By Polly
polly122456@yahoo.com
 

Classification:  Missing scene for "Deep Throat,"
Scully POV, Retrofic (if there is such a thing)
Rating:  PG
Spoilers:  "Deep Throat," "The Pilot"
Disclaimer: All XF characters belong to Chris Carter,
David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and 1013
Productions
Notes:  Written for the Haven "Remember When"
Challenge; additional notes and elements at the end
Thanks:  To Peg'sGirl for the beta and encouragement
Archive:  If you want it, it's yours
Feedback:  Welcome and appreciated
Summary:  A new partnership is tested

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Connecting
By Polly

"That's enough, Mulder.  We don't know anything.
Anything more than when we got here, and that's what
I'm gonna write in my field report.  Let's get outta
here, Mulder, as fast as we can."

I didn't give him time to object.  I herded him into
the car, put the pedal to the metal, and left Anita
Budahas and Marriette Field in the dust.  After a
quick stop at the Beech Grove Motel to collect our
things, we headed toward Boise in Paul Mossinger's
car because Mulder couldn't remember where he'd left
our rental.

I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and
checked the rear view mirror, then nudged the
accelerator closer to the floor.  We were already
going over 80, but a speeding ticket seemed of little
consequence at this point.  I had already kidnapped a
government employee, stolen a car, and busted my
partner out of a military installation today, and it
wasn't even 10 o'clock.

My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I'd skipped
dinner last night and breakfast this morning, too
worried about Mulder to think about food.  "We'll
stop and get something to eat in a little while," I
said.  "I want to put some distance between us and
the Air Base.  Okay?"  When he didn't answer, I
glanced over quickly.  He was staring straight ahead,
hands folded in his lap, prompting me to ask him the
same question I'd asked earlier. "You okay, Mulder?"

"Yeah."

It was easier to believe he was telling me the truth
than to consider the alternatives, so I didn't press
and we rode in silence.  I was so preoccupied
watching the road ahead and behind that he startled
me when he spoke again.

"Pull over, Scully.  I'm gonna be sick."

Mulder was out the door before I could bring the
sedan to a full stop.  He had nothing more in his
stomach than I did, so I knelt beside him, placed a
reassuring hand on his shoulder, and waited until the
dry heaves subsided.  When they finally did, he sat
in the dirt leaning against the car and I offered him
a tissue from a box I'd found in the back seat.

"We shouldn't have left the motel without some
water," I said, brushing his hair back from his
forehead.  "That wasn't very smart of us, was it?"
He nodded just slightly.  "We can't be too far from a
gas station.  As soon as we find one, we'll stop and
get you some water to rinse your mouth.  You'll feel
better then."

He managed a weak smile.  "I'm okay, Scully."

"I know."  I helped him stand and maneuvered him back
into the passenger seat.  "But I don't want you to
get dehydrated.  So humor me, all right?"  He looked
up at me and nodded, then closed his eyes and leaned
against the headrest.

He asked me to stop again ten minutes later; and
although I remained calm on the outside as his body
convulsed, an internal debate was raging.  Dr. Scully
was urging me to get him to the emergency room as
soon as possible, but Agent Scully who had just
risked life and limb - not to mention career and
future - to rescue her partner lobbied against it. If
I checked Mulder into a hospital, Blevins would know
within the hour.  Mulder made the decision for me
when he wiped his mouth and got back in the car under
his own power - no hospital for now.

I whispered a heartfelt "thank you" to no one in
particular when we finally found a service station
almost a half hour later.  Mulder had been asleep
since our last stop, and I didn't wake him until I
returned with the bathroom keys.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned as I shook his shoulder
a second time.  "What?  Where are we?"

"We're at a gas station.  Here's the rest room key.
Why don't you go wash your face?  And here."  I
handed him the items I had fished out of his shaving
kit. "You'll feel much better after you brush your
teeth.  Do you want me to help you?"
He got out of the car on his own, swayed a bit, waved
off my attempts at assistance, and staggered toward
the men's room.  With the other key, I opened the
door marked "Ladies," used the facilities, and
contemplated the irony of my fragmented reflection in
the cracked bathroom mirror.  When I came out, there
was no sign of Mulder so I knocked on the rest room
door.  "I'm gonna go fill the tank, Mulder.  You need
any help?"

"No, I'm fine.  I'll meet you around front."

He appeared beside me while I was paying for the gas
and my other purchases, returning the men's room key
to the attendant with one hand while he ran his
fingers through his damp hair with the other.  He had
washed away the crust around his eyes and looked 100
percent better.

"I got some water and some crackers," I said as I
reached for my change.  "Do you want anything else?"

"Aspirin."

"Tylenol," I corrected.  "Got that.  And some ginger
ale in case you feel sick again.  I got some seeds
too, for when you feel better."

"Ah, Scully, you obviously know the way to a man's
heart is through his stomach."

The sense of humor was returning.  A good sign.

I had already decided we should check into the
nearest motel.  I was reasonably sure we weren't
being followed, and I knew it was a good idea if we
both got some sleep before driving the remaining 400
miles or so to Boise.  The gas station attendant told
me there was plenty of suitable lodging 'just up the
road'; but after passing six campsites and five
motels that advertised their rates by the hour, I
decided to keep going until we got to Boise.

Mulder took three Tylenol as soon as we got in the
car, and he slept all the way to our next stop, a
small diner where the neon sign promising "Breakfast
Served All Day" called my name.  I shoveled down a
western omelet, sausage, hashed browns, and coffee
while Mulder picked at some toast and scrambled eggs.

We made good time after that, with only a few more
stops for bathroom breaks and to stretch our legs.
Mulder slept a little, but every so often he would
ask me another question I couldn't answer about what
happened to him at the base.  Most of the time he
stared out the window trying unsuccessfully to piece
together the events of the past 24 hours. He
remembered a few images, fragments of conversations,
but nothing made sense.

We stopped for dinner outside the Boise city limits
at 6 p.m. and rolled into the motel parking lot just
after seven.  I'm not sure why I insisted that Mulder
accompany me into the office to register.  Maybe I
was afraid since he was feeling better he would take
off again, and I wasn't quite ready to deal with Fox
Mulder's Excellent Adventure Redux.  He didn't
protest, just followed me into the cramped office and
leaned against the counter as I rang the bell.

A door marked "Private" behind the desk opened and a
man in his mid-fifties appeared to welcome us to the
Boise Econolodge.   He was sporting a day's growth of
beard, and he'd missed a button while putting on his
sweater.

"We'd like two rooms, please," I said as I filled out
the registration card he placed before me.  "Side by
side.  And I'd prefer rooms with a connecting door,
if you have any."

Before he could ask for ID, I pulled out my FBI
wallet and slapped it on the desk.  He took one look
at my badge, eyed Mulder and me up and down, and
shook his head as he completed the information on the
registration card.  "It's none of my business," he
drawled, "but why don't you government types save the
taxpayers some money and just take one room?  We
don't really care if you go at it like bunny rabbits
but why do you always have to stick us for the cost
of two rooms just to make it look good on your
expense reports?"  He chuckled to himself.  "The
connecting door is a nice touch, though."

I'm glad my fellow civil servants could set such a
fine example.  Sorry, Mr. Desk Clerk.  Catch Dana
Scully on a bad day, suffer the consequences.

"You're right, sir, it isn't any of your business."
I snatched the pen out of his hand to make sure I had
his full attention.  "But for your information, my
partner, Agent Mulder, was seriously injured in the
line of duty yesterday, and as a medical doctor, I
would like to keep an eye on him throughout the
night.  If possible, I'd like to do that without
having to disturb your other guests or traipse around
your lovely establishment in the middle of the night
in my bathrobe.  Now, if that meets with your
approval, do you or do you not have two rooms with a
connecting door?"

The clerk just stood there, eyes and mouth wide open,
apparently afraid to move in case it might upset my
itchy trigger finger.  When I glanced over at Mulder,
he was wearing the same expression.  Perhaps this
little demonstration of ass kicking Scully style
would come in handy in the future.  Watch and learn,
Mulder.  Watch and learn.

I signed the registration card, dropped the pen on
the counter, and cleared my throat.  "Rooms?"

The clerk finally blinked, but didn't look down as he
fumbled under the counter.  "Um, yes, ma'am."  He
pulled out two keys, laid them on the desk, and
pushed them tentatively toward me, pulling his hand
away quickly when I reached for them.  "That's 212
and 214.  One's a single, one's a double.  I mean, if
that's all right with you, ma'am."

"That will be fine, thank you," I said as I picked up
the room keys and retrieved the car keys from my
pocket.  "Which way?"

"To the right," he replied.  "At the end.  I hope you
have a pleasant stay, ma'am."

I flashed a shit-eating grin and led the way out of
the office with Mulder trailing behind like an
obedient puppy.  We drove to the end of the complex,
and I handed him the room keys while I got our bags
out of the trunk.  By the time I climbed the outside
staircase, Mulder had opened Room 212 and was sitting
on the bed staring at his shoes.  I dropped Mulder's
duffel, opened the connecting door, and turned on the
light in 214.  It was the single room and hadn't been
redecorated since the 70s, but it looked clean and
the bed looked reasonably comfortable.  I placed my
suitcase on the bed and turned around to find Mulder
standing in the doorway.

"Scully, I don't think this connecting rooms thing is
such a good idea."

I had managed to suppress my anger with Mulder all
day in deference to his physical condition, but the
motel clerk had lit the fuse and now Mulder was
fanning the flame.  "Why, Mulder?  You have something
to hide?  Are you afraid that I'll learn some of your
dirty little secrets?"  I started walking toward him
and he backpedaled into the double room.  "Like what?
Do you wet the bed?  You like to sleep in women's
underwear?  You turn into a werewolf?  What?"

I stood there defiantly, hands on hips, while he
hugged his arms to his chest and scuffed the toe of
his shoe on the worn carpet.  "I ... I don't sleep
very well.  And when I do sleep, I have nightmares
and sometimes I talk in my sleep.  I just wouldn't
want to ..."

"Say something that I might report to Blevins?  Is
that what you're afraid of, Mulder?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets and answered
softly.  "I was gonna say I wouldn't want to keep you
awake."

I felt about two inches tall.  I took a step toward
him and he stumbled backward, nearly tripping over
his duffel bag.  I reached out to steady him, and
kept my hand on his forearm as I spoke gently.  "I'm
sorry, Mulder.  I'm just tired.  We're both tired.
Go take a shower.  I'll get you some clean clothes
and leave them by the sink."

He mulled things over for a moment, then stiffly
pulled off his coat, dropped it on the bed, and
unsteadily made his way to the bathroom without a
word.  When I heard the shower come on, I unzipped
his bag and pulled out his shaving kit, a clean pair
of boxers, and a gray tee shirt.  I reached a little
deeper in the bag for a pair of sweat pants, and as I
pulled them out, a small picture frame tumbled onto
the bedspread.

I picked it up and turned it over in my hand.  A
beautiful little girl, her dark hair in pigtails,
smiled up at me from her seat on a rope swing.  This
must be Mulder's sister.  He didn't tell me her name
that night in Oregon, but after we got back I looked
it up in his file.  Samantha.  I smiled back at her,
wrapped a tee shirt around the frame, and carefully
placed it back in the bag.

I knocked gently on the bathroom door and spoke his
name softly before placing his clean clothes on the
vanity.  He assured me he was all right, so while
Mulder finished his shower, I sat at the desk in his
room and called the airline.  I was jotting down our
flight number when he emerged from the bathroom, his
hair still damp and spiky.  He was wearing the sweats
but carrying the tee shirt, dropping it beside him as
he plopped down wearily on the end of the bed.

"Okay, thank you.  Goodnight."  I hung up the phone
and shifted in my chair so we were sitting toe-to-
toe.  "Well, I got us a ... oh, my God.  Mulder, what
the hell did they do to you?"

He lightly fingered the deep purple and yellow bruise
that wrapped around the right side of his torso.
"That's not from last night, Scully," he said as he
gingerly pulled the tee shirt over his head.  "That
much I *do* remember.  That's from yesterday
afternoon, those spooks out on the road, the ones who
took our film and told us to get out of town."

He must have been in a lot of pain with a bruise like
that, could have had internal injuries, and I hadn't
even noticed.  I mentally kicked myself as I scooted
my chair toward him, intending to take a closer look.
Only then did I notice the other marks on his body -
telltale signs of injection sites on his arms, tape
residue on the backs of his hands where IVs had been
administered, dark bruises around his wrists where
he'd struggled against his restraints.

I knew he was sick, confused, and yet I hadn't
bothered to examine him all day.  Way to go, Dr.
Scully. Probably a good thing you chose pathology as
your specialty.

I couldn't speak, just continued to stare at his arms
and hands until he self-consciously pulled them back
against his body.  "That's how I know I saw
something, Scully.  And just like Budahas, they took
those memories away."

I nodded dumbly, remembering Mulder's theory about
selective brainwashing.  Even if it were possible,
what was so important that the military would risk it
not just on their own personnel but on Mulder as
well, a fellow employee of the federal government?
Weren't we all supposed to be on the same team?

I thought about our earlier conversation when I had
explained away Mulder's "unidentified flying objects"
as top-secret experimental aircraft and had argued
that the military had a right and a responsibility to
protect their secrets.  But when Mulder asked me when
the human cost for building a better machine became
too high, I ignored the question.  Now that the
"human cost" was sitting right here in front of me, I
couldn't ignore the question anymore.  Maybe some of
Fox Mulder's theories weren't as off-the-wall as some
people wanted to believe.

I didn't realize just how close to Mulder I was
sitting until I felt his breath on my cheek.  "Did
you get us a flight out?"

Now who was self-conscious?  I stood quickly, pushed
the chair back under the desk, and gathered my
notebook and pen as well as my composure.  "Yes."  I
turned around, professionalism restored, and tucked
the notebook and pen in my pocket.  "The earliest
flight I could get was 9 a.m.  That'll put us home
sometime mid-afternoon.  Just enough time to type up
my notes before my meeting with Blevins on
Wednesday."

"We have a meeting with Blevins on Wednesday?"

"Not we, me," I replied.  "When Blevins assigned me
to the X-Files, he set up a weekly meeting - every
Wednesday, 10 a.m.  He said that in addition to
reading my field reports, he wants to hear my
personal observations about our cases."

Mulder snorted and absently scratched the tape
residue on the back of his left hand.  "I'll bet he
does."

After all I'd been through today, Mulder picked the
wrong time to question my integrity.  I took a step
forward, close enough to block his way if he tried to
stand up, and folded my arms over my chest.  He was
going to get an earful, whether he liked it or not,
and I took a bit of perverse pleasure when his neck
snapped back to look up at me.  I wasn't exactly
towering over him, but at least the shoe was on the
other foot for a change.

"Let's get this straight right now, Mulder," I said.
"I'm nobody's spy.  If that had been part of this
assignment, I would have turned it down flat,
regardless of the consequences.  That's *not* who I
am.  I think for myself and I draw my own
conclusions.  I am here to put your theories to the
test of science, and that's what I intend to do."

"You were sent here to spy on me, Scully.  Whether
you realize it or not."

"So you've said.  Maybe if I were in your position,
I'd believe the same thing.  Blevins may have an
agenda, but I'm telling you I'm not part of it.
That's not why I'm here."

"Then why *are* you here, Scully?"  He crossed his
arms defiantly, and for a moment we were like two
bulldogs scrapping over a bone.  "If you really
believe you had a choice, why would you choose a dead
end assignment like this one?"

I softened my stance and my tone a little and
answered as honestly as I could.  "Because I wanted
the opportunity to work with you."

He couldn't have looked more surprised if I'd
sprouted wings and flown out the window.  "To work
with me?" he laughed.  "How did you pass the psych
test, Scully?  You're crazier than I am."

I smiled and sat down on the bed next to him.  "I'll
admit, Mulder, when I was first told about being
partnered with you, I wasn't exactly thrilled.  I
only knew you by reputation, the gossip I'd heard at
the Academy.  But then I met you.  That afternoon I
went home and read your profiles, your monographs -
anything I could get my hands on.  I realized you
were not only a brilliant profiler but a terrific
agent, too.  I wanted to work with you because I
thought I could learn something from you."  I paused
for a moment to make sure my words were sinking in.
"And I'd like to think that you could learn something
from me, if you'd give me a chance."

He didn't speak, just started chewing on his lip, so
I pulled the Tylenol bottle out of my pocket, shook
three into his hand, and went to the bathroom for a
glass of water.  When I returned, he tossed the
tablets in his mouth, drained the glass, and handed
it back to me.

"Thank you," he said softly as he looked up at me.
"Thank you for coming after me."

Sometime during my sophomore year in college I'd
learned that all men have the ability to turn on that
"little boy lost" look that appeals to a woman's
natural maternal instinct at just the right moment,
but somehow with Mulder it didn't seem like an act.
My heart was aching for him, but I reminded myself I
didn't want to be his mother.  I wanted to be his
partner, his equal, and maybe someday his friend. So
I simply replied, "You're welcome."

"How did you get me out?"

I sat the empty glass on the desk.  "I caught Paul
Mossinger sniffing around our motel.  Turns out he
wasn't with the local paper after all, he was Air
Base security.  I threatened to call in a flock of
investigative reporters if he didn't arrange for your
release, so he obliged.  I don't think the military
wants to bring attention to the fact that their
security was breached, so I don't think Blevins will
find out about your little escapade."

"Until he reads your report."

"That won't be in my report."

He looked at me in disbelief.  "Then what are you
gonna tell Blevins?"

"The truth," I replied.  "We went to Idaho to
investigate the disappearance of Colonel Budahas.
During our investigation Colonel Budahas was
returned, and therefore, no further investigation was
warranted.  So we came home."

"You're leaving out an awfully big chunk of
information, aren't you, Scully?"

"Maybe I had a selective brain wipe too."

He smiled.  "I thought you didn't believe my
theories."

I smiled back.  "Well, someone suggested that I
should consider opening my mind to extreme
possibilities.  I was just trying it on for size."

"I don't think it fits, Scully," he said.  "Just stay
as skeptical as you are.  I'm used to being a party
of one."

I walked past him and turned down the covers on the
other bed, then sat down across from him.  "You know,
Mulder, you've got this 'lone wolf' act down pretty
good, but I'm not buying it.  You *want* someone to
trust.  I can see it in your eyes."

"Really?  And why should I trust you?"

"Mulder, you told me that they want to discredit your
work, that they want to shut down the X-Files.  Well,
I could have accomplished that with one phone call
last night, but I didn't.  I think that should at
least earn me the benefit of the doubt."

He leaned forward until his elbows rested on his
knees, clasped his hands together and tucked them
under his chin.  "Why didn't you call Blevins?" he
asked.  "Why did you come after me?"

"Because you're my partner," I said.  "And I know
that if *I'd* been the one in there, you would have
done the same for me."

He shook his head.  "You would never have been in
there in the first place."

I flashed a playful smile.  "That's right.  I
wouldn't.  But you never know.  If I hang around with
you long enough, I might develop some bad habits."

He laughed and winced slightly, moving one hand to
his side to protect his sore ribs.  That was my cue;
I stood up and gently took his elbow, guiding him
toward the bed I'd just vacated.  "I know we haven't
been partners for very long," I said as he crawled
between the sheets, "and I know you don't trust me or
like me.  But despite all that, I know that if I was
being held against my will, you would move heaven and
earth to find me just because I'm your partner,
because that's the kind of Agent you are.  That's the
kind of man you are."

He settled back against the pillows, pulled the
covers up over his waist, and used the remote on the
nightstand to click on the TV.  "I never said I
didn't like you."

I smiled warmly and squeezed his hand.  "Now you need
to get some sleep, Mulder.  I'm going to go take a
shower and then I'm going to join you."  I started to
blush as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

"I know you went to a lot of trouble to get me in the
sack, Scully, but you'd better let me get my strength
back first."

"I *meant* that after I take a shower, I'm going to
bed," I said.  "After all, I need to be well rested
if I'm going to come back in here and ravish you
later.  You didn't think checking on your medical
condition was the real reason I wanted that
connecting door, did you?"

In our short time together, I'd already learned the
secret to dealing with Fox Mulder:  Give as good as
you get.  Be ready to play the verbal tennis match at
any time.  Serve, Mr. Mulder.  Return, Miss Scully.
A little topspin, a scorching backhand.  I was glad
to have the opportunity to play the game again.

We both laughed and I reached for the remote to turn
off the TV.  "Goodnight, Mulder."

"No, Scully, leave it on."

"Mulder," I scolded, "you need sleep.  You can't do
that with the TV on."

"I told you, Scully, I don't sleep that well.  The TV
helps sometimes.  I'll keep the volume low so it
doesn't disturb you."

He'd probably convinced himself that the television
kept the nightmares at bay, or at the very least
drowned them out.  "That's okay, you won't disturb
me," I said and started off toward my own room, but
something made me turn back and sit down on the edge
of his bed.

"You know, when I was a little girl, we moved around
a lot because my father was in the Navy, and I always
had trouble sleeping our first few nights in a new
house.  Do you know what my mother did to help me
sleep?"

"Made you drink warm milk?"

I wrinkled my nose in disgust.  "Ugh, no.  Here, I'll
show you."  I took his right hand in my left and
turned it over so the palm was facing up.  "Take a
deep breath and close your eyes."

To my surprise he complied willingly.  "When I
couldn't sleep, my mother would do this ..." Using my
right index finger, I began to trace circles on his
palm.  I kept my voice soft and slow, mirroring the
pressure and the rhythm of my finger.  "Clear your
mind of everything but the circle, concentrate on the
pattern, round and round, no beginning, no end." His
eyelids fluttered just slightly and I continued the
circular motion and my quiet monologue.  "On our
first night in a brand new house, my mother would
come in my room, sit on my bed, sing Irish lullabies,
and talk about circles while she traced them on my
hand.  Hula hoops, ring around the rosy, merry-go-
rounds, wedding rings, the tire swing in our new
backyard ..."

He opened his eyes slowly and smirked.  "I think your
mother was an amateur hypnotist, Scully."

I continued the slow circles as I laughed.  "Call it
whatever you want, Mulder.  It helped me relax; it
chased away the fears that came with a new house, new
school, making new friends.  It chased away the bad
dreams."

I could tell by his expression that the promise of
nightmare-free slumber was intriguing, but he was
still skeptical.

"Trust me, Mulder," I said.  "In fact, this is a good
place for us to start.  Do me a favor and trust me on
this one little thing, and we'll work our way up to
the big things, one step at a time. What do you say?
This could be the beginning of a beautiful
friendship."

He pretended to consider my offer and smiled.  "Are
you gonna quote old movies all night or sing?  I'd
like to request the one with "too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral,"
please."

"I'm afraid that's where I draw the line, Mulder," I
chuckled.  "I can't carry a tune in a bucket.  One
thing you will never, ever, hear me do is sing."

"Ooh, you know I can't resist a challenge.  You mark
my words, Agent Scully.  One day you *will* sing me
to sleep."

"Don't hold your breath Mulder."  He said 'one day.'
Like he intended to be my partner for a while longer.
That had a nice ring to it.  Ring.  Circles.  Focus,
Dana.  I started tracing figures on his hand again.
"Now, think about the pattern.  Round and round, no
beginning, no end."

His face turned serious.  "Hey, Scully, you don't
think my brain wipe will make me forget this part of
our trip, do you?"

"I don't think so, Mulder," I replied.  "As you said,
it seems to be selective, though how that's possible
I don't know.  I think the rest of your memories are
safe."  Then I added in my best Bogart, "We'll always
have Boise."

That generated a true belly laugh.  He looked up at
me with a loopy grin and winked.  "Here's lookin' at
you, kid."

"Are you gonna quote old movies all night or go to
sleep?" I asked.

"Okay, okay."  He brushed my fingers with his.  "I
don't know why you're putting up with me, Scully.
But thank you."

"You're worth the effort, Mulder."  A man who still
carries a picture of a lost sister after 20 years is
definitely worth the effort.  I resumed the light
touch on his palm and my soft, slow narration.  "Now
close your eyes and concentrate.  Think about
basketball hoops.  The planets.  Spaceships.  Crop
circles ..."

A few minutes later he was snoring softly.  I slipped
my hand out of his and stood carefully, trying not to
jostle the bed too much.  He muttered something
unintelligible, but never stirred, not even when I
switched off the television and the lamp.  Told you
to trust me, Mulder.

I returned to the single room, took a quick shower,
and even though it was only 9:30, I could barely keep
my eyes open as I dried my hair.  I switched off my
lamp, but before climbing into my own bed, I tiptoed
through the open connecting door to sneak one more
peek at Mulder.  Enough light from the parking lot
filtered through the curtains for me to see him
curled on his left side, still sound asleep.  I would
check him at midnight and again at 4 a.m. to see if
he needed more Tylenol or more of Margaret Scully's
soothing sedative.

On my way back to bed, I closed the connecting door,
leaving it open just a crack, but something made me
go back and open it all the way.  I leaned against
the door frame for a moment, watching the steady rise
and fall of my partner's chest as he slept.

Partner.  That word became real to me today.  Mulder
and I had come a long way in a short time, but we
still had a long way to go.  If only our partnership
had a connecting door like this one - a portal that
protected our privacy yet provided a gateway for
honest communication; a threshold for finding common
ground, sharing ideas, and building a professional
relationship.  It would represent the necessity of
keeping an open mind and the importance of never
shutting each other out, no matter what.

And now that I was waxing philosophical and
metaphorical about a door, I knew it was definitely
time for bed.

As I slipped under the covers I couldn't help but
smile.  The day that started as a disaster had turned
out pretty well in the end.  Mulder and I were
finally connecting.  I could feel it, and I knew he
could too.  Maybe this really was the beginning of a
beautiful friendship.

THE END

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Notes:  I began writing this for a Haven Challenge to
write a "remember when" story that featured a theme
that was extremely popular when XF fanfic started,
but one that wasn't written much anymore.  I chose a
"connecting door" theme for my "remember when" story,
but I wasn't able to finish the story for the
Challenge.  Two months later, my attempt at a "first
time" connecting door fic is finally done.  These
were the Challenge elements:

A picture (of anyone)
The word redux
Skipping something
Act that happens every Wednesday
A favor