By Ellen Field
Email: cgolledge@tac.com.au

Rating: PG13 for language

Category: MT, A, H

Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me . . . etc, etc., and I didn't ask Chris Carter if
I could use them in this story, but I'm sure if he minded, he would have said so
already.

Summary:
This story is a fill in the gap for the Season One Episode Fallen Angel,
and takes place during the trip back to Washington after Max Fenig's
abduction. Mulder, battered and bruised after his run-in with the E.B.E.
and the military, deals with painful memories of his sister's abduction
as he faces the prospect of being out of the bureau for good. Scully does
some soul-searching as well, in regards to her future career.

Author's note:
This was written for Sally Bahnsen, a wonderful friend and talented writer
who doesn't take no for an answer <G>. Sally, thanks ( I think? ) for planting
the idea in my head in the first place, and never giving up on getting your story :)
And another thank you for posting it for me!

Those of you who have read my other stories know they are full of aussie-isms.
Since I am writing about American characters and situations, I've come to the
conclusion that I should alter my style accordingly. So a huge thank you goes to
Vickie Moseley, for finding the time and patience to educate me ( and fix all my
spelling mistakes ). By the way, we do get to use the 'Z' tile in Scrabble . . .
occasionally. There's only one, and its worth ten points. <BG>

And last but not least, Judie Murphy. Thanks for another great beta-reading job.
Especially on those sentences that refuse to come out right!
 
 
 
 

Fallen Agent
 
 
 

FBI Headquarters
Washington DC
Day Three
9:12 a.m.

The third floor corridor of the Hoover Building was eerily
quiet. Deserted, like a school hallway after the morning bell
has sounded. The ritual eight thirty rush of clerical staff had
come and gone, relegating the activity to the other side of
closed doors.

Section Chief Scott Blevins stepped from the elevator and
walked towards his office, his briefcase swinging in time with
his relaxed stride. He was in no hurry, even though his working
day was beginning much later than normal routine dictated.
A sense of inner calm had been with him since he'd woken this
morning. The kind of satisfaction that came with being in total
control.

For far too long he'd been living with a constant thorn in his
side. In a matter of a few hours, that thorn would finally be
removed. Fox Mulder's checkered career as an FBI field agent
ended today, no matter how many connections the man had up
on the Hill.

It always amazed Blevins that the bureau hierachy would waste so
much time an effort on a lost cause. Two years of pandering to
Mulder's every whim, in the faint hope of one day returning him
to VCS. Admittedly, if Fox Mulder belonged anywhere in the FBI
(and Blevins had always argued that he didn't), it was in the
Behavioural Science Unit attached to Violent Crimes. There was
no ignoring the spectacular results Mulder had achieved while
assigned there. His solve rate, especially on serials, was unlikely
to ever be equalled. That fact used to get under Blevins skin in a
huge way -- until he finally worked out the reason behind it.

It went under the heading of 'it takes one to know one'. Mulder was
a lunatic. Ergo, he could catch lunatics. Without the input of their star
profiler, the unit plodded along with sporadic success. And would
probably continue to do so, now that he would be out of the
bureau for good.

The latest failed strategy to get Mulder back to the mainstream
was teaming him with Dana Scully. The logic behind the decision
was sound - she was a scientist, and science would invalidate the
X-Files. A good idea in theory. In practice, it achieved the exact
opposite. Like waving a red flag at a bull, Scully's presence only
spurred Mulder on, challenged him to prove his outlandish ideas.

But today it would all end. A smile grew wide on Blevins face as
he took a few seconds to savour that thought. He'd never have to
sign off on a 302 requesting travel to Backwater, Mississippi or some
other God-forsaken place to hunt a light in the sky again. Or read
another field report that could pass for a Stephen King novel.

No more files that started with the letter X.

No more Fox Mulder.

And all he had to do was sit back and wait for it to happen.
The OPR panel that would see to Mulder's dismissal was being
headed by Frank McGrath. McGrath hated Spooky Mulder and
his wacked-out theories even more than Blevins did.

If that's possible, he chuckled to himself.

Blevin's secretary looked up as he opened the door, and he wished her a
hearty good morning. She was startled for a second, more than likely
caught off guard by the unusual greeting. She recovered quickly enough
to reply, "Good morning, Sir."

"An exceptionally good morning," he corrected.

She smiled back cautiously as he strolled past her desk and into his inner
office. He hung his coat on the rack and saw there were already a half
dozen or so messages waiting for him, tucked neatly under the corner flap
of the desk mat. He sat down to read them.

The first two were of no great significance. The third, he quickly realised,
could be a problem . . .

Time 0905
Caller SC McGrath
Ext 5410
Message Call him ASAP
 

He was reaching for the phone as he lifted that piece of paper to
see the next . . .

Time 0832
Caller Agent Scully
555 3564
Message Agents Mulder/Scully missed their flight from
Milwaukee this morning - she'll call again with
revised time arriving DC.

Further down his secretary had jotted -

I've let all members of the review panel know.
 
 

That explained the message from Frank McGrath. He'd be screaming
long and loud about having to reorganise his schedule. And he'd be
demanding to know why.

Blevins felt a familiar twinge in his stomach -- the remnants of an
old ulcer that acted as an early warning system to a particular type
of trouble. The kind stirred up by Special Agent Fox Mulder.

Before he spoke to Frank, he'd need to make another call. He picked
up the phone and pressed intercom.

"I need you to track down a number for me." He paused for a second,
giving his secretary time to pick up her pen.
 
 

"It's a military operation in Townsend, Wisconsin . . ."
 
 

x x x
 
 
 

Military Command Facility
Townsend, Wisconsin
Day Three
10:11 a.m.
 
 

Flight 113 to Washington boarded at Milwaukee in fourteen
minutes. The last time Scully checked her watch, there'd
been a whole seventeen minutes to go. Since it took at least
an hour to get to the airport from where she was, and she had no
idea where her partner was at this particular point in time, it was
a foregone conclusion they wouldn't be on that plane.

Mulder had been dragged away, literally, by Colonel Henderson
and his cronies over an hour ago. She'd lost sight of the Jeep
they were travelling in shortly after leaving the docks, and there'd
been no sign of him in the twenty or so minutes since she'd arrived
back at the ad-hoc military headquarters outside Townsend. No
amount of yelling or badge waving had extracted any information
on what was happening to him, or whether he was even there at all,
and if she didn't find out anything very soon . . .

She'd have to call headquarters again and explain the situation.

< Explain the situation >

She uttered a few well-chosen words under her breath. How
in God's name was she supposed to do that, when she didn't
have the faintest idea what was going on? Even if she did have
something useful to say, she certainly didn't want to say it to
Blevins, or worse still, Section Chief McGrath. She'd been
awake now for thirty hours straight, the majority of the time
on her feet. Any diplomacy skills she may have once owned
were now well and truly extinct.

Last night, in it's entirety, had been spent at the local hospital,
working on the burned soldiers. Fifth and sixth degree radiation
burns, she reminded herself, like nothing she'd ever encountered
before. Despite everything she and the medical staff had done,
five men had died . . . terribly. Two had survived. But she didn't
hold out much hope that those poor bastards would live any longer
than another day or so.
 
 

That nightmare had come on top of being up long before dawn
yesterday for the five a.m. flight out of Dulles, followed by the
drive up from Milwaukee - which took twice as long as it should
have because of all the quarantine check-points she had to pass
through to get to the same place she was standing in right now.
Then more jumping through hoops to spring her blind to authority
partner from the detainment cells. When she finally found Mulder
she'd been more than ready to rip him limb from limb. Like a fool,
she'd been expecting some show of gratitude from him, something
along the lines of 'Gee Scully, thanks for coming all this way to
get me out of the mess I got myself into'.

Well, so much for dreaming. She'd have settled for a simple thank you,
and it would have gone a long way to improving her mood. But the
first thing out of his mouth had been --

"I didn't order room service" . . .

With that smart-ass grin on his face -- the one she was seeing much too
often lately.

Somehow she'd found the patience to listen to his story of downed
space crafts and alien pilots, while he laughed when she told him
she'd been given access to highly classified information, that a
Libyan fighter jet armed with a nuclear warhead had crashed in
the Wisconsin woods. 'A highly classified lie', he'd called it.

So she'd ignored him all the way back to his motel, having every
intention of getting him packed up and on the next plane to
Washington, as per her very specific orders.

Instead (and she was still at a loss to understand why) she had
allowed herself to be drawn, inch by inch, into an unauthorised
investigation. Mulder had simply refused to quit . . . no surprises
there. She doubted he knew such a word existed. He just hurtled on
from one disaster to the next, never hesitating to ignore the rules
when they got in his way. Which was pretty well most of the time.

But she should know better.

The result?

Mulder was under military arrest for the second time in as many
days. Not the ideal way to evade an OPR grilling. And it was
only putting off the inevitable. When she did get him back to face
the music, his head was going to roll, and hers would be next in
line on the chopping block. No doubt about it. She'd been given a
simple directive -- get Mulder back to Washington without delay.
There were no excuses for failing to carry out the assignment.

She blew out a long breath and glared at the MP standing guard
by the door. He didn't blink, continuing to stare straight through
her like she wasn't there. So she turned her back on his blank face
and resumed pacing the floor. She took only another half dozen
steps before she stopped. It was probably only wishful thinking,
but she thought she could hear something other than her heels
clicking across the cracked linoleum floor. She cocked her head to
listen. It was definitely muffled voices and the sounds of movement
coming from behind the locked door.

The approaching footsteps grew steadily louder, and she guessed
there were at least three people making their way down the corridor
that led from the holding cells. When the door finally opened it was
her partner who stumbled out first. Head down. He didn't see her.
Close on his heels were another two soldiers wearing fatigues,
their assault weapons held diagonally across their chests.
Colonel Henderson was last in the impromptu parade.

Mulder still hadn't looked her way, but Henderson was glaring at
her. He pinned her with cold blue eyes as she walked towards
them, his thin lips twitching in anticipation.

"Agent Scully," he snarled. "Your superiors in Washington tell
me Agent Mulder is facing dismissal charges, and that you have
been authorised to make sure he appears before the rescheduled
hearing tomorrow morning." He emphasised the word 'rescheduled'.

And with a voice like that, Scully thought, you'd never need to
use a loud-speaker. She shifted her gaze to Mulder, but he was far
too involved with scowling at the colonel to even acknowledge
her presence. His cheek appeared to be more swollen than it had
been before, the abrasion on it seeping blood. She didn't have a
chance to open her mouth before Henderson was barking again.
The colonel levelled his gaze at Mulder, looking equally, if not
more pissed off than he.
 

"I have agreed to your release on the proviso I never see you
again. If you ever try to pull something like this again, there's
every chance you'll end up with a bullet through that sorry
face of yours. Do I make myself clear?"

The last sentence was punched out, staccato style.

The blatant threat didn't faze Mulder at all. His expression remained
the same, but when he replied there was an element of surprise to his
voice. Scully recognised it immediately. It was the tone that usually
went with the smart-ass grin.

"This is my sorry face?" He ran a hand over his undamaged cheek.
His fingers came to rest on his chin, and he shook his head in disbelief.
"And here I was thinking I had on my happy face."

He then barged roughly past the guards. Making his way, not at all
gracefully, to the outer door.

Scully was glaring at Henderson, so she didn't see the struggle
Mulder had in the simple task of walking. Henderson observed the
departure though. He stood silently, his head held high, shoulders
thrown back. His face was a blank slate, it gave no insight into the
dark underbelly of his mind. Scully would never know just how
close she'd come to taking her partner home in a body bag.

The colonel stared ahead for another few seconds then spun
on his heel, intending to go back the way he had come. He
didn't get far, because a five foot two, fiery-haired federal
agent stepped in front of him.

Scully's jaw was thrust up at a defiant angle. "Agent Mulder's face
is injured," she stated icily. "Care to explain how that came about?"

Accusation hung in the air for all to hear.

Henderson's lips turned up in an empty rendition of a smile. He
leaned down, almost nose to nose with his pint-sized adversary.

"You'll have to ask him about that yourself now, won't you?"

His smile took on a menacing quality, but Scully didn't waver, she
gave as good as she got. It was Henderson who finally broke the
impasse. He stood up to his full height and cleared his path with an
efficient back-hand shove to her midriff.

Scully took a quick step backwards to avoid landing on her rear end.
She watched Henderson and his men file through the door, and was
sorely tempted to yell something out before the last one swung it shut
behind him. But what was she going to say? She and Mulder were very
much in the wrong here. They had violated a US government quarantine -
a federal crime punishable by up to five years in prison.

The guard took up sentry duty again, barring the way if she was
stupid enough to attempt following his commander. Scully stood
there silently for another few seconds, then turned and left.
 
 

x - x - x
 
 

Mulder sat in the front passenger seat of the rental car, his insides
churning. Fuck Henderson. Fuck the faceless decision makers who
gave the man his orders. Fuck everyone for that matter. He gingerly
ran his fingers along his right cheekbone. It stung a little, but for the
most part was numb. He knew from experience that it was going to
throb like a bitch as the feeling returned. He prodded around a bit
more and felt wetness, when he brought his hand away there was
blood on his fingertips.

That would have happened when he 'fell' into the cell wall. Helped
along by a rifle butt to the back of his skull that nearly knocked him
senseless. Lately the military were putting a lot of effort into giving him
permanent brain damage, and what's more, seemed to be enjoying
themselves immensely in doing so.

Fuck that too.

From the corner of his eye he saw Scully finally come out of the
building, but instead of walking towards the car as he expected her
to do, she stayed over by the door. He turned his head slightly and
saw her pull her cell phone from the inside of her coat.

Probably getting the update on his execution orders. Just great.
He closed his eyes and tried to stretch out a little . . . and instantly
regretted it. Moving his right leg only brought pain, very bad
pain, in his ankle and lower back leg. Walking definitely hadn't
done him any favors, in fact he was beginning to have a nasty
suspicion that something might be broken down there. He bent
forward to inspect the damage, and a stabbing pain shot up from
his shoulder.

Shit. Was there anywhere on him that didn't hurt?

< Just don't move at all >

He eased himself warily back against the seat and took his own advice.

Long minutes passed -- Scully still didn't appear next to him.
He opened his eyes, rolled them to the right, and was pleased to see
her lowering the phone from her face. But then she punched in
another number and brought it straight back up against her ear.

That was the straw, and he was the camel's back. Without moving
anything other than his right hand, he pushed the button near the
door handle and waited for the window to slide all the way down.

"Get in the car, Scully."

She frowned. Flattened her hand over her other ear to block out
the background noise. Which in this case, was him. Not quite the
response he had hoped for, so he raised his voice and made another
attempt.

"Get in the car."

He didn't yell or add a couple of indecent adjectives, even though
he wanted to. But maybe he should have, because Scully wasn't moving.
The expression on her face, however, told him exactly what she was
thinking. Thankfully it was only a matter of seconds before she
pocketed the phone for good, made her way round the back of the car
and got in. The slamming of the door he could have done without.

"What is your problem, Mulder?" she seethed.

He'd lost count of the number of times she'd asked that same question, and it
still wasn't worthy of a response. So he didn't give one. He just stared straight
ahead, in defiance of the look of death she was aiming straight at him.

When Scully caught onto the fact she was being ignored, she jabbed the keys
in the ignition and started the engine.

"Fine, have it your way," and she shifted the car into drive. But before she pulled
out onto the road she reached into the pocket of her trench coat. Some tissues
were hastily thrown in his general direction.

"Your face is bleeding."

She said it as though she'd like to make it bleed some more.

Mulder picked up the crumpled mass that had more or less fallen in his lap,
folded it over and pressed it to his cheek. He even mumbled a thankyou,
but Scully didn't respond.

He closed his eyes again. They'd talk later, when they had both calmed
down a bit. In the meantime he'd just concentrate on blocking out all
the messages of pain his nerve endings were transmitting to his brain.
Try turning his mind off altogether. No more mental replays of
those last few moments in the warehouse . . .

Max Fening's distraught face looking up at him . . . his terrified
voice . . .
 

< I'm scared. Don't let them . . . don't let them take me >

. . . how he had taken hold of Max's shoulders, forced the man to
look at him, and said, "I won't let them take you" . . .

It was a promise, the most important of all promises.

Once more, he'd failed to deliver.

His eyes were stinging. He squeezed them shut a little tighter, but
the images kept on coming.

He was talking to Max, reassuring him, when someone -- some *thing* --
slammed into his back. He hazily remembered being flung high into the
air, and free-falling. Coming down hard, hitting something on the way.
Packing crates, he realized. Because he had to throw them aside to get
up and go look for Max again.

What he found had stunned him.

He stood there, mesmerized by the sight of the man, hanging like a
broken puppet in a shaft of brilliant blue light. Then, a searing white
flash. Hot. Blinding. When he could see again, there was . . .

Nothing.
 

Max was gone. < Like Sam >

Just like all those years ago, he'd done nothing to stop it.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned away from Scully,
totally disregarding the pain the shift in position cost him. He slumped
against the car door and willed himself to think of nothing at all.
 
 

End part 1

x - x - x
 
 

Fallen Agent
Part 2 of 3

Highway, south of Townsend
11:12 a.m.

The muffled whap of his bruised cheekbone against the window
brought Mulder's eyes open, and they watered in response. He
slowly slid his body back towards the center of the seat, just as
the car hit another bump in the road, jolting him. Scully seemed to
be hitting every one of those on purpose, and he vaguely wondered
how he could have fallen asleep on a roller-coaster ride with a
headache the size of the civilized world. God, even his teeth
were hurting.
 
 

"Were you asleep?" Scully's eyes darted sideways at him.
 

"No." He coughed a little to clear his throat. "Where are we?"
The words felt slurry and awkward off his tongue. He peered out
the window, but the passing scenery gave no clue.

Scully's eyes narrowed. She took one hand of the steering wheel and
placed it on his arm.

"Mulder, do you feel all right?"

The thaw was definitely melting. A little earlier on, she wouldn't
have bothered to ask.

He glanced down at her hand, resting almost on top of his own.
They'd been partners since March, nearly eight months, but
sometimes the size of her still took him by surprise. So small.
Yet the person inside that compact-sized body, the person he'd
come to know, and trust, was anything but. That person
stood about ten feet tall and never took a backward step.

He brought his eyes back up to her face. "I'm okay. But we'll both be
dead soon if you don't look where you're going."

She immediately swung her head forward and silently focused on the
winding section of highway for a while. He watched the road as well,
waiting for an answer to his earlier question. Soon enough it came.
 
 

"We're about twenty miles out of Townsend." She paused for a few
seconds then added, "On our way to O'Hare."

O'Hare as in Chicago? He turned to look at her, forgetting that he
shouldn't move quickly. The ensuing pain made his head swim. He
held his breath against the brutal throb in his temples, tried to
concentrate, but his brain was having difficulty with the concept.
They were driving to Chicago. That would take as long, probably longer,
than waiting at Milwaukee for the next available flight. Scully would
have already worked that out for herself, so he didn't bother saying it.
Black spots were spinning everywhere and there was a real chance he'd
have to get her to stop the car so he could throw up.

He went for the short and sweet. "Why?"

"Because that's what I was ordered to do. Get you as far away from
Townsend as quickly as possible."

Mulder's vision was taking forever to clear. When it did, he could see how
she refused to look at him at all. Wouldn't look at him because she knew
what that order sanctioned.

"They want us out of the picture so they can fabricate whatever lies they
want to sell. They destroy the evidence, while we run away with our tails
between our legs."

He watched, and waited. For a moment Scully didn't say anything.
Then, calmly at first, she replied.

"You always see things the way you want to see them, Mulder. But
I'm here to tell you that working for the FBI requires us to actually
follow given orders. Most people, myself included, don't have a problem
with that." Her voice was growing louder with every word. Now she
took it up to ear-bleeding level and shot him a murderous look.

"It's called doing the right thing!"
 

Mulder didn't look away, not even when she yelled. He searched
deep into her eyes, trying to understand how someone so intelligent
could at times be so naive.

"No, Scully. It's called doing your job. And sometimes that isn't the
right thing to do." He slowly turned his head away from her, stared
out the windscreen. Looking at nothing at all.

Scully opened her mouth to retaliate, but reconsidered. There'd
be time enough to kill him later when she had both hands free.

And so the strained silence continued for the next half hour -- not a word
was said. Scully drove on, fighting the effects of her long night in the
emergency room. Her eyes were grainy, her arms heavy and aching
on the steering wheel, all she wanted to do was pretend these last two
days had never happened and go to bed. She glanced at Mulder again.
His eyes were closed, and he wasn't moving at all.

By ignoring him she was probably in violation of the Hippocratic Oath.
Chances were he'd gone and hit his head too hard on some immovable
object. Pity it hadn't knocked any sense into him at the same time.

She decided to stop at the next gas station, get something to eat,
and make sure he wasn't dead.
 
 

x - x - x
 

Roadhouse
10 miles south of Milwaukee
11:52 a.m.
 
 

The car slowed down and pulled to the right. Somewhere in the
foggy recesses of Fox Mulder's mind he recognized the click-clicking
noise was the sound a car indicator made. He opened his eyes,
blinked once or twice, and with a mostly unresponsive brain worked
out where he was, < in Wisconsin somewhere >, who he was with,
< Scully >, and what they were doing < stopping for gas >.

Now that he was awake, he wished he wasn't. His head was still
pounding. Severely.

He supposed this would be the ideal opportunity to do something
about it, although the idea of getting out of the car and walking any
distance to buy some sort of medication wasn't exactly filling his heart
with cheer.

Scully drove past the gas pumps and pulled up in the space closest to the
station's sliding glass doors. He silently thanked the God he didn't
believe in and began fumbling with his seat belt. It was proving difficult
to get undone.

"Mulder."

Her hand was back on his again, and as he looked up at her he knew
she was about to start asking questions. And all he could think was please,
not now. Not when his head was about to explode.

"Scully . . . "
 
 

She cut in. "I know. Your head is killing you. Before you go anywhere I
want to make sure it's nothing serious." She was out of the car straight
away, and leaning through his open door a few seconds later. She took hold
of his chin and turned his face towards her.

"Let me take a look at you."

He lifted his hand and gently took hold of her wrist. Smiled, even though
it was the last thing he felt like doing.

"Scully. Believe me. I'm okay." A look of skepticism was spreading across
her face so he added, "I didn't get much sleep last night, that's all."

She arched an eyebrow. "I know, you told me so this morning. You do
remember that, don't you?"

Mulder shut his eyes for a moment. No, he didn't remember, but more importantly,
he didn't care. He just wanted to be left in peace.

"I'm tired. I forgot."

He slowly opened his eyes to see Scully's expression moving from skeptisim to
suspicion. He was going to have to come clean.

"All right. I have a headache. Do me a favor?"

She was definitely not pleased, but at least the frown wasn't getting any worse.
"What?" she asked, but it was more of a sigh than a question.

He smiled again, and this time it was almost the genuine article. "Get some hard
drugs for me when you get your caffeine fix?"

But the attempted humor went down like a lead balloon. Scully shook her head
in exasperation and stood back up.

"I suppose you want a coffee as well?"

Coffee might chase away the cobwebs. Although right now, just thinking about
the smell of it . . .

He swallowed hard against the nausea and tried to make his voice sound normal.
"A bottle of water and I'll be your friend for life."

She left the car door open and walked away. He was fairly sure he heard her
say, "I'll get you one anyway."
 
 

x - x - x
 
 

After waiting what seemed an eternity for the cashier to finish his conversation
with the person in front before he got around to serving her, Scully pushed the
one dollar bill plus assorted coins into her coat pocket. She declined the offer
of a plastic bag and picked up her purchases from the counter.

Four single serve packets of cheese and crackers because they
hadn't eaten anything at all today, and she knew better than to buy
the pre-cut sandwiches with the unrecognizable fillings that were sitting
in the refrigerator. A small tub of plain yoghurt complete with plastic
spoon, in case she decided she didn't really want the crackers after all.
Medium bottle of water and a packet of Tylenol, as requested. Twenty-four
capsules, not twelve. It didn't take a genius to know Mulder wouldn't have
any painkillers at home.

All these items were cradled between her chest and left arm. In her right
hand she carried an extra large cup of black coffee. Usually she took it with
cream, but with more road ahead of her than behind, she needed all the help
she could get.

The air was brisk as the doors slid open in front of her, and it seemed to
be getting colder by the second. She headed straight for Mulder's
side of the car, planning to hand everything to him and then make an
overdue visit to the ladies room. The car door was open, no partner
inside.

He was probably doing what she wanted to be doing, so she placed the
coffee and yoghurt on the dashboard, all the other items in the center
console, and quickly walked round the side of the building to the rest
rooms.

The car was still empty when she got back, and she had to stop herself
from turning around again. Mulder had told her he was okay, so she'd
have to take his word for it and mind her own business. She sat down
sideways in the passenger seat and reached for her coffee, peeling the
lid of the styrofoam cup back to let some of the steam escape. The heat
spread through her hands and the aroma was wonderful. She took a sip and
was predictably disappointed when the taste didn't live up to the expectation.
Another few mouthfuls and she gave it up for the yoghurt. She kept looking
for Mulder to come around the corner as she ate.

He didn't. And as the minutes passed, her worry grew. She could be sitting
here feeding her face while her partner was passed out on the toilet floor.

The three-quarters full cup of coffee and the half-consumed yoghurt sailed
into the bin. Scully went to find him.
 
 

x - x - x
 
 

The male rest-room had less space than it's female counterpart. A small
urinal, clean, one toilet stall, not so clean. A wash basin. Mulder hung
his head down low over it and took a gulp of water from his cupped hand.
He rinsed and spat, then splashed more water on his face. His knees felt
like they might be able to hold him up now, but he wasn't letting go of the
side of the sink just in case. How long had he been in here?

< Too long >

Scully would have to be wondering where he was, so he better get his
act together. Get back to the car, even though his ankle was screaming
at him to sit the hell down and not get back up again. And after dragging
himself all the way in here to hug the toilet bowl and puke, the idea
of not moving for a while sounded just fine to him.

While he was on the toilet floor he'd attempted to take a look at his
foot. It should have been a simple enough thing to do, but when he
went to pull the bottom of his jeans leg up, he found his shin had swollen
so much that the material was stretched tight around it. It wouldn't budge.
He thought about taking his boot off for a second, then decided against
it. He had a feeling he wouldn't be able to get it back on again if he did.

So he'd given up, telling himself it was just a bad sprain. Anything worse
would have to wait. Tomorrow he was going to be busy getting his
ass kicked out of the bureau.

Without lifting his head, he shut the tap off and pulled some paper towels
from the dispenser. A draft of cold air blew across his back at the same time
and he almost jumped when a hand touched his shoulder.
 
 

"Mulder?"

Uh oh. He dried his face and stood up slowly, catching sight of
two reflections in the mirror on the way. His face, ignoring
the scratches, was white as a sheet. . . and Scully's? Not pissed
off like he'd been expecting. Actually she looked a little worried.

"Didn't you see the little man painted on the door, Scully? Ladies
is next door." His voice sounded hollow in his ears.

"Consider this a house call." She stepped in closer till she was virtually
between him and the sink, and took hold of both his arms. "How about
you sit down before you fall down."

He was about to inform her that there was nothing to sit on in here, but
realized his mistake as he was rapidly backed up into the cubicle
behind him. The hot agony that sliced up from his ankle was enough
to make his stomach roll again, and his legs almost buckled. He threw
a hand up and grabbed the top of the partition wall, hoping he hadn't
actually groaned out loud. Scully reached around him to flip the toilet
lid closed and he carefully lowered himself onto it.

His head was spinning. He let it drop for a second, breathing deeper
to get some oxygen back to his brain.

Scully had other ideas. She put her left hand underneath his jaw,
like she'd done in the car, and brought his head back up. The
overhead light bulb was now shining directly in his eyes. He
squinted, cleared his throat.

"This your bad cop routine?"

No smile was forthcoming. She was staring into his eyes. Her
other hand was pressed into the side of his neck, and it slowly
dawned on him that she was taking his pulse.

She asked, "Is your vision blurred?"
 

"No." Well it wasn't anymore. Maybe because the light was burning
holes through his retinas and he couldn't see a damned thing at all.
 

"Dizzy?"

He slipped his chin out of her hand, blinked a few times, then answered.
"No, not really."

The next question was asked as she ran her hands all over his head.
"Did you vomit?"
 

She found the sore spot over on the back of his skull and poked.
He flinched and tried to pull away from her again, but she wasn't
letting go. And she was still poking.

"You do realise it hurts when you do that," he informed, but she
continued to probe.

"This swelling's pretty bad, Mulder." She was looking at his eyes
again. "Do you remember how it happened? Were you knocked
out?"

This was the price you paid for having a doctor for a partner. He felt
like he'd been sucked into one of those hospital shows on television.
Although from the little bit he'd seen of that crap, the patients were
usually consenting.

"Don't we have a plane to catch?"

The pissed off look that Scully had temporarily misplaced was back with
a vengeance. She crouched down in front of him.

"No more games, Mulder. I want to know what happened to you.
Start with the warehouse."

So, playing doctors wasn't enough. . . Scully also wanted to have a deep and
meaningful conversation. Squatting in front of him, in the male rest room. He
knew it wasn't an intelligent thing to do when she was like this, but he couldn't
stop himself from grinning.

"You really want someone to come in and see you down there?"

For a split second she didn't know what he was talking about. Then
it sunk in. The realisation was accompanied by a red flush that rapidly
spread over her entire face and neck. It took a while for her to see the
humour in the situation. But then she smiled, almost demurely, and shook
her head.

"Promise me you won't faint, and we'll continue this in the car." She
rose to her feet and stepped away, giving him some room to stand up.

He was feeling better, relatively speaking. The dizziness and nausea
were gone. Headache was still at Mach 3, but he was getting used to
it.

"Real men don't faint, Scully." He held up his hand and she helped
him to his . . . foot. He wasn't very keen to put his weight down on
the right one again. Doctor Scully was directly in front of him.
Hovering. He would have preferred to do this on his own, but it
appeared he didn't have a choice in the matter.

Mulder rolled his eyes.

Scully stood her ground. Watching him intently. He was standing,
without swaying, but he was pasty looking and she could see sweat
beading on his forehead. She didn't think she'd be able to pick him up
off the floor if he keeled over, so the plan was to catch him before he got
there. Not a very good plan, because she'd probably end up pinned
underneath him . . .

He nodded, in that way of his that told her he was okay, so she moved
back and held the outside door open. The first step he took hinted that
there might be more to this than just the head injury. The second step
confirmed her suspicion. His face suddenly got a whole lot whiter. He
did a half- hop, half-fall, and grabbed onto the sink, panting.

"Shit," was all he managed to say.

She was quickly at his side again. He opened his eyes and said, rather
unsteadily, "Well, that hurt."

The problem was obvious. He was holding his right foot a couple of
inches off the tiled surface of the floor. The lower half of that leg was a
whole lot bigger than it was supposed to be.

"Shit, how . . ." she began to ask, then changed her mind. "Don't worry
about it now. Do you think you can walk if I help you?"

He ground out through clenched teeth, "Move the car closer."
 

She left him hanging onto the sink for dear life and did just that,
parking as close as she could to the corner of the building. Mulder
was limping up the little side alley by then, so she jumped out to
help. He waved her off, pointing at the car.

"Door, Scully. Get the door."

She ran round and threw the passenger side door wide open,
then hurried over and took him by the arm. This time he accepted
the support, and a moment later he was draped over the top of the
car. One arm on the open door, the other on the roof, his head
hanging down in between.

Except for some rapid breathing, he was motionless. Scully rubbed
his back gently. "Remember, no fainting."

His head slowly came up and he produced a rather pathetic smile.
Then he grabbed onto the top of the door with both hands and used
it to lower himself into the passenger seat. By the time he had both
legs inside he was sweating profusely.

Scully peered in, arguing with herself on the best course of action.
Take a better look at him here, or get him straight to the hospital?
It didn't take long to decide.

Mulder was taking his leather jacket off when she sat down in the
driver's seat. She knew he'd be feeling cold as soon as his
body recovered from the recent marathon, so she said, "It would be
better if you left that on."
 

He threw it over into the back. "Yep. Did you remember to get the
tablets?"

"Yes, I did. They're in the console, but . . ." she watched as he retrieved
them and the bottle of water. "But maybe you should hold off taking
anything until a doctor examines you."

He had already pushed three tablets out of the packaging and was
throwing them into his mouth. He took a long drink of water, then
wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his dark pullover.

"A doctor has examined me."

Scully's hands were involuntarily strangling the steering wheel.
It was like dealing with a child. "Okay . . ." She drew a deep breath.

"My on-the-spot medical opinion, given without benefit of the
proper diagnostic equipment, is that you are suffering a concussion.
From the amount of swelling in your leg you could have broken
something, and if that's the case you may need an anesthetic. Which
is why I suggested not to take those." She nodded at the Tylenol
packet on his thigh, then stared at his face. "Are you going to tell me
what happened to you Mulder? Or will I have to read your report to
find out?"

He opened his mouth say something, but the words never made it out.
His breath hitched in his throat, and his eyes twisted shut.

Shit.

Scully reached over and softly laid her hand on his knee, watching him
struggle with his emotions. She quietly said, "Tell me. Did Henderson
do this to you?"

Mulder's reaction was surprising. His face relaxed, his mouth slowly
turned up in a small grin, and . . . he laughed. It was short, and low,
and never went anywhere near his eyes.

"On my scale of woes," he murmured, "Colonel Henderson's
contribution would rate as minor." He began massaging a spot
above the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

She was about to gently urge him to go on when his hand dropped
into his lap.

"Max was taken, Scully. Taken by whoever or whatever killed those
soldiers. I just happened to get in it's way." He exhaled in a short,
soft breath. "For a couple of seconds."

She thought about those infra red tracking devices set up outside the
warehouse. Three figures showing on them at first. Then one.

"What did you see, Mulder?"

As soon as she said it, she knew he wasn't going to tell her. Not
yet. He shook his head and it must have hurt. He grimaced,
swore under his breath.

"No one gives a rat's ass about people like Max Fening, Scully.
No one cares what happened to him. I have no proof, not one iota
of evidence. And even if I did, there's no science to explain it. So
I may as well forget whatever it was that I saw. Because as far as
the FBI or anyone else is concerned, nothing happened."

Scully reached for his hand, but he moved it away.

"Let's just go home," he whispered, and closed his eyes.

She started the car, switched the heater fan on high. The only place they
were going was straight to the nearest hospital.
 
 

End part 2

x - x - x
 

Fallen Agent
Part 3 of 3

Milwaukee
1:02 p.m.
 
 

"Scully, I feel better. Really. If we snag a flight in the next hour or so
we'll be back in Washington by four, five at the latest."

It took a lot for Mulder to deliver that little speech. He was tired, his
head hurt -- his whole body hurt. Getting the words to come out in the
right order was incredibly hard work. And all for nothing. He could tell
she wasn't listening.

She turned right and drove towards the big white sign with blue writing.
The sign read,

ST LUKES MEDICAL CENTER
EMERGENCY ROOM ENTRANCE ONLY

He'd realised about ten minutes ago that they were back-tracking to
Milwaukee. When he asked what was going on, and Scully told him
where they were going, he'd tried everything to get her to turn the car
around. Shouting had just made his head ache more, and telling her that
he didn't feel up to all this shit right now was definitely not the smartest
thing he'd ever done. Which left pleading as the only available option.

< Fuck that >

He tried the reasonable approach again.

"We both have reports to write, and . . . I need to follow something up."
That got her attention.

"You *what*? she spluttered, and pulled the car into the only empty
space. It was a long way from the hospital entry doors.

He wanted to chase up Max's medical records, and he began to say
that to Scully. "I need . . ."

"I heard what you said. But I don't want to know, because it's not
going to happen. Stay here while I find a wheelchair."

And that was that. He watched her stride off towards the entrance.
 
 

x - x - x
 
 

ER Waiting Area
1:45 p.m.
 
 

The admitting clerk stood beside the open middle drawer of the far filing
cabinet, 'searching' for a form that she could find with both eyes closed
and one hand tied behind her back. She was trying to look busy.

The pay phone was only a few feet away from where she was, and
listening to the one-sided conversation going on over there was a
lot more interesting than attending to the person who was leaning on
the admitting desk behind her.

It wasn't every day that you got to eaves-drop on the Federal Bureau
of Investigation.

On the phone was a petite woman in a fawn pants suit and matching
trench coat, slightly crumpled. Hard to believe because she looked
so young, but apparently she was a doctor as well as a federal agent.

Also very attractive, the clerk noted. Except she was obviously dead on
her feet.

The doctor-agent had come into the ER about half an hour ago, shown her
identification and asked for a wheelchair - - for her partner, who was
outside in the car. He had a leg injury and a concussion and wasn't
walking anywhere, she'd also informed.

An orderly was promptly sent to bring a chair up from the
equipment room. He'd only just arrived back at the desk with
it when the partner-who-was-not-supposed-to-walk-anywhere
emerged through the entry doors. Hobbling slowly and holding
onto the wall or anything else that was handy on the way.

Unlike the person still waiting for her back at the desk, the
FBI guy had definitely looked like he needed some immediate
medical attention, although he didn't seem to think so. It took
some heated arguing by his partner to convince him to get in the
chair and over into the waiting room.

It was there, after a short period of relative peace, that the
disagreement started up again.

The male agent with the weird name, who on a good day probably
looked quite attractive himself, had said they didn't have time for this,
then added something along the line of 'they had orders to follow'.
He mentioned that again a minute later, about obeying orders, and
then he'd said, clear as a bell, 'that's what FBI stands for, Scully - follow
banal instructions' . . .

That's when the female agent lost it. Told him to shut up.
Also told him that it might be a good idea to get everything fixed
while he was here, because it would probably be the last time the
Federal Employees Health Fund would be footing the bill.

Special Agent Fox Something had been taken into Room 2 not long
after that.

The woman had stayed out here. Now she was on the phone,
and this time, on the losing end of the argument. But she wasn't
going down without a fight.

"Yes sir."

"I know that sir."

"And I'm well aware of that also. But the Bureau should consider the
health and well-being of it's agents a priority too. With respect, I don't
think you're aware of the possible repercussions of your order. Agent
Mulder . . ."

She dropped her head into her hand and rubbed her forehead for a few
seconds, then turned around, facing the row of filing cabinets. The clerk
busied herself re-inserting the same piece of paper in the same folder for
the third time, but didn't stop the surveillance.

"He's in with the doctor now. No, I don't know that for certain . . . "

She paused mid-sentence, not for very long, and it was obvious she
took offence to whatever was being said on the other end of the line.
When she spoke again, her tone had changed dramatically. Her
voice was strained, and her other hand had balled into a fist by her
side.

"Actually there are a few things I'm certain of. If you'd let me finish
what I was about to say . . ."

But she didn't get the chance to go any further. She pulled the receiver
away fractionally from her ear, and scowled.

It was a moment or two before she had the opportunity to speak again.

"My apologies if I sounded that way sir . . ."

She didn't sound apologetic at all. Angry. Tired. But definitely not
sorry.

"As well as the injury to his leg, Agent Mulder is exhibiting symptoms
of concussion. Until they run the necessary tests it's hard to say whether
he'll be admitted or not."

"Yes Sir, I will . . . No sir , I won't. . .
 

"Yes Sir."

The agent slowly hung up the phone. As she walked back towards the
waiting area seating, she peered across the top of the filing cabinet
and said, "Can I help you find something in there?"

The clerk buried her head in the open drawer, grabbed the form she'd
been moving about for the last five minutes, then made a bee line
back to the would-be patient at the desk.

Scully went over to the vending machine and got a can of Coke. She
sat back down in the waiting room to drink it, every so often giving
nosy-clerk another glare. The woman had been lurking nearby and
listening to everything she and Mulder had said since they got here.

And they'd given her a lot to listen to.

Mulder didn't have to try hard to aggravate her. It came naturally.
He still hadn't told her exactly what had gone on in the warehouse this
morning, or later, with Henderson, and she hadn't pushed the issue. But
whatever happened, it had left him emotionally wrung out and in a truck-load
of pain. Yet he'd still fought tooth and nail against coming to the hospital.
Even stooping so low as to throw her 'following-orders' speech back at
her . . . several times. It was enough to push anyone past breaking point.
She'd finally let fly, topping it off with an ugly comment about his medical
expenses that was as good as saying, "You'll be out of a job tomorrow."

So what if she hadn't slept last night? There was no justification for
talking to anyone that way. Unless of course that person happened
to be Section Chief Blevins. The man was a complete and utter asshole.
He'd just told her, verbatim, that unless Agent Mulder was in danger of
dying he expected both of them to be on the next flight to Washington.
And if she let Mulder out of her sight in the mean-time, and he somehow
found his way back to Townsend, he wouldn't be the only one facing
dismissal charges.

This wasn't the first time she'd been chewed out because of Mulder.
His propensity for getting her into trouble had been proven very early
on -- their second case together in point of fact. She still couldn't believe
that she hadn't been packed off back to Quantico after that debacle. And if
the X-Files and Mulder somehow managed to survive after tomorrow, she
knew things weren't about to change. The shit would be hitting the fan
on a regular basis until they finally did throw them both out. It wasn't quite
what she'd envisaged for herself when she joined the bureau.

Which left the question . . . did she really want this? Was working with
Fox Mulder really worth all the trouble that followed in his wake?

The answer came to her with surprising intensity.

Yes, it was.

There was so much to admire about Mulder. He was a brilliant investigator,
when he wasn't chasing figments of his imagination. Always ten steps ahead of
everyone else. But there was no elitism about him, he'd treated her as an equal
from day one. She'd always been free to say what she wanted, when she wanted,
without fear of reprisal. And you'd have to search long and hard to find another
senior agent, particularly a male, who'd behave that way when assigned a female
with no field experience to work with.

But there was more to it than that, wasn't there . . .?

If she wanted to be completely honest, it hadn't taken very long at all for her to
start caring about him. She appreciated his integrity and sense of justice. He
could be totally self-absorbed at times, but more often than not he was supremely
sensitive to those around him.

So, if truth be told, life with Mulder wasn't all that bad. Sure, most days his sick
sense of humour drove her up the wall, but . . . (and she would deny this with
her last breath), some of his one-liners were genuinely funny.

That was a sobering thought.

Her eyes wandered up the hallway, coming to rest on the second door
along. He'd been in there close on twenty minutes, and it was beginning
to niggle at her. Any doctor who knew what they were doing would
have already examined him, sent him on to Radiology. Unless . . .

That bump on his head wasn't exactly small, and his pupils were a little
sluggish when she'd checked them.
 

She was on her feet and walking towards the exam room, trying to
ignore the voice of doom in her mind. The voice that sounded incredibly
like her neurology professor from med school . . .

< The soft brain, inside the rigid skull, cannot tolerate any increase in
pressure. A seemingly insignificant head injury can cause bleeding or
swelling, leading to pressure build-up . . . >

The lump was on the back of his head. The base of the brain.
Containing the centers that control vital functions.

Respiration. Heart action.

She began to walk a little faster, eyes fixed on door number two.

It opened when she was still some distance away. Her partner, alive
and breathing, was wheeled out by the same orderly who'd saved him
from falling on his ass a little earlier. Mulder looked up, spotted her,
and mouthed "X- Ray". She nodded and kept walking. Telling herself
at the same time that she worried way too much. She caught up with
them further down the corridor.

"I'll come with you."

He glanced up and muttered, "You that bored?"

His face was sullen, eyes dark. A square white adhesive bandage had been
taped over the split skin of his cheekbone, and the right leg of his jeans had been
cut along the inside seam up to the knee. His shoe was in his lap, the sock
stuffed inside, and his ankle looked about twice it's normal size. No bruising
that she could see, but she couldn't see all that much.

"Yeah, I'm that bored. What did the doctor say?"

When he didn't want to talk, Mulder mumbled. Scully had to listen
carefully to have any hope of deciphering the answer. It sounded like
"wants an x-ray to rule out a few things."

That wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know, but not wanting
World War III to erupt, she opted to say something a little more tactful.

"What does he think it is?"

She received a grunt of an answer for her trouble.

"My achilles."

Again, not enough information. "Ruptured or torn?" she asked.

He shrugged a shoulder.

An achilles tendon that had been completely snapped in two was serious
business - often more painful than breaking a bone, and usually taking a lot
longer to heal. Scully thought he could show a little more concern, but was
well aware it was never going to happen. Mulder was Mulder. He had
his priorities, and life and limb didn't figure in the equation.

She pushed on regardless. "What about your head?"

He'd moved his elbow up onto the side of the wheelchair and was nursing his
forehead in his hand. "Still attached."

The orderly, who was diplomatically pretending to be deaf, turned the chair
around and pushed backwards through a set of doors that led to the Radiology
Department. He parked Mulder opposite the desk, at the end of a row of chairs.
The place was deserted.

"Looks like you shouldn't have to wait too long," he remarked. Then he added
with a grin, "Don't go wandering around on that foot of yours."

Scully smiled, Mulder didn't. His head was still propped up on his hand,
and his eyes slowly slid shut as she sat down next to him. The orderly had
already walked over to the receptionist to hand her the paperwork, and was
now leaning over the desk in subdued conversation with the young woman.

Mulder's breathing was slow and even, he could be falling asleep. Or
ignoring her. She leaned closer and softly asked, "Did the doctor mention
doing a skull x-ray or a CT scan?"

More of the mumbling. "Don't think so."

She decided to leave it be for the moment. Although there was something
weighing on her mind. Something she didn't want to leave till later.

"Mulder?"

He didn't respond at all. She'd better get it over and done with
quickly.

"Mulder, I want to apologize for what I said to you before. It was a
stupid thing to say."

Silence. Then he shifted fractionally to look at her. He answered
softly, but each word was clear.

"I can't even remember what you said." And he resumed his original
position, head in hand.

It was easy to tell when Mulder was being less than truthful -- his eyes
gave it away every time. Scully wasn't going to leave it at that.

"I'm sorry. And I shouldn't have told you to shut up."

This time it took even longer for him to reply, and when he did, it
was only to say her name. He didn't move his head at all, it was still
buried in his hand.

"Scully?"

She answered hesitantly. "Yes?"

Close to a whisper, he said, "I'm not worried about it."

It didn't seem that way to her, and she was about to say so, but Mulder wasn't
finished.

He added, loud and clear, "Now can you shut up?"

Scully couldn't see his face, but she knew there was a smile on it. She patted
him softly on the knee and smiled back. "Gladly."
 
 

x - x - x
 
 

ER Waiting Room
2:35 p.m.

"Excuse me."

The slightly built man in faded scrubs extended his hand and introduced
himself. "I'm Henry Lee. You're with Fox Mulder?" He wasn't smiling.

Scully had already concluded this was Mulder's attending MD. She'd
seen nosy-clerk point her out to him a minute ago, and he had a certain
frazzled look about him. One that hinted he'd been in close proximity to her
partner recently.

She shook his hand. "Dana Scully. Agent Mulder is my partner. Is there a
problem?" She didn't have a chance to stand up, Lee had already plopped
down in the chair next to her.

He exhaled. "No."
 

The expression on his face wasn't entirely convincing, and Scully said as much.
"You don't seem so sure about that."

The doctor leaned forward, elbows resting on splayed knees, hands clasped in
between. He was looking at the floor.

"I'd like to know if Mr Mulder will have anyone with him in the next
twenty four hours or so. I'm not entirely happy to release him if he's on his
own."

Scully didn't need to guess why. "You're worried about the concussion."

Lee didn't answer, in fact he was still staring at the floor. Scully had the distinct
impression he hadn't heard her at all. Just as she was about to repeat herself,
he pushed his wire-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of his nose and
turned his head towards her, studying her face. His eyes narrowed.

"Do you know how he was hurt? His injuries aren't really consistent with what he
told me."

That threw her for a second, maybe because she wasn't expecting it, or maybe
because she didn't have a suitable answer. She overcame that obstacle with
some standard investigative procedure -- answer a question with a question.

"And what was that?"

Lee smirked. "That he fell into some wooden crates." He said it like he'd been
asked to buy the Brooklyn bridge.

Scully knew the feeling all too well. She shook her head. "I wasn't with him when
it happened. And I haven't had the opportunity to speak properly to him about it yet.
What exactly are his injuries?"

Asking a doctor to disregard patient confidentiality was not something she'd
usually do, but she was sick and tired of going around the block to get to the
house next door. She'd been doing that with Mulder all day.

Lee looked set to give her the usual spiel . . . we're unable to divulge personal
information et cetera, et cetera. She didn't give him the chance to begin.

"I've told you, Agent Mulder is my partner. I'm also a doctor. If you won't tell
me, I'll just go down there and ask him myself. We have orders to be back
in Washington this afternoon. If he's not capable of making the trip, I have to
know."

Lee took some time to weigh all this up. Scully was in no mood to wait. She
stood and gave him a pointed stare. Just as she was about to start walking, he
relented.

"Mr Mulder is definitely in no condition to travel at the moment. He's
concussed. No fractures in his leg or foot, but he's torn his achilles tendon
and done some ligament damage around his ankle. He also has a second degree
burn on his upper back, some stiffness in the right shoulder and a lot of bruising.
So you can understand why I'm a little hesitant to believe his story. It looks more
like he's been involved in some sort of explosion. Does that sound right to you?"

Scully had been keeping up with everything until she heard 'burn'.

"He's back is burned?"

Lee stood up slowly. "That's what I said."

The implications of that one word had Scully's mind spinning. She was
seeing those soldiers again, smelling charred muscle tissue, feeling the heat
radiating from the burned bodies . . . and wondering how close Mulder had
come to ending up like that.

Scully hadn't noticed the doctor stand up. But there he was, staring at her.
And his lips were moving.

. . . appreciate you speaking with me, but you haven't been able to help. I think
it might be best if I keep Agent Mulder overnight."

Her brain finally decided to rejoin the living. "I'm sorry Dr Lee. We've
been working a very unusual case, we both haven't slept for a while."

"Another reason to admit him. Maybe you should think about getting some
rest yourself." And he walked away.

Scully went after him. "I'd like to talk to him for a minute please."

"Shouldn't be a problem. They'll be just about finished with his leg by now."
 
 

x - x - x
 
 

Exam Room 2

His leg looked enormous. The first thing he was going to do when he got
out of here was take all the bandaging off. It went from toes to mid-calf,
and sure as hell wasn't making anything feel any better.

Actually, the bandage throw away was the second thing he was going to do.
First up, he was going to swallow the rest of that packet of Tylenol.

Hospitals follow a set formula. You wait. You tell an endless array of
people what's wrong with you. You wait. They run tests, x-rays. You wait
some more. A doctor comes in and says what you said at the beginning of it
all.

Mulder glanced up at the clock on the wall. They could be in Washington
now if Scully hadn't been such a Nazi. He should be lying on his couch, in
the soothing darkness of his own apartment. Not sitting on a hospital bed under
a bank of thousand mega-watt lights, looking like he'd scored a bit-part in
"Curse of the Mummy".

He wasn't going to wait any longer for the doctor to come back in here
and tell him to go home. He'd just get up and walk out to the desk, sign
the discharge papers.

He was sitting on the examination table, left leg dangling over the side,
bandaged leg stretched out in front on the thin, sheet-covered padding.
Using his right arm as leverage, he went to swing his bad leg down, but
his shoulder, his leg, and his head - in that precise order - all complained
loudly about the decision. It was enough to tell him to stay put. For the
time-being.

The pain settled down slowly, although his shoulder continued to sting. It
was strange, his clothes weren't singed, so he hadn't even contemplated that
he might be burned. But now that he knew, and the nurse had treated it, it
was twice as sore as it had been before.

He told himself to get a grip. Rather than feeling sorry for himself, he should be
thanking his lucky stars. Be grateful he didn't get the full blast -- because right now
he could be in the burns unit of Johns Hopkins with Henderson's men. Or dead.

So why wasn't he? Why did he survive the run in with the EBE when so many
others hadn't?

All he could think of was he hadn't posed a threat. His gun had been holstered,
at least to start with. If not . . .

He heard the door behind him open. He looked over his shoulder and saw Dr Lee.
And Scully.

"Time to go already?" More than a hint of sarcasm was aimed at the good
doctor. It went unnoticed, because he didn't get an answer. Scully followed
Lee until they were standing in front of him, almost side by side.

Mulder ignored Lee and centered on Scully. "How long till the next flight?"

"About 24 hours," she replied.

"Well we . . . . what?" His eyebrows shot up of their own accord.

Scully glanced sideways, and Lee took over.

"I'm going to admit you for the night Agent Mulder. You're not fit for work,
or travel." He pulled a pen from his pocket and began writing on the chart he'd
brought in with him.

He wasn't fit? Mulder was tempted to give the doctor a lesson in perspective.
Tell him what life was like under Bill Patterson in VCS. Where you didn't
stop until you caught the bad guy, and there was always another bad guy
waiting in the wings. He'd managed to do his job there after a suspect had
applied a baseball bat to his head and given him a *real* concussion. Kept
working for days on end, thanks to coffee, tylenol and adrenalin. Compared to
that, he was feeling down-right peachy keen at the moment.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I have an important meeting first thing in the morning.
Goodbye."

And he went to slide off the table. Two sets of hands stopped him.

Scully spoke first. "I'll contact headquarters and have the meeting postponed."

Mulder amended her statement. "Don't you mean you'll have the *re-scheduled*
meeting postponed?" He contrived a smile. "I don't think so." He went to move
again, but they weren't letting him go.

Lee put the chart down to continue the argument. He asked tersely, "Do you
remember what I said to you about head injuries?"

Mulder was hanging on to the last shreds of his patience. "I do. And do you
remember what I told you? I have a hard head." His jaw was clenched so tight he
had to push the words out, and it made him sound like . . .?

Dirty Harry. Dirty Harry just before he was about to pump somebody full of lead.
He might have smiled if he wasn't so totally pissed off. And in pain. He
pointed to the chart that was now on the end of the bed and said, "Now, can you
write patient discharged on that, so I can leave?"

"I don't think . . ." Lee began, but Scully interrupted.

"Dr Lee, may I have a word with you outside?"

Mulder saw Scully staring his way and took note. He shut up. Willingly.
Arguing when you have a bad headache tends to make you feel like absolute crap.
He watched Scully and Lee leave the room.

Scully would win this one. Now she'd done the doctorly thing and knew there was
nothing majorly amiss with him, they'd be on that plane, post haste. There was no
way she'd disregard her orders any longer.

A minute later, the door re-opened. Scully leaned in. "We're leaving."

He smiled, but before he could get down off the bed she pointed a finger at him.
"Do not move. If you do, I'll put a bullet in you."

Scully's Dirty Harry was way better than his, so Mulder chose to wait. It wasn't
long before she returned, with a wheelchair, and brought it over beside the bed.

"Get in."

He eased himself off the table and sat down in it. He tilted his head back
a little and said, "You're scary when you need to take a nap."

Scully bent down next to his ear. "Well maybe you should start praying
I get one soon."
 
 

x - x - x
 
 

South Milwaukee
4:05 pm

Getting Mulder out of the hospital had been more protracted than getting him
in there and seen to. Prescriptions had to be filled, crutches organised, and then
there was the parting lecture on head injuries from Dr Lee.

Scully appreciated that Lee was only being thorough, but she had
told him she was a doctor, and also reassured him that she'd made
arrangements for Mulder to rest, at least for the next twelve hours or so.

Mulder didn't know that yet. By the time she'd deposited him back in the
car he wasn't talking very much at all. In fact, in the ten minutes it had taken
to drive here, it looked like he'd fallen asleep again. His head was drooping
towards his shoulder, and his eyes were closed.

"Mulder, you asleep?"

"Yes."

"Then wake up. We're here."

He rubbed a hand over his face and opened two very glassy eyes. He seemed
to be having difficulty focussing. Scully quickly realised it was because he was
looking past her, out the driver's side window. She moved her head into his line
of vision. "You okay?"

Mulder frowned, then closed his eyes again. He pressed his knuckles against
his eyelids and groaned softly. "Scully, does that sign out there read Airport
Econo Lodge?"

She opened her door as she replied. "I hope so, otherwise we're in the wrong place."
And she waited for the obvious question.

"We couldn't get a flight?"

"Tomorrow morning. Six thirty. Stay here while I get our room keys." And
she beat a hasty retreat to reception before he could ask anything else.
 
 

Ten minutes later, Mulder was collapsed crookedly on the bed. He'd used
both hands to lift his bad leg up on top of the mattress and then let himself fall
backwards, ending up in a twisted position, mostly on his left side. It wasn't
comfortable. His head was nowhere near the pillow and his left foot was still on
the floor, but at least it wasn't aggravating his shoulder. He didn't have the
energy to move anyway, so it would have to do.

There wasn't a lot of light in the room, but what was coming through the window
was enough to make his head hurt more. He bent his arm up at the elbow and
covered his eyes, then lay as still as possible while all the different hurts clamored
for attention. Everything was pounding, throbbing or just plain aching. His
throat was dry, and he desperately needed to use the john. Maybe in his next
lifetime he'd do something about it.

He heard the connecting door open. A few seconds later the bed dipped
slightly as Scully sat down.

"I could have been naked," he croaked. God, he sounded woeful.

"In the thirty seconds it took me to put my things in the other room and walk
through? I sincerely doubt it, Mulder."

He moved his arm away and opened his eyes. Scully had a pillow with her.

"If you've come to smother me I'll be eternally grateful."

Scully, ever the straight-man in the act, answered, "It's to elevate your leg. How
are you feeling?"

He just looked at her and let her guess.

"That bad, huh?" She stood up. "Where did you put the tablets from the hospital?"

Good question, Mulder thought. Then he remembered. He slid his hand into the
back pocket of his jeans and pulled out two small plastic pill bottles.

"I forgot about those. Thought the bed was abnormally lumpy."

Scully rolled her eyes and took them from him. She walked into the bathroom and
soon emerged with a glass of water in her hand. He pushed himself into a sitting
position as she handed it to him with two tablets.

"These are a mild analgesic," she said. "The anti-inflammatories can't be taken on
an empty stomach, so they'll have to wait until later. Unless you think you can eat something now?"

He gave her another of the 'you-guess' looks, then swallowed the pair of pills and
drank most of the water. When he was finished, Scully took the glass and put it on
top of the chest of drawers. He shifted back to lean against the headboard of the bed
and looked up at her.
 

"You didn't even try to get us on a plane this afternoon, did you?"

Scully looked away, and without saying a word walked over to close the curtains.
He knew if he asked again it would probably start an argument, and he couldn't handle
that at the moment. So he kept watching her silently, hoping it would be enough to
make her answer.

She came back and leaned down to turn the bedside lamp on. "No, I didn't."

Mulder also knew she wanted that to be the end of the conversation, but he
couldn't let it go. He couldn't let her sacrifice her career because of him.

"You want to be out of a job tomorrow? Your assignment was to make sure I
got back to DC A.S.A.P."

The abbreviations weren't facetious, just a way to conserve energy.

Scully put a hand on her hip. "OPR is at ten tomorrow. We'll be there. End of story."

Mulder met the resolute expression on her face with an open declaration. "I'm not
stupid, Scully. Blevins wanted us to get on a plane at Chicago because Milwaukee was
too close. He thought I'd do a runner back to Townsend if we were waiting around here
too long."

He waited for her to confirm or deny. But she didn't have to say a word.
Her face said it all.

Softly he said, "We're in Milwaukee. I have no intention of going back
to Townsend, but that doesn't alter the fact. If we stay here, you're in direct
violation of a standing order. You'll be in deep shit for this."

Scully had been standing up until this point in the conversation. Now she slowly
sat down on the side of the bed. She looked directly into his eyes.

"Sometimes doing your job isn't the right thing to do."

Mulder took her hand. "Scully, I'll be unemployed tomorrow. But you . . . "
He stared back at her just as intensely, and squeezed her fingers gently. "You're
destined to have a long and successful career in the Bureau. Don't let me ruin that
for you."

Scully cast her eyes downwards for a fleeting second, took a deep breath, then
looked at him again.

"You think that's what I want, Mulder?" Her eyes seemed to glisten in the
soft lamp light. "You're wrong. I don't know whether I want to work anywhere
else in the Bureau. Not after . . ."

She was at a loss for words.

"Liver eating mutants? Alien parasites?" Mulder prompted.

Scully's smile was there, but it was a sad specimen. "Exactly," she said.

They both sat in silence for a moment. Mulder broke the spell by trying to
reach for his crutches. They were lying where he'd dropped them, by the side of
the bed.

Scully picked them up for him. "Bathroom?" she asked.

He gave one short nod, pushed himself off the bed and up onto his good foot. He
took the crutches from her, slid them under his armpits and slowly headed off.
By the time he was standing next to the toilet, he was feeling light-headed and
extremely dizzy. Which is definitely how you don't want to feel when relying on
two pieces of aluminium to keep you off the floor. He propped the crutches against
the back wall and put his hands down on the cistern, leaning against it for a minute.

Concussions could be a total pain in the ass.

"You okay in there?"

Even though he felt completely not okay, the concern in her voice made him
smile. It was comforting to think that someone might care whether he lived or
died. "Yeah. Unless you want to help me with my fly?"

She called back, "I think I've suffered enough on this trip, Mulder. Just do
what you have to do and don't fall over."

So he did what he had to do without falling over, made his way back to the bed,
dropped the crutches on the floor, then his body on the mattress. He lay on his
side thinking he could pass out now without a lot of trouble.

Scully was doing something with his leg. He looked down at her, saw her
trying to position the pillow underneath his foot without much success,
so he made himself move. He rolled over onto his back and lifted his leg in the
air. She pushed the pillow underneath and carefully arranged it till she was happy
with the degree of elevation. Then she covered him with a blanket that hadn't been
there when he'd left for the bathroom. As she pulled it up towards his chin, she softly
said, "Aren't you glad you're not on a plane right now?"

He was. "Thanks Scully." He was tiring fast, his mouth was being uncooperative with
the whole talking thing again. But he made a big effort to say the next words clearly.
"And I'm sorry."

She stood there, looking surprised. "What for?"

He forced the sleepiness away, concentrated on pronouncing every syllable.
"Blevins and McGrath want the X Files shut down. I've given them the ammunition
without stopping to think how it would affect you. That's what I'm sorry for."

He should start warning people when he was about to apologise. Scully was visibly
upset. She bit down on her bottom lip and her eyes - God, she wasn't going to cry,
was she?

"Scully . . ." He didn't know what he was going to say. But in the end he
didn't have to say anything.

Scully's momentary lapse of self-control was gone. She dropped into a
crouched position next to him and ran her hand softly across his forehead,
pushing his hair back from his eyes. It felt very good, and he thought how
easily he could get used to it.

When she spoke her voice was soft, but strong and composed.

"I've learned a lot from you in the last eight months, Mulder." She grinned
a little. "Mostly what *not* to do, but I'd be lying if I said I haven't enjoyed
working with you. You're an asset to the FBI. Whatever happens tomorrow won't
change that."

Now Mulder felt wide-awake. But his eyes were watery. He tried to tell himself it
was just the headache. Scully smiled, stood up, and began to walk away.

"Scully."

She stopped and turned slightly to look at him.

"Thank you. For everything. And what I said before about your career? They
haven't shut us down yet. With a bit of luck it'll be a long and distinguished
chasing mutants kind of career."

The smile that comment earned him was like no other he'd ever seen before.
He sincerely hoped he'd get the opportunity to see it more than just this once.

Scully began walking once more. But when she reached the connecting doorway
she hesitated, and turned around again.

"I have to wake you every couple of hours, so I'll see you around half past six.
I'll leave the door open. You know you can call me if you need anything." She smiled
softly and disappeared into her room.

Mulder lay there for a few minutes before he closed his eyes. He had the distinct
impression she wasn't just talking about the here and now. And he smiled as
he drifted off towards sleep, content in the knowledge that an OPR committee
could never put an end to what he and Scully shared . . .
 
 
 
 

The greater the contrast, the greater the potential.
Great energy only comes from a correspondingly
great tension between opposites.

C G Jung.
 
 

THE END
 
 

Let me know what you think?
cgolledge@tac.com.au

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