Finding Her (2/2) by Vickie Moseley vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com He slept for the rest of the morning. When Scully came back at lunchtime, he knew she was seeking forgiveness. "Italian beef and fries from Tony's? Scully, that's all the way out in Northeast," he mumbled happily around a mouth full of sub roll and meat, juices trickling down his chin. She grinned and gingerly took a bite of her roast chicken on whole wheat. "It's not that far out of the way, Mulder. And you were saying the other day that we haven't been by there for a while. 'Jonesin' for some Tony's' I believe you put it." He finished the whole sandwich and left only enough fries for her to steal while he was getting himself another glass of iced tea. She knew she was forgiven. "So, how's the headache?" she asked when he returned to find the fry wrapper empty. He grinned at her as she gave him an innocent look. "The headache is much better." "No more dreams of Sam Chaney?" He thought for a moment. "No. No dreams that I can remember. I feel a lot better." "Which means that you're doing exactly what you should be doing -- resting," she chided. "I could come in for just a couple of -- " "Mulder, I really think you should just take it easy. I know it's a pain to be cooped up, but you were really feeling lousy this morning. Don't tempt a relapse. Stay home today and tomorrow and we'll see how it goes from there." He started to object when he realized she was offering to let him back one day earlier than his doctor had suggested. "OK. I'll stay home from school again, Mom," he teased. "But if the coach benches me for missing practice, it's on your head." "I'll take my chances," she said with a grin. "Now, I have to get back to work. I'll come by later. If you're good, I'll bring Thai." "From the place on Penn?" "None other. They're open for dinner and carryout. I'll even get sticky rice." "Sounds like a plan. Thanks, Scully. Thanks for looking out for me, even if it's counter to what I think." She shook her head and smirked. "Just stay put and get some more rest. Read a book, watch some of those videos you don't own, just take it easy. OK?" "I promise." He watched some television, flipped through a couple of magazines and was still bored out of his skull by 2:30. He briefly wondered if dying of boredom was a worse fate than dying of intracranial bleeding. He decided it wasn't, but he'd made a promise to Scully. He was trying to keep more of his promises to her, especially since she'd been returned to him. It wasn't much, but it was the least he could do. His body was resting but his mind wouldn't shut off. He thought back on what he knew. Sam Chaney and Tim Ledbetter had been agents in the DC bureau back in 1942. There might still be some records on them. He grabbed his cordless phone off the desk and dialed a number he knew by heart. "Danny? Mulder. Yeah, I'm at home 'resting'. Hey, Skinner wants me to write up something on Sam Chaney, the agent who was killed investigating a serial murderer/rapist back in 1942. Scully and I found the remains. Yeah, Sam Chaney, with an 'a' then an 'e y'. Just fax it over to my apartment. You know the number, right? Great, thanks!" By the time Scully arrived with dinner, he'd put in three more calls for information and was in debt to Danny for four box seats at the Orioles home opener, but it was worth it. He had every scrap of information on both Sam Chaney and Tim Ledbetter, which was a sizable amount. "Mulder, when I said you should rest -- " "I never left the couch, Scully. Well, except to refill the paper tray on my fax," Mulder looked up from the papers spread across his coffee table. "Did you know that Chaney was a lawyer? And Ledbetter had been a deputy sheriff in Baltimore before joining the Bureau." "You don't say," she muttered absently. "Mulder, where do you want to eat?" She held up the bags of dripping take out. "Oh, yeah, sorry," he replied and hastily grabbed his mail and several days newspapers off the kitchen table. "I'll get some plates." "No, you sit. I'll get the plates," she told him. After setting the table, she filled their glasses with iced tea and started removing food containers from the bags. A folded sheet of paper scuttled across the table to land on Mulder's lap. "What's this?" he asked, holding it up for inspection. "Their menu. They deliver, but not outside of the District. Still, some night when we're working out of my place -- " She stopped talking when she realized Mulder wasn't listening. He'd stood and was walking the menu over to his desk, where he rifled through a drawer and was examining the menu with a magnifying glass. "Mulder? What is it?" "Does this look like Sam Chaney in this picture?" he asked, walking the menu and the magnifier back to her. "Mulder," she said, not looking at the picture. "You have to stop with this obsession!" "Scully, would you just look?" he asked through gritted teeth. She took the menu and the glass, looking at the picture. It was the same picture she'd seen framed on the wall of the restaurant. After a moment she handed the menu and the glass back to Mulder. "Yes, that does look like him. But Mulder, the guy in the back row is a dead ringer for my Uncle Buddy and I can swear to you that he was in the South Pacific in 1942!" "That woman, Scully. The one next to Chaney? That's her. That's Helen!" "Mulder," she said, her voice low. "Put that away and come eat." He didn't move for a moment and she continued to glare at him. "You sound just like my mother," he groused as he walked back to the kitchen. "Leave your mother out of this. Now eat. We'll look at pictures after dinner." He ate all his Pad Thai and more than his share of the sticky rice, but that satisfied Scully, so she agreed to take a look at all the files he'd amassed over the afternoon. Mulder kept looking at the picture as she read through the pages of the impromptu report he'd compiled. "Mulder, did it occur to you that you're just seeing Chaney in that picture because we were just there so soon after the case?" she asked as sat glued to the grainy photo on the front of the menu. He looked over at her, exasperation evident. "Scully, this is the woman in my dream." "And I know that sometimes the mind can make leaps and see correlations that aren't really there," she countered. "Like an optical allusion? Scully, I've been having these dreams since BJ tried to open my skull with that fire extinguisher. I've seen this woman in almost every one of those dreams." "Well, looking at the picture isn't going to tell us who she is, Mulder." "She loved him. God, how awful that must have been. They didn't find a body, she might not have known anything was amiss for weeks because travel was a lot harder before Ike and the interstate system. She was waiting for him for who knows how long," Mulder mused, pulling on his lip. "Mulder," Scully said, stopping his hand. "Maybe you're relating a little here," she said softly. His eyes flashed, he bolted out of the chair, was halfway down the hallway before he turned around and spoke. "I hope to God you never have to wait for someone, Scully. I hope you never wonder, for years, what might have happened to them." She sat in the near darkness of his living room. She knew he needed to calm down, but she also knew she'd drawn blood. It had been unintentional, but that didn't really matter. She'd still caused him pain. When he came back into the room he sat on the chair across from her, his expression masked. "Mulder, I'm sorry. I - I just think you're getting in awfully deep here. You're still recovering from a serious blow to the head. I don't want you to get hurt." He drew in a deep breath and nodded. "I know, Scully. But I also feel that if I can find this woman, let her know what happened, maybe I can give her some peace. I would hope that someone would do the same for me, if it ever comes to that." Scully nodded slowly. She picked up the pages and started to read through them. She looked up suddenly when she something crossed her mind. "Mulder, tell me your dreams. Can you remember them?" He tilted his head. "I think so. The first one I was sitting in the bull pen, but it wasn't the one on 6th floor. I think it was in the old FBI Building. And this woman came up to me and said 'Hi, handsome'." "She came up to you in the bull pen? Mulder, maybe she worked with Chaney. Maybe she was someone in the building at the time." A slow smile grew across his face. "Scully, you're brilliant! She was probably a secretary or something. We just need a list of all the female employees who might have worked around Chaney and Ledbetter in 1942." "And then figure out where they are today. Mulder, this is still no small task and you are far from 100 percent. I'll go along with this trip, Don Quixote, but you let me do the legwork." "When we find her, Scully, I'd like to be there to tell her." "If we find her, Mulder, I will make sure you are." The next day 11:30 am Mulder had fallen asleep not long after Scully had left the night before and slept until 9. It was a record for him, but now he was bored and restless. Scully had threatened all sorts of torture if he attempted to go running, and he'd caught up on his mail and paid his bills. He'd even run through the 124 cable networks, until he realized he was watching the Home Shoppers Channel and he turned off the TV in disgust. Now, he was bouncing his basketball and planning an escape route so that his neighbor near the front door couldn't tell Scully he'd gone out. The knock on the door startled him, but he was overjoyed at the diversion. He answered it and Scully pushed past him, more food bags in her hands. "You know, I do have food here," he said with a wry grin. "You don't have to bring provisions every time you come over." "I've seen your refrigerator, Mulder. I wouldn't put petri dishes in that thing. Besides, it was on the way." She pulled out two large deli sandwiches, a bag of chips for him, side salad for her and two cans of soda. "So, what did you dig up this morning?" he asked as he sat down and picked up his sandwich. He smiled at her choice for him, roast beef with mustard, just the way he liked it. "Well, I didn't have much time, I had an autopsy consult. But I was able to come up with a list of all the clerical staff from 1942. It was in the Annual Report to Congress, in an appendix." She handed him the copies she'd made of several pages of the report. He ran his eyes over the list and grimaced. "I never realized Helen was such a popular name in the 40's," he said with a tired sigh. "There must be sixty Helen's on this list." "Well, I have two Aunt Helens, one on each side of the family," Scully said with a shrug. "So, anyway, we have someplace to start." "Maybe we can narrow it down a little. Is there anything approximating an org chart in that report you found?" "Organizational charts weren't big until the 60s, Mulder. Before then it was king bee and worker bees," she replied around bites of salad. At his disappointed expression, she relented. "I'll see what I can dig up tomorrow. I'll go down to the stacks and see if there is anything related directly to clerical or support staff. But it comes at a price," she said, staring at him. He sighed. "Stay home, rest, be a good little invalid," he chanted. "I never called you an invalid, Mulder. But you are on medical leave and that means you're supposed to be resting and getting better." "I haven't had a headache since yesterday. I feel a lot better, Scully." "Good, that means you're _almost_ there!" she said happily. "It's like when I was little and we got to Communion during Mass. I always wanted to leave right then, when everyone was walking up to the altar. But we still had the closing and the recessional song." "Are you telling me I have to wait for the fat lady to sing?" he asked derisively. "One more song, Mulder. Then you get out in the sunshine. Just stay home taking it easy until Monday, which is only three more days, and I'll personally vouch for you to the doctor." "All that for looking up old support staff records? You drive a hard bargain, Scully." "Take it or leave it," she said with a smug grin. "One more song, Scully. I'll take your offer. But it better be a quick song!" Friday 9:15 am Scully had hung around, watching old horror movies with him until eleven. He was surprised that he'd actually fallen asleep after she left and was disappointed when he woke up without remembering any of his dreams. It had become a promise, somewhere along the line. It went beyond the pain of losing someone and never knowing what really happened. He thought about Scully and his mother. If anything ever happened to him, he would want the people left behind to have some closure. He was sure Sam Chaney felt the same way. It was a whim that made him grab his car keys and head downtown. The restaurant opened at 11, but the manager was there, cleaning up and preparing for the day. One flash of the badge and Mulder was in the door, standing in the lobby where he'd first seen the picture. "Do you mind if I take a look at this?" The owner shook his head. The man was trying so hard to be helpful. "Take it out of the frame, if you like," he offered. The frame was nice, but discount store variety. The back slid out and Mulder was able to take the photo out easily. "There are others, we found a whole drawer full of them. Would you like to see?" Mulder was studying the back of the photo. In small, cursive writing some previous owner had listed the names of the people in the photo. He found T. Ledbetter and S. Chaney and next to that was the name H. Miller. Helen Miller. It was enough to keep the search going. "No, thank you, I found what I needed," Mulder assured the anxious little man. He put the photo back in the frame and handed it to the owner. "You've been a tremendous help. Oh, and your Pad Thai is excellent." The little man beamed from ear to ear. "Thank you. Come back, any time!" Now he had a name, but that was all he had. Back at his car, he pulled out the sheets of clerical names Scully had found at the Bureau. There was a Helen Miller listed. He knew where she was in 1942. The real question was where she was in 1995. She had looked young in the picture, but he knew from experience that all women worked hard at not looking their age. She could have been twenty something to thirty something. That would put her anywhere from 73 years old to 83 or even long passed. At the realization that he was very likely tracking down a woman in her grave, the wind went out of his sails. He was tired and the point behind his left eye was starting to throb again. What was he doing? Chasing after a woman on the basis of a couple of nightmares? By the time he got to his apartment, he was exhausted and his head felt ready to explode. Not to mention a very angry Agent Scully greeted him. "Where were you?" she demanded the minute he entered his apartment. On closeer appraisal, she softened her tone and helped him to his couch. "Mulder, lie down. I'll get the Tylenol." He hurt so bad he couldn't keep his eyes open. He could hear her in the kitchen and then he felt her touch his arm when she returned with water and the pills. He rolled forward just enough to take the medicine without spilling the water and then slumped back again. She sat on the edge of the coffee table and waited, giving him a couple of minutes for the pills to kick in. "I went back to the restaurant," he said quietly, in deference to his pounding skull. "You forgot your cell phone," she interjected. He cracked open one eye. "I guess so. Sorry." She didn't reply, just took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever he was going to tell her. "The woman's name is Helen Miller. The picture had the names listed on the back. The list you found has a Helen Miller listed as a secretary at the Bureau in 1942." "Good work," she replied. "If it was worth this headache." "Why do I still have a headache?" he asked, rubbing his temple. "I've been sleeping, I've been resting -- " "You've been working on this dream of yours as if it's a case, Mulder," she chided. "Not to mention how busy we've been lately. Plus, I think . . . maybe you aren't fully recovered from . . ." The pills were working enough for him to shift and look at her with both eyes. "Recovered from what?" he demanded. She bit her lip, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. "Mom said something the other day. She said while I was gone you didn't take very good care of yourself." Scully dropped her eyes to the floor, not wanting to argue her mother's statement, or reveal that her mother had been very worried about her partner during her disappearance. "I didn't sleep much," he admitted. He wasn't comfortable talking about it either, so he slowly sat up and leaned his head back against the top of the couch. "I'm just getting old," he said finally. "Yeah, that's it," she replied with a wicked grin. "Look, we have a name, we know she was a Bureau employee. It shouldn't be too hard to track her down. Let me see what I can find this afternoon. As for you -- " He held up his hand. "Look, Scully if you want me to do anything other than lay on this couch and watch Aussie Rules football, I'm sorry, I just don't think I'm up to it," he said with a smirk. He'd beaten her to the punch and he knew it. She shook her head and started for the door. "Mulder," she said in a warning voice. "Shh, Scully. I'm watching the game," he told her as he clicked up the volume on the television set where men wearing very short shorts were throwing a bloated football across the field. If she stopped to watch with him for a few minutes, she'd never get to the office. "See you later," she said with a smile. His response was just an absent-minded wave of his hand. The wind was tremendous and he looked around, trying to figure out where he was. An airport. An old airport. He glanced over at the terminal building and saw the word 'National'. He was standing on the tarmac, just yards from an vintage DC-3 emblazoned with the words 'TransWorld Airlines'. "Send me a telegram when you get there, so I know you're OK." It was Helen. He turned and looked down into her green eyes. "I promise," he told her. "C'mon, this baby won't wait forever," Ledbetter chided as he headed off for the stairs leading up to the door of the plane. "I have to go," he said softly as she wrapped her arms around him. "I'll miss you," she said tearfully. "I'll miss you, too. I-I love you," he said and gently pulled her arms from his waist. "I love you," she shouted after him. He waved one last time and ducked his head so the wind from the propellers wouldn't knock off his hat. When he got to the top step, just before he entered the body of the plane, he turned and looked back. It was Scully standing on the tarmac, waving at him and blowing him a kiss. He awoke with a start and sat straight up. It took a few minutes to get his breathing under control. Damn these dreams! Wasn't it enough that he had weekly nightmares about his sister and Scully's abductions? Now he had to endure someone else's nightmares, too? He looked around the apartment and sighed. He needed to get his mind off these dreams. Scully was right, he was obsessing about this woman. But he knew something Scully didn't know. The only way he could get his mind off the hunt was to get his body moving. It wasn't like the stupid headaches were going away, anyway. Nothing strenuous. A run? Nah, when he was tied up in mental knots he had a tendency to overdo on the track. Not a good option. His survey of his living room produced nothing to his liking until his eyes fell upon the round object hidden under the corner of his desk. Basketball. It was technically a non-contact sport. There was always a game going on down at the corner. He suspected that if he was ever to leave the FBI and become a truant officer he'd have a field day at that park, but that day wasn't coming soon. He rolled off the couch and picked up the ball, grabbed his keys and headed out the door. Hegal Place was all apartment buildings, built in the late 30s. In some stroke of civic wisdom, the city fathers had erected a small park in the forest of brownstone and mortar. One side had playground equipment and a few patches of grass, the other side had a basketball court enclosed in hurricane fencing. As Mulder predicted, there was a pick up game going on. "Hey, look, it's the old guy," one of the participants, a tall handsome latino young man called out. "He don' like it when you call him 'old', Julio," replied an equally tall dark skinned youth with a winning smile. "What's that word again, Mr. M?" "Vintage, Keyon. I'm 'vintage'." "Yeah, right," smirked another youth. "Like my old man's '78 Harley. 'Course, it don't got no engine," he added with a snort. "I can see you managed to miss English class again, Kevin, my man," Mulder said with a grin and put his ball down against the fence. "Who's up for a game? Two on two, I'll take Keyon." It was warm in the sunshine, even though the temperature was hovering near 40 degrees. Mulder soon removed his sweatshit, revealing his tee-shirt, which was quickly soaked in perspiration. The three boys were only half his age and in very good shape. They were definitely not of the couch potato generation, he mused as Julio made a perfect three pointer from mid court. "We're down by four, Mr. M. Let's see some hustle," Keyon yelled to his teammate as he started to dribble down the court, fending off Kevin's attempts to get the ball. Mulder loped down to the key, waving his arms to signal he was ready. Keyon feinted, dribbled and then let the ball sail, just as Julio plowed into Mulder, knocking him to the ground. "Foul! Julio, you dumb asshole! You fouled him!" Kevin yelled, putting his arms on his hips. It was Keyon who noticed the older man didn't seem to be moving to get up. "Kev, Julio, help me get him up," Keyon shouted as he trotted over to the agent lying on the ground. "No, wait, I remember this from health class. Don't move him, it coulda broke his back!" Kevin said urgently, throwing his arm out to stop Keyon. "Julio knocked him down, he didn't get hit by a car! Oh damn it --" Keyon said as he fell down to his knees next to his teammate. "He hit his head on the cement. Shit, he's bleeding!" "Oh, damn, I killed him," Julio cried out. "My mom is gonna shit a brick!" "Calm down, he ain't dead," Kevin assured his friend. "He's breathin'. See?" Keyon was chewing on his lip. "He don't look like he's breathin' too good," he said in quick assessment. "Did he bring his cell phone?" Quickly, he checked Mulder's pockets. "Check over where he tossed his jacket." Julio was happy to be doing anything productive. He checked the jacket and the sweatshirt. "Keys, but no phone. Now what do we do?" "My grandma's home. I'll go get her. Wait here," he said, but it was obvious no one was moving from their spots. Mulder had to be dreaming. The room was dark, but it wasn't his living room. There were lace curtains on the window and lace trim on the cloth covering the table by the chair. He was lying down and his head felt ready to split in two. And when he looked up at the wall, a framed picture of Helen Miller was staring back at him. "You're awake! Here, I have ice for your head." A woman's voice sounded behind him and he turned, but it caused his vision to blur and then double, so he lay back down and slammed his eyes shut. He felt something cold and wet pressed against his forehead, causing his stomach to churn. He opened one eye to a slit and tried to focus. Helen Miller looked down at him again, but she looked different, older. Much older. Scully's gonna be so pissed, he thought and let a groan slip between his lips. "I've called for an ambulance. The boys were so frightened, you didn't wake up even after they carried you in here." He tried to sit up but she forced him back to the cushions. "No, I think you need to stay still. The paramedics will be here soon." Mulder wanted to thank her, but was too busy passing out again. Georgetown University Medical Center Saturday 8:45 pm He recognized the smells, bleach and rubbing alcohol. Then he recognized the sounds, rubber soled shoes on tile, soft chimes and a public address system on mute. All that was missing was . . . He opened his eyes as far as he could, which turned out to be half-mast, and there she was -- Scully -- sitting by his bed reading his chart. "Quit playing possum, Mulder. I could tell you were awake from the spikes in your EEG," she said with her eyes never leaving the chart, her mouth twisted into a scowl. He licked his lips and blinked his eyes open a little farther. She was still blurry but when she finally looked up at him he couldn't miss the fire in her eyes. "Basketball, Mulder? That's your idea of resting? Playing basketball with a bunch of teenagers?" He closed his eyes. He knew he should just accept his punishment, but he was so thirsty. "Water?" he croaked. She looked like she wanted to pour the water on his head, but thought better of it. She filled a styrofoam cup, added a straw and brought it to his lips. He drank greedily and then let his head drop back to the pillow. "I'm sorry. I was just -- " "You were just damn lucky, Mulder! You could have done permanent damage to your brain. Thank god you have such a thick skull!" "I guess I deserve that," he mumbled and tried to sink further into the bed, to avoid her shouting. "What I can't believe is how you can do something so stupid and yet stumble onto exactly what you were looking for. How do you do that, Mulder? I really want to know how you manage to do that." He perked up a bit and looked over at her. "Did I miss something?" Scully leaned down and rifled through her briefcase. Sitting back up, she opened a file folder. "While you were trying to commit suicide through athletics, I was working on that name you gave me. I came up with up with something very interesting. Helen Miller worked for the Bureau as a typist in the Violent Crimes Division from 1939 until her retirement in 1979." "She worked there 40 years," Mulder said with a low whistle. "Save for one year, 1943. She didn't take a leave of absence; they didn't have that in those days. She quit and was rehired one year later." He chewed on his lip, confusion obvious on his face. "She had a child, Mulder. A baby boy. She lived with her parents and they helped her raise her son." He closed his eyes. It was Chaney's child, he was sure of it. What Helen must have gone through during that time? "Anyway, when her parents died, she moved to a small two bedroom apartment in Arlington. On Hegal Place." Scully sat back with a smug expression, waiting for Mulder to piece together the puzzle she'd laid out. "That picture on the wall . . . I woke up for a moment and I thought it was another dream . . ." "You played basketball with Helen's grandson, Mulder. Kevin Miller." "I never knew the kids last names, Scully," he whispered in awe. She looked dubious, but didn't question him on it. "Well, Ms. Miller saved your life. She called for an ambulance after the boys carried you off the playground. You hit your head hard enough to cause a small intracranial bleed, Mulder. You could have died if help hadn't reached you so soon." He started to sit up in bed and the pain and Scully's hand pushed him back against the pillows. "Does she know, Scully? Did you tell her?" Scully smiled affectionately at him. "It's your story to tell, Mulder. Kevin was concerned about you, as was his grandmother. I told them that you would need to rest today, but that they could come up and visit you tomorrow. Visiting hours are from 1 to 4. I expect them to come up as soon as you finish lunch." He breathed deeply, feeling relaxed for the first time since they'd returned from Aubrey. "I need a favor, Scully," he started. "If you want me to go past you apartment and bring up Sam's badge, I'm a step ahead of you. I talked to Skinner. He said it would be better for Helen to have it, maybe give it to her son. The Bureau has plenty of old badges in the museum." "Thanks, Scully. I owe you," he said with a contented sigh. "Good. I'll collect right now. You do me a favor and go back to sleep. And this time when they release you, Mulder, you are staying at my apartment until you are back on your feet, no argument. Agreed?" "Until you get tired of me and kick me out," he said with a grin. "I have a habit of making life miserable." "Oh, believe me, I can make your life just as miserable as you can make mine," she assured him, but the twinkle in her eyes softened the blow of her words. Georgetown University Medical Center Sunday 1:15 pm Helen Miller's gray green eyes filled with tears as Mulder placed the gold shield in her hand, closing her fingers over it. "He wanted you to have it," he said softly. "I was 18 years old when I got the job at the FBI, Agent Mulder. All the young agents were always asking the secretaries out, but it was frowned on back on those days. The only one I couldn't refuse was Sam. We'd been seeing each other a year when he proposed and then he went to Missouri on that awful case. I waited. I waited and prayed that he would turn up. They told me he was probably dead, but there were times I hoped that he'd just gotten cold feet and run off with another woman . . ." "He loved you too much for that," Mulder said quietly, but with conviction. "I think that's why he came to me. He couldn't let you think that." "After all these years, to know for certain. It's a relief, but it hurts to know that he died out there, all alone," she said and the sob she was holding finally broke free. "He was the only man I ever loved." "I'm so sorry for your loss," Mulder said in measured tones. "But I think . . . I think he's at peace now. I think he feels like he's finally come home." Helen looked into Mulder's eyes and smiled. "He came to you in your dreams?" she asked. Mulder nodded, unsure of what to say. Helen got a far away look to her eyes. "I used to dream about him. Every night for years and years." She looked down at the shield in her hand. "I think I'll probably dream about him tonight." Scully's apartment A week later Mulder woke up and looked around. It wasn't his apartment. Beige colored walls, beige colored curtains on the windows, beige carpeting. Oh, yeah, he was at Scully's, in her guest room. He rolled over and tried to remember his dream. Nothing about it came to him. "Hey, it's almost noon. Ready for some lunch?" Scully asked from the doorway. He blinked at her. She was wearing casual clothes, jeans and a sweater. Was it the weekend? Time really did fly when you had a head injury, he mused. "Yeah," he said, his voice raspy from sleep. "I am kinda hungry." "I made sub sandwiches and iced tea. You go wash up and we can eat in the dining room. I have a surprise for you." He met her in the dining room and immediately noticed the pie sitting on the table. "Is that the surprise -- sweet potato pie?" he asked, breaking into a grin. "Actually, I think it's pumpkin but don't hold me to that. I didn't make it," Scully replied as she filled two glasses with tea. "Kevin Miller dropped it by a little while ago. It's a 'thank you' present from Helen." "That was nice of her but she didn't have to do that," he said, settling in his seat and sipping at his tea. "Sandwiches look good, Scully." "Thanks. It's an art, tossing meat and sliced tomatoes on hoagie rolls," she said with a smirk. When he didn't come back with a smart remark she looked over at him. "Mulder, are you all right? Do you have another headache?" He looked up quickly and shook his head. "No, I was just thinking." "About Samantha," she asked quietly. He shook his head slowly. "No, really. About you. When you were . . ." Even after two months time, he couldn't say the words. "I was remembering the time when you were gone . . . Meeting Helen, knowing a little of what she went through, it just makes me think. It could have been so much worse." He couldn't meet her eyes, just stared at his empty plate. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "But I'm back, Mulder. We have to go forward." He looked at their hands, entwined on the table, and up at her face, smiling at him. "Yeah. We have to go on." the end.