sickening angle just below the knee. She
put her hand on his chest, to check his breathing and immediately
started CPR. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a siren
picked at her concentration, but she brushed it aside. Another
thought, almost as unbidden, told her that her hand was very wet
and sticky where she held his head when she breathed into his
mouth. She brushed it aside, too, and focused on breathing,
pushing, breathing, pushing, until strong arms gently pulled her up
and the paramedics took over. She was so concentrated on her
efforts, she fought momentarily to return to them when she
recognized the voice.

"Agent Scully, let the paramedics take over. Come on, I'll give
you a ride to the hospital." It was Assistant Director Skinner, their
supervisor. Where he had come from, God only knew. He had
probably been on his way to lunch, just like everyone else and just
happened to be there. At that point, Scully really didn't care, she
was willing to take even small miracles where she could get them.
She sagged in his arms and let him guide her back to the office and
into the parking garage underneath. Neither spoke on the ride to
Georgetown University Medical Center.

Walter Skinner wasn't exactly comfortable, pacing the
emergency room lounge, waiting for word on Mulder. Usually he
avoided the ER, preferring to wait at the office for a call. But this
time, he had been on the scene, had seen the whole thing, right
down to witnessing one of his agents getting hit broadside by a
white van with Maryland plates. That made it all the more
personal. Besides, Agent Scully was acting very strangely,
something he would expect of her injured partner, but not Scully
herself. If she kept it up, he was going to be forced to 'talk' to her
about it.

Scully was sitting in a plastic covered waiting room chair,
staring at the black and white tile floor. She was numb. The driver
of the van was a 16 year old boy who had only had his license for
four months. It was the first time he had driven downtown alone.
He had turned the corner, thought it was all clear, was going a little
too fast because he was late picking up his mother for lunch. He
had never seen Mulder step off the curb. They had to sedate him,
he was still in the hospital in shock.

Scully had already called her mother, but had gotten the
answering machine. In a few terse words, she had explained what
had happened, given the name of the hospital and asked her mom to
come as soon as she could. With that done, she had nothing left to
do.

What she wanted to do was go into the ER and find out what in
God's name was taking so long. He had been in there over two
hours. She had seen nurses and doctors coming and going and tried
to get a look into the curtained dividers, hoping to catch a glimpse
of Mulder. One cubicle, at the far end, seemed to have more than
its share of activity. <That must be the one he's in> she figured.
<Whenever you're in a hospital, you're always the center of
attention, Mulder> she teased him, and herself. <Of course, you're
always unconscious, so you can't really enjoy it,> she added. <So
this time, why not just wake up and ask for me and we can laugh at
it together,> she pleaded.

All scientific theory aside, Dana Scully _knew_ Fox Mulder
could hear her. Even though she was sitting yards away, with thick
walls between them, and she was only thinking, she knew he could
hear her. <Mulder, I'm really sorry I got so mad at you.> And with
that thought, the floodgates opened, and she started to sob
uncontrollably.

Skinner heard the sobs behind him and his heart sank. He hated
this. He knew how close these two were, how much they depended
on each other. He had seen Mulder lose it when Scully had been
abducted. He should have expected that she would lose it, now,
when Mulder's prognosis wasn't that hot. But he had really hoped
her mother would be here, or one of the doctors, or *any* one, not
just him. Slowly, he walked over and sat down beside her and did
the only thing he could think to do: he wrapped her in his arms and
held her while she cried.

It was the gentlemanly thing to do, but it was the wrong
gentleman. Scully fought to gain her composure and finally
managed to stop the tears. "Thank you, sir," she mumbled. "I'll be
fine. It's just. . ." her voice trailed off and her lips started to quiver
again, but she caught herself, and cleared her throat. She
swallowed hard and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I
wish we'd get some word, you know," she said, and got up to pace
the room.

It had been 45 minutes since she had lost it, she figured, when
the ER doctor came into the room. They were no longer the only
people in the lounge, so the doctor motioned for them to follow
him and they arrived at a tiny office with two slightly more
comfortable chairs than the lounge. He offered the chairs with a
wave of his hand. Scully bit her lip. This was not good.

"I'm Dan Pierson, I'm the doctor in charge of ER and I've been
working on, ah," he double checked the chart in his hand, "Agent
Mulder. I understand one of you is listed as his next of kin?" He
looked expectantly at them both.

"That would be me," Dana said quietly. Dr. Pierson nodded.

"His injuries are severe, but I understand you were performing
CPR on him when the ambulance arrived, so you know it wasn't a
simple fall. He's suffering from a broken femur, a dislocated
shoulder, bruising of the spleen and left kidney that could result in
hemmoraging if we aren't careful, but most distressing is the skull
fracture. It's severe. He is not responding well at the moment,
although he has not met the criteria in his living will to discontinue
life saving efforts. All told, he is definitely in bad shape and the
next day should make the difference. Either he will stablize, or he
won't. It's really that simple. I'm sorry to put it so bluntly, but if there are any other family members, I think you should go about
notifying them as soon as possible." Dr. Pierson stood up. "I'm
having him moved to ICU as we speak. It's on the fourth floor.
You can see him, as soon as he's settled. They can make
arrangements there, if you care to stay with him until we know one
way or another."

Scully nodded silently. Skinner stood up and helped her to her
feet. "Come on, Agent Scully. You could use a cup of coffee.
Then we'll go check on Mulder." He led her down the hall to the
elevator and up to the cafeteria.

Once seated, with coffee, Skinner couldn't take it any longer.
"Agent Scully, is there something wrong, something you want to
talk about?" he asked. He had seen her in emergencies plenty of
times, but he had never seen her act like this.

Before she could stop herself, the words came tumbling out.
"We were arguing. I was mad at him because. . .because he's
always so damn protective of me! I had yelled at him in the office,
then I stormed out to go to lunch by myself and he followed me, so
I told him if he didn't leave me alone I was going to. . .going to
_shoot_ him. And then, the idiot didn't look where he was going
and got hit by a _truck_, for God's sakes! A frigging truck! Might
as well been a bus. He's overprotective of *me* and the minute I'm
not there to look both ways before he crosses the street, he gets hit
by a truck! And if he dies. . ." she stopped herself and bit her lip so hard she drew blood. She wasn't going to lose it again, not in front of Skinner.

Skinner sat there, stunned, for a moment. He hadn't expected
this. He figured she would clam up and not talk, like most agents
did. This onslaught of emotion was totally unlike anything he had
ever experienced from Scully. But the guilt sounded just like
Mulder. "Look, Scully, I don't know of a pair of agents, *good*
agents, *good* partners, who aren't just a little overprotective.
You and Mulder spend more time looking over your shoulders than
you do looking forward. You tackle things no sane people would
even consider! But that makes you good at your jobs. And to keep
from getting killed, you learned to depend on each other. Mulder
couldn't care less what happens to his own body. Hell, I spend
more time signing hospital reimbursement forms for him than I do
for the entire rest of the section! But with you, it's another matter.
He *cares* what happens to you. And from where I'm sitting right
now, I would say the feeling is mutual. I just thank God you have
more common sense than he does or else you two would be on
permanent disability by now."

"Scully, face it. You argued. Then he walked in front of a van.
The two were totally unrelated events. It was an accident. Sure, it
could have been avoided, but we can't go back into the past and
change the way things are today. We have to live with them the
way they are. Right now, Mulder needs you. He needs you to
remind him what he has to live for. Come on, I'll go up and help
you find the room. Then, I'll head back to the office. You can call
me when there's good news." His emphasis on the word 'when' was
not lost on her. She smiled meekly and nodded.

Georgetown University Medical Center
August 15, 1995 4:45 pm

Dana was running down the hall and almost slammed directly
into the nurse coming out of Mulder's room. The nurse, whose
name was Janice and had been a real godsend in the last few days,
smiled broadly and held the door open for her. "He hasn't opened
those baby blues, but he's coming around," she said happily.

"They aren't blue, they're hazel," Scully corrected her
breathlessly as she slowed down enough to slide into the chair next
to the bed. Without thinking, she reached over and took his wrist,
checking his pulse, as she had done about every ten minutes during
the first twenty four hours he had been in ICU. Finally, her mother
had convinced her to go home and get some rest. The next day, her
mother convinced her to go to the office for a few hours. That had
become the routine. She had timed exactly how long it took to get
to the hospital from the office. 10 minutes, her office door to his
room door. 15 minutes if the lights were against her. She had
received the call just 14 minutes before. His EEG was showing
activity. He was waking up.

Somehow, her thoughts drifted to the little military hospital at
Eishenhower Field in Alaska. He had been in a coma for so long
then. She had been worried sick and far away from home. Once
again, he had been alone when it happened. <Well, we just have to
make sure you don't go off by yourself, ever again!> she decided.
It was going to be tricky, but somehow, she would stick to him like
glue, if necessary. All this medical crap had to come to an end. It
just wasn't healthy.

Slowly, he moved his head from side to side, almost
imperceptably. Then his eyelids fluttered, and he tried to focus. He
swallowed a few times, he had been without the respirator for a day
now, but his throat was still sore.

"Hello," she said, trying to pull his attention to where she was
sitting. She was rewarded with his eyes, staring directly at her,
trying to focus on her face.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. It was her standard question,
and almost always got a flip comeback. It was sort of their way of
reassuring each other, if they could get through this little routine,
him as the comic, her as the straightman, they knew everything was
all right.

He looked at her, confused. "Throat hurts," he croaked softly.

It wasn't what she expected, but it was Mulder, he was alive.
She'd take it. She reached behind her to the bedside tray and found
the cup of ice chips that Janice always had waiting for just this
occasion. She spooned some into his mouth and he swallowed it
and nodded for more. She gave him a couple more spoonfuls and
put it back on the tray.

"Better?" she asked.

He nodded. "Are you the nurse?" he rasped.

She chuckled at his joke. "No, silly, I'm a doctor, remember?"
she teased. But instead of laughing with her, he only looked more
confused. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to reach for his thoughts.
When he opened them again, he looked scared.

"Do you. . .do I know you?" he asked, sounding as timid as a
four year old.

Suddenly, Dana felt something very cold in the pit of her
stomach. "What is your name?" she asked him, looking into his
eyes. He sat thinking for a long time.

"I. . .I don't know. It. . .it won't come to me!" he whispered. "I do know you, don't I," the words were a statement, more than a
question.

Scully ignored him. "Do you know what happened? How you
got here?" she asked. Again, he thought hard. No flicker of
recognition came to his face. He shook his head and then winced at
the pain it caused him.

Scully reached over and pressed the call button. Janice
answered immediately and Scully instructed her to page Dr.
Pierson. Then she turned her attention back to her partner. She
sighed, heavily. "You're name is Fox Mulder. You're an FBI
agent. You were hit by a van while crossing the street in front of
the Hoover Building. I'm your partner, my name is Dana Scully.
Do you remember _any_ of this?" she asked, pleading. He shook
his head and looked even more frightened. Suddenly, Dana realized
that he was still in critical condition and this was not good for him.
The heart monitor was beeping faster and she could see from the
monitor next to it that his blood pressure was shooting up, too.

"Listen to me," she said, gently pulling his face toward her so
that he was looking directly at her. "You have a concussion,
brought on by a fracture to your skull. It is normal for you to have
trouble remembering, OK? You have been unconscious for four
days, since the accident. Now, I'm going to have the nurse bring
you something that will help you get some sleep. You are still a
long way from being well, you need to rest so you can get better."
She brushed the hair off his forehead.

"Are you the only one here? Do I have any family?" he asked,
struggling to calm down as she talked.

She hesitated to tell him. She had talked to his mother, but the
woman had been so distraught that Dana had thought it best that
she not make the trip down. His father had been murdered in April,
but this was not the time to bring that up. Her own mother had
spent quite a bit of time with him in the last few days. She would
be coming up in a few hours to sit with him again. He was waiting
for an answer. "You aren't married. You're mother is in
Massachusettes, where you were born. She was. . .she couldn't
make it down right away. I've been here, and my mom has been
here. My mom has sort of adopted you, since we've worked so
closely together."

Janice came in and Scully gave her directions on what
tranquilizer to give him. She nodded and left, returning quickly
with the syringe. "How about brothers or sisters," he asked, eyeing
the nurse warily as she swabbed the joint in his IV and injected the
fluid.

"You have a sister," Scully started. "But she. . .doesn't live
nearby." She hoped that would take care of the matter until he was
better able to accept the truth. Besides, as far as she knew, it was
the truth. And it was what Mulder believed. He nodded and
accepted it as enough. Gradually, his heartbeat slowed to a steady
beat and his blood pressure lowered to a more normal range. His
eyelids grew heavy and he sighed, taking hold of her hand, he
drifted off to sleep.

Dana sat there for a long time and held his hand. She was
worried. He had been hit in the head before. Too many times, as
far as she was concerned. But this was the first time he had lost all
of his memory. Sure, he had been disoriented, but he always knew
who she was, knew his own name. This was all too strange and she
didn't like it one bit.

Mulder had been asleep for about 15 minutes when Dr. Pierson
arrived. Scully told him the entire exchange, and even how
frightened and upset he had become when he couldn't remember.
He agreed with her that sedating him was the only answer if he had
become that upset. He had left that standing order for just this
circumstance.

"He's never lost his memory before, in any other instance?" Dr.
Pierson asked, going over the inch thick medical file he held in his
hands. It occured to her just how many times Mulder had partaken
of medical services since she had come to work with him. He might
be overprotective of her, but maybe she wasn't doing such a bang
up job keeping his head down, from the looks of things. Maybe
there was something she could learn from him.

"There was once," she said slowly. "He, ah, he was
investigating some activity on a military base. I don't know exactly
what happened, but the next morning, he had no memory of what
took place. He was disoriented, feverish, and shocky for twenty
four hours. Then he slept for the next twenty four. When he woke
up, we had lab work done, but they found nothing. I think he may
have been drugged, he had needle tracks on his inside forearm, but
the tests came back negative. That's the only time he has ever lost
track of a second of his waking life. He has a photographic
memory."

"So, did he ever regain the memories of that night?" Dr. Pierson
asked.

"No. Never," Scully said flatly.

Dr. Pierson looked grimly at the chart. "I doubt that it relates to this in anyway. What was he doing immediately before the
accident. Was it traumatic in any way?"

Scully swallowed hard. "We were, ah, arguing just before the
accident. We were yelling, actually. No, that's not right. _I_ was
yelling. I was really mad at him and I was yelling. I told him to
leave me alone or I was going to. . .to shoot him where he stood,"
she said quietly, almost like a confession.

Dr. Pierson smiled and tried not to laugh. "You sound like my
wife and me when we get into it." He put his hand on her shoulder
reassuringly. "I don't think that was as traumatic as you might
think, Agent Scully. Most men are used to being violently
threatened by the women in their lives in the heat of an argument.
Usually, they understand it isn't real. What I meant was, had he
received any particularly shocking news, a death in the family,
something he might want to suppress?"

"No. Not recently. His father was killed this spring, but he's
had a while to deal with that. There was nothing the other day.
We were just getting back from a case and doing paper work." She
looked up at the doctor and a glimmer came to her eyes. "He hates
paperwork. Maybe this is his way of pushing it all off on me. That
would be his style." She grinned in spite of her worry.

Dr. Pierson let go of his laugh. "Look, Agent Scully, four days
ago, we were worried that he wasn't going to make it through the
next 12 hours. Now, he is awake, his vitals are all strong, and we're
worrying that he can't remember his name. Somehow, I have a
feeling this too will pass. And when that happens, he'll recover, go
home and he'll go back to being *your* worry, not mine. I suggest
we calm down ourselves and see if time and rest won't do our work
for us, what do you say?"

August 16, 1995
Georgetown University Medical Center
8:03 am

Dana hesitantly pushed open the door to Mulder's room. Janice
had assured her that he was awake and had already complained that
he wasn't allowed any 'real' breakfast. Dr. Pierson was still
concerned about his internal injuries and was keeping him on a
liquid diet for the time being. It was music to Dana's ears that he
had the gumption to complain about anything and it also indicated
that he was hungry--a perennial trait in her hypermetabolic partner.

His eyes were closed and he still looked too pale, but he
snapped awake when he heard her shoes on the tile floor. He
looked at her and smiled wanly. "Hi, Dana, isn't it?"

It hurt that he had to ask, but she hid it as best she could and
smiled in return. "Yes, it's Dana. I came by before work to see
how you're feeling. I hear they won't give you any breakfast."

He held up his right arm, securely connected to an IV tube.
"Janice said this is breakfast!" he said, glumly.

Dana repressed a laugh. "The room service in this place is
lousy. I'll tip the matre'd and see if it gets any better."

Mulder looked at her, slightly confused. "Room service. .
.something about room service. Or service of some kind. . .It was
lousy." He was concentrating hard, trying to pull the memory out
of his subconscious. Finally, he shook his head, again wincing
when he forgot the pain the action caused.

Dana leaned over and took his hand. "It's all right. They'll
come. It might take time, but you need to be careful. We don't
want you hurting yourself trying to remember. Just relax and let
the memories come back on their own."

"But I have to remember!" he exclaimed. "Do you have any
idea what it's like not to remember? How frightening that is? Your
mother came by last night. She's such a nice woman. She sat here
for the longest time and told me stories about myself--and they felt
like they were just that: stories! None of it felt real, none of it felt like it had happened to me! She told me I remember everything.
So why can't I remember it now?" He was very agitated and
frustrated and the monitors were proving it. Dana reached over
and called Janice.

"What are you doing?" he asked, grabbing her arm.

"Mulder. . .Fox. You are getting too excited. You have internal
injuries and this is not good for you. I'm having Janice bring in a
sedative, just to help you relax. It will help, I promise. I know how
hard you want to remember, but you are going to hurt yourself if
you keep this up." Gently, she pulled her wrist away from his hand.

"You don't want me to remember," he glared at her.

"That is ridiculous!" she shot back, stunned that he would even
think such a thing.

"No it's not. You don't want me to remember. This way you
have a clean slate. I've noticed how guilty you look when you look
at me. You did something and you're trying to make up for it. But
you don't want me to remember it. So, you don't want me to
remember anything at all." He was looking directly in her eyes,
trying to gauge the effect of his accusation.

"Funny, you can't remember your own name, but you remember
how to be paranoid!" she seethed, dropping her gaze so he couldn't
see her eyes. She glanced at the door and wondered where the hell
Janice was with that sedative.

"I'm not being paranoid, if I'm right. And by the looks of it, I'm right. You are being entirely too overprotective of me. So what if I get a little excited!" he shouted. "I'm in a hospital, I can't hurt myself that much. I have to remember. You can't protect me from
my memories. I'm not your. . ." he stopped shouting and looked off
into space, concentrating. "I'm not your china doll. . ." he
whispered. "You said that. You told me that. _Get it through
your thick, testosterone-saturated male head of yours that I do not
need, do not want to be your little china doll_." A look of sheer
amazement crossed his face that he was finally getting somewhere.
He looked at her expectantly and waited for her response.

Tears were starting to stream down her cheeks. "Out of all the
millions of things we've said to each other, Mulder, why the hell do
you have to remember that, word for word?" She looked totally
miserable, and she felt even worse. Finally, at that moment, Janice
entered, carrying the syringe.

"Sorry I took so long," she apologized. "We had a code blue
going, and I couldn't get away fast enough." She looked at the
monitors, slightly confused. "A little elevated, but within normal
ranges. You sure you want me to sedate him, Dr. Scully? She
looked over at Dana and noticed the tears still dampening her
cheeks. "Dr. Scully, are you OK?"

Mulder reached over and took Dana's hand. "I think Dr. Scully
is in more need of that sedative than I am right now, Janice. But
she'll be OK. She's very strong and very capable. She can handle
herself and *me* in any situation. Let's hold off putting her to sleep
right now." He was smiling broadly at her.

"You remember. How much?" she asked between sniffles.

"Snatches, but more and more every minute. I remember a boat
that was rusting. Being really cold and waking up with you there.
It all started to come back when I got mad at you." He grinned at
her. "You have a way of getting my dander up, Scully," he said
affectionately.

Scully wiped her eyes with the corner of his blanket. "It's in my
job description. 'Get Agent Mulder's dander up at least once a day.'
As a matter of fact, it's in your job description, too. And I have to
tell you, Mulder, you are far and away better at it than I am!"

the end