From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 3 Sep 2003 00:15:55 -0000
Subject: Rev:  One More Drive (1/1) PG by Vickie Moseley
Source: direct

Reply To: vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com


Title:  One More Drive
Author:  Vickie Moseley  
Summary:  Post ep for Drive with a minor twist.
Written for After The Fact Challenge for Drive
Category:  MT SA UST
Rating:  PG13
Disclaimer:  Not a bad story, Chris.  Great visuals.  
Not the ending I wanted.  I fixed it for you, free of 
charge.  You can mail me the thank you.
Author's Notes:  I love this episode!  I love seeing 
Hal as a construction worker.  His wife's name was 
Vickie!!  What was not to love?  OK, there could 
have been a little more MT.  So this is what I did.  
Thanks to Mary, for getting this in the line up, and 
to Deb and Mary for beta (and Ten, I'm pretty sure) 
and any one else who got a glimpse of it before 
now.
Notes on the Revised version:  Ten decided she wanted 
more and so I gave it to her in an epilogue.  Kersh 
makes another brief appearance.  
Comments to vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

One More Drive
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com


Dana Scully absently tucked her hair behind her ear 
to keep it from blowing in her face.  Just off on the 
cliff, she heard the first siren.  Soon, two police 
motorcycles, followed by a beat up brown stationwagon 
and two more motorcycles rounded the curve and headed 
toward the official, and literal end of the road.  
Highway 36 ended on a jetty, looking out over the 
rocks that lined the California coast.  It was a 
beautiful day, but she hardly noticed.

She could feel the paramedics behind her, chomping at 
the bit, as she was, to get this show on the road.  
She gripped the large bore needle and syringe tight 
in her fist, mentally replaying the exact procedure 
as it has been outlined by the ENT specialist at the 
hospital in Nevada.  She knew exactly how to insert 
the needle, she wasn't afraid she'd miss.  She was 
less sure she could perform the delicate procedure on 
a man who was obviously deranged and more than likely 
near psychotic with pain.  She hoped the two 
paramedics and Mulder would be able to help restrain 
Mr. Crump.  Once they had the eardrum punctured, 
sedating him would be the next course of treatment, 
but it all had to be timed just perfectly.  No false 
steps, no second chances.

The car was moving toward her now, but it seemed to 
be slowing and swerving.  First one way, then another 
as if Mulder was moving through an obstacle course.  
Scully ran to the side of the road that gave her easy 
access to the driver's side and as she approached the 
car, her heart sank.

On the window was the distinct pattern spray of blood 
that could only mean they were too late.

She expected Mulder to stop the car.  She expected 
him to turn off the engine, get out, walk away.  None 
of those things were happening.  The car was slowing, 
yes, but it appeared to be because Mulder was no 
longer driving it.  He was slumped against the 
steering wheel.

Panic caught her square in the chest and she lunged 
at the car, yanking on the door.  Locked!  Thank 
heavens, the window was rolled down for she grabbed 
the doorlock and pulled with all her might and then 
jerked the door open.  She swung her foot around and 
stomped as hard as she could on the emergency brake.

When she looked up, the front of the car was a mere 
three feet from the cliffs above the raging ocean 
tide.

Trembling from relief and exertion, she touched her 
partner's shoulder.

"Mulder?  Mulder, you're safe."  He didn't moan, 
didn't make any response.  She put her arm around him 
and pushed him back against the seat.

It was then she saw the blood.

"Get over here, now!" she shouted to the paramedics 
and the two men trotted over to her, gurney in tow.  
She glanced at them over her shoulder, but quickly 
turned her attention back to Mulder.

"He's been shot," she explained and moved out of the 
way so the two young men could do their jobs.  She 
stepped back a few feet so she wouldn't be in the 
way, all the time listening to their assessment of 
Mulder's condition.

She startled when someone touched her shoulder.  It 
turned out to be one of the California Highway 
Patrol.  "Are you Agent Scully?"

"Yes, I am, and thank you for your help, Officer . . 
.?"

"Ramirez," the officer said nodding politely.  
"Ma'am, the perp?"

Scully sighed and looked into the backseat of the 
car.  She was certain of what she would find, but she 
was the only doctor on the scene.  Slowly she moved 
toward the car, being careful not to disturb the men 
working on her partner.  She pulled open the back 
door and grimaced at the sight.  Leaning forward, she 
checked Mr. Crump's pulse at his wrist and found 
none.  She checked again at his neck.  Finally, she 
straightened up and turned to the patrolman.

"He's dead.  We'll perform an autopsy, but judging 
from the blood in his ear and the pattern of blood on 
the window, he died from the same illness that killed 
his wife."

Ramirez's eyes grew large.  "He's sick?  And it did 
that?" he croaked, pointing to the blood still 
running down the glass of the door.

"It's not contagious," Scully assured him.  "At 
least, as far as we know."

"Agent Scully?" called one of the paramedics, Mike, 
if she remembered correctly.  She looked over and he 
was getting ready to close the door of the ambulance.  
"I called the ME, they're on their way.  We're ready 
to roll."

Scully bit her lip and walked over to Mike.  "How is 
he?" she asked, swallowing down her urge to pull open 
the door and see for herself.

"He's unconscious.  The bullet went straight through, 
he's lost a lot of blood but nothing to indicate a 
major organ or artery was damaged.  Still, we need to 
get him in."

"Yes, of course."  Scully looked back at Mr. Crump's 
body.  Her gut told her to go with Mulder.  Her 
training told her to stay with Crump until the 
Medical Examiner arrived.  It was tearing her apart, 
but Mike could see her struggle and made it a little 
easier for her. 

"We'll take really good care of him until you get to 
the hospital, Agent Scully.  And if you give me your 
cell phone number, I'll have the Doc at the ER give 
you a call."

She swallowed around the lump in her throat and 
rasped out her number, which Mike scribbled in his 
little notebook and tucked safely in his shirt 
pocket.  "He's hurt, but it could have been a lot 
worse," he added and then turned and got into the 
back of the ambulance.  

"Agent Scully?"  She felt pulled at both ends.  
Officer Ramirez was holding a gun between a latex 
covered thumb and forefinger.  "Is this your 
partner's?"

"No," Scully said with a shake of her head.  "It 
belonged to a police officer in Elko, Nevada.  It's 
what Crump used to hold my partner hostage and 
apparently was the gun he used to shoot him."

Ramirez nodded and carefully slipped the weapon into 
an evidence bag.  "Not that he's going to trial or 
anything, but it might come in handy when we try to 
sort out this mess," he said with a shrug.

Sorting out was the last thing on Scully's mind.  It 
was an hour before the Medical Examiner's wagon came 
down the road to collect the remains of Mr. Crump.  
Scully dutifully signed off on the certificate of 
death and then looked around for a possible ride.

Officer Ramirez held up his hand.  "If you can hang 
on a second, Agent Scully."

She really didn't want to talk to the man any 
further, her thoughts were on her partner.  The 
attending physician in the ER had called and told her 
the damage, which was thankfully minimal.  Mulder did 
require some surgery to close the wounds and he'd 
been given a transfusion to replace the lost blood 
volume.  At the rate things were going, he'd be ready 
to be released before she made it to the hospital.

"Agent Scully?"

She turned around and tried very hard not to grimace.  
"Yes, Officer," she said and hated the terse sound to 
her voice.

"I know it's not what you're probably used to, but we 
found an extra helmet.  If you hop on, I'll get you 
to the hospital in, oh, fifteen minutes?" he offered 
apologetically.

His thoughtfulness was almost her undoing.  Wiping at 
her hair in an attempt to clear her eyes, Scully 
nodded, not trusting herself to speak.  Ramirez 
handed her a helmet, which she pulled on, and led her 
to his motorcycle.

"Ever ride?" he asked

"In college.  My roommate's brother had a Harley."

"This baby is much smoother than a hog," he chuckled.  
"Just hang onto the handles there and don't fight me 
when I make my turns."

She nodded and got on behind him.

Mulder could hear noises, but he wasn't about to open 
his eyes.  He felt movement.  Oh God, he was still 
driving!  No, that couldn't be right.  He was lying 
down.  Was this one of those dreams where he thought 
he was falling from a great height only to 'land' 
with a jump on his own sofa?  Was he dreaming he was 
driving?  The only way to find out would be to open 
his eyes.  With great reluctance, he pried his left 
eye open.

A blur of dark blue and brown shifted in his field of 
vision.  Something moved close to his face and then 
away again.  He opened his right eye to a slit and 
tried to focus.

A young man, African American with some Asian 
heritage from the looks of him, smiled down at him.

"Agent Mulder.  You're doing fine.  We're almost to 
the hospital."

Mulder raised his head and looked around.  An IV was 
hanging from a hook on the wall beside him.  He could 
feel a mask covering his nose.  The young man was 
gently pushing him back against the mattress.

"Easy now.  We're almost there.  Just relax.  Enjoy 
the drive."

It was a casual comment, but it brought a thousand 
images thundering back to Mulder.  Drive.  An 
ambulance swerving to a stop so suddenly that he had 
to brake hard to keep from ramming it from behind.  A 
man with a gun, pointed at him.  Driving.  Always 
west, it had to be west.  "Running out of west."

"Crump!" Mulder shouted, but it just barely made it 
around the plastic mask and the hiss of the oxygen.

The paramedic looked confused for a moment, then the 
name registered.  "The guy who was holding you 
hostage?"

Mulder nodded, exhausted.  He let his head fall back 
to the pillow.

"He didn't make it.  He was dead before the car 
stopped."

Mulder wasn't expecting Crump's death to affect him 
so hard.  He'd realized they were on a fool's mission 
as they approached the coastline of California.  Not 
that he doubted Scully's sincerity or her desire to 
have a humane end to the tragedy that kept building 
on itself.  But the timing had to be perfect.  And 
the minute he heard Crump ask in that soft, polite 
voice 'Just a little faster, Mr. Mulder,' he knew 
that they would never make it in time.  The old 
station wagon was running full out at 90, there was 
no way he could squeeze an extra five mph out of it 
without getting out and pushing.

The gunshot was an accident, a reflex action in the 
death throes of Mr. Crump.  Mulder had felt the 
bullet hit him from behind and for a brief instant, 
he imagined that it would be nothing less than he 
deserved, to die for his failure to save the man.

Just one more in a long list of failures.

Suddenly too tired to even worry about where he was 
headed, Mulder let his eyes drop shut and hoped he 
wouldn't wake up again.

When the foot of the gurney hit the swinging double 
doors, he found that even his wishes weren't coming 
true.  He was alive, very much alive, and in a world 
of hurt.  There were people surrounding him, pulling 
at his clothes, talking over him like he was a side 
of prime beef.

"Mr. Mulder, can you hear me," one particularly 
unpleasant man shouted at him while shining a light 
in his eyes.

"Yeah," Mulder responded, holding back one grunt when 
he was jostled as they cut his belt off him.

"Do you know where you are?" the man continued.

"I got shot in the back, not hit in the head," Mulder 
growled.  He didn't miss one nurse turn her head and 
stifle a giggle.  "I'm in an emergency room.  They 
didn't tell me where."

"Well, you seem to be responding to your 
environment," Jerk Doctor sneered.  "We're going to 
be preparing you for surgery to close up this wound.  
Is there anyone we should contact?"

"My partner will be here later," Mulder sighed.  
"She's still at the scene."

"She'll know who to contact?" the nurse asked.

"She _is_ the person to contact," Mulder corrected, 
catching his breath when the pain reached a zenith.  
"Please, just put me out," he spit out through 
clenched teeth.

"Just a moment, then we'll be moving."  After that, 
their discussion obviously didn't include him and he 
felt himself start to zone out.  The only wish he 
made this time was that Scully would be there when he 
woke up.

Ramirez pulled up to the emergency room entrance and 
killed the motor.  He pushed up his visor and gave 
her a day brightening smile.  He was cute, but 
another guy occupied her thoughts.  She handed him 
the helmet she'd worn and gave him her thanks.  With 
a wink, he revved the motor and pulled out, leaving 
her in the driveway.  She sighed and headed toward 
the double sliding glass doors.

Inside the emergency room, chaos was everywhere.  
Babies were screaming, an old man was shouting 
obscenities at a blank television screen and two 
gangbangers were holding a third young man between 
them, blood dripping from a bandage on his leg that 
must have been made from someone's black tee shirt.  
All within four feet of the door.  She couldn't see 
farther into the waiting lounge, but from the din, 
she'd just seen the tip of the iceberg.  

Shaking her head, she wound her way toward the 
reception desk to the left of the door.  She had to 
stand in line, four people were ahead of her, all 
with various ailments and injuries and all demanding 
immediate attention.  After standing there for 20 
minutes, it was her turn at the front of the line.

The emotionally blank face that greeted her caused 
her to pause for only a heartbeat.  "I'm trying to 
find my partner, Agent Fox Mulder."  She pulled her 
ID wallet and displayed her credentials.  

The woman showed now outward sign of being impressed.   
"Spell the last name, please," she requested in a 
monotone.

"M-U-L-D-E-R.  He was brought in about two hours ago, 
a GSW to the back.  I spoke with a Doctor Martin just 
about an hour ago and was told he was being taken to 
surgery."

"Doctor Martin got off duty at 3," the woman was 
beginning to sound slightly annoyed.  "I'll check the 
OR schedule."  She typed a few keystrokes and the 
looked up.  "I show no Miller in OR."

Scully bit her lip and forced herself to calm down.  
"The name is Mulder, not Miller.  M-U-L-D-"

The woman held up her hand and frowned, then typed in 
a few more strokes.  This time she looked up and past 
Scully to the next patient.  "Sorry, I'm not finding 
him.  Next!"

Scully had one nerve left and it had just been 
stomped on.  She leaned over the counter and much to 
the surprise of the receptionist, grabbed the 
keyboard, turned the screen toward her and started 
typing.  Magically, a floor and a surgical unit 
number appeared on the screen.  She tossed the 
keyboard back on the desktop.  "M-u-l-D-e-r," she 
repeated and strode off before her fingers could 
reach for her gun.

She found the surgical unit and spoke briefly with 
the nurse in attendance at the desk.  At least this 
woman showed more dedication to her profession than 
the receptionist in the ER.  There had been a delay 
getting Mulder into surgery.  His surgeon had been 
tied up with an emergency appendectomy.  But all was 
proceeding now and the nurse assured her that someone 
would be out shortly with an update.

She scanned the waiting room.  It was cozy, almost 
too much like a suburban living room.  Couches and 
chairs and a matching ottoman.  A table and a 
breakfront with coffee and Styrofoam cups looking 
tempting from afar.  The television mounted near the 
ceiling was muted, but she could see the ticker at 
the bottom, detailing the last 24 hours of her life 
in the surrealistic tone of a 10 word soundbite.  FBI 
agent taken hostage on 18-hour drive to coast.  Film 
at 11.

She sighed and walked over to the coffee, poured 
herself a cup, put in two packets of real sugar 
simply because she thought it would piss off someone, 
anyone and sat down on the comfy sofa, facing away 
from the TV.  She'd no sooner put the cup to her lips 
when her cell phone chirped.

She thought seriously about not answering.  Who could 
it be?  Her mother, that was a possibility.  She 
could handle that, especially if her mother was 
watching CNN and already knew all the dots, just 
needed the connection.  Her mother would also want 
the reassurance that she was fine, that Mulder would 
be fine.  

On the other hand, as the phone continued to trill 
unattended in her pocket, if God was really pissed at 
her, it could be Kersh.

The phone stopped and she breathed a sigh of relief.  
She'd call her mother as soon as there was news on 
Mulder.  Otherwise, she really didn't feel like 
talking to anyone at the moment.  It was blissfully 
quiet in the waiting room and she closed her eyes, 
settling the cup on the armrest, but still in her 
grasp.  She knew she wouldn't fall asleep, she just 
needed to rest her eyes.

The cell phone started up again and she grimaced.  
This time, she would have sworn it sounded angry.  
She wearily put the cup down on the coffee table in 
front of her and pulled her phone out, answering it 
as she brought it to her ear.

"Scully."

"Is he dead?"

She bit her lip to hold back the smart retort.  As if 
you cared, you son of a bitch was the first thing 
that came to her mind.  But she was the more 
responsible of the partners and knew that would not 
solve anything.

"No, sir.  He's very much alive," she replied in a 
calm voice.

"Good.  I didn't want anyone to deprive me of the 
privilege of killing him myself.  Slowly, painfully."

"He's in surgery," she interjected, trying very hard 
to keep all emotion out of her voice.  Straining not 
to scream at the tops of her lungs.

"Yes, CNN has a full report of his injury in the line 
of duty.  Not that he was on a sanctioned FBI 
assignment, of course, since his direct superior has 
no recollection of ever giving him said assignment.  
But it's playing very nicely in the press right now.  
Do not, under any circumstance, think this is going 
to save him, Scully.  Or you, for that matter.  What 
the hell were you doing while Mulder was jacking cars 
across two states?"

"I was determining the nature of the illness that 
killed three people, sir.  Three people including the 
man who took Mulder hostage."

"I'm sure that will be interesting bedtime reading," 
Kersh replied dryly.  

Scully swallowed to keep from verbally taking his 
head off for his callous disregard of the seriousness 
of the situation.  "Is there anything else, sir?"

"How long until you have word on Mulder?" Kersh 
asked.  For a split second, Scully detected concern 
in his voice.  

"He's been in surgery a little over an hour.  I 
should hear something soon."

"I expect you back in this office at 9 sharp tomorrow 
morning.  He can find his own damned way back.  Nine 
tomorrow, Agent."  He hung up before she could voice 
her strong objection.

"Like hell I will," she said angrily to the plastic 
object in her hand.  "I fucking quit!"

"The family of Fox Mulder?"

Scully looked up, startled and glanced around the 
room.  She was the only person there, and it seemed a 
little odd that the nurse at the door was making such 
a formal announcement.  It wasn't the same nurse 
she'd spoken to earlier, so Scully shrugged and held 
up her hand.

The nurse, a pretty blond with a name tag that read 
Caroline, smiled brightly and came over to where 
Scully was now standing.

"Mr. Mulder has been moved to recovery.  The surgery 
went well.  The doctor will be by later to give you a 
rundown, but if you'd like to go back and sit with 
him for a while, I'll show the way."

It was like the first ray of sunshine after a storm.  
Scully smiled back at the young woman.  "Yes, I would 
like that," she said quietly and followed Caroline 
through the maze of hallways and double doors until 
she found herself in a recovery bay.

Her smile got brighter when she saw her partner.  
Unlike other times, this trauma, though real and 
terrifying, hadn't resulted in a 'skin of his teeth' 
brush with death.  The bullet must have missed major 
arteries and organs because he was breathing steadily 
without assistance and only glucose and antibiotics 
dripped into the IV in his left forearm.  An oxygen 
monitor was clipped to his left index finger, but the 
computer screen over his bed showed a hearty 99 
percent O2 level, which was better than she expected.  
He was going to be fine.  Unemployed, but fine.

Her conversation with Kersh hit her once more.  The 
man was set on kicking Mulder's ass into the street, 
regardless of how many lives they saved.  After all 
they'd been through over the summer, the lies, the 
blame, nearly dying of exposure on an ice plain in 
Antarctica, and one asshole in Washington was going 
to throw it all away.

A groggy moan brought her mind back to attention.  
Mulder's head moved slowly from left to right and 
back to left again, like he was shaking his head in 
slow motion.  He moaned another time and she took his 
hand in hers.

"Hey, go back to sleep," she whispered low near his 
ear.  It had the opposite effect, he blinked and 
looked at her through drooping lids.

"Hey, Scully," he slurred, his face twisting into a 
reasonable facsimile of a smile.  "How ya doin'?"

"Not as good as you, apparently," she grinned.  
"Flying without a plane again, Mulder?"

He grinned back, closing his eyes.  "Yeah.  Flyin' 
high."

"Good.  Get some sleep.  I'll be here when you wake 
up."

He squeezed her hand in response and then his fingers 
slacked as he fell back asleep.

She sat there, holding his hand and watching the 
various monitors to ensure he really was doing as 
well as he seemed.  Someone entered the recovery 
room, she heard the person talking quietly with the 
nurse, but she didn't change her focus.  She'd been 
so frantic all night and now it was a relief just to 
sit on a hard metal chair and watch Mulder sleep.

"Mrs. Mulder?"  

She turned to see who was addressing her incorrectly.  
Her eyes met the deep green eyes of what could only 
be considered a modern day Adonis.  Tall, tanned to 
perfection, blond hair in loose locks cascading 
around his face and teeth that had to have been made 
out of titanium, not enamel.  He smiled down at her 
and she lost any semblance of rational thought, and 
her own name.

"Mrs. Mulder?" he asked again, holding out his hand.  
Numbly, she took it and shook it perfunctorily.  "I'm 
Jeff Barnes.  I was your husband's surgeon."

Scully was having a hard time swallowing, but blinked 
and choked out a strangled "Who?"

"Your husband," Dr. Jeff smiled in amusement and 
pointed the chart he was holding toward the sleeping 
Mulder.  "Fox Mulder, right?"

"Oh, he's not my husband," Scully said in 
understanding and rose out of her chair so she didn't 
feel quite so much like a five year old looking up at 
the doctor.  "He's my partner."

Dr. Jeff nodded in understanding.

"My work partner," Scully reiterated.

Dr. Jeff smiled knowingly.

"We work together.  At the FBI," Scully continued, 
not quite able to stop herself from rambling.

"In Washington," she concluded and bit her tongue to 
keep from blurting anything further.

"Long way from home," Dr. Jeff said casually.

"We travel a lot.  For work."  Some small part of 
Scully's brain starting kicking her cerebral cortex 
in a fit of exasperation.

"Well, things went well in surgery.  The bullet 
nicked a smaller artery, but it was an easy fix.  No 
organ damage.  He's doing well now."

"I'm a doctor," Scully blurted out suddenly.  "I 
mean, I'm a medical doctor, I could tell from the 
monitors that he was resting well."

"A doctor?  But you said . . ."

"Forensic pathologist," Scully explained with a 
small, coy shrug.  "At the FBI."

"Wow.  Like Quincy?" Dr. Jeff asked, suddenly showing 
an interest.

"Well, not exactly.  I mean, that would make Mulder 
that Asian guy and well, no, but sort of, it's hard 
to explain," she replied, finally giving up.

"Cool.  A cop doctor.  I like that," Dr. Jeff grinned 
at her.  "Well, Laura is watching over him now, so 
you can go grab a bite to eat or just relax a while.  
We'll be taking him up to a room in a few minutes, 
since he's doing so well."

"He spoke to me just a while ago.  He recognized me," 
Scully remembered that small fact.

Dr. Jeff's smile got brighter.  "Well, I bet he was 
happy to wake up to a pretty face!"  Scully blushed 
and Dr. Jeff charged on.  "That's good news.  So 
we'll get him up to a regular room, keep an eye on 
him, probably get him up and out of bed tomorrow 
morning.  You said Washington, right?"

"Washington, DC," Scully nodded.

"Long plane ride," Dr. Jeff frowned.  "We'll have to 
see how he's doing before I release him.  An extra 
day in here might make the difference in the level of 
pain he'd experience on a cramped flight."

"He's not a good one for following doctor's orders, 
either," she offered.  "An extra day would probably 
be a good idea."

The smile she got was blinding.  "Well, that settles 
it.  He stays an extra day.  So, why don't you run 
along and get something to eat and I'll leave orders 
for his meds.  I'll be by to check on him tomorrow 
around 9."

Scully waited a minute, watching him write out the 
orders on the chart.  How did a body get that tan?  
She figured he must surf, maybe run along the beach.  
She'd seen Mulder run along the beach from time to 
time.  Dr. Jeff looked up suddenly and caught her 
staring.  She blushed and turned to go.

"Wait a minute," he called.  She turned on her heel, 
expecting some kind of brush off at her obvious 
interest.  Instead he smiled at her again. "I know 
now that you aren't 'Mrs. Mulder', but I don't know 
what your name is."

"Scully.  Dana Scully," she said, feeling her cheeks 
redden again.

"Doctor Scully, or Agent Scully?" Dr. Jeff teased.

"Dana,  Dana Scully," she answered coyly and promptly 
headed out the door.

In the cafeteria, getting a cup of coffee and some 
yogurt, she mentally kicked herself.  What the hell 
had she been thinking?  Mulder was lying in a bed, 
recovering from a gunshot wound that he received 
during a hostage situation, in which _he_ was the 
hostage, and she was flirting with his surgeon?  She 
knew she was tired from their collective ordeal, but 
that was not an excuse.  There was no excuse, none at 
all!  She took two bites of her yogurt and sat 
listlessly for the rest of forty-five minutes.  
Finally, she gathered up her mostly untouched food 
and deposited it all in the garbage.  She had a 
partner to look in on.

Mulder blinked twice and finally got a clear image.  
Hospital room.  Check.  IV bags hanging above his 
head, but only two.  Check.  Scully sitting by his 
bedside, waiting patiently for him to wake up.

Houston, we have a problem.

He stared at the empty chair.  It was still against 
the wall, where the orderlies always put them after 
mopping the tile floors.  That could only mean that 
not only was Scully absent at that moment, she hadn't 
been to the room at all.  How long had he been here?  
Usually she walked him from recovery to his room.  On 
rare occasions, she got there before him.  

Was that part of his life going to hell now, too?

He thought back to the summer.  Things had seemed so 
simple.  Find bomb.  Find out what the bomb was meant 
to hide.  Find Scully.  He'd never had to think about 
loyalties and divisions.  He knew everyone was 
against him.  Everyone except Scully.  She was there, 
beside him, until they'd ripped her from him and 
tried to kill them both.  But he'd found her, gone to 
the end of the world to find her.  And together 
they'd come home.

That was when everything went to hell.  

He knew something was wrong between them.  Besides 
being assigned to 'shit detail', there was a tension 
that hadn't existed before.  He suspected it had 
something to do with Diana, but that just didn't make 
sense to him.  Scully wasn't concerned about any of 
his informants, didn't seem to mind his connection to 
the Gunmen.  So why was his relationship with Diana 
any different?  It wasn't like Diana was his 
girlfriend or something.

It hit him with the force of a pile driver.  Scully, 
his loyal, always there for him, never betray him 
partner was . . . jealous?  Impossible!  But then he 
remembered other times, comments made, eyebrows 
raised.  "Smart is sexy, Mulder."  "Oh, is that what 
you were extending?"  "Look, we have different 
opinions, but I didn't expect you to ditch me!"

Shit!  He should have seen it coming.  Diana, tall, 
sexy, arrogant has hell.  She never worked well with 
other women, usually made damn sure she was queen bee 
in any hive.  And Scully, petite but strong as nails.  
Never took anything from anybody.  And there was him, 
right smack dab in the middle, sort of like the leg 
bone with just enough meat still attached to make it 
extra appealing to both combatants.

He shook his head, suddenly thirsty beyond measure.  
The water was right there on the tray table.  He only 
meant to lean up and grab the cup, but it was a bit 
farther than he expected.  He felt a pull in his 
side, followed by such intense pain he dropped his 
upper body back to the pillow and stifled a scream.  

He didn't even hear the nurse enter the room.  The 
woman must had seen his look of anguish and hurried 
from the room.  Less than two minutes later, she was 
back with a nice fat syringe full of the really good 
stuff.

"Here, Agent Mulder.  The doctor left orders for pain 
meds.  This should give you some relief in just a few 
minutes.  Now, can I get you anything?  Help you get 
to the water?"

Her voice finally registered in the red-hot agony 
that was his existence at that moment.  He nodded 
weakly toward the water cup and she brought it to his 
mouth.  "Is there someone I should call?  Your 
family?  They should have contacted your next of kin 
by now."

He shook his head.  "I'm sure she'll turn up 
eventually," he said with more self-pity in his voice 
than he really intended to reveal.  

"Well, you should be able to get some sleep now, so 
why don't you close your eyes and rest.  You're doing 
fine."  She patted his hand with compassion and left 
him alone again.  He stared at the empty doorway for 
a full five minutes.  Slowly, the dull fog that comes 
with only really good medication surrounded him in 
its blanket of comfort and he let his eyes drift 
shut.

Scully stopped at the nurses' desk to look over his 
chart.  She was ready to pull her badge and her 
credentials, but apparently Dr. Jeff had already 
taken care of her.  The nurse smiled and handed over 
the metal clipboard.  Temp., 99.7.  Nothing to worry 
about.  Respirations good.  Blood pressure, 80 over 
110, excellent for that soon after surgery.  He was 
doing very well.

Then she got to the most recent notation.  "Patient 
awake, some discomfort, administered Demerol per Drs 
instructions."

Shit!  She missed being there when he woke up again!  
Mulder was usually like clockwork, it always took him 
a little longer than most people to wake up after 
surgery.  But then, this had been a relatively easy 
surgery and he'd been sort of awake in recovery.  Not 
that he was likely to remember that.  Still, he had 
woken up before she got there and now she felt even 
more guilty. 

With shoulder's slumped in defeat, she walked into 
the room.  A not entirely uncomfortable chair sat 
near the wall at the foot of his bed.  She sighed and 
pulled the chair across the floor, careful to not 
make too much noise.  She sat down, biting back tears 
and took his hand in hers.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, Mulder," she whispered and 
wiped at the stray moisture that had escaped her 
lashes.  "I was at the scene and I did see you in 
recovery.  I've been at the hospital all this time, I 
just went down to the cafeteria for a minute . . ."

Not an excuse, her conscious screamed at her.  You 
should have been here.  What if he needed you?  She 
thought back to the notation.  'Some discomfort' 
usually meant Mulder was in a hellava lot of pain.  
Some discomfort in most people didn't even register 
on Mulder's radar.  For him to show his 'discomfort' 
he had to be torn apart with agony.  And she hadn't 
been here, hadn't been anywhere near enough to push 
the call button or call the nurse from the doorway.  

She laid her forehead on the railing of his bed and 
closed her eyes.  What the hell was wrong with her?  
She'd been acting like a jilted lover for months now.  
Things were going fairly well until . . .

She clenched her eyes tight, but it didn't stop the 
images.  Mulder, introducing her to Diana in a 
hallway at the Bureau.  The Gunmen, telling her that 
Diana had been his little 'chickadee'.  Mulder 
holding Diana's hand through a window.

Damn him!  Damn her!  Damn all three of them!  She 
raised her head and wiped angrily at her tears.  This 
was stupid!  Mulder was her partner.  He'd climbed 
out of a hospital bed not unlike the one he was 
currently in, traveled to the farthest reaches of the 
planet, just to save her.  When Diana had been shot, 
possibly mortally wounded, he hadn't even stopped by 
the hospital.  Didn't that account for something?  
Did that tell her where his real loyalties were?

But then other images came back to her.  Mulder 
foisting Gibson Praise at her and running off with 
Diana to the nuclear power plant.  Mulder, sitting in 
his office, _their_ office, angrily deriding her for 
not agreeing with him.  And the whole question of 
trust.

They hadn't spoken of it after she'd handed him the 
file showing the PCR results.  Mulder had 
internalized her information, his beliefs, taken it 
all inside and not let a speck of light shine on it.  
And she'd damped down her own feelings on the matter.  
They'd gathered their few belongings, the ones that 
hadn't been destroyed in the fire, and found new 
desks among the myriad of desks in the bullpit.  They 
made endless calls, all day long about employees in 
sensitive areas.  They checked fertilizer purchases.  
How frigging appropriate was that?  Shit detail.  
There was simply no other name for it.

How did it all get so confusing?

Wiping her eyes again, she lowered the bed rail.  She 
leaned over and kissed the knuckles of his hand.  
Silently, she lowered her head to rest on the 
mattress, resting her forehead on his long fingers.

He woke up, feeling something warm on his hand.  
Looking down, he smiled as he saw the crown of her 
head.  She couldn't be comfortable like that.  
Glancing around the room, he spied the clock on the 
far wall.  Nearly 8, and it was dark outside.  Had 
she gotten any sleep during the night?

He reached over with his other hand, so he didn't 
disturb her, and stroked her hair.  His personal 
tigress.  His warrior princess.  His Scully.  He 
wondered briefly where she'd been but then he chided 
himself.  She'd been doing their job, more than 
likely.  And now, she was here and everything was 
better.

He lay there, just running his fingers through her 
hair for a long time.  When she stirred, turning her 
head and raising up, he dropped his hand and smiled 
at her.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he said and winked at her.

"I could say the same about you, Mulder." She sat up 
and stretched, creaks and pops audible in the quiet 
room.  If she was sore, she didn't let it show.  
Running a quick eye around the various monitors, she 
looked back at him.  "How's the pain?"

"OK," he said.  She cocked an eyebrow and he 
relented.  "Five on a scale of ten.  I'm OK for now, 
really."  She gave him a single affirmative nod and 
then reached over the tray table for his water glass.  
She looked in the small pitcher and frowned.  

"No ice.  Want to risk it or do you want some cold 
water?"

"I'm fine, Scully, really.  Relax.  You're been 
running your ass off for the last two days.  I really 
don't need anything right now."  His smile was just a 
little cockeyed and she couldn't help but respond in 
kind.

"Mulder, you are so stoned."  She suppressed a giggle 
as he attempted to look shocked.

"Are you accusing a law enforcement officer of the 
Justice Department of partaking of controlled 
substances?" he managed to get all the words out and 
in the right order.  He was pretty pleased with 
himself.

"Yes," she grinned back.  

"Guilty as charged," he nodded solemnly.  "But only 
under the care of my personal physician."  He took 
her hand and tenderly ran a finger across her palm.  
"Scully, are we OK?" he asked, still keeping the same 
serious expression.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied 
truthfully.

He chewed on his lip a moment before speaking.  "I've 
really screwed the pooch.  I've dragged you into the 
mud with me.  Kersh has enough ammo this time . . ."

"Kersh can kiss my ass," Scully growled, which earned 
her a broad grin from her partner.

"You'd really let him that close to your ass?" he 
shot back, trying hard not to laugh.

"Mulder, we've been down this road before.  At least 
this time they remembered that splitting us up 
doesn't do any good.  At least this time, we're 
together."

He nodded and went back to rubbing her palm.  If he 
kept that up, she was going to have to take defensive 
action.  

"I'm going to fix it, Scully.  I really am," he said, 
laying his head back on the pillows and letting his 
eyes drift closed.

"I know you will, Mulder.  We'll both work on it."  
She put her other hand over his as his fingers 
stilled and relaxed with sleep.  "And partner, we're 
OK."

In his sleep, Mulder smiled.

Epilogue

Jeff Barnes considered himself a lucky man.  He'd had 
the right breaks, made a good living.  Being a 
surgeon was everything it was cracked up to be.  
Sure, he knew he could have the pick of the nursing 
staff and most of the women in the lab, but on those 
rare and wonderful days he managed to snag a good 
date just running into someone visiting a patient.

Dana Scully.  FBI agent AND Doctor.  A double!  And 
cute as a button, to boot.  Yeah, it was a shame her 
partner had to go and get shot, but what a lucky 
break for good ole Doc Barnes.  He was certain that 
now that the evening visiting hours were over, the 
lovely Dr./Agent Scully would be looking for a nice 
dinner, maybe a chance to unwind after a particularly 
stressful day.  

An FBI agent.  He'd never slept with an FBI agent 
before.  It just never crossed his mind.  But if 
dinner at the best restaurant along this stretch of 
the Pacific Coast Highway was worth anything, he'd be 
wearing his 'I got some' smile in the morning.

He tapped lightly in the door before entering.  There 
wasn't a sound coming from the room, but maybe the TV 
was muted.  By all rights, his patient, what's his 
name, should be sound asleep.  With the pain meds 
he'd prescribed, the guy should sleep through to 
morning, regardless of the number of vitals checks 
during the night.

Dr. Jeff would make sure Dr. Dana got plenty of vital 
checks, as well.  

He plastered on his most compassionate face and 
opened the door.  The room was dark, only the light 
bar over the bed was casting any light at all.  His 
eyes took a moment to adjust from the brightness of 
the hallway.  And that's when he saw her.  
Correction.  Them.

Dana Scully, who had seemed more than willing to 
investigate a certain young surgeon, was now lying 
next to a very sound asleep patient.  From the 
position they were in, it was difficult to determine 
where one agent stopped and the other agent started.  
Jeff was just about ready to beat a hasty retreat 
when the female agent in question raised her head 
sleepily.

"Oh, Dr. Barnes," she said with a yawn.  "Did you 
need to do an examination?"

Jeff stood there, not knowing what to say.  
Examinations had been on his mind, but not of the 
patient.  He swallowed and grabbed for a reasonable 
response.

"I just wanted to make sure that the pain meds were 
sufficient," he said in a hoarse whisper.  Hopefully 
the lovely Dr. Scully would never detect his tight 
throat was caused by his disappointment and not from 
any sense of empathy for the man lying in the bed.

"He fell asleep a few hours ago.  I think he's good 
for the night," she said and looked down at her 
partner with a tender smile.  As if she suddenly 
remembered they were not alone, in the room or the 
universe, Jeff couldn't tell, she looked up at him.  
"Thank you for stopping by.  You could have called 
the nurses' station, you know," she added with a 
grin.

"Oh, I prefer the personal touch," Jeff choked out.

"Well, you're a credit to your profession, Dr. 
Barnes.  Thank you, again."

"I'll just, um, I'll be by in the morning, see how 
he's doing."

Scully nodded and another yawn captured her breath.  
"Sorry.  It was a long night last night."

"Well, you both need to get some rest.  I'll see you 
in the morning."

She smiled again and lay down, careful not to crowd 
the man sleeping in the bed with her.

Jeff turned to leave and ran smack into the floor 
nurse.  "Do you want me to tell her she has to leave, 
Dr. Barnes?" Debbie asked with a nod toward the door.

Jeff gave one look back and couldn't get the image of 
the two sleeping people out of his head.  "Nah, Deb.  
I think she's OK for now."

Debbie shrugged and went back to the desk.  Jeff 
allowed himself a tiny smile, just a salute to fellow 
travelers, and made his way to the elevators and 
home.

Assistant Director Kersh's office
FBI Headquarters
One week later

Alvin Kersh was a very happy man.  Not only did he 
have enough reason to dismiss Special Agent Fox 
Mulder, completely out on the street with no hope of 
reinstatement, but that conniving little red head had 
committed the ultimate act of insubordination by 
ignoring a direct order and failing to report to his 
office as assigned.

Two birds with one stone.  And from the looks of it, 
the new staff members of the X files division were 
behaving just as they had been expected to.  Not a 
single 302 had come across his desk in the weeks 
since the assignment of Agent Fowley and Agent 
Spender.  The two of them were probably sitting down 
in the basement playing tiddly winks and that was 
just fine by Alvin.  As long as there was nothing 
going on, it would simply be a matter of zeroing out 
the appropriation for the division during the 
upcoming budget cycle.

Life was good.

And then the phone rang.

"Yes sir, I do have a meeting with Agents Mulder and 
Scully this morning.  Yes sir, as I outlined in my 
memo to the OPR, I fully intend to exercise my 
authority as their direct superior to dismiss them on 
the grounds . . . But sir!  . . . No, sir, I didn't 
realize that.  No, sir, I understand.  Yes, sir, I . 
. . But sir, the money!  Who's going to pay for this?  
Yes, sir.  Yes, I do see your point.  Yes . . .sir."  
Alvin hung up the phone with exaggerated gentleness, 
to keep from break the receiver in half.

There was a knock at his door.  Alvin looked up and 
if there was such a thing as laser vision, there 
would have been two perfectly form holes burned 
through the wooden door.  His assistant stuck her 
pert little bleached blonde head around the door 
casing.

"Sir, Agents Mulder and Scully are here to see you."  
She frowned, her boss had been in such a good mood 
just minutes before.  Now she was certain she could 
hear his back molars cracking under the pressure.  
"Sir?" she repeated, still waiting for him to 
acknowledge her in any way.

"Send.  Them.  In."  His hands gripped the sides of 
his chair.  He was going to need a whole botltle of 
zantac when this meeting was over.  Maybe next time 
Mulder got shot, he'd save everyone the bother and 
just die!  The thought caused Alvin a little glimpse 
of comfort.  It was all he needed to center himself 
and address the agents before him.

The end.