Dana Scully sat in the back of her partner's car, shivering. It was
cold, even for March. But the chill she was feeling had nothing
whatsoever with the temperature or the lightly falling drizzle that
was misting the night outside the car window. It had everything to
do with her partner.

She had told Fox Mulder from her most recent hospital bed that she
couldn't follow him blindly anymore. Who was she really trying to
convince? Not her partner. She'd told him those same words so
many times in the past, and each time with a disastrous result. Each
time the words had been uttered, she now realized, she was giving
him her tacit approval to go out and almost get himself killed.
Images of Dead Horse, Alaska, a lonely little hospital in the middle
of Iowa--too many scenes to even identify them all, came crashing
back at her. So if by saying those words she was trying to divert
disaster, she'd better stop saying them because they didn't work.

No, she realized, she was trying to convince herself with those
words.

Her question now was why?

She didn't have a chance to contemplate the answer because several
armed men appeared out of the mist. In the middle of the group,
looking blankly ahead, was her partner.

He's alive. She almost chuckled at the thought. It seemed to be
her first thought upon seeing him whenever they were separated. It
was almost a greeting, of sorts. He's alive. I'm alive. We're both
all right.

The door to the backseat open, letting in a blast of wet and frigid
air. Mulder was 'helped' into the seat, but he seemed perfectly
capable of movement. He said nothing, just sat tiredly next to her.

His hair was damp and a few strands clung to his skin, dripping into
his eyes. His clothes weren't mussed in any way, he hadn't resisted
the soldiers sent to find him. But something about the way he was
holding himself screamed at her for her attention. Something was
wrong.

His eyes, she decided a split second later. His eyes were distant,
not even in the same car as she was. They were cold, and lifeless.
The usual golden flecks that she always noticed when he was
thinking, or just being a tease, were missing. His eyes looked black
and it scared her.

His eyes aren't dilated, she scolded herself. It was her instinct to
switch into medical mode whenever her partner returned from
places unknown. But not all injury is physical, her little voice, the
one she was listening to more and more often, whispered to her.
The voice sounded very much like her partner.

He had turned his face away from her, was staring ahead, still
saying nothing. She had to reach him, but with so many others
listening--

"What happened?" she asked, a coarse whisper against the slapping
of the windshield wipers and the sound of the car's defroster.

He looked at her then, and her heart stopped beating. She'd never
seen such a void in his eyes. It was as if his very soul had been
snatch from his body leaving behind a fragile shell.

"I don't know," he answered, and in his soft voice she could hear a
heart breaking. She just wasn't sure whose heart it was--hers or
his.

He brought his hands up to his eyes, as if the dim light from outside
the car was suddenly too much for him. The way he was rubbing
his forehead, she knew he had a headache, but it went far beyond
that. She wished it was only a headache, maybe only a brain
tumor--something she could treat, could handle. She feared what
he was going through was far worse, and she had no idea what to
do for him.

She reached out tentatively at first, but grew bolder. She grasped
his fingers with her own and pulled his hand away from his face.
His eyes were screaming at her, but for what, it was hard to
determine. Understanding? Acceptance? Help? Help. Help to
end his suffering. She squeezed his hand and hoped it would
suffice. His hand held no warmth at all.

The young soldier in camo fatigues drove them to the gate and then
got out. He opened the back car door, Mulder's side, and helped
him to stand, then handed him the keys. Mulder stood there, in the
rain, staring at the keys like they were some foreign object and
possibly lethal.

In your state, they probably are, Scully thought to herself. She
hurried out of the car and walked quickly to the driver's side. "I'll
drive," she offered, and didn't wait for an answer. She plucked the
keys out of his hand and he gave her a confused look. "Go on,
you're getting soaked," she scolded softly and he gave her the first
hint that in the shell before her, her partner was still alive. He
smiled and nodded gratefully. But it was a brief moment, and by
the time he was seated in the passenger seat, he had retreated back
into himself.

She tried a few times to engage him in conversation. He'd closed
his eyes and had leaned the seat back. If he responded at all, it was
usually no more than a grunt or two. It made her destination that
much easier to decide.

When she pulled up to a stop and turned off the car, he startled,
almost as if he'd been asleep. He looked out the window and then
turned to her. She was getting out of the car and came over to his
door. "Come on, Mulder. Inside. I want to check you out."

"I'm fine," he countered, in the monotone that she was beginning to
take for granted.

"Yeah, sure, whatever, but you're not getting your car keys until
you come inside, so you might want to hurry it up a bit if you
intend to get home anytime soon," she said defiantly and started up
the walk.

"Scully," he called out and she turned toward him. He started to
say something, but no words came out of his mouth. He closed his
mouth and brought his hand up to his head again, then dropped his
hand and followed after her.

Her apartment was dark, and she turned on a few lights as she
progressed through it toward her kitchen. Mulder followed behind,
turning off about half the lights she'd just turned on. She noticed
immediately.

"Light hurts your eyes?" she asked.

"Energy conservation," he replied, but she could see how he
averted his eyes from any direct light.

"Yeah, right," she smirked. "Take off your coat, I want to get a
few things. Want some tea?"

"Coffee?" he suggested.

"Not till I see what I'm dealing with," she answered and turned the
heat on under her kettle before going into the bathroom to get her
supplies.

When she'd graduated medical school, one of her aunts had given
her a black doctor's bag. At the time, she'd thought it was
humorous, since she'd never use it in her chosen field. Now,
having restocked it more times than she could count, she thanked
her aunt silently every time she pulled it out.

When she got back out to the living room, he was still in his coat.
She gave him a questioning look and he shrugged.

"I was cold. You usually want me to stay warm," he answered her
unspoken question.

"Take off the coat, we can put this around your shoulders," she told
him and pulled the afghan off the arm of the sofa, placing it around
him.

"I'm not in shock," he told her. "I'm just cold."

"And you got your medical degree--when?" she countered. She
started with a quick check of his pulse, which was a little fast, but
still in normal ranges. His eyes were not dilated, he reacted well to
motion. Light did seem to make him squint. "Do you still have a
headache?" she asked.

"That's like asking someone if they still beat their wife, Scully," he
countered. She glared at him and he relented. "Yes, I still have a
headache. But it's not that bad. Light seems to hurt a little."

"I don't think you were hit on the head," she assured him.

"It's more like a second degree tension headache, not a fifth degree
concussion headache," he told her.

"Mulder, only you would have specific degrees of headache," she
chided gently. She did a quick check of his blood pressure and was
satisfied with the results. "You aren't in shock," she proclaimed.

"Told you so," he shot back. "Look, as much fun as it is to play
'doctor', I'd really like to go home right now. So if you don't
mind, may I please have my car keys?"

"Are you sure you don't want to crash here? You can stretch out
in the spare room," she offered.

He shook his head. "Thanks, Scully, but as you just determined,
I'm fine. I need to get home."

"Mulder--" She didn't want him to leave. He still had that 'dead'
look about him and it was frightening her. But she couldn't exactly
hold him against his will. She reluctantly handed him the car keys.
He pulled on his coat and walked slowly to the door, turning when
she called his name again.

"I don't know what I saw, Scully," he said helplessly. "I don't
know what to believe. All I know is that I'm tired and I want to go
home and get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning, we'll figure
out what to put in the report to Skinner. Maybe, if we're lucky, the
Air Force won't be all over our asses for what happened tonight.
Get some sleep--I'll see you in the morning."

She hurried over to the door and caught it as he was about to close
it behind him. "Mulder, if you need me--just to talk--"

He smiled at her, a lop-sided half smile that spoke volumes to how
tired he was. "I do know that much, Scully," he said affectionately.
"G'night."

"G'night," she called after him, but he was already too far down the
hall to hear her soft whisper.

end of part one

*****

FBI Headquarters,
Pathology lab
11:15 am

They had barely had time to get their coats off when both of them
had been called out of the office. Mulder had been ordered before a
joint committee investigating the mass 'self-immolulations' and
Scully had been requested to assist the pathology lab in the
identification of the burn victims. She tried to call down to the
office, hoping that he would have returned from his meeting, but
the line kept ringing without an answer. She decided that at 11:30
she would request a lunch break and go find him.

As it turned out, he found her. "Want some lunch?" he asked from
the doorway. She had just finished a match of dental records and
was more than happy to take a break.

"Let me clean up a bit," she requested and he motioned that he
would wait for her in the hall.

As she walked toward him, some five minutes later, she caught him
rubbing his forehead again. "Still have that headache?" she asked.

"No, this is a brand new one," he smirked. "Courtesy of too many
people with their heads up their asses." He reached in his pocket to
retrieve a bottle of ibuprofen, popping two in his mouth and
swallowing them dry.

"Meeting didn't go well?" They were moving quickly through the
halls and it made conversation difficult, but she didn't want to wait
to find out what had gone on.

"Oh, it went great. Skinner sat there and gave the 'aliens are
coming' line he gave us yesterday, everybody immediately glared at
me, and I was then put in a position of telling them how much of a
fool I've been for the last five years. It was great. I'm just sorry
they couldn't have used this tactic in the Spanish Inquisition."

"Skinner actually told the committee he thinks there was 'alien
involvement'?" she asked.

"Yep. I would have been proud--six months ago. To tell the truth,
I didn't think he was actually reading my reports all these years, but
I guess I was wrong. He's fallen for it, hook, line and sinker. I
should have become a big haired preacher in my younger years,
Scully. I would have made a million converts by now." His voice
was bitter and a little too loud for her liking.

"Mulder, let's continue this outside, OK?"

He shrugged and followed her out into the March sunshine.

It had warmed up considerably with the passing of the warm front
during the night. The grass on the Capitol Mall was turning green
and lush after the rain and now with the sunshine. It was a beautiful
spring day. "Let's grab a hot dog," Scully suggested. "My treat."

They found their favorite stand just a block from the National
Archives. Scully started to order for them both, but Mulder
stopped her. "There were donuts and bagels at the meeting. I'm
stuffed. Just get me an iced tea."

She nodded and placed the order and they stood in silence waiting
for it. With food and drink in hand, they walked toward a bench
not far away.

"So Skinner said it was aliens and you said it wasn't," Scully
recapped as they settled into the bench.

"That's the short version. Of course, at first, they thought I was
pulling something. You should have heard the guy from the Joint
Chiefs of Staff when I suggested it was a military endeavor. I think
the number of bugs in my apartment will rival many of the motels
we've stayed at after that little discussion."

"You told them you think it's a military conspiracy," she stated, not
sure she was any happier with this turn of events.

"Basically. I suggested that the conspiracy was more than likely
international. Some shit for brains made a crack about the
'Trilateral Commission'--you know the old right wing conspiracy
theory, and I shot him down. I've seen it, Scully. I've seen how
easy it is to be fooled." He took a sip of his drink and stared out
across the lawn. "I saw it happen to you just the other day."

"You think I was fooled," she said quietly.

"I took you to Werber because I wanted you to unveil his duplicity,
Scully. I figured you would tear him a new asshole and uncover the
charade all at the same time. I was praying for it, actually. The
bastard deceived me, he used me. I should sue for his license. But
then you, you--Scully, I thought you said you'd never been able to
achieve a trance state," he accused.

"I never have, Mulder. I swear."

"Then what was that? Wishful thinking? Were you play acting?
What? You were under, Scully. You came back and you hadn't
realized I was there." His eyes were full of pain and accusation.

"Mulder, I don't know what to tell you. I've never had a successful
session before. I don't know what was different."

"I wanted you to see how he could lead you. I wanted you to trap
him at his own game. You weren't supposed to believe him,
Scully!"

"Is that why you left so quickly?" she asked.

He stood up and dug his hands in his coat pockets. "I couldn't sit
there and watch it happen to you, too. Damn, I underestimated
him. I mean, I was a fool and I can accept that, but I thought sure
that you would see through him."

"Mulder," she said in a low, soft voice. "Maybe you were right all
along."

He spun on her, glaring down at her. "Why? Because now you
believe and I don't?! Because now you're the fool and I'm the
voice of reason? Why the hell now, Scully? Maybe that tumor did
more damage than we first thought!"

The words hung between them like a razor.

She clung to her self restraint. She took a few deep breaths before
speaking. "Mulder--"

"I'm sorry, Scully. I'm sorry. I don't know what made me say
that," he apologized hurriedly. "Look, the break was over five
minutes ago. I have to get back. I'll talk to you later."

He ran back toward the building, leaving her there on the bench,
alone.

She made her way slowly back to the office, wondering what the
hell was going on. She'd made the mistake of thinking that Mulder
would be pleased with her new insight into the abductions. Instead,
she was faced with his resentment and disbelief. It's your own
fault, she scolded herself. For five years you've told him he was
crazy to think like this and now that you're ready to accept it as a
possibility, you've finally convinced him of the need for logic and
skepticism.

She had finally converted Fox Mulder. She had finally
accomplished the impossible. She'd made the believer a skeptic and
in the transformation, she realized sadly, she might have destroyed
him.

The basement office was empty when she returned. She assumed
he must still be at the meeting. Reluctantly, she left a note asking
him to call her in the Path lab when he got back, and she left to
resume the identifications.

He called about half past 3. "I've just got a minute, I'm on a flight
out at 5," he told her and she could hear him shuffling papers on his
desk.

"Where are we going," she asked, slipping out of the lab coat she
was wearing and silently wondering if she'd repacked the bag at the
back of her closet that last time they came home from the field.

"Sorry, Scully, I'm going to this dance stag," he replied. "Skinner
loaned me out to VCS. That's what I get for not backing him up
this morning, apparently. You're supposed to stay behind and help
ID those victims." She could tell by his tone that he wasn't happy
with the turn of events.

"Mulder, I don't like the idea of you going out alone. What's this
all about?"

"Serial killer in Minnesota. St. Paul area. Murdered four women,
all nurses. The profiler who was working the case came up
sick--they're afraid it might be that Strep A crap you were telling
me about. He's out of it and they needed someone who doesn't
have to be spoon fed. Since Skinner was pissed at me anyway--ta
da, I get the assignment."

"Maybe I should go up and talk to Skinner," Scully found herself
saying.

"And tell him what? That you want to come along?" Mulder
snorted. "Get real, Scully. This is my 'kick in the ass', not yours.
Just hold down the fort. I should be gone two, maybe three days
tops."

"Call me when you get there--in case you have any messages," she
said, grabbing for any excuse that came to her.

"I'll have my phone on, but sure, if you want, I'll call tonight.
Gotta go, I still need to swing passed my place and I'm booked out
of Dulles."

"Have a safe flight," she said, but realized he'd already hung up the
phone.

Scully's apartment
12:45 pm

She had just about given up on him when the phone rang. She
answered with a quick greeting.

"It's me," he said by way of introduction. "Sorry it's so late. I just
got back from the latest crime scene." He sounded tired and
dejected.

"Another one? When?" she asked, concerned.

"Sometime between 6 and 7 this evening. She was discovered by a
security guard. It wasn't that dark out, so she didn't ask for an
escort," Mulder rattled off the details in a monotone.

"Are you OK?" she asked.

"Fine and dandy," he replied, but she could hear the sarcasm. "I'm
setting up the computer now. Gonna do some checking, but I think
I have a handle on this creep."

"You plan on doing the profile tonight?" She didn't mean it to
sound so overprotective, but the way he was talking was making
her nervous.

"No, I thought I'd order up some movies from room service and
have a Bela Lagosi film festival," he snorted. "Of course I'm doing
it tonight. The rate this jerk is moving, he could kill again by
tomorrow."

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just that you sound so tired," she
apologized.

"Nah. Just a little jet lag. I did order some coffee--I'll be fine.
With any luck, I'll be home tomorrow night."

"Did you leave your car in long term or short term?"

"Short term. If I'm here another night, could you--"

"I'll have Mom drive me over and I'll take it back to your place,"
she assured him.

"Thanks. Remind me that I owe you my undying gratitude and
devotion," he said with the only enthusiasm he'd voiced since she'd
picked up the phone.

"I'll make you spring for dinner when you get back," she smiled.
"Mulder, try and get some sleep, OK?"

"I knew there was something missing in this conversation," he said
and she could see the indulgent grin on his face. "Yes, mother. I
promise to get some sleep. Sometime soon."

"You do that," she warned with a smile. "Call me if you need
anything."

"You know I will. Have fun with the dental records, Scully."

"Good night, Mulder. Sleep tight."

She hung up the receiver, hoping he really would get some sleep.

end part two

*****

The next day
3:45 pm

Dana Scully whiffed a breath to blow the strand of hair out of her
eyes and mentally decided that she now had a new definition of hell.

Hell, for her at least, was going to be reconstructing and identifying
burn victims using old dental records for the rest of eternity. An
eternity that had started the day before and looked like it had only
just begun.

"Agent Scully?" a voice behind interrupted her thoughts and in
another circumstance, she probably would have given the intruder a
big, wet kiss.

But Kimberly just wasn't her type.

"Yeah, Kim," Scully replied, marking another name down on her
list. Seventeen bodies identified, 63 to go.

"Assistant Director Skinner would like a moment of your time,"
Kim said crisply.

"Ah, right now?" Scully asked, suddenly a little unsure of why
Skinner was calling her up--alone.

"If it's not too much bother," came the reply.

OK, Scully told herself, something is up. Meetings with Skinner
weren't uncommon, but they were never at her convenience. Still,
things were a bit strange around the Bureau. She started to pull off
her gloves. "I'll be there in five," she assured Kim, who left to go
back to her desk.

Scully was there in three minutes, and was immediately ushered into
the inner office. She took her usual seat, only glancing briefly at
the unoccupied chair next to her. Not having Mulder there was
making her very uneasy.

"Thank you for coming up on such short notice, Scully. How's the
work progressing?" Skinner asked, flipping closed a file folder to
indicate she had his undivided attention.

"Slow, but it's progressing. I can't help but think that there might
be someone else in the lab a little better suited for this, sir. I mean,
I'm not exactly doing autopsies. It's pretty straight forward--"

"Duly noted, Scully, but I'm trusting you to look for things that
others might miss," Skinner said in clipped tones.

"_Things_, sir?"

"You know, anything out of the ordinary--" Skinner was staring at
her, a bland expression in place. But his shoulders were hunched in
a way that led Scully to believe he was hoping she would fill in the
blanks in their conversation. It came to her in a flash.

"You're expecting me to look for chips," she said tersely.

"I was hoping you would look for anything that might give us some
indication why these deaths occurred, Agent Scully," Skinner said
with an edge to his voice. "If you found 'chips', similar to the
one--" his voice faltered for a moment. "I would expect you to
look beyond the obvious."

"I see," Scully said evenly.

"Have you? Have you found any chips?"

Scully thought for a moment. This conversation was one that she
was used to having, just not with her superior. "I have located 15
chips in 17 bodies, sir. The other two bodies were burned so badly
that nothing remained but bones. I suspect the chips are not
impervious to extreme heat, but due to their size, that's hard to
determine."

"Fifteen," Skinner whispered softly. "Scully, that's not the only
reason I called you in today. I was wondering if you could give me
your impressions of Agent Mulder's emotional state."

The question knocked her for a loop. Scully furrowed her brow.
"Sir, I believe Agent Mulder is perfectly fine. I find nothing in his
behavior to make me suspect--"

"You don't think his sudden change in perspective, shall we call it,
is, uh, unusual?" Skinner interrupted.

Scully sat there. What could she say? Yes, I think it's damned
unusual, but not without cause? Could she say she thought
everyone who had come into contact with Mulder had, at one time
or another, deceived him, either knowingly, or unknowingly. Could
she tell her superior that she felt she was to blame for his newly
found detachment and confusion? Could she tell Skinner that
Mulder's attitude and change of direction was scaring the shit out
of her?

No.

In the end, as she always did, she found a way to deflect her
superior and protect her partner.

"Sir, I believe Agent Mulder is focusing his attention on other
avenues at the moment. I think we have uncovered enough
evidence recently to point to a conspiracy in place in the highest
levels of our government. I don't think Section Chief Blevins
should be considered an isolated case. I think Agent Mulder feels
the same way and is trying to uncover these misdeeds."

Skinner sat back in his chair and regarded her with a steady gaze.
"Why did you go to that bridge, Scully? What made you leave your
car at the hospital and take a disabled woman 150 miles away to a
bridge in the middle of nowhere? What were you doing?"

"Sir, as I said in my report--"

"You reported that you have no recollection of leaving the hospital,
or of traveling to the bridge, or even of the deaths of nearly 100
people--death by fire. I know, I've read your report."

"Sir, that is my honest recollection. I don't know how I got there."
Scully squirmed uncomfortably in her seat.

"Do you think you were 'called' there? Called as Cassandra
Spender suggested?"

Scully took a deep breath. "Sir, as I told you--"

"Agent Mulder is willing to believe that you were instructed to go
there to be exterminated by a military operation, perpetrated against
unarmed civilians. Do you support or deny his conclusion?"

Scully closed her eyes. "Sir, I have no evidence of that," she said
meekly. Then, opening her eyes, she glared at her boss. "Nor do I
have evidence that an alien spacecraft was involved. As I told you,
I simply don't know."

Skinner nodded, picking up a folder to divert attention and
probably to gather his next thoughts. "Scully, I've asked you this
before and you were hardly forthcoming, but I would hope you
would be more trusting this time. Are you worried about Agent
Mulder's emotional state?" At her silence, he added "I'm only
asking as a friend."

"Is that why you sent him on a profiling case, sir," she asked
bitterly. "Because it's a pretty odd way of showing friendship.
You certainly know what working for VCS cost him."

Skinner's jaw tightened. "It was the first assignment out of town,
Scully. I thought he needed the distance."

"From me? Sir, if you're implying that anything improper is
occurring between myself and Agent Mulder--"

"Get off the high horse, Scully. I'm not accusing anyone. I simply
thought Agent Mulder needed a little time to himself, a little
distance. It's not a terribly difficult case, not for someone with his
abilities. If you think it might be too much for him . . ."

Now the ball was in her court. If she admitted that she thought the
case was too much, she was also admitting her worry. But should
she be worried simply because Mulder was finally questioning
everything he'd previously believed without question? Self
awareness and introspection were hardly signs of psychosis.

Skinner was still waiting for an answer. "No, sir. I just meant, it
would have been better if I were there to assist him. That's all."

"Well, if he needs you to assist him, have him call me. But until he
does, I'm afraid you have other duties." She was dismissed. It was
that sudden.

She didn't say anything as she left. Skinner was already deeply
engrossed in one of the folders on his desk. She closed the door
without question and went back to the lab.

It bothered her the rest of the day and into dinner. Finally, near 8
o'clock, she couldn't take it anymore. She dialed his cell phone.

He answered on the second ring. "Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me," she said, suddenly feeling a little foolish. She
had no reason to call other than to check up on him. She had to
come up with a good reason, quickly.

"Scully, hi. So, what's up?"

Like now. "Ah, that 302 on the case in Pennsylvania was returned.
You failed to put down the names of the victims and the
circumstances surrounding the crime."

"That's OK. I'm thinking spontaneous human combustion might be
pretty far fetched in that case. I'll look at it when I get back." He
was quiet a minute. "Is that all?"

"Skinner called me into his office today," she admitted.

"Why?"

"He wanted to find out . . . he's concerned about your behavior,"
she stumbled out.

"Asking to have my water analyzed, is he? Geez, and I didn't even
take a swing at him this time," Mulder huffed. "What did you say?"

"That you were fine. That you just had a different perspective
now."

"Thanks, I think. Anything else?"

"He wanted to know why I went to the bridge. And he wanted to
know if I was finding anything unusual in the bodies."

"Unusual, as in . . ."

"Chips. Computer chips."

Mulder was quiet for a moment. "And--"

"I've located 15 chips. I've only examined 17 bodies so far."

"Seventeen!" Mulder whistled. "You're cruisin'," he said with
admiration. "So Skinner thinks it's alien abductions, does he?
What about you?"

"Mulder--"

"Chill, Scully. I'm just pullin' your chain. So, Skinner thinks I've
lost my marbles and now he's touting the 'alien abduction' line?
Will wonders never cease?"

"How's the case?" Scully asked, desperately wanting to change the
subject.

"You know my car in short term parking?"

"You're there for another night?"

"Maybe more than one. We had a handle on the guy, but he slipped
through our fingers. I might have to wait and see where he pops up
next."

"I'll move your car. So, what did you have for dinner, Mulder?"

"Smooth, Dr. Scully. I would never have detected that as a inquiry
into my eating habits," Mulder chuckled. "They brought in fried
chicken from Hardees. Cole slaw, biscuits, really lumpy mashed
potatoes and gravy--I skipped the honey because I haven't had a
good run in the last two days--and I bought an apple from a grocery
store down the block. Happy?"

"Very," she grinned into the phone.

"And what did you have for dinner, little girl?" he purred.

"Caesar salad. Iced tea."

"Like you need to diet," he sighed. "Hey, I would love to tell you
what I had for breakfast this morning, but I have some work to do
here."

"Need a hand?" she asked, hoping he would say yes. Although the
conversation had been generally light, something in his voice
worried her. He sounded tired, drained. She didn't like it.

"No, not really. Besides, I actually agree with Skinner on one
point. If you do the exams, you'll know to look for the chips. It
might lead us closer to the brains behind this conspiracy, Scully."

"OK, then. I'll stay here." She tried hard to hide her
disappointment at being stranded in the office while he was out in
the field.

"Great. Hey, thanks for taking care of the car, and I'll try to call
tomorrow, OK?"

"Yeah, sure. And don't forget to get some sleep, OK?"

"You worry too much, Scully. It's spoiling me," he said lightly.
"G'night."

"Night, Mulder," she said and hung up the phone.

Dana Scully's apartment
3:06 am

At first she thought it was her alarm ringing in her ear. Then, her
groggy thought processes reminded her that she had a CD alarm
clock. She finally grabbed the phone next to her bed.

"Scully."

Silence greeted her on the other end of the line. Then, a soft sigh.
She knew instantly who was there. "Mulder?"

"I'm sorry," he apologized, the words tumbling out quickly over
the distance between them. "I'm sorry, Scully. I shouldn't have
called this late--"

"No, no, it's OK. Is there a problem? Are you all right?" she
asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and sitting up against the
headboard.

"I'm OK. I just--I fell asleep and I . . . I'm sorry, I shouldn't have
called--"

"Mulder, did you have a bad dream?" she asked gently. He'd called
her before with nightmares, she'd never minded. But tonight, he
seemed more hesitant than usual.

"I just--I needed to talk to you."

"I'm listening," she said, hoping he would open up and tell her what
was bothering him.

"Well, really, I guess I just needed to hear your voice," he admitted.

"I can recite the Declaration of Independence," she offered lightly.
She could hear his chuckle at the other end.

"Now that puts a whole new definition on 900 numbers," he teased.

"Feeling better?" she asked.

"Yeah, a little. I'm OK, Scully. Really. I'm--"

"Mulder, if you say 'I'm sorry' again, I'll be forced to come all the
way to Minnesota so I can kick your ass," she said in mock
sterness.

He chuckled again. "Now I sure wouldn't want that. I'm fine,
Scully. Right as rain. Go back to sleep."

"Sweet dreams, Mulder," she said softly and heard his answering
click on the other end as the line was disconnected. Try as she
might, she couldn't get her worry for him out of her thoughts. It
was a long time until morning.

end part three

*****

8:35 am

Morning came entirely too early for Scully. It hit her square in the
face and brought with it a pounding headache. It would have
concerned her more if she didn't know that it was lack of sleep and
nothing more.

She'd tossed and turned after Mulder's call. At first her thoughts
centered on her partner. That was bad enough, but then her train of
thoughts wandered over into the events of the night on the bridge
and all chances of slumber flew out the window.

She thought again about what she'd told Skinner. That she didn't
know what had happened. It was true. She didn't _know_. But
more and more when she listened to the tape of her session with Dr.
Werber, she found her 'memories' more and more believable. She
wanted to talk to Mulder about it.

And there was the rub. Now, when she was finally interested in
hypnoregression, finally willing to see it as a possibility for
regaining lost or stolen memories, Mulder was the one standing
there with arms crossed, telling her she was crazy. Or worse yet,
that she was being duped.

She had no one left to turn to and it upset her. There had always
been certain topics she couldn't discuss with Mulder. Religion,
reincarnation, cancer, being the three big ones on the list. But now,
he didn't seem to want to hear her thoughts on UFO's either. I'm
only good to him when I don't believe, she mused angrily and
crawled out of bed to get ready for the day.

In the lab, the bodies kept piling up. By noon, she had identified 12
additional people, and retrieved 5 chips. She was beginning to
wonder why not everyone on the bridge had a chip, if they were
indeed the 'homing' device Mulder claimed them to be. On top of
the bodies she was working with, she kept a close eye on the other
lab personnel and their work, hoping to retrieve additional chips. It
kept her very busy.

The afternoon produced 10 more chips out of a total of 25 bodies.
She had seen enough burned and charred flesh, heat cracked bone
and cartilage to last a life time. She was working on the remains of
a young woman, sorting through dental charts and medical records
when it all hit.

Her name was Cynthia Truman. She was 33 years old. Married,
two children, born 1988 and 1993. She was unrecognizable to her
husband and daughters.

All the detachment Scully had nurtured came crashing down with
the force of a twenty story building demolished by explosion. Tears
burned at her eyes and her throat, she pulled off her gloves and ran
from the lab, just making it to the restroom before her lashes gave
up holding back the torrent that flowed down her cheeks.

She huddled in a stall for a long time, shaking with quiet sobs.
Fortunately, no one was in the room with her, she was alone, as she
wanted to be.

But she really didn't want to be alone. With shaky hands, she
withdrew her cell phone and hit speed dial. She forced herself to
calm down enough so that Mulder could hear her and understand
her.

"The cellular customer you are trying to reach has traveled beyond
the service area . . ."

Her heart dropped and the tears flowed again. She dug in her
pocket and found a wadded piece of paper. She wiped her eyes and
sniffed, then dialed the number printed on it. It took a couple of
rings, but finally, someone picked up.

"Federal Bureau of Investigation, Minneapolis-St. Paul. May I
direct your call?"

"I'm trying to reach Special Agent Fox Mulder. He's working with
Agent Mel Bocks--"

"I'll ring Agent Bocks number," came the clipped Midwestern
accent. A few more rings and another line was connected.

"Bocks."

"Mel, this is Dana Scully. I'm trying to reach Mulder and
apparently, his cell phone battery is dead again. Is he there?" Her
voice was still a little breathy, but she hoped the static of the cell
phone would cover for her.

"Ah, damn, Scully--I bet it's the garage. He's on a stake out at the
hospital garage and your cell probably can't get through the
concrete. We're using walkie talkies at the moment. He's due
back at five for a debriefing--want me to have him give you a call?"
Mel's voice was all efficiency and concern.

She glanced at her watch. It's was a quarter after two, and
Minnesota was an hour behind her. It would be six before he got to
the office. She didn't want to drag him off a stake out just to tell
him she'd lost it during an autopsy. She didn't really know what
she was going to tell him. She might as well wait it out. "Yeah,
Mel. Tell him that I'll be at home, OK?"

"Will do, Scully. Good to talk to you," Mel said affably.

"You, too, Mel. Thanks." She turned off the phone and tucked it
back in her pocket. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, and
blowing her nose on a handful of tissue from the roll, she squared
her shoulders. Without Mulder to lean on, she wasn't looking
forward to going back to that lab, but she had a job to do.

By four thirty, her back muscles felt like they were about to snap.
Her shoulders were so tense that she'd lost feeling in her little
finger. She was not doing any one any good and so she decided to
call it a day. She was home by a quarter till five and jumped in the
shower for a quick rinse.

Five thirty found her rummaging around her refrigerator for
something to eat. She really wasn't hungry, but knew that if she
didn't eat, it would become a habit. She'd watched Mulder give up
food for tension too many times to let it happen to her. She settled
on some cottage cheese and sliced peaches and ate it in the living
room, glancing at the phone every minute or so.

The phone rang at 6:05.

"Hi, Mulder," she said, forcing some cheerfulness into her voice
and juggling the phone receiver and the remote so she could mute
the volume button.

"Agent Scully, uh, this isn't Mulder. It's Mel Bocks again." The
sound of his tone sent cold rivers running through her veins.
Something was definitely wrong in Minnesota.

"Mulder," she whispered. "What's happened?" she demanded.

"Uh, we don't really know at the moment. He seemed fine, at least
he did to the guy he was on stake out with. He came in, I gave him
your message and he told me he'd call you after the meeting--"

"Mel, what's wrong with him," Scully forced herself to stay calm,
but the play by play was taking entirely too long to get to the point
of the call.

"We started the meeting and he gave his report. Then, he sat
down. But he got up again, sort of like he was going to the john or
something. He took a step, stumbled against the chair and
collapsed. I got over to him pretty fast, I was sitting closest to him,
and he was breathing, but I couldn't get him to wake up. His eyes
were dilated and he was breathing kinda funny--rapid and short.
Our secretary called 911 and they just got here. Said we needed to
call his next of kin--they're taking him to St. Vincent's Medical
Center. I just thought you would know who to call."

"Me, Mel. I'm his next of kin. I'll be on the first flight out. Give
the hospital my cell phone number and tell them that I'm on my
way. I'll call before I get on the plane. Do you have the number of
the hospital there, so I can call the ER?" Scully hurriedly scribbled
the number on the back of the paper with the FBI regional office
number. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Tell Mulder to hold on,
OK, Mel?"

"Scully, . . . Dana, I don't know that he can hear me--" Mel said
sadly.

"Sure he can, Mel. Just tell him for me, please."

"You have my word, Dana. And I'm real sorry I didn't get him to
call you sooner."

"It's all right, Mel. Really. It's all going to be all right."

end of part four

*******

St. Vincent's Medical Center
Minneapolis, MN
9:55 pm

She chanted that mantra all the way through the two and a half hour
flight from Baltimore-Washington International Airport to
Minneapolis. Mel had sent an agent to the gate to pick her up and
take her directly to the hospital. There was still no word on her
partner, but during her conversation with the ER staff before
boarding, she knew he was having a full blood work up and a PET
scan.

Mel was pacing in the lounge outside the ER. The older agent
wasn't that much taller than Scully herself, which she had a chance
to notice when he swept her into a hug.

"I'm so sorry, Dana. I didn't know he was sick," Mel was
apologizing over and over. Scully realized he was more in need of
comforting than she was at that moment. She had been assured
that her partner's vital signs were strong, that he was just
unconscious -for no apparent reason.

"It's OK, Mel. It's not your fault. I'm just going to let Dr. Pilsnor
know that I'm here--"

She had no sooner spoken the words than a young man with dark
curly hair and an olive complexion pushed his way through the
doors at the end of the lounge. He looked over at her and gave a
brief smile. "I thought I recognized that voice. You must be Dr.
Scully," he said, extending his hand in greeting.

"Dr. Pilsnor, I presume," Scully returned and accepted his
handshake. He nodded, dark eyes sparkling.

"Your patient is back here, if you'd care to follow me--" he didn't
bother to see if she was behind him, he just headed back the way
he'd come.

"How's he doing? Has he regained consciousness?" Scully asked,
searching the empty cubicles for the one containing her partner.

"Not yet. But we got some of the lab work back, and I'm getting a
pretty good picture of what we're dealing with. The PET came
back clean, by the way," Pilsnor said with a satisfied look back over
his shoulder. "He's in here," he added, pulling the curtain away so
she could enter.

Mulder looked all too familiar with his eyes closed, tucked in on the
gurney. Although in sleep a lot of the tiny lines she was beginning
to notice on his face faded, she could still see the dark circles
framing his eyes and a gaunt look to his cheeks. The doctor had
started an IV, and from what she could see from the bag hanging at
the siderail, he'd put in a catheter as well. She winced, Mulder was
_not_ going to be happy when he woke up.

"Oh, Mulder," she muttered sadly and reached over the rail to take
his hand. Without thinking, she took his pulse, even though a heart
monitor was beeping quietly next to his head.

"I wasn't aware that the FBI had it's own staff of physicians,"
Pilsnor commented as he checked on some lab results that had been
left in the basket at the bottom of the gurney.

"I'm a pathologist," Scully said, reaching for the chart.

"Uh, Dr. Scully, this man isn't in need of a pathologist--at least not
for a while," Dr. Pilsnor said with his eyebrows reaching his hair
line.

"We're partners. We work together. For family reasons, I'm his
next of kin," Scully explained.

Pilsnor snatched the chart back from Scully's waiting hand. "Now,
I'm really confused," he said and frowned. "You aren't his
physician?"

Before Scully had a chance to answer that question, a nurse entered
the cubicle with another set of test results. Pilsnor read them over,
then chewed on his lip a moment before handing them to Scully.

She read them quickly, skipping to some values that she suspected
would be present. "There's nothing here--except possibly
exhaustion," she said then stopped and stared. "An ulcer?"

"It does appear. The anemia clued me in to it. I've seen a lot of
people come in anemic to find that they're losing blood from an
ulcer. It hadn't perforated any major arteries, thank goodness, but
it's been seeping blood into his stomach and intestinal tract for
some time. He should have noticed it by now. He's also
exhausted. I don't know what he's been doing, but it doesn't look
like he's been eating or sleeping for a several days."

"I should have known--" Scully muttered.

"You suspected something?" Pilsnor asked.

"He has had several headaches--" Scully suggested lamely. "He's
been popping pills for them . . ."

"There is a fairly high level of ibuprofen in his blood stream. But
the PET scan showed no physiological reason for headaches.
Could have been tension related. And you know that misuse of
analgesics can contribute to ulcers," he commented as he took the
chart back from her. "Still, he would have complained about the
stomach pain before now. He's had this condition for some time."

"He's not much of a complainer," Scully said through pursed lips.
How long had he been suffering in silence? Was it more than a
nightmare that had made him call her last night? Had he been in
pain all night long but couldn't gather the courage to ask for help?
It made her own stomach cramp just to think of him alone, in an
empty motel room, in pain and undoubtedly frightened, with no one
to turn to.

"Do you believe the anemia is why he lost consciousness?" she
asked abruptly, knowing that if she dwelled on her partner's agony
she would only crumble herself. He needed her strength more than
any thing.

"That, and the exhaustion. I spoke with Agent Bocks when Agent
Mulder was brought in--he's been working almost round the clock
since he arrived two days ago. I know there's a killer on the loose,
but don't you have more than one person who could work on this
'profile' or whatever Agent Mulder was doing?" His voice was
neutral but his eyes were full of accusation.

"The other profiler is sick, too," Scully explained with a shrug.
"And Mulder is the best one in the Bureau. Or he was."

Pilsnor gave her a confused look. "Was?"

"He left that division over five years ago. It was too stressful,"
Scully said simply.

"Well, whatever he's been doing since seems to have become 'too
stressful' as well," Pilsnor said grimly.

"How do you plan on treating him?" Scully asked, really wanting to
get off the topic of the stressors in Mulder's life. To a large extent,
she couldn't help wondering if she didn't fit in that category.

"Antibiotics for the ulcer. He tested positive for Helicobacter
pylori. And we'll get him started on a soft diet, use H2
blockers--the usual. We have fairly good results in as little as two
to three weeks. The exhaustion--I plan on keeping him here for
two nights, make sure he gets rest and nutrition. Then he's your
problem," Pilsnor stated flatly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have
other patients to check on. The nurse will be in shortly to take him
up to a room."

Pilsnor left, muttering to himself about 'hot shots from DC' and
Scully sank into the chair next to Mulder's gurney. "Why didn't
you say anything," she moaned, taking his hand again. "Mulder,
you've been so distant lately, you've been so far away even when
you're standing right next to me. The only time you reach out is to
take my hand. You could have told me, you know. I would have
helped."

Her partner, as he'd been doing to the past several weeks, said
nothing. He slept on.

The nurse came in with two orderlies and instructions for Scully to
go down to Admitting and sign the paperwork. Reluctant to leave
her partner for even that short period, she went out to the waiting
room and found Mel Bocks, still pacing in a corner. Mel looked up
expectantly. "Good news, I hope?" he all but begged her.

"Well, not exactly 'good' news, but not the worst, either. Mulder
has an ulcer and he's suffering from exhaustion. The doctor here
wants him to stay for the next couple of days. We'll see after that.
But I'm afraid he's off the case."

Mel brightened a little. "Oh, that's not a problem. We caught the
guy. He was hiding in a laundry truck in the garage and they nailed
him going after an undercover agent. You know, he fit Mulder's
profile to a tee. It's scary, how your partner does that."

"And doing 'that' is how he got sick, Mel. Or at least it's a
contributing factor," Scully said glumly. She felt a twinge of guilt
at the other man's crestfallen face. "I'm sorry, Mel. Please, believe
me, you had nothing to do with Mulder's illness. It's been coming
on for a while and I just wasn't paying attention. It's my fault, if
it's anybody's."

"So they're keeping him?" Mel said, adeptly changing the subject.

"Oh, yes, and I need to ask a favor. I don't want him waking up
alone. But the hospital wants me to fill out the admitting papers.
Would you mind--"

"I'm not exactly a substitute for you, Scully, but it would be my
pleasure. I'll sit with him till you can get there," Mel said happily.
"He'll be glad you're here. He talks about you all the time when
you're not around, you know."

Scully could only nod. I just wish he'd talk _to_ me when I am
around, she thought sadly, and went to find the admitting office.

St. Vincent's Hospital
6:35 am

It had been a long and mostly sleepless night. An MRI revealed
that there was more than one ulcer to worry about, one encroaching
on a major blood vessel. It would be a race to keep Mulder calm
and reduce the acids in his stomach before the ulcer could
perforate.

About midnight, the shifts changed and an over-eager resident
ordered a feeding tube be inserted to supplement Mulder's IV.
Scully spent the better part of the witching hour persuading the
young doctor that if the intention was keeping Mulder away from
stress, inserting a tube down his nose was the _last_ thing they
should be doing. She finally convinced him that if they waited just
a little while longer, Mulder would wake up and they could start
him on the soft diet and nutritional supplements at that time,
without the passive feeding instruments.

It was after three before Scully was able to settle down in the
reclining chair next to Mulder's bed and fall asleep. She was still
pretty deep in slumber some three hours later when her partner
decided to join the rest of the conscious world. She heard a
rustling and a throat being cleared. Scully's eyes flew open and she
saw that she was the object of a very focused gaze.

"Hi," Mulder said hoarsely. He coughed and cleared his throat
again. "Uh, where are we?" he asked sheepishly.

"Three guesses and the first two don't count," she taunted. He
rolled his eyes and she relented. "St. Vincent's Hospital,
Minneapolis. You collapsed right after giving your part of the
briefing last night. Scared poor Mel Bocks out of ten years growth,
and we both know the man needs all the height he can get," she
teased lightly.

Mulder closed his eyes and rubbed his stomach lightly with his left
hand, the one unencumbered with an IV.

"Stomach hurt?" Scully asked. Her tone left no room for vague
answers. It was her 'interrogators' voice.

"A little. Just gas," Mulder muttered in return.

"Well, according to the tests they ran on you, you've been having
'just gas' for several weeks. And it's burned a couple of nasty
holes in your stomach," she returned tersely.

He gave her a shocked look. "Ulcers? I don't have ulcers, Scully.
I have a cast iron stomach, you know that," he said, shaking his
head in denial.

"Well, the cast iron has started to rust through," she told him
firmly. "Mulder, you should have said something. I know you've
probably noticed some of the signs. Did you think it would all go
away?" she demanded.

He looked suitable contrite during her ranting. "I didn't want to
bother you, Scully. You've just gone through a bad time, medically
speaking, and I didn't want to add to that--"

She stared at him, exasperated. "Mulder, do you think it's
bothering me to tell me when you're sick!? Why did you make me
your next of kin if you won't tell me when you're having pains?
And blood loss, you're anemic, too," she accused, shaking her
finger toward his stomach.

"I made you my next of kin because you can usually figure this stuff
out before I do," he said evenly, not tearing his eyes away from her.

"How am I supposed to figure it out if you won't talk to me," she
shot back, raising her voice. "Mulder, you haven't said more than
what was absolutely necessary for weeks," she accused.

Now it was Mulder's turn to get angry. "What do you want,
Scully? I can't give you any answers because you don't like the
ones I give you. What the hell do you want?"

Before she could answer that, he gasped with pain and curled in on
himself. "shit," he mumbled to himself and clenched his eyes shut
tight.

Scully had just put her hand on the call button when the nurse
appeared, prepared to take Mulder's vital signs. Scully was trying
to get Mulder to lie back, so she could assess the pain, but he was
too tightly curled up for her to move him. "Get a doctor," Scully
yelled over her shoulder. "Then get in here and take his pressure.
He may be bleeding."

The nurse hurried out of the room and Scully turned her attention
to her partner. "Mulder, listen to me. I know it hurts but you have
to relax."

"Easy . . . for you . . . to say," he hissed through clenched teeth.

No, it's not, she thought angrily to herself. Scully was finding it
very hard to relax at that moment. She was berating herself for
upsetting her partner. She should never have started the argument
with him. If he was bleeding, if the ulcer had perforated, she had
herself to blame for it. Her own stomach was tied in knots waiting
for the doctor to arrive.

A young doctor she hadn't met arrived just a few seconds later.
>From her appearance, Scully judged her to be another resident. She
introduced herself quickly as Dr. Marrin and then started to
examine the patient. The nurse pulled the curtain and escorted
Scully to the hallway.

"I'm a doctor, too," Scully protested, but the nurse's hand on her
arm was firm.

"Too many cooks, dear," she said with a kind smile. She was an
older woman, probably mid fifties from the wrinkles around her
eyes. Even so, Scully was not happy at being dismissed to the
hallway.

It seemed like an eternity before the young resident came out of the
room. Scully had found a plastic waiting chair and had dragged it
closer to the door, so she wouldn't miss any comings and goings.
Dr. Marrin stopped next to her.

"I've called down and reserved and OR. I know we were all
hoping to avoid surgery, but I think he waited too long before
coming in. We need to stop the bleeding. In the long run, it will
probably add a few weeks to his recovery, but that might be what
he needs--time to rest and relax. There's a surgical waiting room
up on sixth floor, or you can wait here for him."

"I'd like to be close by. I'll go upstairs and wait," Scully said
quietly. "Is he still awake?"

"Yes, for a little while. You can go on in until we're ready to move
him." Dr. Marrin gave her a brief smile and walked on down the
hall.

The older nurse was injecting something, Scully figured a sedative,
into Mulder's IV. He looked toward the door warily.

"We can't talk them out of this?" he asked with a lop sided grin.

"No, 'fraid not," she said shaking her head. "Mulder, I'm so sorry,
I never should have upset you--"

He reached out his free hand and she took it in her own. "Scully,
you didn't give me the ulcer. You might think you did," he teased,
"but you didn't. I did this to myself. I should know better by
now."

"Mulder, I just wish you'd told me--"

"I don't suppose you could steal a scrub suit and come in the OR to
watch, huh Scully?" Mulder whispered in a hoarse, sleepy voice.
"Just to make sure they don't 'snip' any of the wrong parts?"

She knew what he was doing, avoiding the subject again. And the
way the sedative was taking effect, she didn't have much choice but
to let him off the hook.

She leaned over and brushed the hair off his forehead and continued
to stroke his temples, watching as his eyes drifted closed as he
relaxed. "Wish I could. But I only know how to take stuff
'out'--I'm not that good at putting it together," she teased lightly.
"You go to sleep. I'll walk you to the OR and I'll wait outside for
you. When you're done--"

"--I get ice cream," he sighed sleepily.

She grinned. "That's for a tonsillectomy, Mulder, not stomach
surgery. I promise I'll be there when you wake up. Will that do?"

"Good 'nuff," he mumbled and as the orderlies wheeled the bed out
of the room, she could tell that he was well on his to sleep.

end of part five

******

9:15 am

The surgical waiting room was crowded with families of patients in
elective surgeries. Scully called Mel Bocks to let him know that
Mulder was being operated on. Mel was finishing up the report on
the killer and promised to come by the hospital as soon as he could
to keep her company.

Almost as an afterthought, she remembered to call the office in DC.
It was already after 10, Washington time. Kim put her through to
Skinner immediately.

"What are the doctors saying, Scully?" the AD asked without
greeting.

A man of few words, Scully thought wryly. "A combination of
things, sir. For one, he's developed ulcers in the past few weeks
and 'forgot' to mention it to me. In conjunction with about 4 hours
of sleep in the last 72 hours, he collapsed from pain and exhaustion.
He's in surgery right now, having the most serious of the ulcers
repaired."

She heard the AD sigh heavily. "I always thought the man was
impervious to this sort of thing," he muttered, and Scully wondered
if he was even speaking to her.

"Well, sir, apparently not. I can't believe I didn't notice anything!
I mean, I should have picked up on all the analgesics he's been
popping. I know he's had tension headaches--"

"You're his partner, Scully, not his keeper," Skinner gently chided.

Scully flinched at his words. An easy platitude, but Skinner had
been just as worried as she was, hadn't he? Weren't they both a
little guilty of being 'Mulder's Keepers'--and falling down on the
job when he needed them most?

"How long will he be in surgery?" Skinner's voice broke through
her thoughts.

"About another hour or so. It's a simple operation, really and they
don't expect any complications. But his recovery will be a month
to six weeks."

She could almost hear the Assistant Director nod grimly. "It's not
going to be easy, getting him to stay down that long. Especially
without the benefit of a full body cast," Skinner said dryly.

"Handcuffs and leg irons might be appropriate," Scully replied in
kind.

"Well, keep me apprised. I understand the UNSUB has been
apprehended. Tell Mulder 'good work' on the case and I hope he
has a quick recovery."

"Thank you, sir. I'll do that," she said and disconnected the line.
She glanced up at the clock and wondered how long she'd be
waiting for news.

It was well past lunch time when Mulder was finally settled back in
his room. Her stomach was growling so loudly Scully was getting
nervous glances from the nurses who kept coming in, taking vital
signs. She patently ignored the nurses and her stomach.

She might be hungry, but she didn't want to leave. It was
foolishness on her part, but the surgery had gone well, Mulder had
woken up in the recovery room only to fall back asleep. The
doctor had assured her that they had repaired two larger ulcers and
the smaller one would heal nicely on it's own, provided the patient
took his antibiotics and watched his diet and stress levels.

That was the rub, in Scully's eyes. Watching Mulder's stress levels
could be considered a full time job with lots of overtime. In the
past he had handled it all, the work, the search for his sister, his
parents mercurial attitudes toward him--even the derision of his
colleagues. None of it got to him. He hadn't been kidding her
when he'd said he had a cast iron stomach--he had a cast iron
disposition to match. But apparently, somewhere, the disposition
had changed.

She had watched him over the past months. He still teased, he still
dug into the cases with a ferocity that left her in awe. But there
was something different. A sadness that wouldn't leave his eyes, a
slouch to his shoulders.

He had hidden it well, when she'd come home from the hospital
after her remission. He'd come over several nights, cooked dinners
for her. When the boredom of the doctor's imposed rest had just
about driven her crazy, her charming partner had brought over files
of cases to go over with her. In short, he'd been her sanity as she
grappled with the very real emotions of learning that she wasn't
going to die so soon.

But Scully had never given much thought to the effect the events
surrounding her remission had on her partner. Not until well after
the fact, and by that time, it was almost a forbidden topic between
them. She had sensed a change in him almost from the beginning,
but assumed it was more shock at her remission and Blevins
betrayal than something more personally shattering. Over time,
she'd come to a realization. He had sacrificed his beliefs to obtain
her cure. He no longer wanted to believe, now he was ready to
deny everything he had once held on to.

Now, as she was waiting for him to wake up, she wondered if he
might not have traded his own life for hers.

Mel Bocks came by during the afternoon. The doctor they had
arrested had confessed and was now under a suicide watch. Mel
was at the hospital to coordinate security and to check on the
agents from DC. He came into the room carrying a bunch of
multicolored balloons tied to a economy sized bottle of Tums (R).

"He wake up, yet?" the older agent asked, concern lining he's
already creviced face.

"He's sleeping, Mel. Between the medicine he's on for the pain and
the exhaustion of the last week, it's normal. He was awake after
the surgery. Not for long, but long enough to complain when the
nurse told him he had to have ice chips instead of the water he
wanted," Scully informed the other agent with a grin.

Mel grinned back. "I can't say I envy you, Dana. He's gonna be a
pain in the ass when he wakes up."

"I hope so," she muttered, but quickly turned to the details of the
case. "So, you got a confession?"

"Yep, and I already wrote a letter to AD Skinner putting in a good
word for Sleeping Beauty there. I tell ya, if he hadn't shown up
when he did--we'd still be scratching our ass--uh, I mean, we'd still
be chasing our tails on this thing," Mel blushed slightly and
shrugged. "Sure would be great to have him in the ISU full time."
At Scully's icy glare, Mel hastened to amend his statement. "I
mean, if you two weren't tied up with other things and all, you
know, if it was something he wanted--"

Scully decided not to slay Mel on the spot and gave him a break. "I
know, Mel. But profiling is hard on him. You're looking at the
proof." Her gaze shifted over to the hospital bed and the tubes and
wires connecting Mulder to half a dozen machines and read outs.

"Boy, one case can do all that?" Mel asked, surprised. He noticed
the guilty look that flashed across Scully's face and chose to ignore
it. "I guess it was rough on him. But he sure came through. You
know, if he keeps this up, St. Paul might name a street after him,"
he teased.

"In the cemetery district, no doubt," Scully retorted, just barely
suppressing a smile.

Mel's expression was of shocked surprise, until he caught on to the
joke. "Yeah, hey, that'd be rich, wouldn't it?" he chuckled. "Well,
I won't keep you. I have some more trees to murder
tonight--you'd think if we catch the bad guy, they'd give us a break
on the paperwork. I'll be by tomorrow, see how he's doing."

"Thanks for stopping by, Mel. I'll be sure Mulder knows you were
here."

It was quiet once again. Scully made a quick glance of the
monitors. His vitals were strong, just as they should have been. In
the silence of the room her stomach decided to grumble loudly.

"Are you gonna feed that thing?" a slurred voice asked from the
bed.

"Playing 'possum', Mulder?' she asked, grinning and brought the
cup of ice chips over to spoon a few into his mouth. He must have
heard the sound of styrofoam, because he opened his mouth, but
kept his eyes closed. After a few spoonfuls, he swallowed and
cleared his throat.

"Scully, you don't have to sit there. I'm not in ICU, I'm not on life
supports. I'm fine. Go, eat. Consider it a direct order, if you
must."

"How long have you been awake?" she asked, ducking his order.

"Long enough to know I don't want a street named after me," he
replied dryly, finally cracking one eye open to glare fuzzily at her.
"And I'm not going back to Investigative Support Unit, either."

"Good," she replied casually. "I think I might have some objections
to that, too."

He shifted in the bed and then stopped when moving caused some
pain. "ouch," he let out with a wince.

"You're probably due for a shot. Want me to call the nurse?"

"Yeah, sure, I just love shots, Scully. You know how I love shots,"
he sneered sarcastically, but another shot of pain stopped him short.
"Maybe you better," he sighed, reluctantly.

"Tell you what, you take the shot, and get some sleep. In the
meantime, I'll get some lunch. Deal?"

"When do I get some lunch?" he pouted.

"Tomorrow," she happily informed him. "Stomach surgery,
Mulder. Ice chips, then water, then--"

"Jello," he said with disgust.

"Maybe ice cream," she offered, but at his excited nod, she touched
his shoulder, "IF you're good." He rolled his eyes to the ceiling
and she grinned at him.

"What constitutes 'good'?" he whined.

"Being nice to the nurses, doing what you're told and not being a
pain," she clicked off her fingers.

"Might as well get the shot now," he grumbled. "I think I want to
sleep through the next 24 hours."

end of part 6

*****

the next day
10:15 am

Mulder had been true to his word and slept for the next 19 hours
straight. After a slight 'discussion' with the floor nurse, Scully had
been convinced to go back to his motel. She'd eaten in the coffee
shop, gone up and collapsed on the bed, sleeping until almost 9 am.
It was the most sleep she'd had in a long time. She felt rested,
relaxed. But as she stood in the shower, she gathered the courage
to bring up the subject she knew Mulder was desperately trying to
avoid.

It was bright and sunny on the way to the hospital. It looked like
spring would be coming early, after all. Scully found a convenience
store and ran inside, found what she wanted and then hurried on her
way.

Scully peeked around the partially open door. Mulder was sitting
up a little, remote in hand, blinking in time to the flashing pictures
on the television screen.

"They're going to find out that is a major cause of blindness," she
teased as she pushed the door the rest of the way open and came in.

"Nah, if 'they' were right, I'd be blind already," he joked back.
"What did you bring me?" he asked, his eyes lighting on the bag she
carried.

"First, were you a good boy?" she asked in a sing song voice.

"I was asleep. But I was great in my dreams," he leered and then
grinned as she tried to hold her own smile back.

"OK, but it comes with a price tag," she said, handing the bag to
him and pulling the tray table over so he could place his 'treasure'
on it.

"Frozen yogurt?" he said with mild disgust. "What, they ran out of
Chunky Monkey?"

"Easier on your stomach. We'll work you up to Chunky Monkey in
a few days," she smiled. It obviously didn't bother him too much,
because in a split second he had the lid off the container and was
spooning large portions into his mouth. He closed his eyes and
smiled blissfully.

"Thully, yo th' bessss," he murmured around another mouthful.

"I hope you think so later," she muttered. "Mulder, we need to
talk."

At the tone of her voice, he dug a little more slowly into the
container, swishing the last mouthful around on his tongue a while.
He finally looked her directly in the eyes and swallowed. "About?"

"The last few months," she said evenly, not really knowing how
else to put it.

"Life, the Universe and Everything?" he quoted, sticking the plastic
spoon back in the container and pushing it the side of the table.
"Scully--I know what you're thinking . . ."

"Well, that's good, because I don't have a clue as to what you're
thinking," she shot back and regretted it when she saw the hurt
expression that flashed in his eyes. "Mulder, you scared me. Now,
I know you have a habit of doing that. Hell, I think you've elevated
it to a 'hobby' at this point. But this time you weren't injured by an
outside force. This time you were injured because of what you
were keeping bottled up inside you. And that worries me, more
than all the sewer monsters, blood suckers and mothmen
combined."

"I've been working through some things," he said sullenly, toying
with the spoon and the container again, but not bothering to eat
anymore.

"Not very effectively, from where I'm sitting," she told him plainly.
His sigh was the only answer he gave her. "Mulder, I know a lot
has happened lately--"

"You think I've lost my way," he said quietly, still not looking up.

"I know that you seem lost. I know that you are doing things and
saying things I never thought I'd hear out of your mouth--"

"People change, Scully," he said, finally looking at her.

"If I believed that was what was happening to you, I'd feel a whole
lot better," she said, getting up out of the chair she was sitting on
and perching on the edge of the bed. In a moment, she was holding
his hand in hers, a perfect mirror image of the many times he'd
visited her during her last hospital stay. "Mulder, this . . . this 'new
you'--it isn't the Mulder I know. You're not happy with it, either.
And your body is taking out a billboard in your stomach to prove
that point."

"It was worth it," he said, jumping ahead of the conversation. He
was once again avoiding her gaze, choosing to inspect their
entwined hands.

"What? What was worth it?" she asked, squeezing his fingers in the
hopes of getting him to look at her again. When he did raise his
eyes to her, her heart almost broke in two.

"You're here. You're better. It was worth it," he said, so plainly
that it could have been a mantra.

Tears burned at her throat but she swallowed them back. "Mulder.
I never wanted to hurt you--"

He brought her hand up and kissed it gently. "I know that. You
didn't hurt me, Scully. Not you. All you did was help me see the
truth. I don't blame you. I blame them." He dropped their
combined hands and looked away again. "I blame myself for
believing the lies for so long."

"Mulder, I don't know that it was all lies," Scully whispered
hoarsely, the tears so close to the surface that they were breaking
through her voice.

He looked at her for a moment, unshed tears in his own eyes. "I
don't know what I saw in that truck. I saw something, Scully. I
don't know what. And that's been eating at me. Just like the
whole chimera thing has been eating at me. It's like I have no basis,
no foundation anymore. Nothing to frame the discussion, no rules
to the game. That's what's been hurting so much. That's what
ripped holes in my gut."

He leaned back against the pillows, but didn't let loose of her hand.
"All my life, Scully, things have been hidden from me. I hated it.
You once told me that if I was dropped in the middle of the desert
and told 'the truth is out there' that I would calmly ask for a
spoon," he said, and smiled with her at the memory of that moment.
"But the truth of the matter is, I've never had any other way of
finding out. I've never been given information, I've always had to
dig for it, steal it, sneak it out from under their noses. And now I
find out that so much of what I worked so hard to get was
false--how is that supposed to make me feel?"

She knew better than to answer, it was a question she had no
answer for, anyway. She just squeezed his hand and let him speak.

"He brought a woman to me." At her raised eyebrow, he had the
courage to chuckle. "Not a date, Scully," he chided, then grew
serious. "He said it was her. He told me it was Samantha."

Scully's eyes grew wide as the words slammed their meaning home
to her. "Mulder--when--how?" she demanded.

"The night after they put the chip back in your neck. You were still
so weak. I didn't think . . . I mean, I'd hoped it would work right
away, you know," he said, tears welling in his eyes again.

"It did work right away, Mulder," she whispered. "We just didn't
know it was working."

"Precisely. Anyway, he, the smoking man, he brought a woman to
a diner and she looked just like the clones we'd met before. And
she seemed so real, Scully. So real." He reached up and angrily
wiped at a stray trickle that had escaped his left eye. "I believed it
was her--Sam. At that moment, in that diner, I believed."

"What happened?" Scully begged, not bothering to wipe away her
own tears.

"She talked to me. Told me that she thought I was dead--that
Mom and Dad and I had died the night she was taken. She said
that he, the smoking man, had raised her as a daughter. That she
was his daughter. His and Mom's. Scully, the story fit. I mean, it
wasn't what I believed had happened, it wasn't what I'd learned
when I'd been regressed, but it seemed to fit, somehow."

He closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts before continuing. "I
asked her why she'd come. She said that 'her father' had told her I
had just recently been looking for her. I tried to tell her that he'd
lied to her, that I'd never stopped looking and he'd known that for
a long time. She wouldn't believe it. It scared her. I told her Mom
was alive and she couldn't handle it. It was too much." He opened
his eyes and the pain there was more than Scully thought she could
bear. "She said she needed time. That she had a life, a family,
children. She didn't know what to do. She refused to give me her
name or tell me how to get hold of her. I held her hand, I didn't
want to let go . . ."

Scully leaned over and took him in her arms. He cried for some
time against her shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me this," she asked,
gently, not wanting to accuse, but wondering why.

"I tried. That night. I came to your room. But Scully, you were
sleeping and I didn't have . . . I didn't have the heart to wake you.
I didn't want to burden you with it all. I was afraid . . . afraid that
it would be our . . . our last . . ." He stopped and pulled away from
her, embarrassed by his own lapse of faith. He drew in a deep
breath and looked off, away from her face. "The next day, I just
didn't think about it. And all hell broke loose at the office. After
the meeting where I fingered Blevins, your mom called and told me
to get to the hospital as soon as possible. She wouldn't tell me
over the phone and I was sure you were . . . Well, anyway, I got
there and you told me about the remission."

"That night, Mulder. Why didn't you say something that night?
You sat in my room for over an hour and just smiled at me." She
grinned as she remembered thinking that nothing could have
equaled the smile on his face after she'd told him the news.

"I had already started to question that she was really Samantha. I
mean, it was too pat, Scully. Too perfect an explanation. Sure, it
looked like Samantha, I guess. I have no way of knowing. I've
seen pictures of my mother when she was young and this woman
sort of looked like those pictures, but, Scully, why then? Why
bring her out then? To try and entice me to--" He stopped short,
not wanting to go further.

She caught the slip. She pulled her hand from his grasp. "He
wanted you to make a deal--he was going to trade Samantha for
you," she said, straining against her growing anger.

"I didn't. I didn't do it, Scully. I swear--I swear on your life I
didn't make any deals."

She stared long and hard at him, watching for any flinch in his gaze.
He stared resolutely back at her. Finally, she relaxed. This time it
was his turn to take her hand.

"What happened. Tell me everything," she demanded.

"Not much else to tell. I came to see you before the meeting, fully
expecting to be arrested for murder when I arrived at the office.
Instead, I saw an opportunity, put a couple of things together, and
turned the tables on the rat in the house. Blevins jumped up, ran
out and fifteen minutes later, his secretary was sobbing outside his
office door and the guards were busting the door in. He'd killed
himself. I got the call to come to the hospital and you know the
rest."

"Was that woman Samantha? You don't sound so sure," Scully
said quietly.

"No, like I said, it was too easy. Give me the taste, get me hooked
and then reel me in with her as the bait. I didn't think she could do
that, no matter what might have happened in the last 20 years. Not
Sam. She'd have given me some clue, some indication that there
was a trap involved. This woman was a damned good actress,
that's all."

"Still, it must have hurt you terribly," Scully sighed and he looked
at her, a little amazed that she understood so completely.

"What really hurt was how easily I fell for the trap at first. I was so
ready to believe it was over, that I'd finally found her. Even if it
meant that she rejected me, betrayed me. I didn't care. I just want
to get on with my life."

"Your life," Scully muttered, under her breath. "Why didn't you
tell me all this sooner?"

He shrugged. "It never came up?" he tried lamely. "I don't know,
Scully. There didn't seem to be time. Or the right time. I mean,
when would have been a good time to have this discussion? After
Emily's funeral? Oh, by the way, I almost thought I'd found Sam
but it was a lie? Come on, Scully. I couldn't do that to you."

"No, you'd rather bleed internally," she shot back, defensively. He
flinched and she relented. "I'm sorry, Mulder, but give me a break.
You can't keep doing this to yourself. If I'm your partner, you
have to trust me to help you sometimes."

"I do," he whispered. "You help me all the time."

"Then let me help you now," she said softly and let go of his hand
long enough to reach behind her head. Carefully, she unclasped the
chain of the cross she always wore and in one swift motion, placed
it tenderly around his neck.

"Scully?" he said in confusion. "What are you doing? This is
yours. It's your faith."

She shook her head. "No, Mulder. I thought it was just a memory,
but my faith is inside me, now. See, one thing my cancer taught me
is that science and faith are not necessarily mutually exclusive. You
can have both. Oh, I'm still going to rely on science, but now I
have something else to bolster me in those moments that science
can't give me the answers. I want to give that to you. I want to
give you faith again."

He reached up and touched her cheek. "I never really lost faith in
one thing, Scully. Us. Our ability to find the truth, to beat the
odds, to do anything we put our minds to."

She covered his hand with her own. "I know you didn't. But I
think you just realized that yourself, didn't you?" she accused.

He chuckled softly. "Yeah, maybe." He sighed again, his eyes
drooping closed.

She smiled and reached over to lower the bed and then pulled the
blankets up around him in a motherly gesture. "This is tiring stuff
and you still need to rest. Take a nap."

One eye popped open. "I suppose you have some place else to be,"
he said hesitantly.

She smiled at him. "Not that I can think of. You want me to
stay?"

"I'm boring when I sleep, Scully," he told her honestly.

"Let me be the judge of that," she grinned. "Besides, I brought
something to read." She reached into her purse and pulled out a
paperback, showing him the title.

"_Breakfast at Tiffanys_? Haven't you finished that yet?!"

"I keep getting interrupted," she shrugged.

"I can tell you how it ends," he offered.

She shook her head firmly. "Go to sleep, Mulder."

He reached up and lightly fingered the tiny gold cross at his neck.
"Your mom is gonna think you converted me," he said, already
drifting off.

"I don't think it was you who did the converting, Mulder. Now
sleep."

Scully watched him for a long time, his soft snoring playing
counterpoint to the other hospital sounds. He seemed more
peaceful now and after a while, she found herself relaxing and
drifting off to sleep.

the end.

"Your ability to juggle many tasks will take you far."