Title: By Her Side
Author: Vickie Moseley
Summary: Bill Scully gets a call from his mother to go to his
sister's side. But not for a reason he approves of.
Rating: R for rough language (he's a sailor for Pete's sake!)
Category: V, MSR (implied) Scully (Bill and Dana) angst, Mulder
torture
Spoilers: Tons. Mostly up to the movie, so all of seasons 1 - 5.
Disclaimer: The characters depicted within belong wholy and
completely to somebody else (namely 10-13 Productions). This
falls somewhere under 'coveting thy neighbor's fictional persona'
but I lust after them with my mind, not my pocketbook. No
copyright infringement intended.
Author's note: I fully intend to hear from some 'differing opinions'
on this one, but I had to see if I could paint Bill Scully as something
other than the embodiment of evil. In short, I tried to walk in his
shoes for a day. This is the result. There may be another one or
two like it.
Comments to me: vmoseley@fgi.net 

By Her Side
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net 

"Bill, it's Mom." 

I'm 38 years old and she still feels the need to identify herself to me
over the phone. She's been doing it since I left for college. Like I
could ever forget the sound of my mother's voice. But some things
never change. 

"Yeah, Mom, how are you? Isn't our turn to call?" Tara and Mom
worked out an arrangement not long after the wedding. We'd call
every two weeks, but Mom knew how much money comes into a
sailor's household, so she quickly insisted that we take turns.
Every two weeks, like clock work on Sunday night we'd call or
we'd be home to take her call. But then it hit me, it's Wednesday.
Something's wrong. "Mom, what's the matter?" 

"Oh, Billy." OK, now I'm getting worried. Mom only calls me
Billy when she's really upset and by the sound of her voice, she's
definitely upset. I think she might even be crying. 

"Mom, what's wrong? You're scaring me here. Is it Dana?
Charlie? You? What's going on?" I don't want to play the bully,
but there's this cold fist of dread in my stomach that I can't shake.
She's sounds almost like she did when she called me to tell me
about Missy. And before that when she told me about Dad. And
with Dana's line of work - 

"It's about Dana, yes, but not what you think. I just got off the
phone with her. She and Fox have been out in San Diego for a few
days on a case. Apparently there was shooting. Fox . . ." Mom is
crying. I can hear it in her voice. She's stopping to catch her
breath. My God, what the hell is going on? 

"Mom?" 

"Fox s-s-s-stepped in front of the gunman. He was going to shoot
D-D-Dana. Fox was hit. Oh, Billy, she was so upset. She was
crying so hard I could barely make out the words." 

Dana crying? Over the phone and crying? Impossible! Never! It
could not, would not ever happen! I can't remember the last time I
saw my sister cry. Not at Dad's funeral, not at Missy's. Oh sure,
damp eyes, a touch of the tissue. But crying so hard that she
couldn't be understood? No, it didn't happen like that, Mom is just
exaggerating. 

"Mom, what do you want me to do?" At that moment, I knew
what was coming. Mom was calling me to go over to sit with her.
But it hit me, suddenly. Dana has been in San Diego, possibly for a
'few days', and she's not called _once_? She was here, with that
son of a bitch . . . and she didn't think to call me? For that matter,
she calls Mom all the way across country instead of me here in the
same city when something bad happens. When the hell did I
become the pariah of the family? "Do you want me to go to her?
Where is she?" 

"Now, Billy. Listen to me. I know what you think of Fox. I know
you blame him for all sorts of things that he never had anything to
do with. But there is a reason Dana didn't call you and that is it.
She's scared, but she doesn't want to deal with your anger right
now, especially if it's directed at him. She's at Mission Hospital, I
know you can find her. But if you go over, I want you to keep
your opinions _to yourself_! If you can't respect Fox Mulder as
another human being, at least respect him for what he means to
your sister. I will not have you going over there -" 

"Mom," I finally cut into her tirade. "Mom, give me some credit,
please! I won't put my foot in my mouth. I'll be there for her, I
don't give a shit about this Mulder character. But I don't want my
baby sister sitting in some cold and impersonal hospital all by
herself." 

"I know you don't care about Fox, William, but do all of us a favor
and keep that to yourself. And keep your mouth shut, if you can't
think of anything else good to offer." I recognize that tone. It's
Mom's 'I'll kick your butt from here to next Wednesday if you
don't do as I'm telling you' tone of voice. It always sent shivers
down my spine and still does. 

"I'll be good, Mom. I promise. Now, I better get over there." 

"Just give her all my love, please, Billy. And Fox, too, if you can
deliver the message. Oh, and a kiss for Tara and Matty." I have to
sit through the entire litany before she finally lets me go. 

"I will, Mom, I will. I'll call later, if there's any news." 

"I'm trusting you, Billy. I love you." 

Shit, now I'm going to start crying on the phone. "I love you, too,
Mom." I hang up and turn to find Tara giving me a perplexed look. 

"Was that Mom? Why didn't you let me say hello? And Matty
could have said a few words to her, or at least babbled in her ear."
Before she's through, Tara is staring at me. "Bill, what's the
matter?" 

I'm already looking for my keys and my jacket. "I have to get over
to Mission Hospital. Mulder got himself shot and Dana's over
there with him. Mom doesn't want her to be alone." 

"Oh, God, it's not bad, is it?" Tara's handing me the keys and my
jacket and my wallet, too. I'm heading for the door. 

"How good could it be if Mom's sending me over there?" I throw
over my shoulder and before she can answer, I'm in the car and
pulling out of the driveway. 

For the record, I'm not a bad guy. I'm a likable guy, as a matter of
fact. I have the respect of the men below me and the officers I
serve under. Tara was not the first woman to fall in love with me,
but she is by far the best. And I have plenty of guys I can call up on
a moment's notice for a game of golf or a Sunday afternoon of
football or for a quick poker game. So I'm not known for my
animosity. 

Then came Mulder. Hell, why can't the asshole just let people call
him by his first name? I mean, what's this 'Mulder' shit? I took a
little psych in college. I recognize an attempt to distance oneself
from others. He's pushing people away with that shit. Well, I
don't have time for that bullshit. 

I didn't set out to hate Fox Mulder. No, that came with time. Like
the time Dad died. I turned around at the luncheon after the
funeral, and Dana had disappeared. I looked for her among the
mourners, mostly brass and friends that Mom and Dad had picked
up over time, but I couldn't find my little sister. So, I found my
wife and asked her. "She had to go to work." I about flipped out!
Work! Her father had just died, for Christ's sakes, and she had to
go to work?! I'm in the service, I _know_ how much leave time
you're allowed for funerals, and it's longer than four fucking hours! 

I lost it. I found Charlie and we were going to fly down to North
Carolina or South Carolina or where ever the hell he'd dragged her
off to, and kick his sorry ass all the way back to DC! Mom didn't
need that shit. Mom needed us there, all of us. Missy had already
blown it off, couldn't get a flight, bunch of shit. Now, Dana, the
'reasonable one' takes a powder right after the services. 

Because of him. Because of Mulder. 

We were almost out the door when Tara knocked some sense into
us. Well, a couple of days later and the case was over, they caught
the guy, or rather, Dana caught the guy, and she _still_ didn't come
home. "Mulder got shot." Like that was supposed to explain why
she wasn't home, comforting her grieving mother. Like that was
some sort of absolution for leaving her father's graveside. 

I was still on leave when she finally got home. I went over to her
apartment, I was going to give her a piece of my mind. It was after
midnight, and I knew her flight had arrived much earlier. She'd
been at 'his' apartment, 'settling him in'. 

We had a fight. Our first over that sorry son of a bitch. I told her
what I thought about her running out at the funeral, she told me to
mind my own business. I told her she _was_ my business and she
let me have it with both barrels. Lit into me like Hell's Fury
Scorned. And then, in the middle of our fight, or so I thought, she
informed me that she was just there to 'pick up a few things'
because she was spending the night at her partner's. 

I've only 'seen red' a couple of times in my life, but that night was
one of them. I slammed the door, grabbed the 'few things' out of
her hand and refused to let her out of the apartment. 

My baby sister slapped me. 

I will never forget it. I was standing there, I outweighed her by 100
lbs, I _towered_ over her, and in a second, this tiny little woman
was a ball of self-righteous fury who whipped her right hand back
and slapped me for all I was worth. 

It hurt my pride more than it hurt my face, but I couldn't believe
she could pack that much whallop. And while I was rubbing my
cheek, she got her things and walked out the door. 

I tried calling her, at his place, but no one picked up the phone. I
didn't bother to leave a message. I had to leave the next day. It
was the first time I ever left town without telling her goodbye. 

I started to hate Fox Mulder that day. 

And the hatred grew. I couldn't stand the sight of him at Missy's
funeral. He stood there, God help me, and actually held my mother
as she cried. Son of a _bitch_! Like he was a member of the
family. Like he wasn't the reason Missy was lying cold in that
grave! 

Like he belonged. And like I didn't. 

Dana sort of half-assed forgave me for the fight way back when.
But when I mentioned that I thought the time after the graveside
service should be 'just family', she got all huffy with me. "Mulder
needs to be there, otherwise he'll think we blame him." 

I was about to tell her that I _did_ blame him, but Mom stepped up,
dragging Mr. FBI behind her and told us that she was riding to the
house with Fox and Dana and would I stop by the caretaker's office
and tell them they could close the grave. 

Sure, that was what I was there for. Making sure my little sister
was covered with six feet of mud while the man who put her there
was sitting in our house and eating our food. 

I really hated him that day. 

I didn't get over it, I just got away from it. I went back to Great
Lakes and then to Newport News. I was really happy that I could
get home a little more often, but then I was sent out on a cruise and
I was gone for six months. When I got back, I found out what he'd
done to us lately. 

Dana had cancer. She was dying. 

I still can't talk about it. I can see her, standing in that hospital
room telling me how she could tell her partner about her illness, but
not her brother. I can see her lying in that bed, _dying_, and
holding that bastard's fucking hand like it was a teether to the
earth. I can see her announcing that she was going to put that
goddam chip in her neck, in so many words that she trusted _him_
over her doctor, our priest . . . even me. 

I hope the fucker dies tonight. I'll finally be done with him. 

But if that happens, I'll still have to deal with Dana. That's OK, I
know I can make her see that it's for the best. 

I'm never too sure how to handle these hospital things. When Dana
was out here last Christmas, and she found . . . that kid and she was
talking all crazy and then the kid got sick . . . I mean, how the hell
was I supposed to find her at the hospital. "Excuse me, have you
seen a seemingly intelligent woman who is acting totally nuts and
keeps saying she's the mother of a three year old she's never seen
before in her life?" I didn't even know the damn kid's name at the
time. Emily. Her name was Emily. 

At least this time, I know who I'm looking for. I walk up to the
first nurse I see and ask for directions to admissions. A nice, white
haired lady at a desk tells me that Fox Mulder has been taken up to
the surgical ward, and that family members can be found in the
waiting room up there. 

When did she become his 'family'? 

I get directions and find the elevators and get to the right floor and
then to the right wing and there she is. 

God, I've never seen her look this bad. 

Lost. And so damned tiny. Fragile. Covered in blood. God help
me, if a speck of that is hers . . . But I can tell she's not hurt. Not
physically, at least. 

At least the fucker did something right. He protected her. She's
safe. This time. 

I walk down the hallway toward her. She isn't looking my way, her
eyes are glued to a set of double doors with the words 'surgical
suite' stenciled on them. I call out her name as I get closer and she
still doesn't move, doesn't react at all. Finally, I'm right next to her
and I put my hand on her shoulder. 

"Dana?" 

She looks up at me and for a moment, there's no recognition. She
doesn't _know_ me! And then a light comes on in her head. 

"Billy?" 

She's up on her feet and she grabs me hangs on with everything in
her. She's not crying, not yet at least. She's taking in deep gulps
of air, and it scares me how much she's trembling in my arms. 

"Here, let's sit down." I lower us both to the couch she was sitting
on and pull her closer to me, so that her head is now resting on my
shoulder. "It's OK, Danie, it's OK." I haven't called her that
since, . . . gee, since we were kids. Since before I got all tough and
couldn't be bothered with my kid sister and her stupid tagging
along all the time. Not for a long time have I called her that. "It's
going to be OK, Danie, I promise." 

Finally, she sits back, and wipes her face on her sleeve. She leaves
a streak of dried blood mixed with tears across her cheek and I itch
to wipe it off, but I figure I'll just let her be for now. 

"How did you know?" 

That hurts. She's all but admitting that she wouldn't have told me.
"Mom called. She said . . . that you were here. And you were
upset." 

She snorts beside me. "Mom, the great understatesman." I want to
crack a smile at that, but it's not really that funny. 

"How is he, uh, how's he doing?" I really don't give two shits how
that little twerpy bastard is doing, but I promised Mom and I'll
keep that promise. 

She stares off at those shitty double doors again. Finally, she clears
her throat. "He was shot in the chest. Close range. _Very_ close
range. The exit wound . . ." She stops and swallows, hard and it
hurts me to watch her struggle with this. I start to tell her that I
don't need the play by play, but she's talking again and I realize
she's not talking to me, she's talking to him. 

"The exit wound was so big. He lost so much blood at the scene.
For a minute, I was afraid it hit the aorta, but I could still find a
pulse. It took forever for the ambulance to get there. He was just
pumping blood out, he was bleeding to death in my arms. . ." 

She takes a deep breath. "I threatened him. I told him that if he
died on me, I'd curse his name till the day I died. I told him I'd spit
on his grave, I'd never look for Samantha, I'd destroy his
apartment and poison his fish. I told him I'd find Ed Jerse again
and let him fuck my eyes out this time and the tattoo would read
'fuck you, Fox Mulder' and I told him I'd quit the Bureau and I'd
become a prostitute and die of AIDS or a drug overdose. I told
him I'd do all of that if he left me." 

God, I don't want to hear this. God in Heaven, I don't want to
hear this. But she won't stop talking. And now she's laughing, but
not in a happy way. She's laughing like a mad woman. Like some
who has lost their mind. Laughing and talking through it all, but
still staring at the door, still more to him than to me. "I think he
must have heard me. His pressure dropped and the EMS guys had
to defib in the van, but he hung on. I think the Jerse thing was what
turned the trick. Have to remember that one." 

"How long have you been here?" I have to get her to connect to
_me_, to quit looking at the damned doors and see that she's not
alone, that I'm here, too. 

"I don't know. Three, four hours? Who the fuck knows?" 

That took my breath away. I've never heard Dana curse like that
before and the way she's doing it now it seems like second nature. 

"It wasn't supposed to go bad. We were staking out the _least_
likely spot. Neely wasn't supposed to be there, it was just a
possiblity. A remote possiblity. But he was there, and we didn't
have proper back up. We never have proper back up, do we,
Mulder?" 

She's letting go of my hand and standing, pacing in front of those
doors. She won't quit staring at them and she's wringing her hands
and I wonder if it's hurting her to do that as much as it's hurting me
to watch. 

And I hate that fucker even more for putting her through this. God,
I hope, I really hope he dies on that table. 

But I have to take care of her, now. No time for wishful thinking.
"Have you had anything to eat?" I glance at my watch and it's
already almost ten o'clock. If she's been here four hours, she
probably didn't get dinner. I can find something, a vending
machine or something. 

"I'm not hungry." Her voice sounds hollow as she says it, like she
doesn't even know what the question was, much less what she
answered. 

"How about some coffee?" I try again. This time she doesn't even
bother to answer and I take that as a good sign. I go off to find
some coffee. 

Coffee is a lot easier to find when you know where the hell you're
going. I got lost, not bad lost, but turned around. When I figure
out where I am and where I'm supposed to be, there's some
woman in hospital scrubs talking to Dana on the couch. Dana is
nodding and her face is this . . . mask. She looks so impersonal, so
cold. She's holding it all back in front of this woman. I know how
much it took for her to let me see that earlier display. And I'm her
brother. 

I come up to them, quietly, not wanting to disturb them. 

" . . .damage was extensive. But he made it through the surgery.
He did flatline on us, but it wasn't for very long. The hypovolemia
is the greatest concern. The lung capacity will be diminished, but
with therapy, he should be able to recover. Right now, we just
have to wait. And pray." 

"May I see him?" Her face is strong, but her voice is betraying her.
I can hear the tremor in her voice all the way from where I'm
standing. 

The scrubs woman is shaking her head. "Let us get him settled in
ICU. I have you listed as next of kin, you'll have full priviledges to
visit. I think it would be best to notify any other family members at
this time." She reached out when she started talking and now she
squeezes Dana's shoulder. Like you would a wife you'd just given
bad news. 

And the look on Dana's face. She's losing her whole world. That
skinny, limp-wrist, pansy faced asshole is everything to my baby
sister. Everything. And nothing or no one will ever replace him in
her heart. 

I can't breathe too well. My stomach is a knot and I think back to
how many times tonight that I've wished that sorry son of a bitch
dead. I didn't mean it, God. Really, I didn't. I just . . . _hate_ him
sometimes and it's so much easier to just wish he was gone . . . 

The woman leaves and Dana's just sitting there, staring into space.
I walk up to her and offer her the coffee. She takes it on autopilot,
swallows and frowns. "I don't take sugar," she says to me. 

I almost laugh. No, that's right. Tara takes sugar. Dana takes . . .
I realize I don't know how my baby sister takes her coffee. That
really bothers me right now. What really eats me is that the asshole
who's dying probably knows how she takes it. 

"I'll get you another cup," I offer. 

"No, that's OK, I'm not really thirsty, either. I just want . . ." 

I know what she wants. 

"I wish you'd try to get to know him, Billy," she says, her voice all
low and raspy as she continues to stare at the doors and the walls
and everywhere except my face. "He's not a bad guy, you know." 

"I know," I say, automatically. So what if I don't mean it, she
needs to hear it. 

She impales me with her eyes. "Liar." 

The way she says it, I feel cursed for all eternity. It makes me hurt.
I feel ripped apart by her accusation. I want to hurt back a little.
Damn me. 

"OK, if he's so great, why the hell did he let you get in a position
where you were getting shot at to begin with?" 

She turns on me, pale. Ghostly white. And for a minute I'm afraid
I've killed her with my words. But then I realize, she's just building
up a head of steam. 

"Fuck you," she seethes, quiet, through those perfect white teeth
that once sported big shiney braces. She's walking down the hall
almost before I can breath. 

I can't let her run off this time. Not this time. I take two steps and
reach out and grab her arm. "Dana, stop. Please." 

She pulls her arm out of my grasp. "Go home, Bill. You're not
wanted here. You're not needed here. Just go the hell home." She
stomps off toward the hallway again, leaving me there, staring open
mouthed after her. 

"Why? Why do you love him more than me?" When I hear the
words echoing off the white walls of the waiting room, I don't
recognize my own voice. I know those were my thoughts, but I
didn't think I had the guts . . . or the stupidity, to say them out
loud. 

She stops. She doesn't turn around right away. Her shoulders
heave with the effort just to keep standing. When she finally turns
toward me, there's a single tear sliding down her left cheek. I made
her cry. Mom, Mom, Billy made Dana cry. I can hear Charlie
chanting all the way from the park to our house. Billy made Dana
cry. 

"I don't . . . love him . . . more," she chokes out and I'm afraid to
listen, afraid of what she's going to do to me now that she knows
what is scaring me. I don't want to lose her to him. Not the last
sister I have. Not to him. Not to that loser. 

"I don't love him _more_ than you, Billy," she says, through
clenched teeth. She stops and draws in enough breath for both of
us. 

"I love him _different_ than I love you." 

I want to follow her. I want to go after her and catch up to her and
pull her in my arms and tell her that I'm sorry, that I'm a bigger ass
than Mulder could ever be, but all I can do is stand there. When I
can't see her because she's turned the corner, I walk over to the
couch, sit down, and cry like a baby. 

I can't believe I fell asleep. A nurse comes over and shakes me
awake and I don't remember where I am or what I'm doing here. I
blink a few times, and then remember. Dana. Mulder. ICU. 

It's not hard to find the Intensive Care Unit. It's marked on all the
elevators. ICU, 6th floor. I'm now on the sixth floor. It's a little
past one in the morning. 

I've never been in an Intensive Care Unit. I've heard about them,
but I've never seen one close up. It's odd. Quiet. Everyone looks
so intense. Life and death all in about eight rooms. I start looking
in the glass windows trying to find Dana. A nurse walks up to me
and taps me on the shoulder. 

"I'm sorry, sir, but only members of the immediate family are
allowed here." 

"I'm looking for Fox Mulder. Well, really, I'm looking for my
sister, Dana Scully. She's with him. She's his, uh, next of kin." 

"Mr. Mulder is in room 5. His wife is in there right now." 

I blink at that. Wife? Nah, Mom would have said something.
Wouldn't she? "Ah, that's probably my sister." 

"Wait here." The nurse gives me a look as she makes a note on a
pad of paper before going off to what I assume is room 5. She's in
there a minute and then back at the desk. "I'm sorry. Mr. Mulder
can only have one visitor at a time and your sister," she looks
doubtful as she says it, "says she's going to stay the night. She said
you're free to go home." 

I don't want to go home. No, that's not true. I do want to go
home, I want to run to Tara and have her make it all better. I want
to rock Matty to sleep and fall asleep with him and have Tara kiss
me awake and take me to bed with her. But I've hurt my baby
sister and I can't go home. Not till I make it right. 

I start to head off to the elevators, but I'm watching the nurse as
she goes back to her charts. When I'm sure she's not looking, I
make a dash for room number 5. 

I feel like an idiot as I burst into the room. I shut the door behind
me and wish it had a lock or something. Instead, I just lean against
it. 

I look at Mulder. He _is_ the center of attention here, after all.
But God, I wish I hadn't looked. He's almost transparent. So pale
that the sheets have more color than his face. His eyes are sunken
in his cheeks and there's a tube coiling out of his mouth. I see a
little black balloon and it fills and collapses in time to the rise and
the fall of his chest. From what I can see under the covers, his
entire left side is covered in gauze. 

There are wires. So many wires. All over his chest, some around
his head, too. More tubes than I could ever count. A bag of red
stuff and two bags of clear stuff and tubes poked into his chest. A
bag of yellow stuff hanging off the bed rail. I don't want to know
where that tube leads. A bunch of machines encircle him, surround
him. Beepings and bleepings and infinity signs on digital displays. I
didn't know I'd been holding my breath until I start to feel dizzy. 

"Go home, Bill. You're not -" 

"Dana, shut up. I'm not leaving until I have my say." She stops,
now it's her turn to open her mouth and gap at me. 

I wish I had some idea of what the hell I'm going to say to her. 

I look down and see her tiny hand, the hand that used to clutch
mine so tightly, the hand that used to bring me cookies when I was
sick, the hand that used to slap me high fives when she made a
basket. It's entwined in the hand of the man in the bed, lying so
still and so very, very quiet. In the depth of my soul, I see her for
the first time in a very long time. See her sitting beside this man. I
see their clasped hands, and I know this is where she belongs. 

My heart breaks a little. I don't want to let go. I don't want to
admit that any man could have a place in her heart, might even
deserve to be there. But I know the truth now. I didn't stand a
chance. If I don't change my ways fast, I'll never have a chance
with her again. 

"I promised Mom I would be here for you," I say, slowly, trying to
find the words. "And on the way over, I'll admit, I didn't really
give a shit if he . . . lived or died." 

She purses her lips and I know I better speak fast because my
chances are getting awful slim. 

"But Dana, I know that was my own selfish pride. I hated Mulder,
I used to hate Mulder, because I thought he was taking you from
me. I thought he would only get you killed. And that scared me.
God, Dana, I was so scared that my baby sister would die." 

I'm having a hard time standing up and so I lean on the bed rail a
minute. 

"I know this is the path you've chosen. You choose it every day, I
guess. Just like with Tara and me. Every day, I wake up, and I just
want to be with her. I can understand that. I can see that. I can
see how you'd feel that way." 

Her eyes are softening up a bit. She's not looking at me as if she's
looking at a monster anymore. 

"He saved your life. I guess that really just sunk in to me. Back
when you had the cancer, back when you lost . . . Emily, today, all
those times in between . . . he's saved your life. He hasn't taken
you away from me. He's kept you safe for me. As safe as you'd
let him, anyway." 

I get a smile for that one. 

"Look, I'm going to go down to the chapel. I'm going to light a
candle for him, say a few prayers. Then I'll be right in the waiting
room. If you get tired, or need a break, I'll . . . sit with him for
you. I'll make sure he's safe for you." 

I'm not sure what I expect her to do, but as always, my baby sister
does the unexpected. She gets up, not letting go of Mulder's hand
and reaches out to me. She pulls me toward her, one handed, and
wraps her free arm around my waist. 

"I love you, Billy," she sighs into my shirt. "I always have and I
always will." 

"I love you, too, Danie," I tell her. I look over at the man who
means more than the world to my sister. Maybe there is something
there that's more than I've seen before. 

"Who knows? With time, I might even love him," I say, and in
some strange way, I really mean that. 

"I've begun to believe in some extreme possibilities," she says and
smiles at me. 

I'm beginning to know what she means. 

To be continued:


*************************** 

Title: By Her Side 2: The Awakening
Summary: Continuation of By Her Side. Bill takes up watch over
an injured Mulder and tries to reconcile some old feelings.
Category: V, A, Muldertorture
Rating: PG-13 (crisis is over, civility resumes)
Disclaimer: No infringement intended, but I had a great time. I put
everybody back where I found them, too.
Archive: Yes
Author notes: Thanks to Susan and Kathy for beta these two. And
thanks to all of you who have written me during this election. I
love you all :)
ALL US CITIZENS OF VOTING AGE: Don't forget to VOTE
on Nov. 3. YES it does make a difference. 

By Her Side 2: The Awakening 

I've been in this elevator so much in these last three days that I
know the grooves on the buttons and the graffiti scratched in the
paint by heart. 

It's been hell, no doubt about it. But I'm not complaining. I get up
in the morning, go to work at the base all day, then drive straight to
the hospital. I take up watch, Dana runs back to our house to grab
a bite with Tara, play with Matty, take a shower and lay down, if
Tara can bully her into it. And then by 11 she's back here, looking
a little better than when she left. I give her a kiss and I'm off to
find my way home again. 

While Dana's joining the living, I sit here communing with the
comatose. Mulder and I have had a lot to talk about. So far, it's
been the kind of conversation I've always wanted to have with Fox
Mulder - one sided and me doing all the talking. Just what my
heart needed. 

But I've been good. Well, maybe not 'good' but at least I haven't
called him a 'sorry son of a bitch' in the last three days. I've done
my best to give him a piece of my mind for worrying Dana like he
is. The docs all said he would wake up as the blood volume was
improved. That was two days ago. Then they said it was the pain
factor. They've had him on some really good shit, from what the
nurses tell me. So that shouldn't be a problem now. To tell the
truth, I don't think they know their asses from a hole in the ground,
but there's no way I'm saying that while Dana is around. I say it
plenty to my bud, Mulder. 

The doctors are hopeful. Sure they are. We avoided a lot of
complications, apparently. He hasn't developed an infection or
pneumonia. The respirator has been turned down a couple of times
and I wouldn't be surprised if they've removed it by now. He's
breathing on his own. 

But he 'died' twice. His heart stopped pumping. I didn't go to
medical school, but I know that when the heart stops pumping, the
blood stops carrying oxygen to the cells in the body. Skin cells,
bone cells, . . . brain cells. And he'd lost so much blood by the time
they got to him, that sort of starved the cells a little, too. 

No body's saying it out loud, but I know why they're all tiptoeing
around Dana. The fact that he's in a coma right now is as good as
shouting from the rooftops. Brain damage. There is a chance he
might never wake up and it's getting stronger every day. 

Dana told me the other night that she wanted me to get to know
him better. Well, I'm getting to know Mulder more than I bet
either of us ever wanted. Like his current 'best' blood pressure is
115 over 90. And his heart rate stays at a steady 61 beats a minute,
which, with the right tone on the machine, is just perfect to drive a
person stark raving crazy, when listened to for four solid hours.
His 'resps', in nurses short hand, seem to be holding at 12 a minute,
which is pretty much where they were when the tube was doing the
work for him. I could go into his 'output' volume, but there are
some things even _guys_ don't discuss in public. Catch me in the
locker room sometime, why don't ya. 

He's a pretty quiet guy in a coma. He doesn't move, he doesn't
skip a breath, he doesn't even sigh. He leaves that up to Dana.
Sometimes, like tonight, I get up here and just stand in the doorway
a minute, watching her watching him. Six breaths, then a sigh.
Light caress down the left hand, around the IV needle. Another
sigh. If the light is right I can see the tear tracks running along her
right cheekbone. 

"Hey, sunshine." I have to break the morbid feeling in this room,
it's bad enough with the silence. 

She looks up and for a moment, the old Danie, my baby sister, is
smiling up at me. "Hey, Billy? How was your day?" 

"Boring. I need a ship," I answer back, tossing my jacket over the
tray table. 

Another sigh. 

"How's the man here?" 

Silence. She's cataloging. Trying to decide what would be
significant enough to tell me. Knowing that I probably won't
understand all the medicalese and really don't care for in depth
explanations. "A little better. They extubated him this afternoon.
I'm glad, that way he won't wake up fighting the tube. And I think
he's getting some color back." 

Sure, sis. Whatever keeps you going. "Yeah, I think I see that too.
Not that I'm that much of an expert on the 'before' model." I'm
trying to agree, really I am. And I am glad about that damned
respirator tube. It was giving _me_ a sore throat just thinking
about it. "Hey, Tara put a lasagna in the oven. You get first dibs,
but there better be some left when I get home or I'm coming after
you tomorrow." 

She gets up, but not without a quick kiss to the silent man's
forehead. "There'll be plenty. Unless Matty goes through it like he
did the tuna casserole last night. That child is going to eat you out
of house and home, Billy." 

Thank you, God. She's taking an interest in something outside of
these four walls! It makes me giddy. I chuckle. "Then I _really_
need a boat." 

"Or get yourself a farm." She's smiling again, but not at me. She
leans over and whispers something in his ear. I can't hear and right
now, I don't know that I want to. I can tell it's just between the
two of them. I just hope he's going to listen to her. 

Another quick kiss to his temple and then she's standing and
reaches up to give me a quick peck on the cheek. "I appreciate this
a lot, you know. But make sure you call me as soon as there's any
change. I mean, if he wakes up while you're here . . ." 

She's trying to be diplomatic, but I catch on. "He'll think he's gone
straight to hell, right?" 

She gives me a smirk, straight out of her teen age years.
"Something like that, yeah." 

"I could sit here in a red cape and horns. See what reaction that
might get me," I fire back. It's fun to joke with her again like this.
It's been too long. 

"No, please, he's had too many cardiac episodes already," she grins
back. "I'll be back at 9." 

"You'll be back at 11, and no arguments. Us 'guys' have things to
talk about." 

She's reluctant to leave, like always. I know she's afraid that he'll
wake up when she's not here. But she more afraid that she'll go
and come back and he'll still not be awake. A rock and a hard
place. I wish I could do more. 

I wait until her footsteps are receding down the hall before I sit
down. This is her chair. It's where she's slept the last three nights,
it's where she eats all of her meals save the one Tara can force
down her, it's where she _exists_ for the 20 hours a day that she's
by his side. 

I would really like to punch his lights out for doing this to her. 

Oh, I know. It's not his fault. Intellectually, I know that.
Emotionally, I just see the hell he's putting her through. But then,
when it's just the two of us, I can see the hell he's going through
and I feel like a number one asshole. 

"Hey, Mulder. It's me. Bill. Tara says 'Hi'. Boy, I tell you, I
heard a good one today." 

I ramble. I know he's not really listening, so I tell him the latest
jokes from the commissary, what the top brass are doing to screw
the rest of us, the latest on the pennant races. Oh, and where we
are in the home run derby. During our first night here, Dana told me
he was a sports fan, has been watching the McGwire/Sosa race, has
been rooting for Sosa even though he's a Red Sox fan. Guess she
knows as much about him as Tara knows about me. 

I've been thinking about that, too. I've had time to think of it
plenty. During the day, sometimes it's all I can think about. I
always knew my baby sister would find somebody someday. I
never cared for the creeps she dated in high school. They were all
too immature for her, anyway. And in medical school, boy, for a
while there, I was scared she might be 'swinging the other way.'
She _never_ dated. At least, not that any of us knew of. Then she
ran off to the FBI. She wasn't even out of the Academy when she
moved in with that Willis jerk. I met him once, hated him on sight. 

She got rid of him, finally. Took up with that lobbyist, Minette, for
a while. That almost looked serious. And he was an OK guy. Had
a good job, treated her like a queen. And she dropped him like a
rock the day she got paired with her 'new' partner. 

Minette called me one night. We'd gone out for beers a couple of
times, not like we were best buds, but we talked about Dana and
what she needed in her life. Anyway, he calls and wanted to go
out, grab some beers. I hadn't heard about the break up, and he
didn't volunteer the information on the phone, so I said yes. 

He wasn't there to beg for my intervention. He asked me out to
warn me. Seems he had some friends in the State Department and
then knew all about Fox Mulder, FBI. He was a nut case, according
to Minette. Couldn't work with a partner, they all ended up getting
transferred or . . . something. Slept his way through the clerical
staff pretty quickly. And then, he went off the deep end. 

Well, I learned early on that the best way to get a black eye in my
family was to try and tell my sisters who they should and shouldn't
date. So if Dana broke up with Minette, well, that was her
business. But this Mulder character . . . 

But, as I said before, I didn't go into this thing hating him. 

Now, I've seen them together. Oh, this isn't the first time. He
came charging out like a knight on a crusade when she found that
kid. Emily. Her name was Emily. Gotta remember that. Anyway,
out of nowhere, he's on our doorstep. Tara, big hearted, very
pregnant Tara, makes up the couch for him. Like a member of the
family. Pissed me off royally, but when your wife is two weeks
overdue, you don't pick fights. 

I was a little too mad to give them much consideration at the time.
I remember bits and pieces. Seeing them on the couch, watching
the Christmas tree. His arm around her shoulders, and I'm pretty
sure she was crying, but probably not. And at the funeral. I knew
he wanted to stay right by her side, but he left her, went to 'get the
car' he said. At the time I thought he was being a jerk, but now
that I've had the luxury of time to pick that moment apart, I can see
that he was giving her a gift. He was giving her space to grieve. 

Pretty sensitive thing to do for a guy who's a consummate asshole. 

Speaking of which, I guess I've redeemed myself after that scene
with Dana the other night. Mom called me at work today. She said
Dana's been calling every day with updates, but she wanted to
thank me personally. Dana told her that I was really helping, that
both of us, Tara and I were Godsends right now. 

A Godsend? A little dramatic for my no nonsense little sister, but
hey, I'm not complaining. It's one of the nicer things she's ever
called me. Maybe the nicest. 

I admit it, I was a jerk as a kid. But then, who wants a little sister
tagging along all the time. Missy used to for a while, then we made
her cry one time and she decided she didn't want anything to do
with us. But not Dana. We'd make Dana cry and she run under
the porch or behind the garage and cry it out, then come right back
for more. And after a while, she stopped crying. No matter what
we did. That's why I was so scared the other night when she cried
in front of me. I hadn't seen her do that since she was 7 or 8. But
to this day, it wasn't me who made her cry the other night. 

Mulder made her cry, Mom. Mulder made Dana cry. 

This circular logic is starting to get me dizzy. One minute, I'm
thinking he ain't such a bad guy and the next minute I want strangle
the asshole myself! 

If he'd just wake up, I think it would be all right. But until he does,
I'm here for the evening. Even brought some work to catch up on. 

Paperwork. You get some stripes on your sleeve and suddenly,
they drown you in paperwork. I once thought learning to tie and
untie knots was just as waste of time. We're the Nuclear Navy! If
it doesn't have a computer chip somewhere in it, we _don't_ use it!
But now I know what they were preparing us for. We were
learning to untangle paperwork. 

I've been sitting here, trying to catch up on this shit while Sleepy,
the sixth dwarf, takes up space on that hospital bed. Somehow, I
get the feeling that he's hiding under all those machines. Dana says
they have paperwork, out the yahay, it would seem. And he's
always ducking out of it, making her do it. OK, I can't really fault
the guy for that. Women are better suited for sitting in front piles
of forms and computer screens. It's their center of gravity, the
reason they can pick up chairs from a bent over position and we
can't. 

Or something like that. 

I glance over at Mulder from my little 'tower' of bureaucracy and
stop. 

He moved. 

Nah, it has to be my imagination. The guy has been laying in
whatever position the nurses put him in and I've gotten lazy. I
didn't notice the nurse come in and move him. That's all. It would
be great, but it's not time to call out the troops . . . 

Shit! Damn! He moved again! 

No, I swear to God, he moved this time. I was looking right at him
and he sort of turned his head and I know I saw him swallow. Plus,
his face looks animated, not still. Not dead, like it did look. 

I hit the nurse's button, and a voice come over the intercom. "Yes,
Mr. Scully. Can I help you?" 

It's Patsy. I really like her, she's very gentle. Tammy is younger
and tends to be more rough with him. It amazes me that stuff like
that is bothering me, considering who we're dealing with here. But
I brush all that aside. "Mulder's . . . ah, geez . . . he moved! Get
the doctor, I'll call Dana, he moved! He's waking up!" 

Boy, that was a real 'command' voice there. My voice hasn't
cracked like that since high school. But I look down and shit, I'm
looking at eyes looking back at me. 

And he moans. 

It sounds almost like a word. I lean forward a little and listen
harder. 

He says it again. 

"Hell?" 

I can't help it. I burst out laughing. Just like Dana thought, he
thinks he's died and gone to hell when he sees me in the room with
him. When I finally get hold of myself, I can see that he's still
giving me this look, like he's waiting to be told if this is eternity or
not. I can't do it to the guy. I have to fess up. 

"No, Mulder, but I bet this could be a new definition of hell for
you, huh? You're in the hospital. Mission Hospital in San Diego." 

He swallows and looks relieved. Then he jerks his head to look
around the room. "Scully?" 

At first I assume he's asking me a question. "What?" 

He clears his throat. All sounds are coming out a whisper and I can
tell it's hurting him a lot to talk. "Dana?" 

There's fear in his eyes. Then it dawns on me. Doh! He doesn't
know that she's all right. He's wondering where she is. He doesn't
know that he took the bullet and kept her safe. 

"She's all right, Mulder. She's fine. She's at home with Tara and
Matty. I'm going to call her now. She'll be here in ten, twenty
minutes, tops. If you're good, she might even sneak you up some
of Tara's lasagna." 

He relaxes back into the pillows, tries to swallow again, and
grimaces. 

"No . . . tomatoes. Not . . . right now." 

The door flies open and Patsy comes in with Dr. Nelson quick on
her heels. I met Nelson two nights ago, when he stopped by for
late rounds. He did the surgery on Mulder and has been keeping
tabs on him since then. A nice guy, a bit young, but he's doing a
good job. 

"Hi, Bill, isn't? Now, what have we here? Well, well, well, hello
Agent Mulder. Welcome back to the land of the living!" 

Mulder gives the guy a look that I can well relate to. He'd love to
jam his fist down the asshole's throat at this moment. That much
perky, nobody needs when they just woke up thinking they're in
hell, and their throat feels like some body used a sand blaster on it.
The rest of him probably hurts, too, but the throat seems to be
getting the best of him. 

"His throat seems to be hurting him a lot. Is there something you
can do for that?" 

Three pairs of eyes turn to me, and one pair of hazel eyes looks
totally amazed. Nelson nods to Patsy, Patsy goes out the door and
Mulder is still looking at me like I've grown a second head. Which
would probably be easier for him to believe than that I've just done
something nice for him. 

It embarrasses the hell out of me and I grab for the phone. "I
almost forgot to call Danie. She's gonna kill me for waiting this
long." 

The phone rings three times before Tara picks up. "Hello?" 

"Baby cakes, get Danie, quick. There's somebody here who wants
to hear from her." I didn't think I could get breathless just standing
and talking on the phone. 

"Oh, God! Oh, please! Billy, is he awake? Ohmigod, I'll get
Dana. She's up giving Matty a bath." I hear a muffled scream for
Dana. Thank God, Tara put her hand to the receiver. Her voice
gets kinda shrill sometimes. Not that I mind it, most of the time.
Sometimes I have to work for that scream. But over the phone,
well, it would have deafened me. 

Tromping down the steps, I can hear every footfall. 

"Bill! What is it?" 

"He's awake, Danie. He's awake and he sure seems OK to me.
Nelson's here, but Mulder wanted to make sure you're all right.
Hang on, I'll put him on." 

I hold the phone over to his ear and Mulder's eyes get really bright
and a smile replaces all the pain lines I've seen on his face.
"Scully?" 

I can't really hear what she's saying, but I take it that it's all good
stuff from the look on his face. He nods once or twice. Then he
closes his eyes. He looks wiped out. Nelson touches my hand and
I take the receiver back. 

"Danie, I think we just wore him out. He's asleep again. Why
don't you take your time, don't kill yourself getting here. Here,
talk to the Doc for a minute." I hand phone to Nelson. 

"Dr. Scully? Yes, I just examined him. Neuros look great,
considering the pain factor." 

I would have listened in better, but Patsy came back with a good
sized needle and I was watching her real close until she stuck it in
the IV instead of his backside. I mean, the guy just got to sleep, for
Pete's sakes. Patsy looks up at me and winks. 

"Dr. Scully was right. He does have 'to die for eyes'." 

"I never really noticed." Well, it's the truth. I never noticed that
she seemed to think like that, either. Nelson hands the phone back
to me. 

"Billy, I'm going to change real quick and be right back up there.
He should sleep for a while, they just gave him a dose of Demerol.
But I can take it from here." 

"Did you get a chance to sleep? Danie, you don't need to rush
back, he's not going anywhere. Stay there, rest up. I'll watch
him." 

There was a long silence on the phone. "Well, he is more of a
handful when he's awake," she admits with a chuckle. "OK, here's
the deal. I'll lay down for a few minutes on the couch, but I doubt
I'll be able to sleep. Then I'll come up. You need some time with
Tara, you know. We can't go neglecting the ones we love." 

I smile at that. "No, you're absolutely right, Danie. We can't go
on doing that. I'll see you in a few hours, then?" 

"Yeah, about nine or so. And Bill, thank you. You don't know
how much this has meant to me." 

"Hey, what are big brothers for?" I hang up on her goodbye. I
don't really trust my voice at this moment. 

I look over at the guy in the bed. He's just sleeping now. I can tell
because I see his eyes shift under his lids. His face looks more
alive, too, even though the medicine seems to be keeping the pain
at bay. 

He's a sorry son of a bitch, that's still true. But if he can give me
my little sister back, can he really be all that bad? 

the end. 

Next up: Mulder gets released from the hospital and he and Bill
finally get to have 'that talk'. 


Title: By Her Side 3: Talk of Changes
Author: Vickie Moseley
Summary: Bill and Mulder talk about Mulder's relationship with
Dana. And a six pack of beer gets involved.
Spoilers: I've been haunted by 'Never Again' and 'Emily' so I sort
of explain them, maybe. No movie or sixth season stuff (since it
hasn't started yet ;)
Rating: R (they're drinking, their inhibitions are lost in the fog)
Category: V, H, UST
Disclaimer: I still don't own any of these characters. I know, it's
unbelieveable, but it's true. So, until I can buy 10-13 Productions
(I'd keep CC on, honest I would), I won't infringe on their
copyright.
Archives: Yes
Note: This is the third in the series and it would help a lot if you
read the other two. It pretty much finishes Bill's side of the story.
I'm toying with seeing how Tara sees things. If that interests you,
let me know. vmoseley@fgi.net 

By Her Side 3: Talk of Changes
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net 

It all came up so sudden. After all the running back and forth to the
hospital, and then when Mulder woke up, all that stopped. Our
lives, well, Tara, mine and Matty's, all went back to normal. Dana
stayed at the hospital, then gradually, started working out of the
San Diego Bureau office. She's been coming to our place to sleep,
and since she's up and gone at daybreak, we really haven't seen her
that much. Until last night. 

She came home early last night, all a flush. Dr. Nelson had decided
that Mulder can be released. I think it's sort of nuts, I mean, the
guy was in a coma three days ago. Managed care, my ass.
Anyway, Dana came in and was starting to pack, trying to call the
airlines and get a flight. She hoped to get something direct to DC,
and they'd have to go first class, since Mulder was still pretty bad
off and would need the extra seat room. 

I watched her for a minute and then felt my wife's danty size seven
and a half shoe come down firmly on my instep. 

"Tell her they can stay here a day or two." Tara doesn't 'hiss' very
often, but it was as close to a 'hiss' as I'd ever heard. 

OK, confession time. Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I actually
believed that Mulder and my sister would go straight to the airport
from the hospital and I wouldn't have to face him again. 

I don't hate him any more. I want that in the record. But that
doesn't mean I _like_ him. And it sure doesn't mean I want to
have to wait on him hand and foot. Or worse yet, have my _wife_
waiting on him hand a foot. I let him have my sister, I'll be damned
if he's getting his hands on Tara, or my house! 

Pretty stupid feelings, I know, but they're mine and I'm sticking
with them. 

Tara had other plans. 

"Tara, where will we put him?" Good question, and even a
practical one since the bedrooms in this house are all upstairs, and
that's probably not on his 'to do' list yet. 

"The bathroom is up there, too. We get him up the steps once and
we're set. He can eat his meals up there, and we can move the TV
from our bedroom into the guest room." 

Guest room. Or, my study, as I more commonly refer to it. 

"Then where is Dana gonna sleep?" 

"In Matty's room. Or I could set the cot up in the guest room for
her." 

Matty's room. Definitely Matty's room. I'm only allowing this
new found approval go so far. 

"She probably wants to go home, Tara. They've been here almost
two weeks as it is." 

And at that exact moment, God looked down at our happy little
home . . . and spit in my eye. 

"DAMN IT!" The slam of the receiver almost sent the phone to the
floor. Tara ran in to see what the matter was, I sat with Matty on
the sofa and tried not to look like we were cowering. 

"Of all the times for a damned airlines to go on STRIKE!" 

Oh yeah. The airlines strike. We'd been joking about it in the
commissary. Can you say 'Gotcha'? 

So here I am, sitting in our minivan at the hospital entrance, waiting
patiently while Dana and Tara bring Mulder down in a wheelchair.
Matty is gurgling, chewing one of those teething cracker things that
cover everything with goo that hardens immediately into concrete.
The air is on full blast because it's about 9,000 degrees outside.
And I've had to cancel out on a meeting with BuPers about an
assignment on a ship. 

My life sucks and it's getting worse by the minute. 

Finally, they are here. Dana is pushing the wheelchair and she's
shaking her head. Even though she's trying to look 'tough', she's
glowing. She's just happy to be bringing him home in one piece, I
can tell. She points to the minivan and Mulder nods, then sighs. I
know how you feel, pal. 

He's not looking that much different than when we last saw each
other. He's still pale, still way too thin. He has to have help
getting up out of the wheelchair and I can tell it's hurting him to
move that little bit. Getting into the car will be torture. I can't
stand it anymore, and put on the parking brake, then get out of the
car. 

"Let me give you a hand." I move in front of him, get my arms
around him and hear him moan into my shirt. "Sorry," I remember
too late not to touch the left side of his body more than necessary.
After some unique dance steps, I ease him into the middle seat in
the car. Dana shoots me a wink, Tara is looking at me like I might
get _very_ lucky tonight and I run around to get this show on the
road. 

Getting Mulder out of the car is a little more tricky than getting him
in there. For one thing, Matty has managed to pretty much encase
his left arm with teething mortar, but Mulder doesn't seem to mind.
He looks relieved just to be away from people with sharp objects. I
take point, again, and together, we ease him out on to the curb. I
can tell he wants to get to the front door by himself, but after a
step, he's more pale than he was a minute ago, and Dana makes a
grab for him. 

Surprisingly enough, that's all the support he needs to get the rest
of the way in the door. I get Matty out, only getting a smudge of
the cookie goop on my sleeve and Tara takes him while I get the
bags out of the back. 

Mulder didn't have that much of his own luggage at the hospital.
Dana brought him his shaving kit and a change of clothes. The suit
he'd been wearing at the time of the shooting was either evidence
or garbage, so it no longer belonged to him. The rest of the stuff is
medicine and all that crap that they send you home with, even if you
just end up staying over night. 

As I enter the front door, I see my sister, desparately clinging to a
very tall person who is about to go over my staircase railing, head
first. 

"Let me up there, Danie," I yell before the railing breaks and they
both die from the fall. I grab Mulder, this time careful of his left
side, and all but carry him the rest of the way up. 

"You should have waited," I tell her when she makes it to the top
after us. 

"I thought I could make it," Mulder tells me with an embarrassed
shrug. "I think I need to lie down, now." He's almost a dead
weight in my arms. 

"Sure thing. We made up the guest room for you." Tara in
control, with Matty on her hip, pushes past us and opens the guest
room door. 

I get him to the bed, Tara has the sheets pulled back and I help him
lie back. He's rigid until he settles, then he sort of collapses against
the pillows. Tara fusses with the covers a little, then straightens. 

"I'll have lunch ready in about half an hour. Mulder, would you
like something to drink, anything?" 

He looks like he needs to go back to the hospital, if you ask me.
But he shakes his head. "I'm fine, Tara. Thank you. I think I'll
just rest until lunch." 

I take that as our cue to leave. I put my arm around Tara and
Matty and guide them out into the hallway. I say nothing as I pull
the door shut behind us. 

Tara is a whiz at cooking. She loves being in the kitchen, and I
love just watching her work. Today, since we have 'company',
she's knocked herself out. She started minestrone before I left for
work, but that's for tonight's dinner. For lunch, she's made
chicken salad sandwiches and I make sure she doesn't notice when
I sneak a chunk for myself and a little for Matty in his high chair. 

Matty is a good baby. Especially when in a 'covert operation', like
stealing a popscicle when we know 'Mom' isn't looking. Tara has
this thing about food and one year olds. It comes from reading too
many baby magazines. Mom, my Mom, used to let us eat anything.
I've watched Charlie finish off a bag of barbeque potato chips at the
ripe old age of 2. So Matty and I have become quite the operatives
in the kitchen. 

Today, however, in all the excitement, Matty slipped up. While I
was reaching for another forkful of the bowl of chicken, he figured
he'd help me along by grabbing the napkin it was sitting on and
pulling it toward us. 

Chicken salad a la lap. My clean blue uniform lap. 

I'm not happy running up the stairs to get a clean suit. I have
meetings this afternoon, and I don't need this shit. As I pass the
'guest room' door, I can't help but over hear them talking. 

"I hate imposing, Scully. You know how Bill feels about me. I
don't know why we couldn't just go to the motel." 

Ungrateful little shit. 

"I know, Mulder, I know. But Bill has been trying so hard this last
week. He was with me all night the first night. And he was there
everynight you were in the coma." 

That's my Danie, sticking up for me. 

"Besides, it serves him right to have to put up with us. He _has_
been a shit to you in the past, and it's time to rub his nose in it a
little." 

_Two_ ungrateful little shits. 

I'm about to knock on the door and let them both have a piece of
my mind when I hear Tara calling us down for lunch. I beat it into
our bedroom and change before Dana comes out into the hall. 

Maybe they're right. Maybe I have been shitty to Mulder. I've
gone over my reasons. Mom was always telling me I was too hard
on the guy. It was pretty unreasonable to assume that he was
personally to blame for _all_ the tragedy that has befallen our family
in the last five years. But I have to point out that if Dana had never
joined the FBI in the first place, none of this would have happened.
And if she'd joined, but hadn't stayed partnered with Mulder,
maybe a lot of the horrible things could have been avoided, too. 

Why am I such a creep for wanting to protect my family? 

When I get back down to the kitchen, our little munch mouth is
chomping down on his chicken salad. Dana is right about one
thing, this kid can eat! Dana looks at the iced tea in front of her
like she's wishing it was a vodka martini, and she's yapping it up
with Tara over Mulder's stubbornness. 

"He's like a little kid, sometimes, Tara. I mean, he needs to eat and
he absolutely needs to rest. But the minute my back is turned, he'll
be sneaking down those stairs, trying to figure out a way to get
back home so he can go to work three weeks early. There have
been times I've just wanted to . . ." 

"Shoot him?" my gentle wife teases. 

Dana gets a funny look on her face. "Nah, been there, done that. I
just want him to do what he's told for change. I just don't want to
have to worry about him having a relapse or injuring himself until
he's well enough to handle it." 

I grab a sandwich and hit the door. I'm late for the office, and the
last thing I want to hear is how my baby sister intends to keep
Mulder in bed for the next three weeks. 

The afternoon drags by, mostly because I'm writing reports, kissing
ass, and trying to get that ship assignment out of BuPers. By 5:30,
I'm ready to call it quits. 

I pull into the driveway, and I'm met at the door by my wife. A
nice little homecoming, except she's carrying the baby in one arm
and the diaper bag in the other. 

"Dana needs to get out a while. She's absolutely obsessing and I
think Mulder is ready to duct tape her and throw her in the closet.
Mind if you guys have the house to yourselves while we take
ShortStuff to Mickey D's?" She doesn't even wait for an answer,
just reaches up and kisses my cheek. "I owe you big time, Billy.
And if you're real good, you can collect tonight." That is thrown
over her shoulder in a decidedly 'Mae West-Lana Turner-Lauren
Bacall' sort of smoky voice. 

Geez, she would use sex to get her way. It always works. 

"What are _we_ having for dinner?" I really don't whine, but Tara
is always accusing me of it. I think she's probably going to do it
again. 

"The minestrone is in the crock pot, there's Italian bread sticks in
the oven. And I made a salad, it's in the frig. Beers in the garage,
Mulder does _not_ get one, he's still on painkillers. Dana made
him some iced tea, it's next to the salad. We'll be home in a couple
of hours. I love you." Another kiss, this time blown at me through
the air, and she's piling Matty in the car. 

The screen door slams and Dana is beside me. "Tara just needs a
little time out. I volunteered to take her and Matty to McDonald's
and the mall for a little bit. Now, Mulder needs to take his
antibiotic one hour before he eats, so make sure he does before you
feed him anything. And absolutely _no_ alcohol for him. For that
matter, don't even drink it in front of him, he'll only try to talk you
out of a beer if he sees you with one. And he'll need to take his
painkiller an hour after he eats. I've written it all out, it's on the
frig. And I left my cell phone number. Mulder knows it, but in
case he can't speak or is in too much pain . . ." She's getting this
look and turning to stare at the door a little too long. 

I grab her arm. "Hey, I think it's really great that you girls are
getting out for a while. Tara needs to get a dress for a Halloween
party we're invited to, why don't you see if you can find one." 

That drags her attention back for a moment, but she's still
wavering. 

"Danie, he'll be fine. I will make sure he's fine. Believe me, if
anything goes wrong, I will call you first and 911 second. It will be
all right. Go. Have a good time and relax for Cripes sakes." 

"Is that an order, Commander?" She has a smart-aleck grin
plastered on her face and she always was a mouthy kid. 

"Yes, that's an order. Now, get going. You know how much
trouble you can get into standing between Matty and a meal." I
give her a swat on the backside for good measure. 

And they are gone. I'm still standing on my front porch, wondering
how in the hell I just ended up alone with my sister's partner for the
evening. Not that daunting a challenge, I've done it a couple of
times just recently. 

Trouble is, this time the son of a bitch is conscious. 

I open the door and go upstairs, changing into shorts and a tee
shirt. I think about going down to get a beer, but decide to check
on my charge first. I walk down the hall and knock on the partially
closed door. 

"Is she gone?" 

Interesting greeting. 

I push the rest of the way into the room. "Yeah, they're gone. I
think I got rid of them for a couple of hours. Told 'em to find Tara
a dress." 

"Remind me to pay you, generously." It's a relieved smile that he
gives me. 

"So, my sister's driving you crazy?" I didn't mean it to sound so
much like an accusation, but I guess it came out that way. 

"Bill, please understand. She's only trying to look out for me. I
know that. It's just that she gets a little . . . forceful, when she's in
'doctor mode' and I just get to the point where I can't handle it
anymore. Usually, by this time, I'm home and I can call your mom.
This time, I had to ask Tara. Scully means well, I know she does,
but . . ." 

He looks sort of pathetic, sitting on a bunch of pillows. He's not
wearing a hospital gown anymore, just jeans and a loose shirt. He
doesn't look at death's door any longer, but he doesn't look up to
playing a quick game of 21, either. I'm sure if it was me in that
bed, I'd be climbing the walls, too. 

"She always was too bossy for her own good," I tell him. "And if
you think you've got it bad, you should have seen her when she
was a kid. If you tried to hide something from Mom or Dad -" 

"She'd nark you out, right? I knew it from the first time I met her.
But she's not that bad anymore. Sometimes, she even . . ." He
stops and just stares at the blankets on the bed. 

I take that as an opportunity to break for the kitchen. I'm at the
door when I remember. "Um, did you take your antibiotic?" 

He sighs, not a happy camper. "Yes, I took my antibiotic. Exactly
47 minutes ago, according to my watch. That means I can offically
eat in 13 minutes." 

Sheez, what a pain. "Well, it's gonna take me at least that long to
find the salad dressing," I tell him and the poor sap grins at me. 

I take my time in the kitchen, just in case Mulder will burst into
flame if he eats two minutes before the hour is up. I take the time
to down a beer, find both bottles of salad dressing - white and red,
and fill two glasses with iced tea. Then I dig in the cabinet above
the stove for the fancy wooden bed tray that Tara's sister got us for
a wedding present and we've yet to use. It's been getting a work
out these days, thanks to our houseguest. There is barely enough
room for the two soup bowls, the bread from the oven, the two
salad bowls and the iced tea. I stick the salad dressings and table
ware in my pants pockets and head back up the stairs. 

He's got the tv on, watching sports. Cubs and Braves. And I
thought it would be the end of the world before the Cubs would
make it to post season play. Mulder looks up and then checks his
watch. 

"I can start chewing, but I have to wait 45 seconds before I can
swallow," he informs me, reaching for the tray. 

"Not much to chew, it's soup. So swallow real slow," I warn him
with a smile. God, I'd really hate to be laid up like he is. It has to
be a monumental pain in the ass. 

We eat in silence, both watching the game. He's wincing and I
would get concerned, but then I notice it's just the runs being
racked up by Atlanta. 

"God, I hate seeing Ted Turner win," he tells me, chugging down
half the iced tea. He holds the glass out and gives it a hard look.
"And I'd kill for a beer." 

"Dana would kill me if I gave you one. And Tara would help." 

He sighs again, but nods his head in agreement. 

The soup goes down pretty well, I clear the dishes and put them on
the tray to take down later. The game has become such a blow out
that it's gotten painful to watch. 

And I just gotta ask. 

"So, Mulder, you humpin' my sister?" 

Poor guy, I'm sure it's not good for him to cough like that. How
am I supposed to know that questions like that make him choke,
and on iced tea for God's sakes! I know better than to pound on
his back, he's got a shit load of stitches there and plenty more
inside and on his chest. So I just sort of stand there and hope he
recovers because Dana will have my balls on a platter if I killed him
asking him a simple question. 

"Jesus H. Christ, Bill!" he finally chokes out. "You trying to kill
me here?" 

"It's a valid question, Mulder." At least, I sure think it is. 

"Well, the answer to your valid question is NO!" He leans back on
his little pile of pillows and I think he may be needing the pain pill
sooner than one hour after dinner. 

"Why not? Are you gay?" 

That gets me a look that could cook my liver. 

"No, Bill, I'm not gay," Mulder says through clenched teeth. Same
look Dana gave me that first night. Like I just crawled out from
under a rock. 

"Is she gay?" 

"Christ, Bill, if you have questions about your sister's fucking
sexuality, you fucking need to direct them to _her_!" 

"So neither of you are gay?" 

He's staring holes in me. Too bad you don't have 'x-ray- eyes, Mr.
FBI, or I would be dead. Cooked liver, cooked goose. 

"No, Bill. To the best of my knowledge, and where it concerns
your sister, that is limited, neither of us are gay." 

"Then how the hell did you have a kid?" 

He closes his eyes and sighs again. I would almost feel sorry for
the bastard, but I've been dying to know this for months. 

"Emily wasn't . . . she wasn't 'ours'. She was Scully's child." He
chews on his lip for a moment and then swallows again. "And if
you want any more information, you need to ask your sister." 

"So who is the bastard? Or have you already taken care of him."
This last I say with no malice. I've seen them together now, I have
no doubt that if some fucker raped my sister and she had a baby
because of religion or something, Mulder would put a bullet right
between the guy's eyes. The only real problem with that scenario is
that she didn't remember any of it, if it happened. And when she
was gone, she was only gone for a month. I might not know a lot
of obstestrics, but Matty taught me, babies take forever to come
out. It's not something you forget and somebody would have
noticed. 

"They didn't . . . Bill, it's more complicated than that." But from
the look in his eyes, he'd do anything he could to 'take care of' the
bastard. 

"More complicated than rape?" Yeah, Mulder, tell me how it can
get more complicated than rape. Then it dawns on me. Maybe she
loved the guy once. Oh shit. That would explain why Mulder
hasn't killed him. But why can't she remember? Or is that a lie to
protect the son of a bitch? 

"She didn't love the bastard, did she? This isn't some weird ass
'repression memory' shit that is going to come back in ten years
and she'll end up in some nut house?" 

"It's not something I want to talk about, Bill. And please, respect
your sister and don't go asking her. It's . . . it's still a very sore
subject. But believe me, I'm working on it. And when I get the
opportunity, regardless of what it costs me personally, I will 'take
care' of it." 

I believe him. I look at his eyes and boy, I'd sure hate to be the
asshole who did that to Dana. His days are numbered. That's a
relief. I turn my attention back to the game. Seven to nothing,
Braves. Shit. 

"So, back to my original question. Why aren't you humpin' my
sister?" 

"Bill, go get me a beer." 

end of part one 

By Her Side 3: Talk of changes, 2/2
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net 

"Bill, go get me a beer," he repeats. 

I must look a little nervous because Mulder's sighing sort of
impatiently at me. "I haven't taken my after dinner medicine. And
if I'm gonna have to sit through this kind of interrogation, I need
_something_ to insulate me from the discomfort." 

How can you argue with that kind of logic? 

"Better bring back a six pack," he tosses out to me as I head for the
door. "And grab a couple for yourself, too." 

OK, I gotta say it. I'm starting to like the guy. 

I decide to limit our consumption to one six pack _between_ the
two of us, and in a jiffy, I'm back with six Miller Genuine Drafts. I
hand him one out of the ring, he pops the top and chugs down a
good mouthful. 

"To the patron saint of brewers," he says, looking at me and
holding his can aloft. 

"Salute!" I respond and join him in another good belt. Ahhh, that's
nice. 

"So, back to the question, why aren't you two doin' it like rabbits?
Isn't my baby sister good enough for you?" 

He blows a breath out through his mouth. "It isn't like that. She's
too good for me, if you want to know the truth." 

"She loves you. I can see that everytime she even mentions your
name. You should have seen her the other night, man. She was
losing it big time when you were in surgery." I see a guilty look
cross his face and if it were anyone else, I'd probably regret
bringing up the subject. 

"I know that. I feel the same about her. We're . . . we're beyond
close." 

"But no sex?" 

"No sex." He chugs again to drive home his point. 

"So what do you do? Cat around on her?" 

"NO!" He swigs at the beer again, and I realize he's beaten me to
the bottom. He reaches out a hand and I give him the rest of the
ring. Popping another one, he stares glumly at the rugby game he
found to replace the sad performance of Chicago. "No, I do _not_
cat around on her. I don't do anything. Period. Besides, Bill, truth
be told, our line of work doesn't give us much time for that sort of
thing." 

I ponder that for a moment. I've been at sea, I know what being
faithful is like. But six years? And I knew that when the cruise
ended, Tara and I would be under the covers for a couple of days
without food or water. It just doesn't seem healthy at all to keep
that much 'tension' going for that long. Then, a name pops into my
head. 

"So who is Ed Jerse?" 

I can tell I'm hitting all the right buttons, now. He turns purple and
I'm sure I'm gonna be calling 911 in about three seconds. 

"Where in the hell did you hear that name?!" I have a feeling that if
he could, he'd reach out and grab for my neck to wring the answer
out of me. 

"Dana mentioned it. The other night. When you were . . . when
they had you in surgery. She said she threatened you by telling you
that if you died on her, she'd find this Jerse asshole and, quote, let
him fuck my eyes out this time, end quote and that this time her
tattoo would read 'fuck you, Fox Mulder'. She scared the shit out
of me telling me fucking shit like that." 

"She _was_ losing it," he mutters and chews on his lower lip. "I
thought all that was a dream." 

"So, who is this bastard?" 

"Nobody," he says a little too quickly. 

"I'm not buying that. She's my sister, I deserve to know." 

He's getting red in the face now and I don't really give a shit. It's
the truth. She is my sister, and I _do_ deserve to know what she's
been getting herself into. Maybe this 'beyond love' thing is making
her do stupid stuff, like run off and jump into bed with every two
bit asshole who looks twice at her. I remember when Missy went
through a period like that right after high school. I don't want
Dana going through that. It's too fucking dangerous. 

"She's a grown woman, Bill." 

Shit, can this guy read minds? 

"Ed Jerse . . . Jerse was a nobody. A mistake. We don't talk about
it. And for Christ's sake, don't say a word to Maggie! It's was
before . . . before we knew about the cancer. It was a shitty time,
and neither one of us want to remember it. I'm surprised she
mentioned it to you. She hasn't brought the subject up since it
happened. She must have been really at the end of her rope to let it
slip like that." 

"It's not like she meant for me to hear, really. She was just talking,
she was scared to death. I don't think she even knew she was
saying it out loud." 

Mulder stops talking, just looks at the screen. I never could
understand the rules to this stupid ass game. 

"It was over a desk." 

I sputter my beer across the room. 

"No, not like that," he says kinda disgusted. "Not _on_ a desk,
'about' a desk." 

I'm NOT saying a word. 

"She'd never had a desk. In my office. I mean, she had a desk, a
nice desk, in an office upstairs. And a filing cabinet. She used to
keep my birthday present and her medical journals up there. But
most of the time, we're down in my office, our office, really. And I
just sort of figured if she didn't like something, she'd do something
about it. I mean, for Christ's sakes, she orders the pencils, she
orders the printer paper, she orders the file folder tabs. She could
damn well have ordered a desk if she wanted one. You'd think that
would be obvious, right?" 

I grab for another beer. This is certainly turning out to be more
than I'd bargained for. 

"And I really didn't want to go on that fucking vacation. I just
wanted to work. How the hell was I to know that she had cancer?
_She_ didn't even know she had it yet. She goes out, stays the
night at the guy's apartment, gets a fucking snake on her ass, and
then tells me it's not about _me_! It's not about the desk at all.
What the hell is a guy supposed to think?" 

I am _real_ confused now, but I'm still not saying a word. 

"A week later, I'm called to the hospital and she tells me she has
cancer. It felt like somebody had shot me in the gut. I couldn't
breath, I couldn't think. I didn't want to believe it. She told me
before she called her mom. And she was trying to be so brave, I
saw that. She's the strongest person I know, but she was working
so hard to put up this stone front. She was gonna work. She
wasn't going to give up. She was gonna beat it." He stops again,
and grabs for another beer, his third to my second. "Those fucking
bastards. I will see them dead. Someday, we're gonna dance on
their graves." 

"That's what that chip was all about? How did you get it? Did
they give it to you?" I've been wondering about _that_ for almost
a year. 

"I stole it out of the Pentagon," he says, like it's something he does
every day. "But if you want to know what I really think, I think
they let me steal it. I think it was part of their plan. They didn't
want her to die, they just wanted me to know that they can take her
at any time. Which is why we aren't fucking like bunnies, Bill," he
sort of slurs with a smile. "It would be expected. And it would just
give them one more thing to use against us." 

"Wait a minute, there, Mulder. The Pentagon? _The_ Pentagon?
Are you telling me . . ." 

"I'm not telling you anything, Billy Boy," he grins. "Just forget you
heard that. It's the MGD talkin', that's all." 

Now, I'm really confused. "I don't see how caring about each
other, giving each other some comfort, could possibly be used
against you." 

Mulder shakes his head with a smart assed smile. "You don't know
what we're up against. And you know what?" 

I look over at him. 

"I'm gonna _keep_ it that way." He belches a good one and downs
the third beer. 

"If she's in danger, if the military or the government is involved, I
_want_ to know, goddammit!" 

He's shaking his head again. "Leave it alone, Billy. Leave it to the
professionals." He finds that comment extremely funny but not for
long. "Christ, that hurts worse than choking," he winces and grabs
for his chest. 

"You all right?" 

"Nothing another beer won't fix." He reaches for a fourth and I
hold on to the can for a second. "Scully, I might not look it, but I
can whip your ass," he glares at me. 

"HAH! You and what army?" I belt right back. 

"I'll get your sister to hold you while I beat the shit out of you,
swabbie." 

I'd respond to that, but I figure he's probably right. I let go of the
beer. "Are you sure you should be drinking that many, Mulder? I
mean, you just got out of the hospital today." 

"So?" 

"So, I don't want you getting hurt. I don't want to mess up your
medicine." 

"Like you give a shit what happens to me," he huffs and drains half
the can in one gulp. 

"Dana does. So I do." 

He stares at me. But by now, I figure he ain't seeing that good.
I'm probably the guy in the middle. 

"You mean that?" 

"Why wouldn't I?" 

"Cos, if my sister were around and she got mixed up with a pathetic
loser like me, I'd want the guy dead. I'd figure I could help her
over the grief, but she'd be better off in the long run." 

Well, that feels like a kick in the stomach to me. Nothing like
having your own thoughts recited back to you to really humilate the
hell out of a guy. 

"Yeah, well, I'm just a more 'sensitive' kind of guy," I tell him with
a smirk. 

"Yeah. I could tell that about you when you were telling me not to
'bring work' into Scully's hospital room. Something about letting
her die with dignity. That was _real_ sensitive of you." 

Ouch. OK, maybe I deserved that. 

"I didn't know you then. I thought you were there to . . . Hell,
Mulder, I was scared shitless that I was losing my only living sister.
You can't hold me responsible for that and you know it!" 

"I'd never hurt her, Bill. You gotta believe me, I'd never hurt her."
His voice has gotten so damned tight it makes my throat hurt
listening to him. I think the son of a bitch is gonna start crying.
But I believe him. I fucking believe him. 

"I know you wouldn't, Mulder. Not if you could help it. But damn
it, why did you step in front of that goddam bullet the other day?
Couldn't you just shove her out of range? You both could have
walked away!" 

"I didn't think of myself. I just was not going to let her get hurt. It
just happened." He winces and rubs his left side. I can see the
bandages under the tee shirt he's wearing. "Pain and I are old
buddies. I don't mind it. As long as she's all right." 

"You know, I was right. You are a sorry son of a bitch!" 

He stares at me, surprised by my outburst, but damn it, he's making
me mad! 

"Look, you fucking idiot, my sister loves you. That is a gift,
goddam it. Do you honestly think she'd waste her life tagging after
you if she didn't love you with her whole heart? I may not like it, I
might not want to watch it, but it's her life and she deserves better
than a black dress and a grave to visit! If I hear that you've put
yourself in the line like this again, I'll fucking walk all the way to
DC and yank you out of that grave and fucking kick your dead ass
all the way across the country and back!" 

He's silent. His face doesn't show any emotion at all. Then, he tips
back the beer, drains it and belches once more. 

"Shit, Bill. I didn't know you cared that much." 

"Bastard," I say with a grin. 

"Asshole," he replies. 

We're even. I reach for another, but Mulder drank the last one.
He's looking pretty bleary eyed. 

"Give sex a chance, Mulder. Women need to be held, too." 

"Voice of experience talking?" 

"You've seen Tara. You think she's smilin' because of all the
laundry she has to do?" 

"You are a fucking prick, Bill Scully. You are telling me to fuck
your sister." 

"No. I'm telling you to _love_ my sister. And you already do that.
I'm just telling you, if you keep her satisfied, she won't go looking
for any fucking 'Ed Jerses' anymore." 

"I might take that under advisement," he says, and sort of slumps
against the pillows. "I'm gonna really hate myself in the morning,"
he says, and he's out like a light. 

I sit back and watch the last of the rugby game, then the soccer
game after that. Mulder is quietly sawing the rainforests next to
me. 

I hear Tara when she hits the door. I realize with a start that I've
missed her. This house just seems empty when I can't hear her
voice. Even when she's mad. 

Like now. 

"Where in the hell did all these beer cans come from" Tara is
tapping her foot, but with Matty trying to shove his teething
cracker down her blouse, it really loses the impact. 

Dana, on the other hand, is in rare form. "You better come up with
something very fast, William Dennis Scully." 

She can't be too mad. She forgot to use my Confirmation name. 

"William Dennis _Andrew_ Scully, did you drink all six of those
beers?" Dana demands as she stands up with the evidence in her
fists. 

"Uhhhhh." Rock and a hard place. Yup, that's right where I am.
Between a rock and a hard place. 

"Bill Scully, you answer your sister, or you will be spending the
night _alone_." 

Shit, there goes my evening. Sorry, Mulder, I'm narking you out. 

"Mulder had four of them." 

"FOUR of them! My god, he could have lapsed into a coma with
that much alcohol in his system!" Dana has pried open an eyelid
and is shining a little flashlight into his eye. That would really hurt,
if the poor bastard could feel anything. 

"Go 'WAY," he moans and swats at the flashlight. Well, at least
he's not in a coma. 

"He's drunk!" Dana declares, like it's some Supreme Court
decision and spins on her heel toward me. "I told you specifically
_no alcohol_!" 

"Look, Danie, he didn't take his after dinner pain killer. So he had
a couple of beers! Give the guy a fucking break!" 

Matty takes the opportunity to shout "Bucking Break!" and grin
like a cheshire cat. 

"Good work, Bill! I can't wait till he tells that to your mother next
time she calls!" 

Mulder puts his finger up to his lips. "SHHHHHHHHhhhhh," he
hisses, finally running out of breath. "Can't you see when a guy
needs to rest?" 

Dana is ready to blow a gasket. She glares at me, and I'm suddenly
aware that although Mulder and I are getting along fine now, I'm
back on my sister's very short shit list. 

"Tara, I'm going to have to sleep in here tonight. With all that
alcohol, he might have an adverse reaction. I need to be close." 

She's looking at me like I might have some objection to that. 

"I'll go get you another pillow." I catch their shocked faces as I
head to the hall closet. 

It probably won't happen tonight. Mulder is in _no_ condition to
perform up to standards. But that doesn't mean that down the line
. . . 

Danie was right. He probably isn't that bad a guy. For a loser. 

the end.