by Sean Spencer
seans13@hotmail.com
 

CATEGORY:  A
RATING: PG Slash
ATXC: No
ARCHIVE: Yes
SPOILER:   Beyond the Sea
KEYWORDS:  Skinner/Mulder and Scully Friendship
SUMMARY:  Skinner and Scully help Mulder deal with getting shot in the
leg. Prelude to Baccarat Figurines.
DISCLAIMER:  Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner and Dana Scully are the
intellectual properties of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox
Television.  No infringement nor copyright is implied or should be
inferred in their use in this work of fiction.  All other characters are
mine.
 

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Followers of the Baccarat Figurines series are begging
for more.  Because I am still writing Baccarat Figurines IV, I hope this
will keep you happy in the meantime.  When I checked my old stories, I
found this in my files and realized that this could fit in the Baccarat
universe.  It is a stand alone story, one of the first ones I made many
months ago.
 

Thanks to Kiyoko for suggesting a way to end it!
 
 

BACCARAT FRAGMENTS: ICU
by Sean Spencer
seans@hotmail.com
 
 

Walter Skinner found the Surgical Intensive Care Unit without
difficulty.  It was in the third floor of the Medical Center.
The antiseptic odor of the place gave him an uncomfortable sensation.
He was never that comfortable in hospitals.  No matter what miracles the
medical profession could perform in this late twentieth century,
hospitals are still places of death. He shivered as he suddenly
remembered that his mom and dad died in hospitals.
 

Skinner walked through a series of double doors, following the signs on
the wall.  Finally, he was at the entrance of the ICU.
 

"I'm here to see Agent Fox Mulder?" Skinner said.  He wondered if he
would need to flash his badge or if they would allow him to see Mulder.
"How is he?"
 

 
The ICU nurse looked up from the chart he was perusing.
 

"Are you a relative?" the nurse briskly asked.
 

"No, I'm his boss," Skinner replied.  "We need to know his condition to
inform the relatives."
 

"Mr. Mulder's condition is guarded at the moment," the nurse reported.
"There was damage to the femoral artery and vein with a femoral
fracture.  We are still not sure if there was a good take of the
vascular grafts.  You can see him.  Five minutes only, please."
 
 

A buzzer sounded and another set of doors opened and the nurse let him
through.
 
 

Skinner shook his head as he walked through the long corridor
leading to Mulder's room.  As he passed the row of patients,
each ensconced in their rooms visible from the outside, he was
thinking of Mulder's latest antics.  Scully had briefed him
shakily yesterday on the Bogg's case.  Despite the warehouse
crawling with Bureau agents, Mulder still managed to rush to the
wharf without adequate back-up.  If procedures had been followed
to the letter, Mulder wouldn't be here in the hospital and the
suspect would most certainly have been apprehended.  Instead,
Mulder was flat on his back with Scully on her first field
assignment as Agent-in-Charge without him to guide her on the
manhunt for Lucas.
 

Skinner normally didn't visit agents injured in the line of duty if they
weren't in DC.  It just so happened that he was sent to the Raleigh
regional field office for a set of meetings scheduled two days after
Mulder got shot.  It was just good manners, especially for Scully's
sake, that he visit the agent who was the biggest headache of all.
 

Skinner was seething by the time he reached Mulder's room, ready
to give the agent a piece of his mind.  However, he was stopped
cold when he saw Mulder.  The agent still hadn't seen him and
seemed to think he was not visible through the tinted glass of
the ICU door.  Skinner started;  he cleared his throat to warn the
agent diplomatically.
 

"Agent Mulder?" Skinner said standing by the glass door.

Mulder stiffened when he saw that his boss had come to
visit.  Apparently the agent had not expected this and was
bracing himself for the reprimand he knew was forthcoming.
 

But Skinner knew that this was not the time for the verbal assault,
since it could wait once the whole thing was over.
 

"Uhm...Agent Mulder?" Skinner didn't even know if he should call the
agent by his first name.  "How are you?"
 

The agent shifted on the bed, trying to sit up since his boss was there.
But the sudden pain stopped him and the AD saw the abrupt grimace on
Mulder's face.
 

"Hey, you don't have to move on my account," Skinner said, alarmed at
the sudden pallor of the agent.  He wanted to help Mulder settle back in
bed but he wasn't sure if Mulder wanted anyone to touch him just now.
 

"I'm okay, sir, considering," Mulder said, after a while.  He looked at
the ceiling, around the room and everywhere else except at the AD.  He
knew that Skinner was just reining in what he really wanted to say, that
it had been stupid standing on the dock while shouting at the top of his
lungs, being a sitting duck.
 

"How's Scully doing in the search for Henry?"  Mulder finally asked,
after an uncomfortable silence.  It was one thing that had been on his
mind since the drugs had worn off.  Of course, Scully had called once
and had given a synopsis of how she was approaching the problem.  But it
was another thing to get a more objective report from the AD.
 

Mulder's question set the momentum for their conversation going.  It was
something both were more familiar and comfortable with: shoptalk.
 

When Skinner heard himself talking about the weather in DC, he knew it
was time to go.  It was really bad when one started talking about the
weather with someone in the ICU.
 

Just as Skinner was about to step out of the room, Mulder's question
stopped him.
 

"Sir, does my mom...was my mom notified that I was here?" Mulder
hesitantly asked in a low voice.
 

"I personally informed both your mother and father at once as soon as
I had verified your condition, Agent Mulder,"  Skinner said
gently.  Mulder nodded and weakly smiled at his boss as Skinner
said his goodbye.
 
 

After talking with the nurses, Skinner found out that he had
been Mulder's only visitor, although Scully had frequently
called.  She had been too busy with the Bogg's case, after all.
Skinner knew that Mulder's parents weren't too elderly to make a
trip to Raleigh.  It was already three days since the shooting.  No
wonder the agent had such difficulty with interpersonal skills; his own
parents did not deem it a necessity to visit their injured only son in
the ICU.
 

.................................................................
 
 

Fox Mulder watched the small television screen in front of his
face.  He tried not to think of Skinner's final words.  This was
the first time he'd been hospitalized for injuries in the line
of duty, and it was mind-numbing to find out that no one found
him important  enough to visit when he had been so near death a
few days ago.  Of course, Scully was busy and she did indeed send a
basket of flowers,  small enough so that the ICU nurses allowed
it in.  He knew that when she had time, she would rush to the
hospital to see him.  But to be so bereft of friends and family
hurt.  In fact, the highlight of his day had been Skinner's
obligatory boss' call, even if his boss did look at his watch
more than once.
 

Mulder knew that his father coming to see him was not even a
remote possibility, but apparently, even his mother did not have
a Fox Mulder on her agenda anymore.  Aside from Scully, he wasn't a big
part of anyone's agenda.
 

It was the next day when Scully finally showed up.  She looked
tired but triumphant.  Mulder didn't know how much of her weariness was
due to the added burden of mourning for her father.  It didn't escape
Mulder's notice that she was wearing a black suit.
 

"We found the boy," Scully smiled.  "I'm sorry for not calling you last
night, but I was running all over the place.  And I didn't make a deal
with Boggs, just like you said."
 

Scully spent the short time allowed her recounting  the events leading
to the eventual death of the Bogg's accomplice.
 
 

Mulder was proud of her but he didn't tell her so.  She surely has gone
a long way since the first day she became a field agent.  Mulder tried
to stay awake through her musings on the case but he was so tired that
he fell asleep on her.

It was around midnight when the nurse who was monitoring
Mulder's leg was surprised to elicit a genuine cry of pain from
Mulder when she had palpated his calf. Mulder was cruelly
awakened and he blinked as the nurse turned on the harsh
overhead light.
 

"That hurt!" Mulder protested loudly through clenched teeth, seething
that someone could just take his leg and do that to him in the middle of
the night.
 

"What's going on?" Mulder asked in confusion as the nurse first called
her colleagues and were discussing his toes.  Then a rumpled doctor was
stepped into the room and callously turned back the thin hospital
blanket and pushed up his gown to expose the surgical site.
 

"Mr. Mulder, please keep still," his night nurse held down his
shoulders.
 

"Left dorsalis pedis pulse is absent, Dr. Schwartz,"  the nurse
continued.  "The popliteal is only plus one.  And the toes are cyanotic.
There's some erythema when I got on my shift."
 

"Maybe the graft thrombosed," Schwartz said, absently scratching his
rumpled head.  A dressing set was snapped open and Schwartz put on some
gloves.  Mulder was alarmed when he saw the forceps and scissors that
appeared in the doctor's hands.
 

"Keep still, Mr. Mulder," the damned nurse repeated.
 

Mulder tried to look but they pushed him down.  The agent cried out
again and tried to slap the doctor's advancing hands away as he felt the
fresh sutures being pulled out.  A searing pain went up his thigh and
almost made him black out when mercifully, the doctor stopped.
 

"Get your hands away from me!" Mulder yelled through gritted teeth.  He
had never been so mad in his life.
 

"We're only doing it for your own good, Mr. Mulder," Dr. Schwartz said,
irritated at the patient and looking at the wall clock. "How many days
post-op is he?"
 

The nurses obtained his chart from somewhere.  Mulder was confused by
the medical jargon and tried to listen with his fogged mind as the whole
night shift ICU staff surrounded his practically nude body and
discussed him like an interesting X-file.
 

"Get me the doppler, but clinically we can already say that the
infection has thrombosed the vessels," Schwartz said to another doctor
beside him. "But you know how it is.  We have to document these things
and the OR technique did show brisk backflow before the graft was put in
place.  The infection rate of gunshot wounds is high, especially
considering the site.  Shires can still get out of the flak in the next
M & M."
 
 

Finally the medical staff seemed to reach a consensus and the
nurse and doctor remained.  Mulder eyed Schwartz with hostility.
 
 

"Mr..." Schwartz looked questioningly at the nurse who whispered the
agent's name to him.  "Mr. Mulder, there seems to be some complications
in your wound.  Infection has set in and this caused the big vessels in
your thigh, the one that was just repaired, to clot up.  We have to go
in tonight to clean up the infection."
 
 

"W..what?" Mulder asked. "I need an operation...again?"
 

"If we don't go in tonight, we might need to amputate..."
 

All the agent heard was "amputate".  He didn't hear the rest of the
doctor's facile explanations. All he could think of was what losing his
leg meant;  what about running, walking, his job, looking for Samantha?
 

Mulder stared in disbelief at them and shook his head to clear
it.  He seemed to be living a nightmare.  He had never been so
frightened in his life.  The nurse dressed the wound again and
fixed the bedclothes.
 

"Can I use th-the phone?" Mulder shakily asked.
 

"You want to call someone?" the nurse asked as she tucked in his sheets
into the requisite hospital corners.  She finally felt sorry for the
agent, suddenly remembering to think about the patient and not the
disease.  It was difficult to be kind when so many of the patients in
the ICU were turning sour at the same time, in the dead of night.
"What's the number you want to call?"
 

Mulder tried to think of Scully's number, of the name of her hotel, but
he was too agitated to do so.  Instead, he blurted out a phone number
which he realized was his mother's number in Greenwich.  Too late.  The
nurse was already punching in the numbers for him and gave him the
handset.
 

The agent heard the ringing at the other end: once, twice, then on the
fifth ring, the telephone was answered.
 

"H-hello?"  a familiar sleepy voice finally came on the line, a voice
that Mulder suddenly wanted to be beside him, instead of so many miles
away.
 

"Mom? Mom?" Mulder tried to be calm but he just fell apart and started
crying on the phone.  He urgently wished that the nurse would leave him
alone, instead of standing there.  "My leg's infected, Mom, they're
going...they're gonna cut if off!"
 

"Who is this?" his mom didn't even recognize his voice.  That just undid
him further.  How could your own mom not even know your voice even if it
was the middle of the night?  Who else called her Mom?
 

"Please, please, Mom, they're going to cut off my leg!"
 

The doctor had heard the commotion in Mulder's room and came back
inside.  Sometimes, these damned patients had sudden drops in IQ's and
it always happened in the middle of the night and always when he was on
call.  Schwartz finally wrestled the phone from the agent and talked to
the mother.  The nurse then injected Mulder's IV with something that
made him sleep.
 

"No, Mrs..." again, a glance at the nurse who had to fill him in yet
again with the patient's last name.  "Mrs. Mulder...no, we're not going
to cut off his leg...yes, he has an infection...there's just a
possibility, remote at the moment, that the leg may have to be amputated
if the infection doesn't improve."
 

The next two days were a blur for Mulder, filled with pain and
anxiety and mind-fogging drugs.  He vaguely knew that he had two
more operations and that his whole body ached and he seemed to
have shaking fevered chills all the time.  His wound was kept
open, something about monitoring the infection.  All the muscles of his
left thigh were visible, just like the raw meat that it actually was.
The staff dressed the open wound twice a day, an exhausting agony.
Scully was there a few times, but Mulder was not really aware of her.
He seemed to be in a delirium.  He wanted his mother  but she never
came; that he was sure of.
 

...............................................................
 

Skinner paid another visit four days later.  Mulder had a raging
infection, Scully reported which was seriously compromising the repair
of the major vessels of his left leg.  As Skinner
was about to enter the main ICU doors, he saw a tall man in his sixties
hurriedly walk out.

"The man who just left, was that Agent Mulder's father?" Skinner asked
the nurse at the station.  She confirmed his suspicion with a nod of her
head.  This time, the staff knew who Skinner was and let him in without
question.
 

Skinner sighed with relief that at least Mulder had his family  with
him.
 

Mulder was still in the SICU and when Skinner saw him he was
shocked.  The agent really looked bad with dark circles around
his eyes.  He had a deathly pallor and he was gaunt.  His hair
was plastered greasily on his skull and he was unshaven.
Mulder's left leg was kept elevated.  He had a nasogastric tube
and a urethral catheter.   At least four IV solutions were
hooked on him and there were more beeping monitors.
 
 

Mulder listlessly nodded a greeting at his boss.
 
 

"Agent Mulder, how are you?" Somehow, Skinner's voice became hushed as
the gravity of Mulder's condition sunk in.
 
 

The AD was helplessly embarrassed when Mulder's face crumpled.
 
 

"I don't know, the doctors don't know how my leg is going to turn out,"
Mulder muttered.  None of the doctors had given him guarantees.
 

Mulder was obviously very upset about his condition.  Skinner just
wondered why he apparently didn't voice these fears with his dad and why
he had to be at the receiving end of the agent's distressed thoughts.
 

Skinner comforted him by patting his arm awkwardly and Mulder forced
himself to stop crying.  The AD then held the water glass for him as
Mulder thirstily drank from the straw.  Both his arms were plastered
securely with IV catheters so he had to be helped.
 

To shake out of their mutual embarrassment, Skinner furiously thought of
some topic of conversation.
 

"Did you see the Redskin's game yesterday?"  It sounded so lame and
Skinner wanted the ground to swallow him up.  Football wasn't something
you talked about with critically ill underlings.  He tried very hard not
to look at his feet.  Fortunately,  Mulder tried to stay awake but he
obviously needed his rest and after a few minutes, the agent nodded off,
much to Skinner's relief.
 
 

Skinner was just about to leave when Mulder's father reentered
the room.
 

"Mr. Mulder, I'm Walter Skinner, Fox's boss,"  Skinner introduced
himself, holding out his hand.   The AD was rather anxious since in his
experience, relatives of agents who got injured in the line of duty
always had some resentment for the boss.
 

However, Bill Mulder had no such sentiments.  The elder Mulder shook
Skinner's hand and the AD was struck by how cold he seemed.  Bill Mulder
was totally unaware of the agent's present state of mind.
 

"He's quite worried about his leg, that they might have to amputate,"
Skinner said in hushed tones mindful that Mulder was asleep.  The AD was
shocked to the core when Bill Mulder dismissively waved an impatient
hand.
 

"Fox knew the risks of being a field agent when he joined the Bureau,"
Bill Mulder said.  "We've discussed what happened on the docks and from
my conclusion, it was just Fox's inherent foolishness that got him shot.
Imagine shouting into the dark with an inadequate flashlight.  He was
practically advertising himself to the assailant.  You should always
take what he says with a grain of salt, Mr. Skinner.  He has this
tendency to get too worked up about himself."
 
 

"I know my boy, Mr. Skinner,"  Bill Mulder continued with an
irritated tone.  "He's always been a crybaby,  probably from
being spoiled by his mother."
 
 

Skinner stared aghast at the lack of empathy of the man for
his son and he was speechless.  Bill Mulder then with total
disregard for Fox needing sleep, shook Mulder awake and
callously handed him the Time magazine the agent apparently
asked  for earlier. Skinner could see that Fox literally
flinched when he saw  that it was his dad standing over the bed.
Skinner's stomach  turned and he had to get out of the room to
stop himself from  punching Bill Mulder.
 

As he was leaving, the AD could hear Bill Mulder ranting at  the
beleaguered agent but Skinner could not hear what it was about.
What Skinner could hear was that Mulder's cardiac rate seemed to
be shooting up from the way the monitor was beeping.  He passed
the  nurses' station and warned them that their patient was
probably  not getting the cheering relative's visit that they
were expecting from Mulder's father.
 

It was unfortunate that Scully had reluctantly flown back to
D.C. that morning, after settling all the loose ends of the
Boggs and Henry case.  She had only gone after verifying that
Skinner would stay in the North Carolina regional office for
other matters and that Mulder's father was on his way to the
hospital.  Now that Skinner had seen that Mulder was probably
worse off with his father, Skinner decided to stay at the
regional office over the next few days to keep an eye on his
agent.
 

Mulder may have caused him endless headaches in the past with
his undisciplined ways and not keeping in line with Bureau
procedures and policies.  But he was a hard worker and most, if
not all the time, meant well.  He didn't deserve this sort of
treatment so  Skinner resolved with some reluctance to at least
be there for  Mulder since it was apparent that his father
wasn't really there  for him.
 

.................................................................
 

Mulder was looking at the bloody dressings on the kidney basin
with loathing.  The nurse had just finished dressing his wound
and it had taken all of his self-control to keep from crying out
since his father was in the room.  Only an occasional whimper
had escaped from his lips but it was still too much.  It had
been two days since Bill Mulder had arrived.  As usual, Fox got
the   standard lecture about not bothering his mother with
anything since his father was convinced that Fox had been trying
to induce an early heart attack in his mother that last time he
had hysterically  called her in the middle of the night.
 

Mulder had already undergone his fourth operation to clean up
the infection and was presently well enough to get out of the
ICU.  His condition was upgraded to serious instead of critical
since  yesterday.  Scully was allowed to call.   The nasogastric
tube was out, but the hated catheter was still in.  He didn't
get high fevers anymore and the doctors were smiling at him
during their daily rounds instead of having grave faces like
when he was at the ICU.  They said that there was a 95% chance
that he would be able to go back to active duty and that he
won't have any deficits and that he could be running in a month.
 
 

However, even with all the good news, Mulder was miserable and
depressed.  His father being in the same room with him for
extended periods of time all too clearly reminded Mulder what he
had tried to forget:  that his father hated him.  Bill Mulder
was merely in the hospital for the legal niceties of signing
the various consent forms when Mulder had been too ill to make
decisions for himself.
 

Silence reigned between them with Fox watching television when
he was awake while Bill Mulder read through mounds of papers
from work.  So reluctant was Fox in disturbing his father that
he couldn't even ask him for a glass of water even when he was
parched.  He tried to move because his back hurt from lying down so
long.
 

"Will you stop fidgeting!" his father hissed, looking up from his
papers.  "Do you want another operation?  Do you?"
 
 

Mulder froze on the bed.  His father's tone of voice was so familiar;
how it had hounded his boyhood and still lingered in his nightmares!  He
swallowed and held his breath.  When his father finished fixing him an
angry glare and returned to his papers, Mulder allowed each muscle group
to relax slowly.

Mulder's side of the room was in stark contrast with his
roommate's, a young man who had been in a car accident.
The damned fool had wrapped his car around a tree while drunk.  His
various  relatives never left his side for a minute.  His
roommate's father  had even made small talk with a tight-lipped
Bill Mulder, who had  noncommittally replied briefly to each
question.
 
 

The numerous visiting relatives had stared  in awe at Mulder after
realizing that he was injured in the  line of duty and had thankfully
maintained a respectful distance  after that.  But Mulder could
see that his DUI roommate had more  support through his injuries
than his "injured in the line of duty"  self.  They didn't seem
to mind that he had been drunk, something self-inflicted, for
God's sake.  Instead, attention was lavished  on him with
endless fluffing of pillows, drinks of water from a straw and
lots of hand holding and kisses from wife, parents, cousins and
even grandparents.
 

If he had such a family, Mulder mused, it wouldn't be
far-fetched if he himself would get drunk on a regular basis,
driving around in search of a nice tree.  They didn't seem to
blame him for anything.
 

Bill Mulder in contrast had taken pains to make sure Fox
understood that he was to blame for his present condition.
Mulder knew that it would probably be easier for them all if
Lucas Henry had just shot him in the head and killed him,
because a funeral was much easier for his family since he was
always the main cause of its troubles.
 

The moment his father stepped out of the room, Mulder pressed
the call button and asked for water.  He drank thirstily from
the glass the candy striper held for him.  She helped him shift
into a new position since his back was killing him.  With the
more comfortable position and his thirst assuaged for the
moment, plus his father being out of the room, Mulder was able
to fall into a deep sleep.

.................................................................
 

Mulder's father finally left that afternoon much to his relief.
Of course, there were parting admonitions of not being stupid
and following procedures, exactly what the AD most probably
wanted to tell him.  Mulder was still embarrassed about breaking
down in front of the AD.  It was just that AD Skinner seemed
more concerned about his condition than his father.  In fact,
not once did Bill Mulder ask how  he was.
 
 

Now Mulder faced a problem.  The nurses had hinted that he
would probably be discharged within the week.  The doctors said
he would still need physical therapy because of the loss of muscle
in the area and the broken femur; but since he lived in DC,
he could avail of the excellent medical facilities there instead
of staying here in North Carolina.  They could arrange the flight
to DC but once there, he shouldn't stay alone in his apartment
since he still needed a lot of help, especially with his open wound
and being on crutches.  The nurses had asked him about staying
with his father since that would be near Boston.  His mother on
the other hand lived in Connecticut, also a feasible option.  Both of
his parents lived near good hospitals.
 
 

"...he had a morbidity, but presently the infection is controlled..."
 

"...good pulses, less edema...wound is beginning to granulate..."
 

"...next of kin...here is the father...Boston..."
 

"...good follow up and ...for physical therapy..."
 
 

At first, Mulder thought it was the group of surgeons making their
afternoon teaching rounds.  He was always surrounded by medical students
and residents who seemed to find him an interesting case, especially
when he had developed complications.  They were all interested in his
left foot and the color of his toenails.  However, when he woke up
blearily opening his eyes, he saw that it was AD Skinner talking to the
nurse.  Mulder was so tired that he wasn't really paying attention to
their discussion.  Everything just seemed to be over his head.  However,
he started to panic when he realized  that they were making arrangements
for his transfer to his father's Boston apartment.
 
 

"Wh-what, what are you talking about?" Mulder asked in confusion.
 

"Mulder, your father agreed to take you in while you're getting
back into shape,"  Skinner reluctantly told the agent.  He couldn't meet
the agent's eyes.  "He  said he could get private nurses for at least
twelve hours per day and that someone can take you to the hospital for
daily physical therapy.  Would that be okay with you?"
 

"No!" Mulder protested weakly.  "What about my mom?  Did you get
in touch with her?  How about my mom?"
 
 

Mulder bit back his tongue.  He didn't want the AD hear the weary, whiny
way his voice sounded.
 

Skinner and the nurse looked at each other uneasily.
 

"I called your mother, Mr. Mulder,"  the old nurse said.  "She
agreed to what your dad said."
 

"I'll call her right now, Mulder,"  Skinner said as he lifted
the  telephone handset from its cradle.  "Maybe you can talk
to her yourself."
 

It was painful for Skinner, listening to Mulder as he pleaded
with his mother to take him in.  It was quite clear that the
agent came from a dysfunctional family that did not care for him
at all.  The agent was practically begging his mother but to no
avail.
 

"Yes, mom," Mulder said, his voice in a monotone.
 

He angrily threw the phone away and buried his face under the pillow.
 

"Mulder, what about other relatives or friends in DC?"  Skinner
suggested gently when sufficient time had passed.  There was silence for
a while as Mulder thought of his situation.
 
 
If he stayed with his father, Mulder would never hear the end
of his dad's Litany of Fox's Faults and Stupidities.  The last
time he really stayed with his dad was when he was fourteen
and his mom was in some mental hospital for clinical depression.
Sam had been missing for two years and Fox received the business
end of his father's leather belt more than once.  He also got a
bad case of pneumonia that time, but that never stopped Bill
Mulder from slapping him around even when he was very sick.
Since then, Mulder had stepped into the Boston apartment for
very brief one to two day visits, the last time being five years
ago when his mother vehemently insisted that he see his father
for Christmas.
 

His mother, however, had also been distant for the past years.
She never called back after Mulder's hysterical phone call that night
when his leg was so bad.  She would send him birthday and
Christmas cards but she never invited him for holidays.  Mulder
was always the one who called her during those times, still
hopeful for an invitation.  She didn't even see him anymore.
Since then, Mulder kept himself busy with work during the
holiday season.  The last time he set foot in the house in
Connecticut was two years ago.
 

Mulder had no real friends from the Bureau.  Scully just lost her
father and was still in mourning.  They had only been partners
for a few months.  Although she was the best partner Mulder ever
worked with, she was still his partner and was not supposed to
help him get around the house or help him with appointments for
physical therapy and doctors.  Besides, she always made it clear that
she considered him somewhat on the nutty side.
 

He didn't really know his neighbors that well since he rarely
encountered them in the hallways because he kept such irregular
hours.  He didn't have girlfriends either since they were all
strictly dates, not even one night stands.

 
"I'll go to Boston,"  Mulder said resignedly from under the pillow.
 

................................................................
 

His dad's Boston apartment was as gloomy as Mulder remembered it
to be.  He was put in the back room on the first floor and stayed
away from the rest of the house.  He'll never hear the end of it
if he staggered around the house on crutches and smashed any
of the antiques there.
 

There was a male morning nurse and an afternoon female nurse.  It
was much worse than being in the hospital because he was pretty
much alone most of the time.  There was no roommate with a
battalion of relatives to keep him occupied.  There was no
television either since the set was on the second floor.
 

Morning visits to the physical therapist left him exhausted
for the rest of the day.  The sepsis had made him lose a lot
of muscle mass so that he really found it difficult to move
around.  Although they lived in the same house, he never saw
his father.
 

Bill Mulder left early for work and did not come  back until late at
night.  Mulder spent his time reading all the old books in his room.
Not seeing his father even when they lived in the same house was all
right with him.

The nightmares were back with a vengeance.  Aside from the
nightmares about Samantha, Mulder was experiencing the old ones
about his dad beating him with his belt.  One night when he was
screaming so loud in his sleep, Mulder was awakened by a slap on the
face.  He blinked wildly around him and found his father by his bed
giving him that perpetual look of annoyance and disapproval, before he
left the room in disgust.
 

It was a week later when the physical therapy had to be halted
for a while.  Mulder developed a bothersome cough and the
doctor said he had a hospital-acquired pneumonia due to his weakened
state.  Further tests revealed that he also had a urinary tract
infection from the catheter.  No wonder his lower belly ached
especially when he urinated.
 

Mulder's sense of isolation intensified; he had to stay at
home and take antibiotics for a week to clear up his lungs
and his bladder.  The nurses were friendly enough in a detached
way but of course he was just a job for them.
 

Then out of the blue, Scully called and said that  she was in Boston on
a case.  He had to take a deep breath to steady his voice before he
could tell her to please come see him.

.............................................................
 

Scully paused at the door of the Beacon Hill townhouse that
evening.  It was huge.  Scully wondered why Skinner had
mentioned that Mulder was staying at his dad's "apartment".
This certainly was not one; it was bigger than the biggest
house she ever lived in during her peripatetic childhood.

Scully never knew Mulder came from a wealthy family.  He never
mentioned them and she only vaguely knew that his parents were
divorced.  She never thought about him much, other than as a
weird partner she had to tolerate.  She just felt guilty about
him getting shot since she should have followed him to the
docks.
 

Seeing the house which oozed of old money suddenly
explained a lot of things about Mulder.  The gentlemanly way he
always comported himself when she was around, the rare time he displayed
arrogance when his requests were thwarted, his
Oxford education and the way he was so comfortable in a suit
and tie, unlike most agents.  Furthermost in her mind was
Mulder's carelessness with money starting with his seeming
inability to file a coherent expense report and the fact that
she almost always shelled out the money when it was lunch time
because he hardly carried cash and was constantly losing his
credit cards.
 

Scully rang the bell and was ushered into the house by a
butler(?).  The house was as quiet as a tomb and everything
seemed old and expensive.  And musty.  The photographs in the silver
frames on the mantelpiece showed some people in old fashioned
clothes.  There were a lot of photographs of Samantha whom
Dana recognized from the picture Mulder kept on his desk.  But
the only photo Scully could discern of her partner was in
a group picture and he was in the back with his face all blurry.
He seemed to be about ten years old in that picture and Scully
was not surprised that he had on a tie.
 

The butler showed her to Mulder's bedroom which was in the
back of the house.  Mulder was asleep but started awake when
the butler shook his shoulder.  Scully tried not to show  her
shock.  He had lost a lot of weight and he seemed very pale
and weak.
 

"Hi, Mulder," Scully forced herself to smile.
 

Skinner had mentioned that there were complications
but Scully was not prepared for the heavy toll the gunshot
had apparently taken.  His flannel pajamas seemed very large
for him and he was coughing.
 

"Come on in, Scully," Mulder smiled widely she handed him a large bag of
sunflower seeds.  He even laughed when she gave him the UFO books, the
ones she knew he mentioned he hadn't read yet.
 

Looking at him as he looked at some of the pictures in the books, Scully
could see that his respiratory rate was above normal and he was coughing
almost constantly.
 

"Fox?"
 

Both Scully and Mulder looked up.  The nurse was standing there with her
coat in hand.
 

"Good night, Mrs. Lovett,"  Mulder said.  Scully looked questioningly at
him.  Before he could stop her, Scully stepped outside and talked to
Mrs. Lovett.
 

Scully grilled her about Mulder's pneumonia  but was reassured that  his
lungs were much better than a few days ago.  It seemed that
Mulder was alone in the house for the night since even the
butler went home.  It made Scully uncomfortable leaving him
alone in the big house; apparently his father came home very late.
 
 

Innocently, she asked him why he didn't just stay with  his
mother.  His voice went flat and told her that his mother
had not wanted him with him so sick.  There was an uncomfortable
silence between them before Scully inanely changed the subject.
 
 

"Okay, I'll stay with you until your dad gets here," Scully said.  "Is
there anything you want?  I can get it for you."
 
 

"You don't have to do that, Scully," Mulder protested.  "I'll be okay.
You heard what Mrs. Lovett said, that I'm getting better."
 
 

She wandered to the library and got him some of the books she thought he
might be interested in. When she returned to his room, he was asleep.
 
 

Scully was dozing off when she heard the front door open. She
hurried to the hallway and saw Mulder's father enter the house.
She recognized him from the mantel photographs.  He seemed
puzzled by her presence in the house until she explained that
she was Mulder's partner at the FBI.  He just nodded and
proceeded up the second floor, uninterested in finding out more
about his son's condition although Mulder could plainly be
heard coughing in his sleep.
 

Agent Scully was able to wrap up the case by Thursday night.
She was surprised when Skinner granted her permission to stay
in Boston over the weekend.  He even urged her to visit Mulder
frequently to make sure he was all right.  Mulder's voice was
more cheerful when she called and he said that it would be
great if she just stayed in his father's house instead of the
cheesy motel.  Scully had to admit that it was a good
idea because she could keep an eye on Mulder and at the same
time get a better deal by checking out of the motel early.
 
 

So Scully arrived at the Beacon Hill townhouse on Thursday
night with her luggage.  The same old butler was there but
this time, she was led to one of the rooms on the second floor.
The second floor was more lived in than the first floor.  She
later realized that she was probably in Samantha's old room
because of the twin size bed and the overall feminine appearance
of the room.  Scully passed by Mulder's father's study and was
amused to see that it almost looked like the basement office
of her partner with a lot of paper strewn about and even the
shells of sunflower seeds on the floor.

She found Mulder in his room; he was sitting up this time with
his crutches beside him.  His color was improved but he still
had the bothersome cough.  He had a large pile of books beside
him but he put it down the moment he saw her.  Scully could
see that her visit most probably cheered him up because he was
talking a great deal without his usual smart aleck and sarcastic
remarks.  Usually on long car trips with him, Mulder's brand of
humor eventually wore thin on her but this time he just wanted
to know about the people at the Bureau and the cases they were
working on.
 

They had dinner in the dining room and she later found out that
Mulder mainly stayed in his room because navigating around the
house on crutches was tricky, especially with the  Persian
rugs scattered all over the place and the highly polished
floor.  The food was very good but Mulder ate little despite
Scully urging him to eat more.  She realized that this was the
first time they were seeing each other on an extended social
call, instead of being together because of some case.
 

Scully eventually found out more about his family.  On long
stakeouts together, Mulder was a captive audience and he knew
all about her family down to the nieces and nephews and even about
her Irish relatives.
 

He, on the other hand, never mentioned his family, except for brief
snatches about Samantha.  It turned out that his parents divorced when
he was thirteen and he  lived with his mother in Connecticut in  until
he left for Oxford at sixteen.  So he  hardly considered this Boston
townhouse as home.  His father lived here and at a house on Martha's
Vineyard.  There was another house in Rhode Island, where Mulder and his
mother  spent their summers.  Bill Mulder worked for the State
Department and did a lot of traveling, even up to now.  Scully got the
distinct impression that they didn't get along because if he was in the
State Department, that meant Bill Mulder spent a lot of time in DC but
father and son's paths never crossed at the capital, at least as far as
Scully knew.
 

The nurse came into Mulder's room after the meal with all the
medications he had to take.
 

She also dressed the surgical site, which Scully had to admit would
leave quite a scar.  Mulder still found it painful and squirmed under
the nurse's ministrations. Then he was nebulized to clear up the phlegm.
The nurse left a large pitcher of water at his bedside.
 

"Fox, I want you to drink all the water tonight so that will help the
UTI,"  Mrs. Lovett admonished.  "The urinal is right down here so you
won't have to get up to go to the bathroom."
 

"Yes, Mrs. Lovett." God, how he hated that urinal.

 
She then said goodnight and left for the day.
 

Mulder and Scully talked until Mulder ran out of steam at around
nine o'clock.  Scully found herself genuinely liking Mulder
instead of just barely tolerating him.  He was a nice enough
person, mainly shy and basically a nerd.  Scully couldn't forget how he
had asked her if she would want to take the day off on the day she went
back to work after Ahab's death.  Also he seemed so
lonely.  He was fast asleep in his ridiculously large flannel
pajamas and snoring loudly when she went back to her room.
 

Scully abruptly came awake at around three o'clock with an
uneasy feeling.  She put on her dressing gown and gingerly felt
her way down the stairs to Mulder's room.  She knocked first
before entering.
 

Mulder was twisted in the bedclothes and was shivering.  Scully
woke him up and found the pajamas to be clammy.  When she felt
Mulder's forehead, he was burning up.  Mulder opened his eyes and was
confused initially on seeing her in his room in the middle of the night.
His teeth was chattering and Scully had to be content in taking his
axillary instead of his oral temperature.  In spite of that, his fever
was still a hundred and four.
 

Scully told him that she would have to wake his father since
he needed to go back to the hospital; the present antibiotic
regimen did not seem effective.  Mulder's eyes widened and he
protested vehemently.
 

"No more hospitals, Scully!" Mulder moaned. "Please don't wake
my dad!"
 

Scully could see that he really was scared of hospitals so she
relented.  She wondered why he seemed as scared of his father.
She told him that he would take two aspirins but if he was
still highly febrile within one hour, she would have no choice.
He was able to take the pills through his chattering teeth and
she helped him out of the soaked pajamas and into a t-shirt and
shorts.  Scully even changed the bed linen to make him more
comfortable.  She also nebulized him to help him cough up
the phlegm.
 

Scully felt it was more prudent if she stayed in his room and
monitored his temperature.  Scully made a nest of beddings on
the floor and slept.  Mulder's chills eventually subsided and
his temperature went down to one hundred and two by four
o'clock.
 

Scully woke up at around eight o'clock.  She was stiff from
sleeping on the floor. Mulder was still asleep, but she could
see that he was breathing much easier.  He still had a slight
fever.  Scully shuddered at what would have happened if the
septic temperature spike that night had gone undetected by
anyone.  Although febrile convulsions were rare in adults,
they could still happen.
 

The morning nurse entered the room.  Scully met him at the door
and reported last night's events.  He nodded and told her that
he would report it to Mulder's doctor.  Scully took it upon
herself to talk to the doctor and he reassured her that he
was just waiting for the results of the sputum and urine
cultures, which would come out today.  Although his present
antibiotics were already based on gram stains, it might be
possible that the cultures would yield a totally different bug.

...............................................................

It was Sunday morning and Scully had just left.  He hated to
see her go but he had no choice.  Mulder was much better; he had
Scully to thank for that.  She kept constant touch with his
doctor for the three days she was in Mulder's house and she had
monitored his fever and other symptoms.  At the same time, she
had finished her report at the Boston Bureau with Mulder's help.

 
The doctor had cleared him for more physical therapy starting
Thursday if the repeat cultures were negative.   Mulder still
wasn't strong enough to maneuver around the house on crutches
but once he was, he had no intention of staying in Boston
more than necessary.
 

The last time he saw his father was more than two weeks ago.
Mulder would hear him enter the house at night and leave in
the mornings.  Any changes in his health was reported
to Bill Mulder by Bob, the morning nurse.  It was ironic that
Bob saw more of his father than Mulder ever did.  Apparently, Bob
reported daily to his father since the nurse insisted that it
was Bill Mulder who had hired him in the first place.
 

It had been three weeks since he had been staying in Boston
and more than a month since the shooting.  Aside from the
medical personnel, Mulder's social life consisted of calls
mainly from Scully and AD Skinner.  His mother phoned
twice since his transfer to Boston.  He kept the conversations
short with her because his mother's rejection of him still hurt
too much.  In typical Mulder fashion, however, he  blamed
himself, and was wracking his brain for anything he might have done to
earn that rejection.  The AD's calls were surprisingly pleasant.
Skinner had been solicitous of his health from the beginning, telling
him to just take it slow and easy and not to be in a hurry to get back
to the Bureau, stressing to him that his health was more important than
any X-file.
 

Mulder was getting better and this manifested in irritability and
restlessness.  He longed to get out of the house but Bob said
that he was not ready.  It was too cold to sit outside the patio;
he was still under strict orders to stay at home since his
lungs were just getting better.  There was no television; listening
to music from a tinny clock radio was driving himcrazy.  All he had were
books he'd already read.
 
 

It was while Bob was dressing his wound that Mulder's temper
finally flared.  Bob had hit a particularly sore spot.
 

"I told you, Bob, it hurts there!  Do I have to keep telling you to take
it easy at that spot?!"
 

Mulder couldn't stop himself and went into a full scale tantrum, the
first time he'd ever done so in a long, long time.  He was
throwing everything he could get a hold of as he let out his
frustrations.  Bob knew what was happening and just let his
patient give off steam and stood at the sidelines as Mulder
trashed the room.
 

Just as Mulder was yelling at the top of his voice, with feathers
from the pillow flying around him, the door to his room opened
and Bill Mulder stood there.  Mulder gaped at him.  He hadn't known
that his father was home.   His shoulders slumped as his father
roared at him to behave himself and stop acting like a child.
Mulder knew that if Bob hadn't been in the room, Bill Mulder
wouldn't have hesitated in hitting him.
 

Mulder shook with relief as his father stepped out.  He allowed
Bob to dress the wound and helped him clean the room.  As usual,
Bob was kind and didn't say anything.  Mulder quietly apologized
to the nurse.

.............................................

Bob cleaned the room quietly when Mulder finally conked out from
helping him.  It was obvious to Bob from the start of this case
that things between the patient and his father were not okay.
Bob was interviewed for this job by Bill Mulder's secretary and
he was startled when he was hired without even seeing a member
of the family.  Arrangements in the house for the things he
would need were made with the elderly butler.

Bob had been with Mulder from the beginning since his transfer to
Boston.  On his first few days, Bob was too busy with getting
to know the patient but as they had settled into a routine, Bob
realized that although Bill Mulder lived in the house, he never
saw his son.
 

Most mornings, Bob would see Bill Mulder leave for work.
At first, Bob would leave Mulder's door open so that it would
provide father and son an opportunity to see each other, at least,
when Bill Mulder passed by to and from breakfast.  But no words were
ever exchanged between them.  Sometimes, Bob caught Mulder
pretending to be asleep when he heard his father's steps nearing
the open door.  Bill Mulder, in turn, never so much as glanced in
the direction of the room.
 

Mulder, on the other hand, was pitiful where his father was
concerned.  The need for his father's approval was so obvious
that it was almost palpable.  The very few times that Bob had
witnessed an encounter between them, he could see that Mulder
had that anxious look on his face, the way he sat up in bed at
attention, his hesitant way of speaking with the older man as if
each word was deliberately weighed before he spoke.  More
troubling for Bob was the one morning more than two weeks ago,
when he came in for work, he saw that Mulder's left cheek was
bruised.  Bob had pressed him for details on how he got that
but Mulder had mumbled some story of stumbling in the dark as
he had used his crutches to get to the bathroom in a hurry in the
middle of the night.  Bob had asked him again how the bruise came
about but Mulder stuck to his story.
 

There were obvious signs of estrangement.  The lack of pictures
of Mulder on the mantlepiece was one.  Then there was the lack of
Mulder's things in the house.  Mulder had early on run out of clothes
because he only had the clothes he had packed for the case at North
Carolina, which mainly consisted of three suits and other work clothes.
Bob and Kean the butler had rummaged in Bill Mulder's closet for any old
pajamas and other house clothes.  Apparently, the last time Mulder had
stayed in Boston was years ago and he had no old clothes.
 

Bob had seen the little girl's room upstairs.  He had asked the butler
whose room it was and when Kean told him the story of the kidnapping or
disappearance of the daughter, everything fell into place.  The  little
girl's things were intact and enshrined while Bob couldn't find a trace
of Mulder's things in the house.  None of the four bedrooms  upstairs
were his.  There was the master bedroom, Samantha's room, Bill  Mulder's
study and the room with the television.  Kean vaguely remembered  that
Fox would bed down on the couch in front of the television when  he
visited.
 
 
As Bob swept up the down feathers into the dustpan, he saw that Mulder
had fallen asleep.  Bob mused that seeing Mulder with his partner,  Dr.
Scully, was seeing another side of his patient, the way he really was.
Bob had never seen Mulder more animated as they talked through most of
the day.   Even Kean, the dour butler had been charmed by her. Mulder's
witty repartee surfaced with Dr.Scully and so this outburst so soon
after Scully's departure was understandable, for Bob at least. Bob was
just sorry that Bill Mulder had to see him like that, since Bob forgot
to tell Fox that his father was in the house and would hear him.

After an hour, Mulder woke up and he was back to his old self, his
moody, quiet self which Bob realized was probably how he was when he
was in his father's territory.  Bob finally relented and took out
his patient in his own car and drove him around for an hour, just to
get fresh air.  After all, they weren't really outside and he wasn't
being exposed to germ-filled crowds.  Mulder almost literally inhaled
the greasy fast-food hamburger and fries they bought from a drive-thru
and Bob realized that to entice Mulder's flagging appetite, he
only had to go to a McDonald's or a Burger King, to ensure that he
would get the maximum number of calories into him.
 

Mulder was more cheerful at the fast-food joint and talked with Bob
more in a half hour than the whole three weeks Bob had known him.
But Bob could see that Mulder was becoming pale around the mouth
and brought him home.  His patient still tired easily which bugged
Mulder no end, since he used to be so active before.  By the time
Bob's car was approaching the house, Mulder was sullenly silent.
 

Bob helped Mulder negotiate the steps to the back door and got him
into bed.  Mulder took his pills without complaint then thanked Bob
for taking him out.

............................................................
 

It was Friday and Mulder's physical therapy just resumed the day.  The
doctor had given him good news in that he could
probably go back to DC within two weeks and Mulder was determined
to do that in as less time as possible.  He was regaining his strength
and the wound did not gape open anymore, having epitheliazed two days
ago.  That did much to improve Mulder's morale because the
wound did not need to be dressed.  The infections were controlled
already.
 

Today, Mulder was dressed in his own clothes, although they hung
loosely on him, instead of sweats or his father's clothes.  As
Bob was driving him home, Mulder insisted on stopping at a nearby
shopping mall and said that he needed to purchase something.  Bob
at first thought that Mulder was going to buy new clothes for
himself since they were at the men's' department.  However, Mulder
headed for the accessories section.
 

"What do you think my dad might need, Bob?"  Mulder asked anxiously.
"His birthday's today."
 

"I dare say that he doesn't need anything, Mulder," Bob said dryly.
 

"What did you give your dad for his birthday?"  Mulder probed as
his eyes scanned the glass enclosed shelves.
 

"A fishing pole,"  Bob said.  "But I doubt if Mr. Mulder would
appreciate that.  From what I've seen of your dad, he doesn't do
much of anything except work."
 

Mulder took a long time in choosing, apparently looking for the
perfect gift and anxiously sought Bob's opinion on his final choice
which was a Coach briefcase.  Of course, Bob had to nod that it
was a perfect gift but he still cringed as Mulder paid for the
briefcase with his credit card.  It cost eight hundred dollars
but Bob had his doubts that Bill Mulder would appreciate this
pathetic attempt of Fox to buy his father's love.  The briefcase was
gift-wrapped and Mulder then bought a birthday card, a funny one.
 

Mulder could spend his whole savings for a gift for the old man
but Bob was quite sure that his father wouldn't even notice.

.....................................................
 

It was half past nine in the evening.  Lydia, the afternoon nurse
had just left a few minutes ago.  Mulder was now alone in the
house.  He got his father's gift-wrapped parcel and put it  in his
backpack and tentatively  went down the hallway and headed
for the long flight of stairs.  He gauged the distance going up and said
to himself that he didn't need to hurry, that
he had all evening to get up to the second floor.
 

Mulder made it to the second floor a little after ten o'clock.
He was gasping at the top of the stairs with his face covered
with a sheen of sweat by the time he got there.  It was much
easier to move around on the second floor since there were no
antiques here.  He placed the gift in front of his father's
bedroom door and passed by the study to get to the television
room.  He looked in the study with curiosity, as always, out of
habit.  One of Bill Mulder's strictest rules since Fox's childhood
which applied even to Samantha was that none of them was ever to
enter the study.  The maids never did; his father cleaned up the room
himself.  It made sense since Bill Mulder worked for the State
Department with a high security clearance.
 

Mulder didn't exactly know what his father really did up to now;
only that Bill Mulder's work made up most if not all of his time
and that since Fox himself was in the Bureau now, he resolved to
find out once he had the time.  The study was still cluttered
with papers all over the place and files everywhere, but Mulder
noted that there was a computer there now.  Fox shuddered as
flashes of memory came to him of having been thoroughly belted
when he was nine years old.  His overwhelming curiosity got the
better of him then, and he had gone into the study more as a dare
from five year old Samantha and had stupidly spilt a glass of milk
on his father's papers.
 

He didn't even glance at Samantha's room.
 

Mulder made his way to the television room and settled comfortably
on the couch.  The television was old, like the rest of the house.
It was a late seventies model without a remote and of course there
was no cable.  But this was the first time in weeks that Mulder had
television and the stupid sitcom on network TV was good enough for him.
 

It was almost like being back in his apartment and Mulder was lulled
to sleep on the couch with the television.
 

It was the middle of the night when Mulder was shaken awake.
He realized where he was and whose hand was on him.  He struggled to sit
up and blinked up at his father who stood before him on the couch.  The
new briefcase was in Bill Mulder's other hand and
he contemptuously tossed it on the coffee table.
 

"H-happy birthday, Dad," Mulder stammered as he wiped drool off the side
of his mouth.
 

Mulder's heart sank when he realized that he did the wrong thing again.
Bill Mulder was not happy with the briefcase.  He launched on a tirade
about Fox being more careful of his money, insisting that he take back
the gift tomorrow and that he certainly could not afford to jack up  his
credit card debts.  His father was telling him  how misplaced his
values were when he didn't even own something so basic as a car and
that he lived in an ugly apartment in  a bad neighborhood back in DC.
Mulder muttered that he was sorry as usual.  He didn't bother  to say
that he had a lot of savings precisely because he had no car  and that
he lived in a cheap apartment.
 

Of course, that just launched a midnight tirade from Bill Mulder who
reminded Fox of his numerous shortcomings.  By the time his father
left the room, Mulder was numb, keenly aware of those shortcomings
until they were engraved in his brain.

.....................................................................
 

The briefcase was returned the next day.  The mall was packed with
weekend shoppers causing difficulty for Mulder in maneuvering around
the stores.  He didn't purchase another gift for his father, finally
realizing that his father essentially wanted nothing from him.
 

Mulder put all his efforts in physical therapy and performed the
strengthening exercises religiously.  By the next week, he only needed a
cane and that was when he decided that it was time to go back to DC.
 

He thanked his two nurses and told them that he could take care of
himself and started making flight arrangements to go back home.  Kean
packed  Mulder's things for him.  Kean had suggested that he could
prepare a farewell dinner for Mulder with his father but Mulder had
vehemently shaken his head.  He told his father on Tuesday that he was
going home on Thursday.  Bill Mulder of course had no comment but Mulder
had the distinct impression that his father seemed glad.
 

By Thursday, Kean took Mulder to the airport.  He had called his father
in his office to say goodbye and dutifully thanked him for letting him
stay.
 

"Don't be foolish enough to get shot again," Bill Mulder's final words
for him were.  "Always follow proper procedures."
 

"Yes, sir," Mulder's voice caught in his throat just before he hung up.
 

The flight was uneventful.  It had been one and a half months since the
shooting.  It felt good to be alone in a public place for the first time
with no one hovering over him.
 

It was a good thing that he had only one piece of luggage, the same one
he had packed for that fateful North Carolina case.  He easily was able
to get a cab; people were surprisingly considerate when you had a cane.
He breathed a sigh of relief once he was dropped off at his apartment.
 

Mulder opened the door to his apartment.  It was musty from disuse and
he grimaced when he saw that the fish were dead again.  He settled onto
his dusty old black couch after he closed the door behind him.  It was
then that it hit him how alone he was.  He had almost lost his life but
there were no sympathetic words nor actions from both his parents.  His
mother never  once took it upon herself to see him through this ordeal.
His father had slapped him for having nightmares and virtually ignored
him the  whole time.  No one from the Bureau even sent a get well card.
Only Scully and Skinner came through for him.
 

.....................................................................
 

When Walter Skinner came into the office on Monday morning, his
assistant Kimberly casually mentioned that Agent Mulder was back
in the basement.  Skinner told her to send him in within the hour, after
he had gone over the morning's paperwork.
 

Mulder came in with a noticeable limp and a cane.  His cheeks were
hollow and he still needed to gain a lot of weight.  But he certainly
looked a lot better than when Skinner last saw him.  There seemed to
be a new maturity about the agent that both troubled and pleased
Skinner. The agent thanked him for the help he had provided in North
Carolina and then he inexplicably flushed momentarily.  Skinner
correctly  surmised that Mulder was remembering that he had cried in the
AD's  presence when his leg was in danger of being amputated.
 

Skinner gave his standard welcome back speech and since the agent was
still obviously depressed, he added his morale boosting speech.  Mulder
was told that he was still confined to office work until he had his
strength back.  The agent nodded and limped out of the room.
 
 

EPILOGUE
 

Fox Mulder stared out of the window of his father's Boston townhouse.
He shook his head.  It was HIS townhouse now.  His father was dead.  He
had to remind himself that this wasn't the same house at all.  He looked
at Walter Skinner sleeping nude on the bed.  They'd just made love for
the first time here.
 

He ran a hand over the old scar on his thigh.  It had softened and
flattened through the years.  Who could have predicted that the next
time he ever stayed in this house, he would have his lover here with
him, his male lover?  Someone who had changed his life and who only
changed it for the better everyday that they were together.  He smiled
and shivered as he was suddenly aware of the room's chill.  He crawled
back into bed, his cold hands and feet waking up Walter who grumpily
complained.  Mulder pulled the comforter over them, put both arms around
the older man and hugged hard.
 
 

END OF BACCARAT FRAGMENT: ICU
 
 

Feedback will be much appreciated!
 

Written in the Wisconsin Winter Wonderland of 1997.