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

"But you said you would keep him at least three more days," Dana
Scully hated the simpering whine she'd been reduced to using, but
was not above using it if it could be to her advantage.

"Yes, Dr. Scully, I did. But that was before the vote," said the male
voice on the other end of the phone line. The rather stern, no
nonsense male voice of the Chief of Internal Medicine of Northeast
Georgetown Medical Center.

"Vote?" Scully asked, perplexed. "What vote?"

"The vote by the nursing staff. Dr. Scully, in your field of
pathology, you probably aren't aware of the current nursing
shortage. But we at NGMC are very aware of it. And when an
entire ward of nurses comes to me with the results of a recent vote,
telling me that they will--as a body--walk the streets before
attending to the needs of a certain patient, then I have some big
decisions to make. In this case, I'm afraid the patient has to go."

Scully closed her eyes and rubbed her aching temple with one hand.
It had been a horrible week and it was getting worse by the minute.
She had to think of something, and fast. "Dr. Chalmers--what
about your oath? The patient you are refering to was recently shot,
almost bled to death and was in a coma for two days--"

"The only peaceful days we've had with him, I might add,"
Chalmers interjected.

"Be that as it may," Scully growled, wresting control of the
conversation, "he is still very ill. His leg is in a cast, his arm is in a
cast, the man can't even stand up. He needs bed rest, you have said
so yourself. He needs constant monitoring of a low grade infection
that he's picked up God knows where. You could be liable if you
release him too soon--"

"Dr. Scully, I can't be held responsible if my nursing staff deals with
him in the manner they were plotting earlier today! That would
result in an even _bigger_ law suit, believe me."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" Scully cried, and realized that
she had just gone full circle. She was back to whining again.

"I'll give you plenty of sedatives to take with you. More than
enough to keep him under. And I suggest you make sure he's not
near any electrical or mechanical devices."

"You aren't still thinking of charging him for that heart monitor?"
Scully asked fearfully. "It's hardly his fault that it became disabled."

"Fell victim to his wrath is more like it, Dr. Scully," Chalmers
sneered over the line. "He was the one to `disable' it, as you so
euphemistically put it. And don't forget the seventeen IV packets
he used to 'knit' his art project. You can't reuse those, Dr. Scully.
It's against state law."

Scully decided she'd better change the subject before Mulder ended
up contributing a new wing to the hospital. "When are you
releasing him?" she asked in defeat.

"Released, Dr. Scully. Released. His paperwork has been
processed, he is free to go. We'd appreciate it if you would remove
him as soon as possible. By noon, actually."

"That was the deadline given you by the nurses, wasn't it," Scully
sneered back.

"No, one o'clock was the deadline, but I didn't want there to be any
difficulties," Chalmers returned hautily.

Scully looked at her watch. It was 10:45. If she left immediately,
she could be to the hospital by 11. But what was she supposed to
do after that? She had to buy some time to form a plan of action.

"Look, Chalmers, here's my best offer," Scully said in a
conspiritorial tone. "I'll be there to spring Mulder by 12:30. You
have to give me that much time."

"I thought the FBI didn't negotiate," Chalmers shot back.

"You've been watching too much TV, Chalmers. Now, are you
going to take my offer? Because if not--well, I might not be able to
pick up 'little Red Chief' for quite some time," Scully said with
casual nonchalance.

"OK, all right, you win. I'll keep him isolated until 12:30. But if
you are one minute late--I let loose the nursing staff. There may
not be enough of Mr. Mulder to pick up," Chalmers said in a low
threatening voice.

Scully huffed at that. She hoped Chalmers never played poker--he
couldn't bluff worth shit. But she didn't have time to gloat, she had
to get working on her plan. "We have a deal, Dr. Chalmers. See
you at 12:30."

She wasn't very happy with the turn of events. She'd just barely
had the rest of the week planned out with Mulder _in_ the hospital.
Skinner had assigned her to a high profile case in Baltimore, and
she was expected there by four that very afternoon. It was sure to
take two days, at the least. She was going to have to work her butt
off, but she had decided that she could be back in DC in time to
take Mulder home.

Home. That was a laugh. There was no way she could take him
'home'. At least not to his apartment and definitely not by himself.
Even with the extra hospital time, he was still incapacitated. His
right leg and his left arm were encased in plaster. He had sustained
a broken rib when he fell after being shot. The infection, she was
certain, was probably a urinary tract infection resulting from his
catheterization, but there was no way in hell she was going to tell
him that--he'd be on the phone to his lawyer in no time flat. In
short, he was a mess. A very sick, very grumpy, very bored mess.
And she had no where she could put him.

All the time she'd been thinking, she'd been walking. She realized
this when she noticed that she was in front of Assistant Director
Skinner's outer office. Squaring her shoulders, she marched in and
looked directly at Kimberly, his assistant.

"Is he in?" Scully asked, cocking her head toward the door.

"He asked not to be disturb, Agent Scully," Kim said regretfully.

"But it's sort of an emergency," Scully said with a wince. It wasn't
really a lie--it was an emergency to _her_.

"Agent Mulder?" Kim asked, concerned.

"Yeah, right, Agent Mulder. That's the emergency, all right,"
Scully said, nodding her head like those little dogs that people put
in the back window of their cars.

"I'll get you in," Kim said with a conspiring nod. "Have a seat for a
minute."

Shortly, Kimberly was smiling and ushering Scully into her
superior's office.

"My assistant seems to think you have some sort of emergency,
Agent Scully. Agent Mulder's condition hasn't deteriorated, has
it?" Skinner had taken off his glasses and was standing next to his
desk. For a moment, Scully thought he might head over to the
hospital and make sure Mulder was all right.

"It appears the opposite is true, sir. Agent Mulder's doctor called
me and, well, he's being released today. At lunch time," Scully
said.

"I don't see where that constitutes an emergency," Skinner
growled, putting on his glasses again and taking his seat behind his
desk.

"Well, sir, it does. As you are aware, Agent Mulder is pretty much
incapacitated. He'll be confined to a wheelchair, since it's
impossible for him to use crutches or a cane because of the casts.
And he still has a low grade fever that needs attention."

"Then why the hell aren't they just keeping him till he's better?"
Skinner asked tersely. Scully had opened her mouth, desparately
trying to form an answer when Skinner waved her off. "Damned
HMO's," he grumbled. "So what is the emergency, Scully?"

"Sir, you assigned me to the Baltimore Strangler case, and I was
wondering if you could find someone to take my place? Agent
Mulder is in no condition to stay by himself, and his mother is not
able to care for him, since her stroke. He has no one else, sir."

Skinner thought for a moment. "They really need you on that case,
Scully. You were asked for, specifically. You and Mulder could
use all the bargaining chips you can find, for the next time you get
in hot water," he reminded her. "I'm afraid I can't give it to anyone
else." He stopped and rubbed his chin. "Doesn't your mother live
in Baltimore?"

"Yes, sir. I was planning on staying at her house while I was on the
case," Scully said with great trepidation. She didn't like the
direction the conversation had taken.

"Well, that's your solution," Skinner said confidently. "Take Agent
Mulder with you to your mother's. Your mother has a fairly large
house, doesn't she?"

"Yes, sir, she does, but sir--"

"And you will be near by in case she needs the help," Skinner
continued.

"Yes, I would, but sir--"

"And your mother _did_ raise two sons and two daughters, with a
husband who was out to sea quite a bit of the time, as I recall,"
Skinner added thoughtfully.

"Sir, you are correct on all counts, but sir--my mother, I mean, I
haven't asked her--"

"You think she would refuse, Scully?" Skinner asked. His eyes
expressed his incredulity.

"No sir, never. I mean, she was down here herself when Mulder
was in the coma--" Scully stopped suddenly. She knew when she
was beat. She sighed in resignation. "I guess I better call her," she
said dully.

"And pack, Scully. Don't forget to pack," Skinner reminded her,
then turned his attention back to the files on his desk. "Shut the
door on your way out, Scully?" he asked, but he didn't hear her
answer or the click to the door as she shut it behind her.

Scully was dragging her feet all the way back to the office. It
wasn't that she didn't want to help her partner--far from it. It was
her duty to take care of him. It was something she did because he
would do it for her. There was also the fact that he was injured on
a case, and while saving her life--she _owed_ it to him to take care
of him. That wasn't the problem.

The problem was Mulder himself. He was impossible when he was
sick. Insufferable, infuriating, ungrateful and undeniably a pain in
the ass. She was used to it. Her mother was not. She didn't want
to subject her mother to a sick Mulder. It was a fate worse than
death. But now, she had no choice. It was her only option.

Relunctantly, she picked up the phone on her desk and dialed the
familiar number.

Fox Mulder sat in the hospital bed and flipped channels. He wasn't
even watching what images flashed on the screen, it was just
_something_ he could do. There was so little he could do. He
couldn't get to the bathroom unassisted, he couldn't cut his food
without help, he couldn't even dial a phone without all sorts of
fumbling. But at least he was getting out.

He wondered, idly, what had done it. What had pushed them over
the top, this time? He knew full well that his doctor had planned on
keeping him until the weekend, but all of a sudden, he was being
released. The dull headache and the burning sensation behind his
eyelids told him that his fever hadn't broken yet. He certainly
didn't feel any stronger then he had the day before. Something else
had changed their minds.

Probably the 'nurse alarm', he thought gleefully. A device of pure
genius. He'd had to use his teeth, his one arm and the barely
exposed toes on his leg with the cast, but he'd gotten the
drawstring out of his pajama bottoms and rigged up an 'alarm' so
that the nurses couldn't sneak in and give him his meds without his
knowledge. He'd been impressed with his own ingenuity. Scully
had been, too, when she stopped ragging on him for being such
pain to the nursing staff. He didn't care, if it got his sentence
reduced, that was all he wanted.

Scully hadn't sounded very happy on the phone when she called to
tell him she was coming to get him. In fact, she had used the
'Sister Mary Dana' voice--like if she could get her hands on a good,
sturdy wooden ruler, his knuckles would be history. He wasn't
worried. One groan, one weak cough, one 'look at that doggie in
the window' gaze and she would melt like butter. Yeah, he had
Scully right where he wanted her.

"Well, Buggsie, you ready to jump in the getaway car?" she
drawled, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yo," he replied, happily swinging his good leg over the edge of the
bed and pushing himself upright with his good arm. The room
swam before him and he clutched for the mattress to keep himself
from falling.

"Careful there, G-Man," Scully chided as she dove around the
wheelchair to catch him before he fell. "Don't want you stuck here
for a concussion," she warned him.

"I think it might prove fatal," he smirked. "The nurses are starting
to play with syringes with nothing in the barrels--just air."

"Time to go," Scully said, putting on her best 'I'm not amused'
face. She pulled the wheelchair over to the bed and leveraging him
under his arms, slipped him successfully into the chair. She helped
him to straighten and adjusted the leg rest so that his leg was kept
level. "Comfy?" she asked sweetly.

"No, but let's get the hell out of here, anyway," he growled.

She wheeled him down the hall and the nursing staff stopped what
they were doing, right where they were, and gave him a standing
ovation. They were laughing, but that was probably because he
was finally out of their hair. He waved to his appreciative audience
and blew kisses to a few of his favorites. Scully tried very hard not
to look anyone in the eye and all but jammed the button into the
wall calling for the elevator.

It took some doing, getting him settled in the car. There was no
way the leg cast was going to fit in the front seat, even though he
kept insisting that if she just pushed the seat back a 'little bit'
farther, they'd make it. Finally, she practically shoved him in the
back seat, almost caught his cast in the door trying to close it, and
they were on their way.

He leaned against the back car door, which Scully had dutifully
locked, and closed his eyes. He could never admit it to his partner,
but he felt horrible. His head was pounding, his eyes burned, there
was a horrible ache in his groin and around his hips, and the broken
bones he'd sustained were screaming for heavy duty drugs. Plus,
sitting in the back seat was making him decidedly car sick. He had
to get his mind off his troubles, or he would find himself 'barfing'
all over Scully's new car. He looked out the windshield to see
where they were going.

"Hey, wasn't that the corner to get to the bridge?" he asked
absently as she sped along.

"Yep," she agreed and promptly turned the corner in the opposite
direction.

"You're heading through town?" he asked.

"No, I'm not going to Arlington," she told him.

"Scully, I don't want to go to your place. It's too nice. I feel like
I'm in an issue of _Better Homes and Gardens_. I can't be
comfortable there. Besides, your bed is too small."

She lowered her eyelids and raised her eyebrows at his disparaging
remarks about her home, but shook off her retort and kept driving.

"Are you headed for the beltway?" he asked.

"No, the B-W parkway," she explained.

"Why?" he asked. It was more of a whine, but he would never
have called it that.

"Because it's the fastest way to Baltimore," she answered
cheerfully.

"Baltimore!!??" he cried. "Why in the hell are we going to
Baltimore? I'm not up for a vacation, Scully, and if I were,
Baltimore, Maryland would be the LAST place I would go!"

"You are NOT going there for a vacation, Mulder," Scully said
tersely. "You are going there to recuperate. I am taking you to my
mother's house, where you will do as you are told, be on your best
behavior and in short, make yourself the most lovable patient the
world has ever seen. Or I will fill you full of lead--and you KNOW
I can do it!"

He cringed. Scully's tirade was well deserved, he had to admit. He
knew he was a pain in the ass when he was sick, but when he hurt,
he wanted someone--anyone to make it better. If they didn't, he
felt he was within his rights to make _them_ hurt a little, too. In
any way he could.

But he couldn't do that with Mrs. Scully. Mrs. Scully was the most
patient, loving, caring woman he had ever known. She had his
mother beat nine ways from Sunday. She had _Scully_ beat nine
ways from Sunday. She was a saint, plain and simple. He would
just have to be good, that was all there was to it.

When he didn't say anything for several miles, Scully moved the
rearview mirror so she could see his face. He'd fallen asleep. His
head was thrown back, his mouth just slightly open. When she
turned down the radio, she could hear his soft snoring. The hair on
his forehead had fallen ever so rakishly across his eyes. Needs a
haircut, she noted. He looked angelic. Just like most two year
olds, she noted further. They look that cute when they're asleep so
you don't take the opportunity to drown them, she added to herself
with a silent chuckle. She was more than happy to be heading to an
autopsy bay as soon as she dropped him off.

She pulled into her mother's driveway to a flurry of activity. Her
mother's neighbor and a few other men where busily hammering a
ramp up the two steps in the garage. Maggie was bringing them
cups of coffee and waved happily to her daughter.

"Hi, sweetheart," she called, as she hurried over to the car. Dana
got out of the front seat and her mother pulled her into a hug. "It's
so nice to have you home for a few days," Maggie told her.

Immediately Maggie's attention turned to the passenger of the car.
She opened the back door and leaned in to give Mulder a hug.
"Fox, how are you feeling?" she crooned. "You must be
exhausted. Where is your wheelchair? John and his friends made
us a nice little ramp to get you into the house. I made up Bill's old
room for you. Now, we'll only have to figure out how to get you
in to the bathroom . . ." Maggie's voice trailed off as she headed
for the house.

Scully had the wheelchair positioned and reached in to help her
partner when she noticed his bright red flush. "Mulder?" she asked,
concerned. "Are you all right?"

He grabbed her shoulder with his good hand and searched her eyes
frantically. "Scully, you have to take me somewhere else! I can't
do this!" he cried in a hoarse whisper.

"Mulder, don't be such a baby. It's a short ramp," Scully scolded.

"No, that's not it," he hissed. "Your mom! I can't--I mean, she's
talking--Scully!" he wailed. "You mother can NOT help me go to
the bathroom!"

She didn't mean to laugh, but she couldn't help it. In fact, in the
face of all the tension of the last 8 days, Dana Scully laughed harder
than she had since the day following her medical boards. She
guffawed and gawked, giggled and teehee-d, and belly laughed for
a full five minutes. When she was finished, her partner was giving
her the 'evil eye'. She giggled a little and forced herself to be
serious.

"Mulder. My mom was married for over 35 years. She had two
sons. You haven't got anything she hasn't already seen," she
pointed out reasonably.

"Scully," Mulder hissed again. "That was different. She is _not_
married to me, she is _not_ my mother and what I've got she has
_never_ seen before," he growled low and angry.

She regarded him coolly. "Then you can hold it," she said
spitefully.

"What?!" he cried, not trusting his ears.

"You heard me. Hold it. You can just hold your bladder till I get
home. You've done it on long stake outs, Mulder. I know you can
do it. If you're going to be such a wimpy, fussy, baby about it, you
can hold it." She folded her arms to make her point.

"I don't believe you're actually suggesting-- My god, Scully, you
told me yourself you think I have a urinary tract infection--"

"Well, then, you can just tamp down that male ego and let my mom
help you. I promise you, Mulder, it won't be a picnic for _her_
either! But if you make her feel self conscious--"

"I would never do that!" Mulder interjected. "Never intentionally,
at least."

"Then there's nothing to worry about," Scully said lightly. "Now,
can we get you inside, or are you going to come up with any more
excuses?" she asked, eyes narrowed to pencil points.

His head drooped into the famous 'Mulder pout' that Scully knew
so well, but he didn't say another word. Scully tried hard to keep
the smile of triumph off her face as she wheeled him into the house.

After some struggling, Maggie and Dana were able to get him
settled into bed. Mulder was truly exhausted by that point and
didn't cause any trouble. He was dying for a pain pill, and even
went so far as to ask for it. Scully knew that meant he was really
hurting, and gave it to him without hesitation, then propped his
casts on pillows and added another blanket to make him more
comfortable. In minutes after the medication took affect, he was
sound asleep.

Dana looked at her watch. It was already 3:30. "Ohmigod, I have
to go," she announced in a rush and headed for the door. "Mom,
my cell phone is on. If you need me--"

"We'll be just fine, Sweetheart," Maggie smiled indulgently. "Do
you think you'll be home for dinner?"

Dana frowned. "I doubt it. I want to get this case over and done
with so I can get him back to DC. I don't want to be a burden on
you any more than we have to, Mom."

"Don't be silly, Dana," Maggie scolded. "You are not a burden.
Neither is Fox. I'm more than happy to lend a hand. It makes me
feel needed," she informed her daughter.

"Well, you should never have doubt of that," Dana chuckled and
kissed her mother's cheek. "I promise I won't be too late, Mom.
The meds and the time table are on the shelf in the hall bathroom. I
don't expect he'll eat much, he loses his appetite when he runs a
temp. Push fluids--even if it makes him have to go a lot. He needs
to flush out that infection," she finished, her hand on the door.

"How often should I burp him?" Maggie asked sarcastically, arms
folded across her chest in a perfect imitation of her daughter.

"Only if he's _really_ grumpy," Dana smiled sweetly and hurried
out the door before her mother could swat her on the backside.

Once Dana had pulled out of the driveway, Maggie walked back
into the bedroom and looked at her sleeping charge. He looked so
young. So innocent. She had no idea why the hospital staff
thought he was such a problem. She'd never had problems with
Fox.

She remembered having to calm him down, on more than one
occasion, but that was his protective nature and she'd seen it as an
attribute, not a fault. Those nurses just didn't know how to deal
with a person whose emotions were more often like a 12 year old
boy than a 36 year old man. It was something Maggie had plenty
of experience in--the emotions of pre-adolescent boys. She
automatically started planning her defenses.

Mulder woke up groggily at around 7 pm. He was hungry, he was
achy and he had to pee so bad he was sure he could fill a lake. He
started to reach for the nurses call button when he remembered
there was no nurse to call. There was just Scully's mother.

There was no way, absolutely no way he was going to subject
either himself or that sainted woman to the embarrassment and
humiliation of taking him to the bathroom to piss. On the other
hand, without _some_ assistance, the humiliation level was going to
increase geometrically when he failed to hold his bladder in check.
An event that was going to happen very soon if he didn't do
something. He was most definitely between a rock and a hard
place.

Maggie tapped softly on the door frame. "You're awake," she
smiled brightly.

"Uh, yeah, just now," he said, trying not to squirm while she was
watching.

"Well, good. I just stepped across the street for a moment and I
was afraid you might wake up and need something while I was
gone."

"Nope, been fine and dandy," Mulder replied, shifting uneasily in
the bed. The pressure was building and he was working hard not to
wince every time he moved.

"Good, good. Well, I went over there because I was talking to
Janice, that's my neighbor's, on the phone, and I told her that you
were going to be staying with me while you recover. She reminded
me that she and Ben, her husband, took care of Ben's uncle when
he fell and broke his hip last winter. They bought all sorts of home
medical supplies and offered to loan them to us. I ran over and
picked them up. They're in excellent condition, and I just finished
washing them." Maggie reached down into a bag she was holding.
"I thought some of the items might make life a little easier."

Mulder was cringing during Maggie's rather lengthy explanation, so
it was hard to see what she brought up first, but when he forced his
eyes to focus, he couldn't help but smile. A small, very familiar
white plastic jug. A urinal. Just like the ones at the hospital. No
fuss, no muss, he could handle it himself--except for the inevitable
removal of liquid waste, of course. He reached for it anxiously.

Maggie bit back a smile. "I have to put some of these things away
in the hall pantry. I'll just be a minute."

Mulder had never been so glad to see a woman leave in his life,
including the day Phoebe moved out of their flat on campus. He
didn't even think, he just went about his business. By the time
Maggie came back, he was looking much happier and very much
relaxed. He did get a sheepish grin on his face when he handed her
back the container, almost filled.

"Uh, that was a great idea, Mrs. Scully. Sorry to bother you, but
would you mind--"

Maggie smiled again. "That's what it's for, Fox," she said lightly
and went to the bathroom to finish the clean up. "Now, I'll just
leave it here on the night stand, behind the plant, and you can use it
whenever you need to. You can reach it there, can't you?" she
asked.

"Sure, no problem, thanks," Mulder replied happily. His greatest
fears had been for naught. He might just make it through this
ordeal alive and sane, dignity intact.

"Now, there's also a bed pan in there, but Dana seemed to think
that the diet you've been on would make that less likely--"

Mulder rushed to change the subject from solid waste. "Speaking
of diet, I'm a little hungry right now."

Maggie smiled again, she hadn't missed the sudden change of
topics. "Dana told me that you should take your medicine on an
empty stomach. I'll go get them now and then in a few minutes, I'll
bring you something to eat, all right?"

Mulder didn't really like that idea, but knew he wasn't in an
position to argue. He nodded his head back and forth and waited
for Maggie to hand him his pills and then some water. He downed
the numerous colored ovals and capsules, drank all the water and
handed her back the glass.

"Very good," Maggie said with a smile of approval. "I'll go get
you some dinner. In the meantime, why don't you finish off that
glass of juice."

Mulder looked curiously at the glass--it was a nice shade of ruby
red. He sipped it--cranberry. Idly, he remembered Scully trying to
get him to drink cranberry juice in the hospital, but theirs didn't
taste as good as the glass he was holding. He drank it down, not
spilling a drop, and decided he would ask for another.

Dinner, however, wasn't exactly what Mulder had been hoping for.
Visions of Maggie's meatloaf surrounded by heaping mounds of
mashed potatoes swimming in an ocean of deep brown creamy
gravy had been making brief appearances in his dreams during his
nap. Unfortunately, the fantasy in no way compared to the reality.

"Creamed corn?" Mulder whined loudly.

"Yes, and I blended some vegetable soup to make a bisque. Dana
said you need to stay on a soft diet for a few more days. I can
introduce some 'regular foods' a little at a time, but if we piled
them on you all at once, you'll only disturb your stomach."

"I was hoping for meatloaf," Mulder said with a pout.

Maggie laughed. "Good, because that's what I'm planning for the
day after tomorrow--when you can handle it. For now, just finish
up the corn and soup, I have some rice pudding on the stove right
now, for dessert. Which I'd better go check on, as a matter of
fact," she said and hurried from the room

Mulder screwed up his face in dismay at the bowl of orange goo
that was supposed to be vegetable soup. It smelled like vegetable
soup, even tasted a little like vegetable soup. He just didn't have
the heart to tell Maggie that he _despised_ vegetable soup--more so
when it had been pureed. Besides, after two glasses of cranberry
juice, he really wasn't hungry. He ate a couple of spoonfuls and
finally gave up in disgust.

He knew it wouldn't do to leave a full bowl on his lap tray. Scully
had threatened the use of sharp objects on parts of his anatomy
when he begged off eating the slop at the hospital. She'd consider
it a capitol offense if he refused her mother's cooking. And he
really didn't want to insult Maggie anyway.

He sat there for a few minutes, making swirls in the soup with his
spoon. He picked up spoonfuls of the corn and dropped them in
the soup, making pale yellow patterns in the orange substance. He
got very creative after a while and even added a little of the last
drops of cranberry juice from his glass to the mix. All the colors,
orange, yellow and bright red, flowed around in the bowl, making a
lovely design.

"Fox, are you ready for your pudding yet?" Maggie called down the
hallway.

Busted! Mulder knew he had to think fast. "Just about, Mrs.
Scully. Give me a minute, OK?"

"All right, I'll just get you a bowl," Maggie called back.

Mulder let out the breath he'd been holding. It hurt his ribs, but at
the moment, minor pain didn't even show up on his radar. He had
to get rid of the soup. If Maggie caught sight of his 'artwork'--he
didn't want to know what would happen.

He glanced frantically around the room. Nothing jumped out at
him. He thought about the urinal, but then the idea that Maggie
would find the deception the minute he had to empty his bladder
made him search for a better hiding place. Finally, his eyes fell on
the plant.

It was a nice normal houseplant. Mulder had seen one just like it in
Scully's apartment. He'd often envied her the ability to keep living
entities, well, living. He went through fish more often then he
changed socks. But a houseplant, it could usually take a beating
and still come out on top.

Shoving aside the thought that feeding a plant vegetable soup was
almost a form of cannibalism, he grabbed the plant and set it down
on the laptray next to the bowl. He was awkward because he was
one handed, and had to rely on tipping the bowl up so that the
contents flowed down into the dirt under the foliage of the plant,
but he got the job done. Pleased with himself, he put the bowl
down, then put the plant back on the nightstand. He wiped the rim
of the bowl with his napkin and sat innocently waiting for his
dessert.

Maggie came in just a moment later, a warm, steaming bowl of rice
pudding in her hands. "Well, you did pretty well," she commented,
picking up the empty soup bowl and the barely touched bowl of
corn. "Sorry about the creamed corn. Some people love it, some
people hate it."

"I've always tended to be in the 'hate it' category," Mulder advised
her, picking up his spoon and digging into the rice pudding.

"Well, it was that or creamed spinach. I guess we'll try that for
lunch tomorrow."

Mulder choked on the mouthful of pudding, sputtering it across the
laptray and his blankets.

"Oh, my, Fox, are you all right?" Maggie asked anxiously. "Be
careful, it's hot. And I might have left in too many lumps. I'm
sorry," she exclaimed, wiping up the mess. "Here, let me get you
another blanket," she said, shaking her head.

In the time she was gone getting another blanket, Mulder had added
the rice pudding to the vegetable soup concoction and the plant was
now turning a lighter shade of green, but he chose to ignore it. He
hoped Maggie would do the same.

She came in with the blanket, and smiled at the empty pudding
bowl. "Well, that certainly went down quickly enough," she said
happily. She lifted the tray from the bed and made quick work of
changing the blankets. "There, all clean again." She picked up the
tray and left for the kitchen.

Mulder watched her go. She really was being nice to him. He was
beginning to feel a little guilty about the soup and pudding. After
all, his own mother had never bothered to make homemade
vegetable soup for him when he was sick. Canned or boxed was
the best he could hope for. Blending it to a bisque--unheard of in
his family. And how did he repay such kindess? By killing
Maggie's plant, which was now appearing to gasp for breath next
to him on the nightstand. Mulder felt like crap.

Maggie returned and he was ready to confess when she went into
the closet and pulled out an old television set. It was small and had
an old dial tuner instead of a digital one, but it was a TV. He was
overjoyed and forgot all about his sins.

"Now, it's black and white--sorry about that. It was Charlie's
when he was in the dorms. I have to use a pair of pliers to adjust
the sound, but it can get a few of the major channels. What would
you like to watch?" Maggie asked.

"Could you see if there's a game on?" Mulder asked, hoping he
didn't sound as pleading as he felt.

Maggie nodded and fiddled with the control. Finally, the old screen
grew to a brighter shade of gray, with a lot of snowy images.
Maggie frowned and changed the channel. More of the same.

"Uh, Mrs. Scully, how about trying the antennae?" Mulder
suggested.

"Oh, of course! Silly me!" Maggie scolded herself. She pulled up
the rabbit ears and waved them around for a few minutes. A
picture magically appeared on the screen. "There you go," she said
triumpantly.

Mulder watched for a minute and then grew very dejected. "Do
you think we could try for something other than reruns of
'Gilligan's Island'?" he asked hesitantly.

"Sure, just let me change the channel," Maggie said with a nod. A
few switches, and some more dancing with the rabbit ears and
another picture appeared. A basketball game.

"How's that?" Maggie asked.

"Perfect!" Mulder declared happily and leaned back into his pillows.
"The only way this could get better is if I had some sunflower seeds
and a beer," he added.

Maggie laughed. "Not tonight. I can get you some more juice, if
you like. Then I have some things to do in the other room, so just
call out if you need me."

Mulder begged off the juice, even though Maggie looked like she
was going to press him to drink more. Finally, she just left him to
the game. It was pretty good, until the visiting team's Center was
taken out of the game for pulled hamstring. Mulder winced in
sympathy. Without their key man, the visitors were unable to put
up a good offense and their defense fell apart. The score quickly
showed their dilemma. The home team just kept racking up the
points--totally one sided. Mulder grew bored, he really hated it
when one team used the other's misfortune to create a blow out.

Before long, the Gilligan's Island rerun was looking better and
better. But there was no way he could reach the knob to change
the channel. He had always considered that the worst part about
being laid up, the inability to do things for himself. Mulder had
been on his own for almost all of his life. After Sam had been
taken, he basically raised himself in the absense of his parents
attention. It made him feel helpless when he couldn't attend to his
own needs.

Helplessness was not a happy place for Fox Mulder. He'd been
helpless too many times and he hated it. The frustration he felt
usually resulted in his taking action. Frequently, that in turn
resulted in his running off into danger, leaving his partner behind
and coming back on his sheild, but Mulder always ignored that fact.

Now, all he wanted to do was change the channel on the damned
TV.

He'd already checked out his 'resources' when he'd been trying to
conceal his uneaten dinner. But he'd been looking for a container.
Now he was looking for something he could use to reach the TV.
There wasn't much to work with. He didn't think a pillow thrown
at the dial would be sufficient to move it. He couldn't reach the
curtain rods or if he could, he'd have been able to reach the stupid
dial. It was going to require creative thinking.

He wiggled his toes under the covers. His toes. It came to him
suddenly. The TV was on a small dresser just about two feet feet
from the end of the bed. If he kicked free the blankets from under
the corners of the mattress--

Damned military corners, he mused as he used his good leg to kick
at the covers. After a great deal of effort, he managed to poke his
good foot from under the linens. He grinned happily.

Now, to reach the dial. With some scooting and scooching he
inched down farther and farther in the bed. Pillows were shoved
aside as they got in his way. At one point, his injured leg hit the
footboard and he saw stars. The pain shot up his foot, searing
white and hot up through his leg and coming to rest at the base of
his spine. He almost cried out in agony.

He panted for a few minutes, praying the pain would ease. Now
that he'd begun his little adventure, he was not about to give it up
just because he'd banged his foot. Being more careful the next
time, he lifted his leg as high as he could in order to clear the
footboard. His good leg soon followed. He pushed himself up on
his one good elbow and with his tongue stuck firmly out the left
side of his mouth, he guided his foot toward the knob--

"Fox Mulder, what on earth are you doing?!" Maggie Scully cried
out from the doorway. Mulder lunged forward at the sudden noise
and his foot caught on the side of the television, pushing it to the
side and almost off the dresser.

Mulder soon learned where his partner got her speed. Maggie was
there in a flash, grabbing at the television just before it plunged to
the floor. In her haste, she bumped Mulder's cast, sending him
straight into paroxyms of torture. He grabbed at the pillows and
prayed he would pass out.

It wasn't so much the actual bump, as much as it was the position
his leg was in when she'd hit it. Suspended as the leg was in
mid-air, the bone within the cast was just unstable enough to grind
against itself at the sudden change in pressure. Maggie knew
instantly that she'd just thrown her patient into unspeakable pain
and let lose of the television to grab Mulder's cast and keep it level.
That left the television completely without support and it promptly
crashed to the floor.

No one moved for several long minutes. The blackness faded
around Mulder's eyes and he gradually was able to take stock of
the situation. Maggie stood there, transfixed by the wreakage that
was once a television, but still dutifully holding Mulder's leg at an
angle parallel to the floor. Both of them were too afraid to move.

Maggie finally broke her gaze at the floor and looked up at Mulder.
"Fox--" Maggie started to scold him but then got a look at his eyes.
They were filled with remorse, all because of a stupid 'garage sale'
TV that didn't even get decent reception.

What could she do? Chastising him would have been redundant at
that point, she could see in his eyes that he was beating himself up
already. And if she was honest with herself, Maggie had to admit
that the situation was not without it's humorous aspects. If she'd
just watched where she was going, she would have avoided
bumping the leg in the first place and probably would have saved
the TV. As it was, it was her fault as much as it was his.

"Well, I finally have a good excuse to get that TV/VCR combo I've
been wanting for this room," she said with a slight grin and a wink.

"I'll pay for it," Mulder hurried to reply.

"You'll do no such thing," Maggie chided. "I paid fifteen dollars
for that stupid set over 8 years ago. If I remember my accounting
from high school correctly, I'd have to say it's depreciated out by
now," she chuckled. "I should have thrown it out when the knob
for the volume fell off and the man at the repair shop said he
couldn't get parts for this model anymore."

"But it was my fault," Mulder insisted. "If I hadn't decided I could
change the channel--"

Maggie helped him scoot back up in the bed and onto his pillows.
"Fox, you should have just called me. I would have changed the
channel for you," she said gently.

"But it was so stupid. I mean, you're having to do too much for
me already," Mulder continued. "I just hate this," he said with a
dejected sigh.

Maggie put her hand on his cheek and forced his eyes toward her.
"Fox, you saved my daughter's life a little over a week ago."

Mulder didn't bother to answer. It was his job, to back up his
partner. He hadn't done anything Scully wouldn't have done for
him. Besides, he did it gladly.

"Do you think that taking care of you for a few days could possibly
repay what you've done for me?"

"I put her in danger all the time," he reminded Maggie in a low
whisper, pulling his eyes away from her face to avoid the anger he
expected to find.

Maggie patted his cheek to force him to look at her. "She puts
herself in danger. You're there to make sure she gets out of it,"
Maggie corrected and was happy with the faint nod he gave her.
She couldn't resist fussing with the hair that had fallen in his eyes.
As her hand brushed his forehead, she frowned. "Fox, do you have
a fever?"

Mulder shrugged. "I don't know, I might. Scully thinks I have a
urinary tract infection. I was running a low grade fever at the
hospital," he told her.

"I think it's a little more than 'low grade' now," Maggie said with
concern. "I'm going to check it."

In a second, she returned with an aural thermometer. Mulder
conveniently turned his head so that she could insert the probe in
his ear. He loved the new fangled thermometers. So much better
then sucking on a glass tube for four minutes, or worse yet, sticking
it somewhere less visible--

"One hundred two point four," Maggie read from the display.
"That's too high. Do you feel bad?"

Mulder just looked at her and slowly raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, dumb question," she returned. "I don't like this," she
muttered.

"Dana says that fevers go up during the night. Something about
biorhythms," Mulder offered helpfully.

Maggie huffed. "Well, surprise, surprise. I guess my lectures really
did get through all that medical school mumbo jumbo."

Mulder stifled a laugh. He'd thought the same thing on a number
of occasions. But Maggie was still concerned.

"Fox, I think we need to call Dana."

"I don't think we need to do that," Mulder said hastily. "I mean,
she's busy with the case--"

"Nonsense. Dana told me to call her if we needed her. I don't
think that antibiotic you're on is strong enough. If you get a
serious infection, Fox, you're just going to end up back in the
hospital," she reasoned.

"If we can find one that will take me," Mulder muttered under his
breath. But he still didn't want Maggie to make that call. In some
warped part of his brain, he wasn't sure what Scully would do to
him after the mishap with the TV. "Mrs. Scully, really, I'll be fine.
Can't we try some tylenol first?"

Maggie looked unconvinced but didn't move toward the phone in
the other room. "OK, but if it goes up any more, I'm calling her
whether you like it or not, Fox," she finally relented.

"I can agree with that," Mulder said, trying to sound conciliatory.

In a moment, two white capsules landed on his stomach, his rather
empty stomach, and jiggled around with the other medication
already swimming down there. Maggie gave her patient a long
look. "I think you should try to get some more sleep, Fox."

He hadn't thought he was sleepy, but all the excitement over the
television had worn him out. He nodded groggily. "You might be
right," he admitted. He snuggled down into the pillows. Maggie
leaned over and tucked the blankets closer to his chin.

"Warm enough?" she asked. At that moment, he caught the look of
love and concern in her eyes and it almost brought him to tears.

"Yeah, great," he said, averting his eyes to cover his emotions.

"Well then, sleep tight." For a second, he was afraid she was going
to kiss him on the forehead. It would have been too much for him
and would have pushed him right off the emotional cliff he was on.
She must have sensed that. Instead, she put her hand to his cheek
and held it there just for a moment. The simple gesture tugged at
his heart.

"Good night, Mrs. Scully," he managed to say as she turned off the
overhead light.

"Good night, Fox. If you need me, just call. Please?" He nodded
slowly, and watched her close the door behind her, leaving it open
just a crack. Sleep found him quickly.

He'd only been asleep a little while when his dreams became
uncomfortable. Not the usual nighttime reliving of Samantha's
abduction or Scully's battle with cancer--this dreamscape had a new
and disturbing twist. He dreamed he was on a boat, in very rough
seas. The boat was tossed and turned by waves that crashed over
it's deck. Just like the sailors on all the old pirate movies, he hung
on to the mast to keep from being swept overboard. At the very
moment he thought he could make it to the hatch and the safety of
the cabin below deck, another wave threatened to capsize the boat.

His stomach was rolling in time to the waves. The waves, in turn,
were becoming larger and soon threatened to crush the small boat
under their weight. Mulder was growing more anxious by the
minute. When the next big wave hit the boat, his stomach could
take no more--

He woke himself up retching. He hadn't had time to even attempt
to reach the waste basket sitting near the bed on the floor. His
stomach didn't have much other than cranberry juice and bile, but
there was more than enough of that to soak the bedding and Mulder
with it. If he hadn't already been so miserably sick, he would have
cried in embarrassment.

Maggie heard his distress. She was in the room before he could
croak out a call for help. Quickly, she put a curved bowl like the
ones in the hospital under his chin and supported his neck as he
continued to be sick. When he finished, he dropped to the pillow,
his eyes clenched shut, exhausted and uncomfortably wet.

>From somewhere, a cool cloth found it's way to his face. It stroked
his forehead and around the back of his head. Gently it cleaned his
mouth and his neck and chest. If he'd had the strength to open his
eyes, he would have seen Maggie tugging the blankets off the bed
and rolling them up to set near the door. Instead he just felt the
chill as the blankets left him exposed to the room's cooler air.

"Fox, Sweetheart, we have to get you out of the bed. I have to
change the sheets and get you cleaned up," Maggie said gently.
"Come on, Fox, you're going to have to help me a little," she
encouraged.

With the little energy he had left, he tried to move, all the while
apologizing. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't wake up. I couldn't stop--"

"Shhh, shhh," Maggie crooned. She wiped tears that he didn't
know had fallen from his eyes with the cloth. "It's all right. You
didn't do anything wrong, Fox. You're sick, it happens. That's
why God made extra sheets and washers and dryers," she
rationalized. With tender strength, she helped him into the
wheelchair. He slumped there, spent, while she changed the bottom
sheets and made up the bed in fresh linens. When she was finished
with that task, she turned to the patient.

"I'm an idiot," she said with a shake of her head. "You're going to
catch pneumonia, sitting there all this time, wet and cold. I'm
sorry, Fox. I should have thought."

"S-S-S'OK," Mulder said through chattering teeth. "Th-Th-The
cool air is s-s-s-settling my stomach."

She gave him a disapproving look. "Fox, I know better. Now,
let's get you cleaned up and warm again."

Much to his surprise, he wasn't all that embarrassed to have his
partner's mother change him out of his wet and smelly pajamas,
wash him down with the warm wash cloth and then help him into
clean pajamas. In fact, it felt so nice to be clean and warm that he
didn't give much thought to the process after all. The bed was cold
when he shifted back into it and he shivered under the covers trying
to warm it up.

"Chills?" Maggie asked sympathetically. He nodded, closing his
eyes against the cramping in his muscles that accompanied the
shakes. Maggie reached down the side of the bed and brought up a
small control. "I'm setting the blanket on low. If that's not
enough, you can set it a little higher, but I'd advise against high.
That gets too hot."

He was too grateful to express it properly. He just looked up at her
through half closed eyes and hoped she could tell how deeply he
appreciated what she was doing for him. Slowly, the current
flowed through the blanket, bringing heat to his body and comfort
to his soul. He was soon asleep.

Maggie decided she shouldn't leave him again. His fever had her
worried, but as long as she had the situation under control, she
wouldn't betray his wishes and call Dana. That didn't mean she
couldn't stay put and keep a close eye on him.

She pulled the old rocker from her own bedroom over to the guest
room. She had to move the wheelchair all the way into the hall to
make space for it. She removed the afghan from the back and
wrapped it around her. Rocking in time to Mulder's shallow
breathing, she soon drifted off herself.

The house was silent when Dana opened the door. Of course it is,
she chided herself, it's two o'clock in the morning! Her mother had
left the kitchen light on and it's glow illuminated the living room
enough so that Dana could hang up her coat and remove her shoes.
It felt like heaven to be home.

The autopsy had gone well, the after-autopsy briefing had been a
disaster. Every single suggestion she had made about how to
continue the case had been shot down and with increasing ferocity.
When she suggested that they had the suspect in custody--a former
policeman recent arrested for domestic abuse, they had howled with
laughter. It had taken her by surprise at first, until she noticed that
a couple of the agents kept refering to an absent agent by his first
name. Tom.

After doing some checking, she'd finally figured out that she'd been
called in on this case by none other than Tom Colton. Colton was
still cooling his heels in Baltimore, no longer one of the 'up and
comers' of the Bureau after the X Files department had rolled over
him on the Tooms case. It didn't take a genius to see that Colton
was using the Strangler case to enact his revenge upon her for
siding with Mulder against him.

Knowing they wouldn't listen to her, Scully gave them a final
report and left the office shaking with anger. As she drove home,
she wished she had done what she wanted to do--hunt Colton down
like the dog he was, take out her gun and shoot the bastard. The
fact that he didn't even have the guts to face her while sending his
lackeys to torpedo her work just fueled her anger. But as she got
closer to home, she brushed it all aside. She didn't have time for
such petty nonsense, and she was still worried to death about
Mulder.

She had almost expected a call during the evening. Once or twice,
she thought about calling them. But she was in a horrible position.
This wasn't some impersonal hospital she was dealing with now,
whom she could yell at and boss around when she thought her
partner wasn't getting the attention he deserved. This was her
mother. Her very proud, Irish mother who would more than a little
peeved if Dana kept calling to check up on the patient and his
attendant. She couldn't risk making her mom mad at her. She had
finished up as quickly as possible and hurried home to check for
herself.

Scully could hear the quiet snoring down the hallway. She she
would just peek in on him, she didn't want to wake him if he was
resting. Mulder was bad enough when he was sick, but wake him
up when he was sick and he was a bear.

The light from the kitchen didn't reach down the hallway. In fact,
the hallway was so dark, since all the doors were closed blocking
out any residual outside light, that it reminded her of more than one
cave she'd been in. But this was her house, she'd lived her through
college and medical school. She knew the hallway like the back of
her hand.

She was just outside the guest room door, reaching for the
doorknob when her sleeve caught on something about waist height.
She tugged, took a step forward and tripped over the wheelchair,
which was blocking her path.

The resulting crash, not to mention the low, angry cursing, were
more than enough to wake Maggie. Certain they were being
attacked, Maggie looked frantically around herself for anything to
use as a weapon. Her eyes stopped their search when they landed
on the plant.

Grabbing it off the nightstand, Maggie hefted it in her hands and
just as Dana untangled herself from the wheelchair, brought it over
her head to drop on the wouldbe assailant.

Dana opened the door, bumping into her mother, who in turn lost
her grip on the plant and the contents of the pot landed all over
both of them in a gooey, dirty mess.

"Mom! What the hell are you doing?!" Dana demanded, wiping
strange smelling potting soil off her face and shoulders.

"What the hell were _you_ doing, young lady, coming in here so
late and scaring me to death!?" Maggie shot back.

A hand from under the covers reached over and turned on the lamp
on the other side of the bed. Mulder couldn't help himself, at the
sight before him he started to laugh.

Both his partner and her mother were dripping in vegetable bisque
soaked plant dirt. The poor plant, obviously near death already for
it's ordeal, was lying roots up on the nightstand. By the time he
surveyed the whole scene, Mulder was laughing so hard that he
thought he would rip his tender stomach muscles.

"Mulder, quit that before you hurt yourself. That's my job," his
partner hissed at his hysterical laughter. "And what the hell is this
orange stuff?"

"Dana, watch your language," Maggie scolded. "And it's vegetable
soup," she said, casting a threatening look over to the patient on
the bed.

The effect was immediate. Mulder shut up so fast it was like
someone pulled a plug. He swallowed quickly and tried to reach
for an alibi.

"The plant looked like it needed water?" he made a lame attempt.

"And the water from the pitcher I left was too cold?" Maggie
returned, arms folded across her chest and eyebrow upraised.

He knew he'd been caught. It's genetic! Mulder thought. That
look of Scully's is genetic! But that didn't seem to be the response
that would get him out of the hot water he was currenting
drowning in. "I'm sorry," he said simply and tried to reach over to
help wipe off some of the dirt. Moving over and reaching resulted
in a horrible tearing down the side of his stomach and he curled up
around the pain.

"Fox!" Maggie cried out and forgot all about the dirt, the soup and
the now deceased plant. She reached for him, trying to comfort
him.

"Mulder, where's the pain?" Dana interjected, gently moving her
mother away from her partner and running her hands over his torso.

"Stomach. Here," he gasped out, placing his good hand over the
left side of his abdoman. "Hurts like hel--a lot," he amended,
deciding not to insight Maggie's wrath again.

Scully helped him straighten out enough to lie on his back and
probed his stomach gently, watching for signs of discomfort. The
only area that seemed to be affected ran the length of a particularly
tense muscle. "You sprained a muscle," she announced calmly.
"Pulled it laughing, no doubt," she added with a glare.

"No, I bet you strained it when you were throwing up," Maggie
reasoned with a shake of her head. "The laughing just finished the
job." She placed her hand on his cheek, just as she'd done earlier.
"I'm sorry, Fox," she said sincerely.

"Mom? What about the plant? The soup? The mess? And why
was the wheelchair blocking the hallway?" Dana demanded and
then caught herself, forcing a calm, rational voice. "What is going
on?".

"Dana, apparently Fox didn't feel up to eating what I made him for
dinner. But he didn't want to offend me by not eating it. So he
dumped it in the plant. Taking his pills on an empty stomach made
him nauseous. He got sick not long after I broke the television set
and probably strained his stomach muscle when he was throwing up
in bed. I might have injured it further getting him in the wheelchair
so I could clean him up and change the sheets and blankets. After I
got him settled, he got the chills and I noticed he seemed too warm.
His fever was up, so I decided not to leave him alone tonight and I
pushed the wheelchair into the hall to make room for the rocker.
When you came home and made so much noise, I thought you
might be a burgler and picked up the plant to defend myself. Now,
are you satisfied?" Maggie hissed, glaring at her daughter.

Dana was taken back by her mother's anger, directed as it was at
her. She turned an equal glare upon the person she thought
deserved the anger--her partner. "And what do you have to say for
yourself?" she growled. Then something that had been said caught
her attention. "You broke the TV?" she asked her mother.

"Long story," Maggie assured her tersely. Dana shrugged and
returned her glare to her partner.

Mulder tried hard to look like he felt--a rabbit under the barrel of a
shotgun. He decided to tell the truth and take the consequences.
"I'm guilty. I confess. I don't feel good," he concluded with a
pitful expression.

"And Skinner had the audacity once to ask me why I shot you!"
Dana hissed.

Maggie, however, was more sympathetic. "Oh, Dana, stop that.
Fox, it's all right, dear. Nothing that bad happened. Nothing that
can't be solved with a little soap and water. You just try and relax
while I find the heating pad to put on your stomach. Or should I
look for the ice bag, Dana?"

"No ice!" Mulder protested. "I'm freezing here as it is!"

Dana laid a hand on his forehead. "Mom, get the thermometer,"
she sighed.

His fever was just over one hundred and three. "I knew amoxicillin
wouldn't put a dent in that infection," Dana muttered. She left the
room and came back with a pharmacy bag. She pulled out a small
ampule and a packaged syringe, filling it with medication. "I
figured we might need this, knowing you as well as I do," she
grinned wickedly as she tore into a little alcohol wipe packet and
motioned for him to removed the covers.

"Is this gonna hurt?" he whined.

"What do you think?" she leered.

"Mom! Help!" he called out, and Maggie, laughing, held his hand
while Dana administered the shot. He winced, but noticed his
partner had refrained from being too brutal.

A half hour later, Dana was coming out of the shower, feeling much
better then she had when she entered the bathroom. She walked
down the hall toward her old bedroom and overheard her mother
and partner talking.

"Are you feeling a little warmer, Fox?" Maggie said softly.

"Ummm, yeah, thanks," Mulder's sleepy voice replied. "Um, Mom,
ah, I mean, Mrs. Scully--I really am sorry for all the trouble I've
been."

"I know you are dear. And I think I know why you get into all this
trouble," Maggie said tenderly.

"What do you mean?" Mulder asked, a slight tremor in his voice.

"Fox, we love you. Both Dana and I. We want to help you. You
have to trust us to help you. We would never hurt you, or leave
you all alone, don't you know that?"

"I know that," said a very timid twelve year old's voice.

"We only want what's best for you. We only want you to get well.
We want to help you get well," a mother's voice answered.

"I know that, I do. Sometimes it's just so hard. I'm not used to--"
the small boy voice trailed off.

"Not used to being loved," the mother's voice continued the
sentence. "Oh, Fox, I think it's time you got used to it," she added
with a sigh.

"Me, too, Mrs. Scully," the voice of her partner had returned. He
was feeling better.

"Fox, while you're here, you can call me 'mom' all you want,"
Maggie told him tenderly.

"Thanks, . . . mom," was the groggy reply.

"Good night, dear. Sleep tight."

Hurrying before her mother came out of the room and caught her
eavesdropping, Dana tiptoed to her room, smiling to herself.
Somehow, she figured, her patient was finally on the road to
recovery. It might take some time, but they would get there.