Title:  Finding Her (1 of 2)
Author:  Vickie Moseley
Summary:  Post Aubrey.  Mulder finds a connection 
to the case that he never could have expected.
Category:  X, MT, UST 
Rating:  PG-13
Disclaimer:  For 8 long years I've been meaning to 
write a post ep for Aubrey.  If that gets your hackles 
up, so be it, Chris.  But in the meantime, I am not 
infringing on your copyright.
Additional Disclaimer:  Although this might appear 
early on as a Mulder/Other, rest assured that is not 
what happens.
Written for the After The Fact Challenge a way 
long time ago.  Sorry this took so long, guys.  It 
came out longer than I thought.
Hugs and kisses to Ten for beta and to everyone 
who poked me on Mulder's Refuge.  My backside is 
a little sore, but I got the job done!
Feedback:  vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

Finding Her
by Vickie Moseley

Gainesville, Nebraska
January 10, 1994

Scully looked up to Detective Tillman from her 
position on the floor, cradling Mulder.  
"Ambulance?" she asked.  They'd been waiting at 
least ten minutes since Tillman had called, making 
sure that the dispatcher realized it was _two_ 
officers down and not just one.

"They have to come from Lincoln.  That's 20 miles.  
It might be a while," Tillman answered, his eyes 
conveying his apology.  Quickly, he turned back to 
the woman sitting listlessly by the window.  "B.J.?  
B.J., honey, can you speak to me?  It's Brian.  
Honey, do you even know who I am?"

"She's disassociative, Detective.  She's locked in 
another world," Scully said sadly.  She'd been 
listening to Tillman trying to reach B.J. for the last 
several minutes of their long wait and it was 
wearing on her nerves.  

Not that her nerves weren't already worn completely 
through.  Mulder was unresponsive and the wounds 
at his neck and forehead hadn't stopped bleeding, 
despite her attempts to keep pressure on both.  
"Mulder, can you hear me?" she whispered close to 
his ear, as she had about every minute or two, but 
the most she'd gotten from him was a groan.  He'd 
looked awake when she found him on the floor, but 
he'd passed out in her arms.   

Mulder's pulse was rapid but he was breathing even 
and steady.  She knew the blow to his head was the 
most immediate danger.  His pupils had appeared 
unequal when she examined him briefly, she was 
positive he had a concussion, if not a skull fracture.  
B.J. had hit him square on the temple with the fire 
extinguisher.

Scully looked over in the corner.  The coroner's 
office had also been contacted.  Harry Cokely 
would not be bothering anyone again.  Or would 
he?  Scully let her thoughts touch briefly on the 
baby B. J. carried.  Was it possible?  Was Cokely's 
evil hereditary, waiting, dormant until the right set 
of circumstances would wake it to kill again?  It 
sounded like the premise of a bad horror movie, 
Nightmare on Elm Street style.  But then, how 
many bad horror movies plots had she and Mulder 
already filed as case reports?  She'd long ago lost 
count.

She heard the siren and breathed a sigh of relief.  
The paramedics were well prepared, and had B. J. 
on a gurney, seeking instructions from the hospital 
in minutes.  Mulder's condition was assessed and 
he, too, was strapped on a gurney.  It was then that 
Scully discovered there was only one ambulance.

"I'm a medical doctor, I'd like to ride with them," 
she said, squaring her shoulders and wishing she'd 
worn the 3 inch heels instead of the 2 inch heels 
she'd chosen.

The driver of the ambulance snorted.  "Look, Doc, 
if you can find a big enough shoe horn, you're more 
than welcome.  But we kinda think it's a priority to 
get these two to hospital.  You got a squad car out 
there, all tricked out with sirens.  Why don't you 
lead the police escort?"  And with that, he helped 
his companions load the two patients, slam the 
doors on the ambulance, and took off down the long 
gravel road.

Tillman had her elbow and was moving her to his 
car before she even had a chance to blink.

"Dissociative?  What does that mean?  Can she snap 
out of it?" he shot questions at her rapid fire as she 
pulled on her seat belt and he stomped on the gas.

"She'll be assessed by psychiatrists at the hospital," 
Scully said, chewing on her lip.

"Will this hurt the baby?" Tillman asked in a near 
whisper, as if his wife might be hiding somewhere 
in the car.

Scully shot him a glare.  "No.  It shouldn't affect the 
fetus."  She was surprised at the Detective's relieved 
expression.  It was a mess, this office romance 
thing, but Tillman wasn't evil.  Or if he was, he 
certainly wasn't the biggest evil they'd encountered 
on this case.  She wouldn't let her anger at Tillman's 
attitude toward Mulder's theories color how she 
dealt with him now.  The man was obviously 
confused and hurting.

"I don't get it.  Cokely was her grandfather.  OK, I 
see that.  But I knew Bob Morrow and he was a 
good cop, a straight cop.  He was one of the best on 
the force, he gave me a lot of good advice when I 
was a rookie.  It hurt like hell when he died of a 
heart attack about 5 years ago."

"Did he know B. J. went into law enforcement?" 
Scully asked.

"Know?  Hell, he about busted his buttons when she 
got accepted!  Man, he was proud of her," Tillman 
said with affection.  "Damn proud," he added in a 
whisper.  "Oh, god, B. J.," he moaned.  Suddenly, 
another thought caught his attention.  "Agent 
Scully," he looked over at her anxiously.  "About 
Agent Mulder, you don't think . . .  I mean we don't 
know that B. J. killed those women but today . . . if 
your partner dies . . ."

Scully jerked her head toward the passenger side 
window and forced down the fear and anger that 
threatened to spill out.  If Tillman had listened to 
them when she and Mrs. Thibideaux had first 
arrived at the station, if she'd gone with Mulder to 
Cokely's, if the police had gotten to Cokely's sooner 
. . . All 'what if's', and absolutely none of them 
would help Mulder.  The image of Chaney's broken 
skull sprang to her mind and she tried with all her 
might to force it back in the dark recesses, but it 
wouldn't fade.  'Mulder is on his way to the 
hospital,' she reminded herself.  'He's receiving 
medical attention and Chaney had nothing, no one.'  
Somehow, even though she was trying to console 
herself, that thought didn't really make her feel any 
better.

St. Elizabeth's Medical Center
Lincoln, Nebraska

The Emergency Department at St. Elizabeth's was 
well staffed and surprisingly quiet.  BJ was taken in 
one direction and Mulder in another.  Scully and 
Tillman separated in the waiting room, each being 
escorted back to the treatment rooms by separate 
hallways.  Scully followed Mulder's gurney and 
inched her way into the exam room.  

A young doctor smiled up at her.  "You must be the 
next of kin," he said and turned his attention back to 
his patient, gently turning Mulder's head to peer into 
each eye using a small penlight.  "I want a CT scan, 
stat.  What's b/p?"

A middle-aged nurse was just finishing up with a 
blood pressure cuff.  "110 over 75," she said, 
wrapping the cuff with its own cord and placing it 
back in the holder on the wall.  

"What did this?" the doctor addressed Scully again.

"As near as we can tell, a fire extinquisher," she 
said chewing on her lip.

"Wow, he must have run in to it pretty hard," the 
doctor replied with a low whistle.

"It ran into him.  A person was attacking him with 
it."

The doctor looked up at her and cocked an eyebrow.  
"So it was with some force?"

"I would say considerable force," Scully nodded.

A young man as tall as Mulder but easily twice his 
size appeared in the door of the exam room.  "You 
want this guy down to x ray?"

The doctor nodded.   As the young man started to 
move Mulder, he groaned and Scully was by his 
side.  "Mind if I walk him down?" she asked.

"Might as well make it a party.  We can get his 
history on the way," the doctor shrugged.

Two hours later, Mulder was settled in a room on 
the second floor of the small, but fairly state of the 
art hospital.  Scully had found CNN and was 
catching up on the latest news while her partner 
slept on in the bed near her.  He had a concussion, 
that was a given.  It was graded moderate, so the 
precaution of keeping him overnight to monitor for 
changes in intracranial pressure and possible 
hemorrhage.  He'd come around a little after they'd 
done the CT scan, but fell back to sleep after 
looking around and finding Scully at his side.  He'd 
be checked through the night and she knew he'd be 
grumpy each time they'd have to wake him.

The latest news on B.J. was not so comforting.  She 
was still catatonic and Tillman had been forced to 
leave her to go home to his wife.  He's stopped by to 
check on Mulder, relieved that the agent appeared 
to be doing better than they'd feared earlier.  Scully 
didn't envy the Detective.  He had the look of a man 
about to confess his sins, and go straight to the gas 
chambers.  Scully could think of nothing to say to 
him, so she just nodded as he left.

Mulder woke up.  Had he been sleeping at his desk?  
He yawned and stretched and looked around.  It was 
the bullpen at the office, but it looked strange.  
Everything looked like a set from an old movie.  A 
noise behind him startled him.  It sounded like a 
jingle.  He jerked his head around in the direction of 
the noise and found another agent picking up an old 
black telephone, the kind his Grandmother Kuipers 
had in her hallway.  What the hell?

"Hi, handsome."  It wasn't a greeting as much as a 
come on.  He looked up and found a woman smiling 
at him.  She wasn't beautiful in the sense that she 
would stop traffic, but the smile she gave him made 
him feel twenty feet tall.  He was just about to 
answer her when he felt a hand on his shoulder, 
shaking him.

"Mulder.  Mulder, wake up.  Neuro check.  C'mon, 
sleepyhead.  Wake up or I drag out the cold wet 
washcloth."  

He recognized the voice.  He remembered a smile.  
But they came from two different people.  His mind 
was trying to work through the puzzle when one eye 
was pried open.  

"I think he's just dreaming."  He forced his other 
eye open and attempted to focus.  The face in front 
of him was so jarringly familiar, but he was having 
trouble searching for a name.  And his head felt like 
it was being cracked open with a chisel and 
sledgehammer.

"Scuuuly," he moaned.  That's when the name 
popped into his head, about two heartbeats after 
he'd said it.  Where was he?  How did he get out of 
the bullpen and into a bed?

"Mulder, wake up.  C'mon, the nurse has to see you 
awake.  You don't want to stay here another night, 
do you?"

He turned his head and it exploded in tiny shards of 
pain that he was sure would make some sort of 
sound over the loud buzzing in his ears.

"His head is hurting," he heard Scully explain to the 
nurse.  And they said women would never work out 
in the FBI, he thought groggily.

"The doctor ordered Tylenol.  I'll go get it," some 
woman's voice said and Mulder heard the soles of 
her shoes squeak on the tile floor.  The small sound 
ricocheted off the sides of his head and echoed 
through his brain.

"Scully," he whispered, but it really didn't help.  
Just the motion of his mouth hurt his head even 
more.

"I'm right here, Mulder.  The nurse is getting some 
pain meds.  She'll be right back."

"She said Tylenol, Scully.  I need morphine," he 
gritted out, since whispering was taking too much 
effort.

"You need something to help reduce the swelling 
and that's not morphine," Scully explained patiently.  
"You have a concussion.  You're lucky you escaped 
a skull fracture.  Your head is harder than poor 
Agent Chaney's apparently."

Snatches of the dream came back to him, but mostly 
that smile.  The smile that made him think he was 
the only man in the room.  The only man in the 
world, for that matter.  It confused him when he 
tried to figure it out and that just made his head hurt 
all the more.

"Here, Agent Mulder.  Can you swallow these?"  
Mulder had been around hospitals often enough to 
know he could always 'swallow these' because the 
alternative was too embarrassing to take when 
conscious.  He started to nod, but remembered that 
way led to unconsciousness, so he just reached for 
the pill cup and the small cup of water.  It was a bit 
of stretch and his head was pounding, but he 
managed to get the pills and the water in their final 
destination and he sighed as he fell back on the 
pillow.

The nurse checked his vitals and patted his hand, 
then left the room.  Scully made a show of adjusting 
his IV line so that it wasn't tangled in the blankets 
or around the remote for the television.  He finally 
stopped her from fiddling any further.  "What's the 
matter?" he asked.

She shook her head for a moment, but slowly 
reached into her pocket and withdrew something 
shiny.  A badge.  She held it out and Mulder took it 
from her.

"Chaney's badge?" he asked and she nodded.  

"Tillman came by while you were sleeping and 
gave it to me.  I don't know what happened to 
Ledbetter's.  It's probably still buried somewhere . . 
."  She trailed off and looked at her partner.   
"Mulder?  Are you all right?"

He'd been staring at the badge, moving it in his 
fingers so that it would catch the light.  

"It must have been cool.  Wearing this, I mean."

She smiled.  "Definitely told everyone you were a 
'G-Man'," she agreed.

"Oh, unlike having F B I stamped in 10 inch letters 
in yellow across your back," he snorted.  "No, this 
was . . . it was just cool."

His faraway look was starting to concern her.  She 
reached over and took the badge from him, putting 
it in her pocket.  "Well, I guess it will go in some 
museum now.  It's a shame we can't give it to his 
wife."

"Chaney wasn't married.  Ledbetter was single, too.  
Back in those days, they really preferred the agents 
in the field be single," Mulder said thoughtfully.

"Makes sense.  It isn't a job conducive to 
relationships," Scully said quietly.   They were 
silent for a moment and Scully grew uncomfortable.  
"Hey, you need to get some sleep before we wake 
you up again."  She forced a grin.

"I will if you will," he taunted.  At her rolled eyes, 
he persisted.  "C'mon, Scully.  It's late.  I'm lucid.  
And I have it on good authority that I'm boring 
when I'm asleep."

"Good authority, Mulder?"

"My college flatmates.  Apparently I never 
managed to react to any of the pranks they tried to 
pull on me when I slept.  I was a real killjoy."

That got the chuckle he was hoping for.  "Scully, 
go.  At least take a hot bath, get some food that's 
actually appetizing.  Come back and tell me all 
about it, I can live vicariously."

She seemed torn, but finally took the bait.  "OK, but 
I plan on being back in time for the next wake up 
call," she told him firmly.

He didn't think the Tylenol could do anything, but 
maybe it was just lying still with the lights off.  He 
could feel himself drifting off to sleep.  He heard a 
soft sigh and cracked his eyes open.

He was sitting on the mall.  The sun felt warm and 
bright and it didn't bother his eyes at all.  He turned 
his head and that same woman, the woman with the 
smile was sitting next to him.

"Missouri is so far away," she said, her mouth 
drooping into a feigned pout.  "You'll be gone 
weeks."

He wanted to reassure her, but he had no idea what 
to say.  He wasn't even sure how he managed to be 
on the Capitol Mall and when he'd left DC it had 
been the tail end of winter, not the summer heat and 
humidity he felt.

"Are you even listening to me?" she asked crossly.  
"You said you wanted to ask me something before 
you left.  Now what is it?"

He stumbled for an answer, but felt something 
pulling at his ear.  His eyes flew open and once 
again Scully was staring down at him with worry in 
her expression.

"Mulder, that is two for two.  If you continue to be 
this hard to wake up, it's another CT scan for you, 
mister.  The doctor is concerned that you may have 
a more serious injury than we first thought."

He started to shake his head, but remembered just in 
time not to do that.  "It was a dream, Scully.  I just 
couldn't shake off the dream," he tried to explain.  

She didn't look at all convinced.  "Mulder, what was 
the title of my senior thesis?"

"'Einstein's Twin Paradox:  A New Interpretation'.  
Want to know what you wrote at the bottom of page 
47?" he grumbled.

She raised an eyebrow but pretended to be 
unimpressed.  "No thanks.  So what was this dream 
about?  Or don't I want to know?"

Mulder brought his hand up to rub lightly at the 
uninjured side of his head.  "I . . . I can't really say.  
There was a woman . . ."

"Stop right there, I've heard enough," Scully quickly 
interrupted him.  

"No, it's not like that.  I mean, I don't know her.  
But she seemed to know me.  Everything was 
strange.  We were sitting on the Capitol Mall and 
she was trying to get me to ask her something."  
The more he talked about it, the more confused he 
felt.  And his head was really starting to hurt again.  
"Scully, got any more of that Tylenol hidden 
somewhere?"

Scully looked concerned but rang the nurse.  "You 
need to get some more rest.  The doctor will be in at 
9 to see if you can go home."

"I don't want to stay here another night, Scully.  
Can't you spring me?" he whined.

"Mulder, you have a concussion.  I don't want to 
take you on an airplane and have the additional 
pressure result in a complication," she said with a 
tired sigh.  "Let's talk to the doctor in a few hours.  
If he thinks you'd be all right to travel, I'll make the 
plane reservations."

Dullas International Airport
9:45 pm

Scully looked over at her partner with a worried 
expression.  His doctor had released him with the 
standard 'take it easy, see your own doctor back 
home' line and Mulder had rejoiced in being a free 
man.  That was fine, but things weren't quite so 
rosy.  They were able to book a flight that very 
afternoon and Mulder had jumped at the chance to 
sleep in his own home rather than spend an extra 
night in Missouri and Scully had reluctantly agreed.  

It had been a long and somewhat turbulent flight.  
Over Ohio they hit major thunderstorms and a 
couple of times even Scully had felt her stomach in 
her throat.  Mulder looked particularly green and 
she worried that the pressure might be too much for 
him.  When they broke above the storm cell, he'd 
fallen into a restless sleep for the remainder of the 
trip.  Now they were touching down almost 45 
minutes behind schedule.

"I want you to come to my apartment, Mulder," she 
said as they disembarked the plane.  He rolled his 
eyes at her and kept walking.  "I mean it.  I 
promised Dr. Wyatt that I would keep tabs on you."

"If I stay over, I'll expect breakfast in bed 
tomorrow," he said with a totally lecherous grin.

"I'm serious," Scully replied, arms folded.

He sighed and gingerly shook his head.  "Scully, if 
you want to help me, drop me off at my place.  I'm 
going straight to bed.  You can call me in the 
morning.  If I don't answer, you have my full 
permission to use the key I gave you and bust in on 
me in the shower."  He then smiled again.  "In fact, 
I insist," he added.

It was her turn to roll her eyes.  In the end, she 
relented and after dropping him at his place, she 
went home to her own apartment.

"That'll be one hundred fifteen dollars," the man 
said cheerfully.  Mulder felt himself pulling out his 
wallet, pulling out five crisp twenty dollar bills, a 
ten and five ones.  "If the lady needs the ring 
adjusted, we do that for free," the man added with a 
hopeful expression.

"I'm pretty sure it will fit," Mulder replied.  He 
started walking out the door, into the bright 
sunshine.  He was on M Street, not far from the 
Hoover, but it looked different.  Some of the newer 
buildings weren't there.  A few brown row houses 
stood in their place.  He finally noticed that all the 
cars looked antique, but in excellent condition.  
Even the parking meters looked odd.

Feeling off kilter, he made his way down the street.  
'I'm dreaming,' he thought.  'This is a dream.'  That 
thought gave him comfort until he stepped too close 
to the curb and a passing car splash water on his 
pants.  It was wet!  He couldn't remember feeling 
something like water when he was dreaming.

"Sam!  Hey, Sam.  Wait up!"  

Mulder kept walking until someone touched his 
shoulder.  "Sam, you gone deaf?  Didn't you hear 
me calling you?"

Mulder turned to the person addressing him and 
stared openly.  The face was familiar but he was 
having a hard time placing it.  The man didn't seem 
to notice Mulder's befuddled expression, he just 
pointed to the paper bag in Mulder's hand.  "So you 
went ahead and did it, huh?  You lucky SOB!"  The 
man clapped him on the shoulder again in 
merriment.

"Mulder!  Mulder, either wake up or I call the 
ambulance!"  The good-natured back-slapping had 
turned to full-shoulder shaking and Mulder felt his 
teeth rattling in his head.

"Scully, stop it, you're givin' me whiplash!" he 
gasped out as he grabbed her arms in an effort to get 
her to cease her actions.

She dropped her hands as if burned and sat down on 
the edge of the bed.  He realized guiltily that she 
was trembling.  "I couldn't wake you.  I called twice 
before I came over.  When I got here I fully 
expected to see you streak across the hall from your 
bathroom to your bedroom.  Instead I found you in 
here.  Mulder, I had to check your pulse to make 
sure you were still with me!"

"I'm sorry," he said and kicked himself for sounding 
so lame after giving his partner such a fright.  "I 
was having a dream."

"This isn't like you, Mulder.  You're normally a 
pretty light sleeper."

He shrugged and sat up, the room tilting on its axis 
a bit before he felt steady enough to get to his feet.  
"I think it's the concussion.  Aren't you supposed to 
have vivid dreams with a head injury?"

"Vivid dreams, yes.  Not semi-comas.  Mulder, I 
could not wake you.  I really think we should go by 
the ER, have them run a CT scan."

"I have an appointment with my doctor this 
afternoon, Scully.  And I feel fine now."

She didn't look appeased.

"OK, tell you what:  if I keel over at any point in the 
next 6 hours, you can haul my ass over to the 
nearest hospital and they can do whatever they want 
with me."

"Sure.  You say that now, and only because you'll 
be unconscious and unable to object anyway," she 
growled.

"Damn straight," he agreed readily.  "Now, did you 
happen to bring any breakfast with you on this 
rescue mission or do I have to go out and forage for 
myself?"

Much to Scully's chagrin, Mulder's doctor found no 
reason to keep him home after two day's rest.  He 
allowed Mulder to return to work, but only light 
duty in the office, no fieldwork for two weeks.  That 
was not much, by Scully's standards, but it was the 
best she was going to get.  When she mentioned the 
difficulty she'd had rousing her partner, the doctor 
said it wasn't uncommon, especially if the patient 
was finally getting some much-needed rest.  In 
other words, she was stonewalled.

She greeted him on Tuesday morning with a sour 
expression.  He knew she was angry that the doctor 
hadn't agreed with her dire assessment of his 
condition, but Mulder was overjoyed that he was 
back in their office.  He tried to make it up to her.

"I think I'll get started on the quarterly reports," he 
said, settling down in his chair.

She did a double take and frowned.  "They aren't 
due until the end of the month.  This is only the 
tenth, Mulder," she pointed out.

"I know, but by the end of the month we might be 
out of town on a case," Mulder replied, logging into 
his computer.  "This way they're out of the way and 
we don't have to spend all night in some dingy 
motel room trying to piece them together."

She chewed on that thought for a moment and 
finally grudgingly gave him a nod.  "OK.  At least 
that will keep you busy for a while.  AD Skinner 
asked me yesterday if I'd mind filling in for a 
pathologist out on medical leave.  I'll be working 
upstairs for the rest of the week."  She left the 'can I 
trust you to be good' unspoken, but it was very 
present in the look she turned on him.

"If you're just upstairs, let me know when you get 
lunch.  That new place on Pennsylvania just opened 
and I thought we could try it out.  It's Thai," he 
grinned at her.

She relaxed a bit more.  He was trying.  Well, 
Mulder was always 'trying', usually trying on her 
nerves, her mental wellbeing.  But it appeared he 
was actually 'trying' to be good and recuperate, as 
he should for once.  She felt duty bound to 
encourage and support his efforts.

"Sure, Mulder.  That place looked like a shelled out 
building before they remodeled it.  Let's do our part 
for urban renewal and patronize the place.  I'll call 
you about 12:30, OK?"

They met in the lobby and started to walk.  January 
still had the city in her cold grasp and the wind 
seemed to threat icy rain if not snow.  Scully 
wrapped her muffler tighter around her neck and 
nodded in approval when Mulder button the top 
button of his overcoat.  It was only a five-minute 
walk, but both agents were more than ready for the 
warm and spicy smelling air that greeted them when 
they opened the door of the new restaurant.

As usual, there was a wait, but they were promised 
it would be no more than 10 minutes.  Scully found 
them a place to stand out of the draft from the door.  
Although the restaurant's cuisine was Thai, the 
owners were obviously proud to be located in the 
nation's capital, or they were hoping to profit from 
the active tourist trade from the nearby landmarks.  
There were several framed photos of the streets of 
DC, some from the early part of the century.  Scully 
pointed a few out to Mulder, who turned and 
directed his attention to the pictures.

One photo was shot in the building during the 40s 
according to the caption.  It had been a nice 
restaurant, judging from the attire of the patrons.  
Mulder smiled at the ladies in their net veiled hats 
and the gentlemen, some sporting boutonnieres in 
their lapels.  As his eyes scanned the picture he 
heard a strange high-pitched buzzing in his ears.

"Your table is waiting, sir."  A maitre de smiled at 
him and extended his hand toward a vacant table.  
Mulder smiled in return and looked over his 
shoulder to see if Scully was listening.  Instead of 
Scully the woman from his dream smiled back at 
him.  

Mulder shook his head and slammed his eyes shut, 
then open.  His vision was blurry and he blinked 
several times to clear the film from his eyes.  When 
he could finally see clearly, Scully had hold of his 
arm and was steering him toward a chair near the 
wall.

"Mulder, track my finger," she said firmly.  She 
held her index finger up to his face, just inches from 
his nose.  He batted it away.

"Scully, what are you doing?"

"You zoned out on me, almost blacked out," she 
said, standing up straight and staring at him.  "I 
thought you were going to go down.  You're white 
as a ghost."

He shook his head.  At least the buzzing was gone, 
but now a killer headache had taken up residence 
behind his left eye -- just inches from the line of 
three stitches.  "I'm OK, really," he lied and tried to 
get up.

"Oh no you don't," she warned.  "You sit right there.  
I've called a cab."

"Thank god," he muttered.  When she shot him a 
frown he shrugged.  "At least it's not an 
ambulance."

Scully was not amused.  "I'm calling your doctor the 
minute we get to your apartment.  If he has the time 
to see you today, you're going."  From the set of her 
jaw he determined that resistance was futile.

Another trip to the doctor, this time with an 
accompanying CT scan, and once again Mulder was 
sent back to his apartment.  Nothing conclusive had 
come up in the test, but the doctor had noticed that 
the swelling from the concussion was not reducing 
to his satisfaction.  That was just enough of an 
excuse Scully needed to get Mulder benched.  He 
was home for the rest of the week.

The headache had clung to him all through the 
doctor's office, through the hospital for the scan and 
even all the way back home.  Scully insisted that 
she stick around and make him something to eat, 
since their lunch plans had been postponed 
indefinitely.  Finding only canned soup in his 
cupboards, she made up a can of chicken noodle, 
scrounged up an unopened sleeve of saltines and 
glared at him until he ate every bite.  She then 
ordered him to stretch out on the couch.  He was 
asleep in minutes and she snuck out the door.

He was walking through the halls of an old 
building.  He could smell varnish and pencil 
shavings, years of wax buildup shone on the floor.  
As he turned into an office he heard someone 
behind him call out a name.

"Sam!  Hey, Sam, wait up!"  

It was enough to cause him to turn around.  A man 
was hurrying toward him.  He recognized him after 
a moment.  It was one of the agents who had been 
killed by Harry Cokely.  Agent Tim Ledbetter, that 
was who was calling him.  He stopped and let 
Ledbetter catch up to him.

"Sam, did you get my message?" Ledbetter asked, 
pulling Mulder's sleeve and leading him further 
down the hallway.  "I'm almost positive this is 
another stranger killer.  I talked to the police captain 
in Gainsville last night."

"That's good," Mulder commented.  He wasn't 
really sure what was going on, but he decided to 
play along.

"We better get out there.  I got the OK for us to take 
a plane, can you believe it?  They want us out there 
quick.  This might be what we need, buddy.  This 
might be the one to finally validate our work!"  
Ledbetter's enthusiasm was hard to ignore.

"What time do we leave?" Mulder asked.

"Four-thirty.  You need to go home and pack."

"Sure," Mulder replied.  "Right after lunch."

Ledbetter shot him a grin.  "Just try to make it a 
'short' lunch this time," he said with a smirk.  "And 
remember what I told you.  Never buy the cow 
when you can get the milk for free."

The next minute, he was in a bed.  It wasn't a 
hospital bed, but it was a twin bed and he wasn't 
alone.  The woman, the woman with the smile was 
lying in his arms.  They were both naked and 
somehow he'd skipped over a few events.  She had 
her head on his chest and was looking up at him 
with a sated smile.  

"So, will you tell me the question you keep dancing 
around?"

He reached past her to the little nightstand next to 
the bed.  Fumbling in the top drawer for a moment, 
he extracted a small box and handed it to her.  
When she opened it, he was as surprised as she was 
to find a small but tasteful diamond ring.

"Oh!  Oh, gosh!  Oh, Sam!"  She sat up on her 
knees and he saw how small and beautiful she was.  
The smiles she'd given him before were nothing 
compared to the one she graced him with then.  
"Aren't you going to ask?" 

"Marry me?" he croaked out.  He took the ring out 
of the box and slid it on the ring finger of her left 
hand.  "Marry me, Helen."  It was a statement of 
fact the second time he said it.

She smiled at him, looked back at the ring and then 
threw her arms around his neck.  "Yes!  Yes, Sam 
Chaney, I will marry you!  The minute you get back 
from Missouri, we'll start planning.  Oh, Sam, I love 
you so much!"

Mulder woke up in a cold sweat, his tee shirt 
sticking to his chest.  He felt he was going to be 
sick, but after a moment the nausea subsided.  It 
was a dream.  It had to be a dream because the only 
Helen he knew of was his mother's aunt and she'd 
been dead before he was born.  He leaned over with 
his elbows on his knees and tried to will away the 
headache that had suddenly returned.

The phone rang and he grabbed for it.  "Mulder."

"It's me.  Glad to see you woke up this time.  I was 
about ready to come over."  Scully didn't sound any 
happier than she'd been the night before.  In fact, 
she sounded more worried.  

"I just woke up," he told her honestly.  

"How are you feeling?"

"I -- I have a headache.  I feel bad, Scully," he told 
her without elaboration.

"You haven't eaten this morning.  I'll bring over 
some breakfast.  You just rest.  No sneaking out for 
a run this morning, Mulder, do you hear me?"  She 
was using her 'Commando Scully' voice as he 
thought of it, which meant she was concerned about 
him.

He smiled through the pain in his forehead.  "Yes, 
Sister Mary Dana.  Oh, and no decaf.  The doc said 
nothing about restricting caffeine."

"But caffeine restricts the blood vessels, including 
the ones in your head, hot shot," she fired back.  "I'll 
bring orange juice and the bagels you like."

He was tired, but refused to go back to sleep.  He 
gingerly lay back on the pillow on the couch and 
tried to remember the dream.  These were new to 
his pantheon of nightmares.  One thing was certain; 
they seemed to have a common theme.  On a whim, 
he rolled off the couch and went to his bedroom, 
searching for and finding his suitcase.  In a pocket 
he found the badge that had been buried with 
Chaney's remains.  He brought it back into the 
living room and lay back on the couch.  

When he didn't answer her knock, Scully used her 
key.  As usual, Mulder's apartment was almost void 
of daylight, his blinds drawn against the sun, casting 
the room in an off yellow gloom.  He was lying on 
the sofa.  She frowned and called his name.  Finally, 
he looked up at her.

"Hi, Scully," he said and attempted to smile.  It 
didn't come close.  He slammed his eyes shut 
against the pain in his head.

"Mulder, have you taken anything for that?" she 
asked.

"Didn' wanta throw it up," he said with a groan.

"Can you eat a little something?  That might help."  
She placed the bakery bag on the coffee table and 
perched on the edge of the couch.  "Do you mind?" 
she asked, waiting for his permission to examine 
him.

"Go 'head," he said with a tired sigh.  "It just started 
when I woke up," he added.

She looking into his eyes, checked the stitches on 
his head, took his pulse and then sat back.  "I don't 
think it's that serious.  I think it's just the 
concussion."

"I've had concussions before, Scully.  I've never felt 
this bad after a few days rest."

"Maybe that's why this one is hitting you so hard, 
Mulder."  She got up fished the bottle of orange 
juice and a half pint carton of milk out of the bag, 
taking them to the kitchen.  "Every injury is 
different.  Maybe you didn't rest after the other 
concussions you've had and this time your body is 
calling you on it."

"You make it sound like my body is at war with 
me," he growled when she returned with the milk 
and a glass.

"If I were your body, I'd take out a restraining 
order," she said smugly and he had to give her 
points for that one.  "Here.  Try some of the milk 
and few bites of the bagel.  We'll see how works 
and then we'll try some Tylenol.  If you can't keep 
anything down -- "

"No threats, Scully, please.  I'm not doing this on 
purpose," he mumbled.  Her expression softened 
and she ran her fingers through his sleep-mussed 
hair.

"I know you aren't.  It just upsets me to see you in 
this much pain, Mulder.  I'm sorry if I appear to be 
bossing you around."  She sat next to him and 
watched as he sipped at the milk.  When he reached 
for the bag of bagels, something fell off his lap and 
bounced on the floor.  It came to rest near his desk.  

Scully went over to retrieve it.  "Mulder, how did 
this get in here?" she asked, holding up Chaney's 
shield. 

"I remembered it was in my suitcase.  We need to 
get that into Skinner.  They'll probably want it for 
the museum."

She nodded.  "Weren't thinking of swiping it, were 
you?" she teased.  "You did seem awfully 
impressed by it the other day."

"I think he had a girlfriend," Mulder said quietly.  

Scully looked at him.  "Chaney?  I didn't see that in 
the file," she said calmly.  

"I've been having . . . dreams, I guess.  I had a 
couple in the hospital."

She chewed on her lip.  "You mentioned a dream 
when we had trouble waking you."

He nodded slowly.  

"You've been dreaming about Chaney?  Mulder, 
that's not uncommon considering the case we were 
just on."

"Not dreaming about him so much, Scully.  I'm 
dreaming that I am him."

"When he was killed?"  She could imagine him 
having nightmares of the attack, only instead of BJ 
welding the weapon, it would be Cokely.

"No.  No, and that surprises me, too," he admitted.  
"No, I have dreams of Chaney before he went out to 
Missouri.  I'm dreaming about him back here, in 
DC."  He had her full, undivided attention.  He 
chewed on his lip a second and then continued.  "He 
was in love.  He'd asked the woman to marry him."

Scully frowned, that frown he recognized so well.  
"You got all that from a dream of the man?"

"Her name was Helen.  She loved him, Scully, 
really loved him.  He bought her a ring and gave it 
to her the day he and Ledbetter left.  Ledbetter was 
trying to talk him out of it, but Chaney went ahead 
and proposed.  She accepted.  She was so happy, 
Scully."

She sat there a moment before she spoke.  When 
she did say something, she dropped her gaze so she 
wasn't looking at his eyes.  "Are you sure you aren't 
. . . projecting a little here, Mulder.  Maybe you -- "

He shook his head, which was a mistake because 
the pain increased dramatically.  It just made him 
angrier.  "What, you're saying I want to get 
married?  Look around, Scully.  There aren't any 
girls named Helen in my life right now.  Unless one 
of my video lovelies is named Helen in real life!"

She regretted her words, more for their affect on 
him than for the truth behind them.  "Mulder, I'm 
just saying you dreamed an awful lot about the man.  
It was horrible, the way he died.  And it had to be 
lonely back then for men in our job.  Maybe you 
just 'wished' he had someone to care about him." 

"Scully, it all seemed so real," he said, the wind out 
of his sails.  He was very tired and his head was 
killing him.  "Can we try the Tylenol now, please," 
he asked stiffly.

She nodded and hurried into the kitchen again, 
returning with a glass of water and two white 
capsules.  He plucked them out of her hand, 
swallowed them with a sip of the water and handed 
the glass back to her.  He melted back into the 
couch cushions.  

After disposing of the glass in the sink, she came 
back and sat on the coffee table.  She ran her hand 
through his hair once more.  "Mulder, I need to get 
to the office for a few hours.  But I'm coming back 
at lunchtime.  If your headache isn't any better, 
maybe we should call the doctor again."

"Whatever," he mumbled and turned so that he was 
facing the back of the sofa, effectively cutting her 
off.

She reached out to touch his shoulder, but stopped a 
few inches before contact.  "I'll see you later.  Call 
if you need me?"

He grunted and she hoped it was in the affirmative.  
She checked her watch and headed out the door.

end of part one