InTheInterestsOfScience.html

In the Interests of Science

Rating: NC-17 (sex, subject matter)

Category: Angst, MulderTorture, MSR, Scully POV

Spoilers: Up to mid-Season 6

Summary: Scully becomes her partner's lover, nurse and savior after a tragic accident leaves Mulder
severely handicapped.

CHAPTER ONE

What happened to Mulder couldn't be blamed on the CSM. It wasn't retaliation against him for his part in trying to expose a secret, government cover-up. I think if he had suffered his injuries in his quest he might have been able to live with them, but then again, probably not. To Mulder, what happened to him was a fate worse than death. And he asked me, his closest friend, his would-be, should-be, could-one-day-be lover, his soul-mate, to kill him. It was a "They shoot horses don't they?" request. I helped him out...but not in the way he'd wanted. And I don't think he'll ever forgive me. Maybe that's for the best.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

May 21
Greeley, Colorado

Springtime in the Rockies. It should have been almost a vacation for the two of us. The case Kersh had us investigating was our usual since the X-files had been taken away. We were investigating the records of a rancher who had purchased a large amount of fertilizer. What Mulder so charmingly called, "Shit Patrol." I tried to see the bright side. We were going to get to spend the weekend in Denver at the government's expense. Our next investigation, another record check in Cheyenne, wasn't until Monday and the mountains are beautiful this time of year. Mulder wasn't buying into any of my optimism. He was in a glass half empty sort of mood.

"This stinks!!" my partner muttered as we trudged across the recently fertilized field back to our car.

I paused in my efforts to keep up with his much longer strides to gulp some air. Greeley, while not as high as Denver, was at a higher elevation than D.C. and I was almost running to keep up with Mulder. It was a big mistake. He was right. It did stink.

"Mulder wait!!" I cried angrily, silently cursing my "little legs" and pseudo-sensible heels. "Damn it! The car's not going anywhere!"

He paused, a grin flickering across his full lips momentarily before he got his cruelty under control, and waited for me. He even offered a hand to the elbow, which I of course, shook away.

"Sorry," he murmured, slowing his pace to allow me to keep astride. "Scully, I just get so pissed off at this 'shit detail' I could..." He left his threat hanging.

"I know...but, you could quit taking it out on me." I retorted as we made it to the car.

Mulder took the keys out and unlocked my door. I quickly took off my soiled shoes, handing them to him after I slid into the seat. As per our routine on assignments like this, Mulder unlocked the trunk, put our dung-covered footwear in the paper sack we kept for that purpose and brought out clean tennis shoes for us to put on. The trip back to the motel was always more pleasant this way. We drove west, back to Denver, in silence, which I guess was the for the best, because Mulder's mood did improve. He was actually smiling by the time we made it into town. We pulled into the motel parking lot at about 6 o'clock and my partner surprised me by hurrying over to open my door. He was flashing his little boy grin and it worked like it always did.

"Scullee..." he smiled, knowing he was going to get his way on our menu choice for the evening.

"Let me guess...Big Mac Attack..." I returned his smile as he helped me from the car.

Mulder looked slightly offended by my guess.

"Naw..." He shrugged, "I hear there's a place in LoDo that the Broncos frequent...an' the foods supposed to be great..."

I laughed at his pleading look. Mulder had not been a Denver fan until Superbowl XXXII, but he had fallen, like half the country, for the underdog team's fairytale victory.

"Sure, let's go change..." I smiled as we strolled to our rooms. "Hey, Mulder, does Elway go there??"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was twilight by the time we left out. Mulder's sense of direction is no better than mine, so when we wound up on the stretch of freeway known as the Mousetrap, it was no surprise. I've never even found out, in these many months since, if our route would have taken us to Lower Downtown Denver. It was just our fate to be on that stretch of highway, at that given point in time. That's the only way I can look at it. Everything was just meant to be.

The boy in the blazer had gotten his license two weeks before. He was trying to impress his prom date, so he was speeding. The tandem truck driver had been on the road for too many hours. Mulder swerved to avoid hitting the boy as the Blazer spun out of control, directly in front of us. Our tire blew out when we hit the guard rail, but Mulder brought us to a stop safely, albeit sideways, still partly on the road. The airbags did their job. We were fine. Seatbelts in place, nerves jangled, we both heaved a huge sigh of relief. Other cars slowed and moved cautiously by, while Mulder drove us limpingly off the road. The truck driver never saw us, never slowed. He hit us, then slid us into him broadside as he tried to stop. It was over in an instant.

I woke up in the ambulance. The paramedic smiled when he told me I was going to be alright. It took them four hours to get what was left of my partner out of the car.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

May 22
University Hospital
Denver, Colorado

My mom was there when I next woke up. It was Saturday noon. She held my hand and offered me a smile. I felt glad to be alive. She assured me that I was going to be fine. My left leg was broken, but it would be fine. I couldn't quite think straight, but I was fine. Then I remembered.

"Mulder?"

Mom's face paled when I said his name. I felt my stomach sink.

"Mom..." I thought my heart was stopping. It hurt to breath. "Mom...Is he dead?" I needed to scream, but my voice was a whisper. She seemed relieved that was my question and shook her head, a sad smile forcing its way across her face. I knew there was more. I didn't want to know. But I had to find out.

"Mom...tell me," I was crying, shaking. She has always been easy to read, my mom. At least for me.

"It's bad, Danie."

My blood froze at her use of my childhood nickname. Bad news. The spoonful of sugar to soften the blow. That was what "Danie" meant.

"Just tell me, Mom," I spat bitterly, stiffening away from her touch. I tried to ignore the hurt I'd just inflicted on her, but I couldn't. "Tell me, Momma," my voice became a strangled plea and she shattered along with me.

"They think he's going to make it honey...it's just that," Mom took a deep breath and held my hand tighter. "He lost both his legs and an arm."

I think I fainted then.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

May 23
University Hospital
Denver, Colorado

I might have fainted after mom told me about Mulder -- maybe. Or maybe, I just shut down for a while. It was too much to take, I guess. I don't remember anything till the next morning, when I was brought my breakfast. Mom was there and was helping the nurse sit me up to eat, when I "came to".

"No!!" I jerked away from them and their shocked expressions were the first things that registered on my brain. I didn't know where I'd been, but I was back and I wanted to see Mulder. I had to see Mulder. I told them this -- loudly.

"I don't think they'll let you Danie. I don't think you're able. He's still not conscious." My mother's nos were running together and I was not going to hear them.

"Mom," I said, gathering my reason about me in determination. "I am going to see him -- today."

She and the nurse looked at me like I'd sprouted another head. I guess I hadn't been too lucid before and they were surprised my reason had returned so suddenly. Mom studied my face, then smiled. She knew I was back.

"Okay hon," she said, finishing her job of righting me for my meal. "After breakfast, we'll tell the doctor."

The nurse shot Mom a look of disapproval, but didn't say a word before she left us. I think she must have known it was best not to argue with my mom -- smart lady.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

May23
ICU University Hospital
Denver, Colorado

Mom pushed me up to his bed and I grabbed his hand. His right hand. It was so cold. I raised myself up to study him and Mom helped support me. There was a large, dark bruise on his forehead, the right side, and a tiny butterfly bandage, just over his brow. It was amazing that his face and head were almost untouched.

* Thank God for seatbelts. *

Mom eased me back to sit when I swayed and she winced at hearing my pained chuckle. I patted her hand to let her know I was all right, then pushed up to stand again. A sob caught in my throat. When I lifted his sheet a bit and saw the damage, the truth that this was real hit. His chest was a mess.

"I want to see his chart," I murmured to no one in particular. No one listened and I knew I'd have to take it up with his doctor. It could wait. My own exam would tell me enough for now.

I could see he'd had several surgeries -- tubes snaked out from under bandages on his chest, his abdomen. He wasn't on a respirator but his face was covered by a full mask for oxygen. A Foley drained blood-tinted urine.

And -- I took a deep breath -- both legs had been amputated at mid-femur, the right about two inches higher than the left. His left arm had been taken high at shoulder joint, leaving no stump for a prosthetic. That entire side had been crushed. You could see the surgeons had done all they could. Mulder had most likely lost his arm at the scene of the crash. I sank back down in the chair, suddenly weak. It was just too...my mind couldn't grasp a word that could encase the horror I knew Mulder was going to feel.

"Danie, let's go back to your room. I think it's time for a nap"

Numbly, I realized Mom was leaning over me and I could only weakly nod that I agreed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

May 23
University Hospital
Denver, Colorado

I talked with most of Mulder's doctors later that day. They allowed me access to his charts. All in all, he was in amazingly good shape considering what had happened to him. His vital signs were strong and there had been no damage to his head, they were keeping him sedated for the pain. The thoracic surgeon was pleased he was coming along so nicely after the repair of his punctured lung and crushed sternum. She saw a complete recovery in time.

Mulder did lose part of his stomach, but his surgeon was a talented man brought up from Fort Collins who does amazing work on reconstructing digestive tracts. With care, Mulder's new plumbing would cause him little problems and was not life-limiting. He would have to learn to eat small meals to accommodate his new stomach and take supplements, because the duodenum had been bypassed, but almost all of his patients who'd had the surgery recovered and were having normal lives -- "normal lives..."

I wanted them to keep Mulder sedated. I wasn't ready to face what had happened to him. I needed them to buy me the time until I was ready to deal with everything. Of course, Mulder, being Mulder, had other plans. I wasn't there with him when he woke up. I should have known better. I can cut myself a break and claim I was incapacitated. I was still weak from my own injuries. Bullshit.

Mulder was with me when I faced death -- even though I pushed him away. I knew he was there...for ME. I didn't have the guts to make sure I was there for him. He woke up to discover the truth...alone. The nurses said they knew he was awake because his pulse skyrocketed. My partner is an amazing man. He was conscious enough, even with all the pain and medication, to realize what had happened to him. Oh, maybe not in the fullest extent. But he knew his life had been destroyed. That's why he screamed. Mulder screamed for ME.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

May 24
University Hospital
Denver, Colorado

They didn't tell me until the next day, that Mulder had regained consciousness. I badgered mom into taking me to him the following morning. I was feeling stronger and finally ready to face him. One of his doctors met me outside of ICU and explained what had happened. He reassured me that Mulder couldn't have been all together "there" because of all the medication he'd been given and that he probably wouldn't even remember waking up. Sure. I knew that memory -- better than anyone else on this planet. In tears, I moved to his bedside and to the amazement of every other person in the room, Mulder woke up the moment I touched his hand.

"Scullee..."

Everyone's mouths dropped open in wonder and they all marveled over the strength of my partner's will.

I could only offer him a guilty sob as I reached up from my chair and grasped his hand, "I'm here, Mulder," Maybe, he could forgive me. "I'm here..."

I stood up on my own, Mom's move to help me was a little slow. I guess Mulder had stunned her too. His lids were heavy and the hazel eyes a bit dull at first but they cleared when he spotted me. He gave a heavy sigh when he realized I held his hand and a slight smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Baseball." he murmured. His voice was soft but clear.

I wasn't quite sure I'd heard him correctly.

"What, Mulder?" I asked, leaning closer to better hear what he said.

"Guess, I'm third base."

A sudden hush fell over his visitors at his words. Mulder slid back into the comforting oblivion of sleep, leaving me to deal the wide shocked eyes and a room full of stunned silence. My partner has always had a talent for dramatic exit lines.

"He's feeling better," was all I could say.

CHAPTER TWO

July 4
Denver, CO

I was released from the hospital at the end of May. My mom found me an apartment in Boulder and I found out that my stay and Mulder rehabilitation would be funded by Teena Mulder's deep pockets. Guilt is funny isn't it.

Can't be with your son when his life is crashing down around him, so pay somebody else to watch the disaster. I'm one to talk, I'm the one she bought. And staying is my penance for being able to walk away. Yeah, guilt is funny.

Mulder was the perfect patient. Now that in itself should have clued me something was terribly wrong with my partners psyche. But Mulder is good, very good, at hiding. It used to be, I could see through his charade. But in those days following the accident, my credo was, "I want to Believe." I believed everything Mulder put before me. He did his respiratory therapy, just like we told him. No pneumonia for our 'golden boy'.

Grief counseling. Sure...he had the stages down pat. The psychologist, Mulder and I went through denial, anger, and so on...why, it was almost a textbook case... so easy...why, thank you, Fox Mulder...star patient. And with hard work and intesTeenal fortitude, this young man was on his way to being a physically-challenged wonder-boy. Why, he even had a sense of humor, albeit sick, he told everyone to call him Ahab. He laughed, everyone laughed. I laughed, damn it. I laughed and believed, until July 3.

That was the day I got my cast off, the day I bounced, yes, bounced, into his room, blathering about how great my apartment was and how great, the rehab center was and how great his life after his stay was going to be. It was at that moment, I think he triggered it with a slight wince at my blithering words when I opened my eyes and really looked at his face. I looked at those eyes I once knew so well. I looked into the depths of those beautiful, soul-reflecting orbs I once read like my own self and saw the pain -- pain that knew no end. My running mouth snapped shut with an audible click. The sound brought up Mulder's mask instantly but it was too late. I knew. The truth was in there, in those eyes and I'd seen it.

"Ah, Scully...you going to watch the fireworks?" Mulder forced a grin, a lame attempt at subterfuge.

I just shook my head slowly and grabbing his hand, searched his face. His countenance was pure bland inscrutability. He pulled that hand away and patted the top of mine then sighed.

"Everything's gonna be fine Scully," he murmured.

I grabbed his hand again and searched that face, but it was cold. So was his hand.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

July 20
Rocky Mountain Rehab Center
Boulder, Colorado

July 20th was a red letter day. The Denver Broncos started training camp in good old smelly Greeley, and Fox William Mulder began his rehabilitation. Mulder's facade was crumbling and I believe he looked forward to the first day of his new chance at life with even less enthusiasm than the world champs did their twofers. Mulder was getting tired. I could see it in his eyes. He was tired of playing the role of perfect patient, tired of trying to hide his pain, tired of pretending the life he was going to have to work so hard to rebuild, was one that he even remotely wanted. And I, in my role as his ever-faithful companion, was at a loss to know what to do to help him find the strength to go on.

I rode in the ambulance with him to the center and stayed by his side as the super-cheerful aide helped "settle him into his new home." It was a very, very nice room. Deluxe standard that two G-persons were not accustom to. I glanced at a menu that read like a 4-star restaurant's and held it up for him to see.

"Jeez, Mulder" I exclaimed with a wide, silly grin. "Can I stay for dinner?"

He was even to weary for a rejoinder. He nodded, then looked away, out the big picture window that offered a view of the Flatirons that was to die for. His thin frame seemed to dissolve into the thick egg-crate mattress. Mulder had always been thin but he was melting away after his gastric surgery. Even eight meals a day and little activity couldn't keep the weight on. The doctor had assured us that the weight loss would level off soon and his increased activity during rehab would help build up his appetite but I didn't know if soon was going to be good enough. He had lost all interest in food, along with almost everything else.

I ambled to his side and joined him in his silent perusal of the view. He suprised me when he grabbed my hand and I couldn't help smiling down at him. God, I loved him. I'll love him forever. I knew it then, I hope he knew it too. I brushed his shaggy bangs off his high, smooth forehead and felt my love well up even more when a silent tear escaped down the side of his sculpted cheek.

"Scully," his voice was ever so soft.

I lowered the rail and eased up beside him, leaning close so we could talk as quietly as he wished. A lovers' conversation.

"Scully." His voice was stronger, but it was breaking. I raised up and the dam broke from my own eyes when I saw his face wet with tears. "If it doesn't get any better...promise you'll help me end it."

My hands were shaking as they held his own, warm for once. I brought the long slender fingers up to kiss them one by one as I nodded my answer. He smiled. And through my tears, so did I.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Late Summer & Early Fall
Boulder, CO

Summer flew by with ups and downs -- pain and yes, some true happiness. I know there was happiness for me and dear God, I do believe Mulder was happy - at times. He was. Truly.

Mulder was nothing if not a fighter. He started gaining strength in his arm. This helped him to swim. God, he was amazing. He could beat me in laps by the first of September. Sick puppy that he is he bragged that he beat me one arm and both legs tied behind his back. No, Dana Scully is not a water baby. I got so sunburned, because he loved the pool. I think it was because he could move so freely there. But it was hell on my skin. I had freckles on top of freckles and I was peeling...the alligator man had nothing on me. I was a mess. But Mulder thrived on it.

Those were good days. Call them the happy days. We had some good nights, too. The center was amazing. With what Mrs. Mulder paid, even after insurance covered some, it had better be, I guess. We went to concerts. Mulder hated being in public, what with rude people's stares. But he gave in to an Ozzy Osborne concert at Red Rocks. Not my type of music, I'm more into techno, but Mulder loved it and the setting was heavenly. And there were the trips to the mountains. Now, Mulder thrived on those. The scenery, the quiet, a chance to clear your head in the cool, clean air. It was one place he could find a few moments of inner-peace. I guess that's what I remember most about those, oh too short weeks, before winter's chill came and stole the life from the year.

The closeness Mulder and I found made our time spent together better than it had ever been. I remember telling Eddie Van Blundht, incognito, that Mulder and I never really talked. We did then -- about everything. I even went to a Broncos game with him. Go Orange and Blue. And we talked about us. US. Because even though we'd been together for six years, it had always been, me and him. That summer and fall, we finally became "us".

Mulder's stumps gave him hell. I don't think prostheses would ever have been a viable option for him. The scar tissue was just too tender. The damage to the salvaged nerve and muscle was just too raw. It was about the first of August when he finally broke down. He had gone back to his room with an orderly to change after a really bad session of PT. Normally, he would get changed and come down to the pool to loosen up. But that day I waited for him...and waited...and melted...and waited. Finally, a nice toasted pink I went to his room. And found him alone and sobbing. I had never heard anyone cry like he was crying. It was the end.

He heard me come in, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. I walked over to his chair and he collapsed against me. All of his strength to remain upright left him and we sort of melted to the floor, where we stayed for ever, it seemed. I just held him and he held me and we cried. Finally, he managed to push himself up and he looked at me. His eyes said it all. I felt suddenly cold.

"Remember your promise?" His voice was a breathless sob.

"No" I said, shaking my head.

"You promised," it was an anguished cry of betrayal.

I lay on the floor next to him and made him look at me. "Not yet, Mulder" I begged, my own tears cutting the evening stillness. He grew quiet and searched my face. I felt hope. "Please, not yet. Please. It's gotten better. It still can get better. We're together. Not yet." I pleaded. My soul was raw and still I begged. "There's still time."

He reached his slim hand to brush my tear-soaked hair away from my face and nodded.

"Oh, God, yes," I cried, laughed and giggled ."Thank you, Mulder. Thank you." My arms were wrapped around him in a smothering embrace of love and gratitude. I let him go and he fell back with a tired but happy smile.

"Thank you, Scully," he whispered, as I lay my head on his chest. I fell asleep beside him on the floor, lulled by the warmth of his soft touch on my skin.

CHAPTER THREE

July 4
Denver, CO

September
Rocky Mountain Rehab Center
Boulder, Colorado

That night in August brought us closer than we'd ever been. I began to stay over at the center. The staff, of course was as always accommodating. Most of the patients family stayed over on occasion. Some even lived there. September 12th was the night everything changed.

I had brought with me a video for us to watch. "Interview with the Vampire," one of Mulder's favorites. It was one of my favorites too, of that genre, at least. Charles, Mulder's night shift orderly was helping him ready for bed, assisting him in the bedtime routine of teeth-brushing, nightly meds, etc. And I was doing the same in the bathroom. By the time I finished, the lights were out, the movie in and Mulder was sitting propped up, waiting for me. He was so handsome. His face had filled out, the Doctor was right, his weight was stabilizing. The summer sun he'd gotten during his swims had given his skin a warm golden glow and his smile was slow and welcoming. Was it planned what happened next? I don't really believe so. Was it necessary? Absolutely.

I climbed in beside him on the extra wide, comfortable, hospital bed and snuggled against the warmth of his chest and arm. We began watching the film in silence and just about the point Tom Cruise gave Brad Pitt the "Dark Gift" I began to feel Mulder's slender fingers smoothly caressing my inner thigh. The soft, tender touch soon melted my legs apart and in the flicker light of the television, I watched Mulder ease over and down. Balancing deftly upon his elbow he pushed the fabric of my panties aside, with a practiced care. My hand came down to guide him and I eased off my undergarments, eager to feel his hot breath on my skin.

"Scully," He murmured with a smile, "You really are a redhead."

I gave his hair a teasing yank, then pulled him into me, gasping when his tongue parted my moist folds. I moaned, and he probed deeper, excited and hungry. I could feel him trembling, too, while he explored me with a slow burning need. I felt my passion build, then explode in a warm, pulsating gush and Mulder tensed, then melted in response, his muscles twitching as the moment ebbed. I peeked down between my knees at hearing him softly chuckle.

"Sorry" he grinned in boyish embarrassment, "It, ah...It's been a while."

I laughed in agreement, " Yeah, for me too," and helped him up beside me. We lay, in a tired, contented embrace.

"Hey Scully," he whispered in my ear. I stirred drowsily and returned his teasing grin.

"Hey Mulder."

His eyes twinkled as he spoke, "Next time, I get to be on top."

"Oh, brother," was all I could say and he laughed, holding me close.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

October 13
R.M.R.C.
Boulder, Colorado

I began to notice the change around Mulder's birthday. He seemed to be at a standstill in his physical recovery and the staff began the part of the program known as occupational rehabilitation. His goal was now to find his niche in the work place. To capitalize on what physical and mental resources he still had available to him. But there was no training being offered titled, "The Triple Amputee's Guide to Discovering and Exposing Government Conspiracies" or "Lessons for the Physically Challenged in the Chase and Capture of Liver Eating Mutants and Other Paranormal Criminals." Mulder might still have had the mental capacity to continue working on the X-files, but his physical limitations made our former life's work impossible. Fully healthy, we had barely survived the dangers of our occupation, now there was no chance his life's work could continue, and my life's work had become caring for Mulder.

I had a birthday party set up at the center for night of October 13th. I even arranged to have several surprise guests fly out to join in the festivities. After his evening meal, I was going to get Mulder down to the pool for a swim and had made arrangements for the party to be there on the patio. Everything went like clockwork, from Charles picking up our out-of-town guests at DIA, to a warm 70 degree evening in Boulder in October, supplied by Mother Nature. All was going well, except Mulder's mood.

He had a severe pressure sore on his left stump, which with all the scar tissue, was not healing well at all. Mulder was frustrated and in a lot of pain even with increased doses of Vicodin. He'd even cut his computer class short, claiming the pain was just too much. We ate our dinner in the room, which he barely touched, and much to my dismay, he begged off our nightly swim, opting instead for an early bedtime. This was not going according to my plan. Frantically, I suggested, in my best physician's voice, that we could bag his wound and spend some time in the therapy pool. That would relax him and make sleep come easier. I should have realized that the weary way he gave in to my cajoling did not bode well. So, with a towel around his shoulders and dressed in his red spandex swim suit, I wheeled Mulder down to his big surprise.

The lights were off on the patio, which, had Mulder been feeling better, might have clued him that something was up my sleeve. But, the long tiring day and a couple of heavy duty pain pills had dulled his senses. The loud "SURPRISE" of clinic staff, fellow patients their family, AD Walter Skinner and The Lone Gunman left Mulder speechless. For a while.

I'm sorry to say I hadn't thought about Mulder's feelings. He had never mentioned to me that he dreaded his old friends seeing him in this condition. We never talked about how he feared what their reaction would be when they first saw the ruin of his body. Add to these unspoken apprehensions that had been eating away at him the fact he was attired in nothing but spandex and a towel with his scared stumps there for all to see and you might get an idea how welcome my party was for poor Mulder.

The look on Byers, Frohike and Langley's faces was thinly-veiled shock. They were friends, so they tried to hide it, they tried as hard as their warm hearts could, and they did a fairly passable job. But my partner noticed the flush on Byers bearded cheeks when he awkwardly shook his lone hand. Langley was more inscrutable, but Frohike, God bless him, just couldn't meet Mulder's eyes during their greeting. He helpless fell into what Mulder called the "Cripple Scatter" which is when a person stares at the ground, sky, anything but the handicapped person.

"I'm down here," Mulder muttered tiredly.

Frohike blushing is not a pretty sight. Worst of all though, was Mulder's face when he spotted AD Skinner. If Mulder could have run, he would have been long gone. Skinner was his usual polite, reserved self. He handled the meeting with grace and skill. The Corps trained him well. Always ready, in any situation. But Mulder was bleeding inside. Skinner was a like a surrogate father to him. Mulder had always craved his acceptance and approval, but how could Skinner accept, approve, most of all respect someone who was now not even a whole man. Mulder felt he was a helpless cripple, cared for by a woman, a little slip of a woman at that.

I didn't know that this was how Mulder was feeling at the time, but I am not blind or totally stupid. I saw the pained expression on his face during his reunion with the Gunmen. He was too drugged, tired and hurting to hide it well. Hell, there wasn't a guest at the party obtuse enough not to know that this celebration was a mistake. Thankfully the party was mercifully short. Even before Mulder begged exhaustion, most of the guest had left. Skinner came up with "a late dinner with an old service buddy" excuse within the first half-hour. I was grateful for his tactful exit, but too upset to offer him more than a mumbled "Thanks for coming."

I was the organizer of this disaster and when Mulder and I got back to his room I felt penance was necessary. Apparently Mulder did too.

I had no sooner shut the door after Charles had gotten a deadly silent Mulder bedded down when my partner exploded.

"Why did you do this to me Scully!!!"

I hadn't heard him yell like that in months. The last time he'd even shown anger was the day of the accident. And that was like a firecracker compared to an A-bomb.

At first I said nothing. I felt I deserved his wrath. I mean, I didn't like surprises myself. What had I been thinking?

"Mulder," I murmured, tears of shame stinging my eyes, I walked over to the bed to touch him while I begged forgiveness, I needed that contact so badly." Mulder, I'm so sorry."

He just shook his head, his eyes dark and bitter. He tensed and shrugged off my hand.

"Do you want to punish me for ruining your life? For me making you a nursemaid? Why did you do this to me??" His voice had lowered but his tone was painfully bitter. "I knew you were starting to resent me Scully but I didn't think you hated me."

I think if he hadn't accused me of purposely hurting him I would have probably taken his anger. It was justified. I knew I had put him through a torture that was almost unforgivable. But to even suggest that it had been done in malice...well I am Irish. And a "true" redhead. I could feel the blood rushing to my face and I stepped back, my hands resting on my hips as I began to unload.

"Wait just a mother-fucking minute!" I screamed, tears streaming down my face. I grabbed the rails of his bed to steady myself and they were jangling in time, a steady percussion to my raging fury." How dare you even suggest I did this on purpose? I am truly sorry I planned this fucking party and put you through this. I don't know where my brain was. I wasn't thinking clearly. But for you to say I was trying to hurt you... You fucking bastard. I would never deliberately hurt you!! My every thought is you. My life is you. I get tired sometimes but ... well when I love somebody, I don't resent them ... that's just part of loving someone. But you, you're just so goddamn selfish and paranoid you don't know how to love. That's why you feel everything is always about you. It's always Mulder. 'If Scully dies, I can't take it. It's my fault Scully has cancer. I can't take it. If it doesn't get any better for me, Scully, I can't take it.' You selfish bastard! Always, I... Goddamn you.."

And I left. I knew he couldn't follow. Tough shit. *I* couldn't take it.

I came back around midnight. The night shift all offered me weak smiles as I made my way back to his room. Shana, the head nurse, nodded for me to go in when she saw me pause outside the door. With her encouragement, I knocked lightly and entered. The bed was down and somebody had come in and placed his pillows so he could lay on his left side facing the window. I knew he was awake because his breathing changed when he heard the door shut. Quietly I tiptoed over to his side and patted his back.

"Can I sleep here?" I whispered, leaning over the rail.

He pushed against the other rail, tilting himself so he could see me. His full bottom lip trembled slightly and he swallowed, fighting tears, then nodded. I don't think he trusted himself to speak. I felt my own mouth quiver and awkwardly climbed in beside him, not bothering to lower the rail.

I snaked my arm under the sheet, around him, trying to get as close as possible. I felt the hitch of his breath and felt the sobs break from him. I cried too, helping him to turn over to face me. The light above the bed was on low. I saw the glistening streams running down, onto the pillow and moved to kiss them away.

"Scullee," he moaned, nuzzling my cheek with his own, "Don't hate me. Please."

"I don't" I whispered, touching the softness of his hair. "Never happen."

"I'm sorry I said what I did."

"I'm sorry I did what I did."

"I know you didn't mean to hurt me. But I wanted to hurt you. I'm so sorry. I am a mother-fucker." His laugh was a choking sob and his tears started once again.

"Shhh." He was always so warm. I loved to touch him. To hold him. "Shh. It's okay, everything's okay. Yes, you're a mother-fucker, but you're my mother-fucker."

Mulder couldn't continue his grief given my expletive laced token of esteem. He had to laugh. That's why I'd said it. And he knew it was my way of saying I loved him.

"I love you, too Scully."

CHAPTER FOUR

Boulder, Colorado
Late October/early November

Boulder got it's first snowfall Halloween night. That was the last good day Mulder and I had for a long time. Mulder's recovery and rehabilitation was proving to be a long, arduous journey, with stops and starts. It seemed we both would take a few steps forward, then a painful slide back. Still, up until the month's end we had been making at least some forward momentum. All that changed October 31. Trick or Treat.

The center had a fleet of handicapped-accessible vans and I arranged for one to take Mulder and some our friends from the center to an evening game at Mile High Stadium. We all were in high spirits. The Broncos had demoralized the Raiders in a shutout and the atmosphere in the stands had been rollicking lunacy.

"Seven years with the X-files and I never saw anything as scary as those Raiders fans," Mulder quipped, as Charles and I loaded everyone in after the game.

Snow had started falling in the fourth quarter, much to the Broncomaniacs delight. Even though the game had been put away before half time, those sun-babies from California fell apart even more in the Rocky Mountain weather. Everyone in the van was still celebrating the victory, when Charles turned on to the Boulder turnpike. We might have been a little too loud and distracted him, but, more likely it was just the slick roads and black ice. One minute we were tooling down the highway, the next we were on our side in a ditch.

"Everybody okay?" Charles yelled in the darkness.

Thankfully, everyone was...except Mulder. When my partner didn't answer, I blindly reached for his chair. It was still fastened down as it should be. The safety equipment on the handicap adapted van had held. But somehow, Mulder had slipped out of his restraint harness. The chair was empty. Charles retrieved a flashlight and quickly shined it around the interior. My heart stopped when I spotted Mulder, crumpled against the loading door, which was now the floor.

"Shit!" I cursed, slipping out of my own harness. I grabbed the flashlight from Charles' hand and checked out my unconscious partner. His pulse was a bit rapid, but strong, and I could hear Charles calling for assistance while I examined Mulder for further injuries. His eyes fluttered open and he groaned when I was touched his ribs.

"Mulder," I questioned, shining the light on his face," Mulder, where do you hurt?"

His eyes were tired when he groaned again, "My back," he croaked.

I couldn't suppress the moan that escaped from my own lips. Oh, God, no more, please.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

University Hospital
November 1

All in all, medically speaking, Mulder's injuries were not too bad. They were not life-threatening and certainly not as physically-debilitating as his earlier ones had been. But, his cracked vertebra and bruised sacroiliacs were extremely painful. And Mulder was tired. I could see it when he woke up, in yet another hospital room, hurting. He looked around, registered his surroundings, sighed and closed his eyes. He saw me, I'm sure, but he just didn't have the energy to acknowledge my presence. I held on to his hand to let him know I was with him, but, I knew how he felt. When was this all going to end? When was the suffering going to stop? What had he ever done to deserve all the horrible things that happened to him? I was tired, too.

We sat in silence together, until his doctor entered. I turned to greet him, but Mulder didn't even open his eyes. The doctor sensed he was awake, so he started speaking.

"Well, Mr. Mulder, there doesn't seem to any damage to your spinal cord...no swelling or injury that would affect motor functions. But you are looking at an extended recovery period and injuries like this, to the lower back, are pretty painful."

Mulder didn't even acknowledge him, he just continued to lie still, his eyes closed. The silence in the room was awkward. The doctor turned to me and I sighed.

"So it's just a matter of rest and time and with therapy he'll be back to normal?"

I was happy that Mulder didn't see the young physician's expression. The man glanced at the bed, taking in the flat sheets where their should have been legs and actually shrugged.

"Well, his prior, ah, health condition will make full recovery hard, because therapy will have to be adapted to, ah, contend with his limitations but, yes, ahh, with time he should make it back to where he...ah, was before this accident." Doogie Howser's hands spread out in helplessness. I guess he figured Mulder hadn't been a good candidate for rehab before this last injury. "Well, ah...if you think of anything else, the nurse can page me. Ah...goodbye Mr. Mulder.." His hasty retreat stymied my next question.

"Think I'm his worst nightmare??" Mulder smiled bitterly, eyes still closed. He gave a deep, weary sigh, then murmered, "All the king's horses..."

My hand tightened around his as I quipped. "Mulder, you've always been a cracked egg."

He sighed again, a faint smile crossing his lips, " Well, you think you could call the nurse for a little more medication? I think I'd like to get fried."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rocky Mountain Rehab Center
Boulder, Colorado
Late December

We were at bottom. No, hell, we were looking up at the bottom. Mulder spiraled downward, after the accident. He was just too tired to try anymore. The drug addiction snuck up on us. We care-givers had only wanted to make sure he found relief for his pain. This last injury left him with chronic, debilitating lower back pain and even sitting up was torture. So there was no therapy, which would have helped the lingering injury to heal, so the pain continued, because he wasn't healing...and so on. The center's staff and I realized there was a problem, when they had to switch him from Vicodin to Percodan to get relief, but what could we do about it?

We tried massage, heat, whirlpool, acupuncture...nothing helped. The only time Mulder got any peace from the nagging torture, was when he was floating on a cloud of prescription medication. He wasn't sleeping, even drugged. He had stopped eating and the anti-inflammatories were causing an ulcer, so all the medical staff were left with to treat him were ever-increasing doses of pain-killing narcotics.

By Christmas, I was at my wits end. Mulder was in a deep depression, because of his condition and the drugs simply added to his agitation. I could hardly stand to be around him. He was frustrated, depressed and in constant pain, so he was constantly lashing out at me. My nerves were so frayed, I lashed right back and our relationship had become a roller coaster ride of bitter fights, then tearful reconciliation. Teena Mulder walked right into this tempest, two days before Christmas.

I've noticed, that there is usually strain between parent and the significant others of their children. I guess, my dad would have really had a problem with Mulder. I know he did with the few other men in my life that he met. So, Mrs. Mulder and I started out our relationship as adversaries. Not to sound catty, and I know I do, I had never liked the woman. To me, she was a cold hearted bitch who didn't deserve a son as fine as Fox. And boy, did I resent the fact she showed up that Christmas. I felt, let her stay in the background and write those checks. Why did she decide to come out after all this time -- so we could grovel at her feet, thanking her for all she'd done for her son, all the helpful money she'd spent on his recovery? I went with Charles to pick her up at DIA with a chip on my shoulder the size of Mount Evans.

When I saw her walking up the hall toward me, there in the terminal, I was surprised. I didn't remember her being so small. She had always seemed like a tall, regal queen to me, snootily looking down on this 5 ft. 2 in., short-legged thing her son had gotten tied up with. That cold day in Denver, I saw she'd become frail...and much older, since our last meeting. Was Mulder's condition to blame? Did she actually care enough about her son, that her health had suffered so? I surprised myself by taking her arm when we got out to the slick parking lot and knew I had been wrong about this enigmatic woman when she gently patted my hand in thanks. Teena Mulder had her faults, not being able to freely express her love for her son was one, but I wasn't about to cast the first stone anymore. Not the way Mulder's and my relationship had been going.

"I always have loved Colorado," Teena announced, breaking the silence, about ten minutes into the long trip to Boulder. "Bill and I used to come here, all the time, way back when. His work took him to the southern part of the state mostly." She sighed at the memory. "Of course you probably know that, what with you two investigating what you do."

Her comment surprised me. In all our work on the X-files, we'd never gone as far north as Colorado to hunt for little "gray" men. It was kind of shocking that Mulder didn't know his father's work had taken place in the state. "No, ma'am, I didn't know. Maybe you can tell Mul...I mean Fox about it while you're here."

She smiled at me stumbling over her son's name. I returned her smile, noticing for the first time, that Mulder had his mother's mouth. I guess I'd never seen the lady smile before. She'd never really been too happy, on the few occasions I'd met with her.

"How is Fox?"

Her question interrupted my musings on the family resemblance. I took a few moments to answer her, trying to figure out how to respond. Her health looked none too good and I didn't want to be the bearer of bad news, though she would see for herself when we got to the clinic, Mulder's mental and physical decline.

"That bad, huh?" she sighed, rubbing a well manicured hand across her eyes. It was a mannerism I'd seen her son do a thousand times. I watched her in silence, almost expecting her to do the long-armed stretch, then the neck crack. "Charles told me things weren't going well. I guess that's why I decided it was time for me to make an appearance. Maybe, it will get Fox angry enough to fight back."

"Huh?" I murmured glibly. Her revelation that she knew Charles and had been keeping track of her son's health, left me at a loss for words. Obviously.

She raised a brow and gave a crooked Mulder grin. "Yes, I have my 'spies' at the center, Dana. May I call you Dana?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well then, please call me Teena," she replied, "or Mom...oh, now I think that might be a little too much for you, eh?" Teena Mulder mused, noticing my wide-eyed expression. "Even Fox has trouble calling me that. From the time he was 14, till he came home from Oxford, he only called me Mother; if he called me anything at all."

"Well," I began, but she silenced me with a hand placed lightly on my own.

"It's okay, Miss Scully"

"Dana."

"Dana," she said softly, "I know I'm lucky that he even spoke to me at all."

She turned to gaze out the window. After a few moments, I saw her wipe her face and, once again composed, she turned back to me. "Charles says he's becoming addicted to pain killers."

I started, offended that someone was spreading tales about my Mulder. "Well, he's needed them since he injured his back." I replied bitterly, "He's in quite a bit of pain."

Her hand rested on mine softly, and I struggled to reign in my anger.

"Dana, I know," she said, her green eyes were almost pleading. "He's lived with pain for a long, long time. It scares me now, because he's giving in to it. His father did and that was the beginning of the end. Bill gave up after Sam was taken. I don't know if Fox ever told you, but his father was addicted to Valium and alcohol. Fox was the only one of us who survived that time. Dana, he's always been such a fighter. He made it through having Bill and me for parents. I'd hoped he could make it though this." Teena turned away again, her hand trembled as it moved to her face, a vain attempt to cover her tears.

I swallowed back the lump that was forming in my throat and fought for control. I needed to let everything she was telling me sink in. We were almost at the Boulder exit before I felt I was composed enough to speak to her again.

"Mrs. Mul...I mean, Teena," I began, putting my hand over hers. She turned and allowed me that smile, which like her son's, gave me the courage to continue. "Let's see what you think after you see Fox. Then we'll talk. I've tried to take care of him, but... Well, this is all too much for me, I guess."

"Perhaps it's just a job for two people," she replied, squeezing my hand warmly. "That son of mine was always more than I could manage alone. Maybe together we can help him."

"Maybe you're right." I answered with a grin.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

I didn't get to speak to Teena Mulder again until that night. I had followed her into Mulder's room when we got to the center. I didn't want her to be alone the first time she saw her son since the accident. I'm glad I was there because she swayed a bit, at the shock of seeing his injuries. Naturally, she'd known the extent of what had happened to him, but that still didn't prepare her for that moment, when she actually witnessed the damage that had been wrought on her child. In the two months since his back injury, Mulder's mental health had plummeted, so it had been affecting his physical health. He was awake when we came in and I studied him, trying to view him as someone who hadn't watched his decline day by day. It was a shock to me how much he'd aged. Teena didn't know it, though we talked about it later, but the haggard, gray look that so lined his face, had only come since Halloween. I stood back, watching mother and son. Teena walked directly over and brushed aside Mulder's too-long bangs. Looking at him like I was that day, with new eyes, I noticed strands of silver in his dark locks. He gazed up at his mother with glazed eyes, then rubbed his hand over his face to clear away the cobwebs when he realized the figure standing over him wasn't me.

"Hi, Mom," His voice was thick with sleep and his visage was bland.

"Merry Christmas, Fox," Teena said softly, trying to smile. "How are you?"

I think anything she said would have set him off, his anger and resentment ran that deep, but the fact she opened with that particular pleasantry, so angered my partner, I was afraid he might strike her. He didn't, he only focused on her with a silent glare. The sparks that flashed in Mulder's eyes were visible from clear across the room. Even though I felt sorry for Mrs. Mulder, I had been on the receiving end of that heated gaze one too many times in the last six weeks, so I decided to beat a hasty retreat.

"Ah, excuse me," I said loudly. Mother and son turned at my well-timed interruption, "Ah, Mulder, Mrs. Mulder. I'll leave you two alone to visit. I ah...I've got some Christmas shopping to do." I was already backing out toward the door.

Teena Mulder's face looked crestfallen at my announced departure, but, ever gracious, she smiled and nodded to me, granting my leave. "Thank you for coming after me, Dana. I'll see you later."

"Count on it," I replied, giving her what I hoped was a smile of encouragement. "See you in a bit, Mulder."

Mulder flashed his most withering look, then waved me off angrily, "Sure, fine, whatever," he muttered.

I think I would have laughed if I hadn't been in such a hurry to leave.

I didn't get back till early evening. My shopping excursion had revitalized me and I felt I could face anything. I'd stopped by my little-used apartment to store my purchases and changed into this wonderful sweater and slacks outfit I'd bought to spoil myself. The stipend Teena Mulder gave me for caring for her son wasn't huge, but neither were my expenses, so I felt little guilt over my new clothes even though the price tag had been more than I normally pay when I add to my wardrobe. So I was in rare high spirits when I walked through the center's guest area on my way to Mulder's room. I stopped short at seeing Mrs. Mulder sitting alone in the darkened lounge. Even in the dim light I could see she was exhausted. She heard me walk up and offered me a weary smile.

"Oh, that looks lovely on you," she murmured, patting the soft cushion of the couch in an invitation for me to join her. "Green is your color. I'd always wanted to be a redhead, but back in my day, a lady wouldn't dream of dyeing her hair, so I was stuck with dishwater blond."

"The silver looks great on you," I replied easing down next to her.

"Well, if it hadn't been gray before, I think It would have turned white today," she said with a tired chuckle.

"That bad?" I whispered, a twinge of guilt hitting me for so enjoying myself while she'd dealt with her son's wrath.

She nodded and sighed, "Sometimes Karma's a bitch."

I couldn't stop the shocked giggle that escaped me. Those were not exactly the words I had ever expected to hear coming from her. She laughed, enjoying my surprise at her little naughtiness and the last of the barriers between us fell. I wanted to hear what had transpired while I was gone, however, I decided it was her choice to let me know. When she spoke again it was not on the past but the future.

"Well, Dana,." she began, leaning back against the comfortable cushions. "I've been making some plans on what to do for Fox, and since I hope you'll be part of them I wonder if you'd mind hearing me out. Have you eaten dinner?"

"Yes, ma'am." I answered, my interest piqued.

"Good, you have to keep your strength up, you know." Her voice dropped off and I felt a twinge of concern at the lady's own health when she closed her eyes for a moment. This day had taken a lot out of her.

"Teena," I said patting her arm, "We can talk later. Let me take you to your hotel and let you get some rest"

"No," she replied, shaking herself awake. Her back went ramrod straight and she continued. "Let me get this out, then I'll take you up on your offer. I've decided that I want Fox home with me. I talked to the people here and they agree that, at least for now, Fox is more in need of convalescent care than rehabilitation. I have the house in Chilmark."

"He hates it there," I said quickly. I was upset, not knowing where this was going. She was taking Mulder away from me. I had failed.

"I know, but hear me out. The house in Chilmark is vacant. I can get it ready for him in a couple of months. I think I'll fix it up, so when he's ready to start rehab again, he can do it there. With the amount I spend here, and your apartment, well I think in the long run, Fox's care being an ongoing expense, I'll save money."

My stomach plummeted. It was over. My life with Fox was over. I hadn't taken good enough care of him and I was going to be replaced. I had failed. I fought against the tears that threatened, trying to take deep breaths without Teena Mulder noticing.

She noticed and her eyes became soft and gentle. Just like her son's used to do when he looked at me -- back before I'd failed him.

"Oh, Dana," she placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Dana, this is what I wanted to talk to you about. I need to know...oh, Lord, this is so much to ask. I know you need to get on with your life but...can you run the house? I mean, can you continue to manage Fox's care? It's been so hard on you and believe you me, after what he put me through tonight I don't know how you've managed alone. But, I'll try to help. As much as he'll let me. But after talking to him tonight, I know he won't go through with this unless you come. He threatened to get a lawyer. He said he'd take me to court and make me put him in a state home. That he didn't want my money. That without you, he'd rather rot in some nursing home. The nurses had to sedate him it was so bad."

She stopped because I was crying. Sobbing actually.

"Oh Dana, please help me." Her hand patted my back in an awkward attempt at comfort. "I know you're young and you want to get a life."

I shook my head and tried to explain between sobs.

"Mulder is my life," I cried.

"Oh!" Teena gasped in understanding. She sat in stunned silence until I composed myself then shyly took my hand. Her own eyes spilled over as she spoke. "Thank you for loving him the way I always should have."

My lip was still trembling when I answered, "You're welcome."

CHAPTER FIVE

February
Chilmark, MA

We moved in to Mulder's boyhood home in February and I felt it was just in time. Mulder's mood swings had grown almost manic after the holidays and he was becoming so depressed that my time with him felt like a suicide watch. Something was killing him, slowly. We kept close tabs on his meds, but still couldn't figure the problem until late January when he finally got sloppy. I walked into his room one winters morning to find Mulder and his bed covered in bloody vomit. He was almost comatose from internal bleeding. But what tipped me to what the problem had been that long month was the smell. Somehow, Mulder was getting alcohol.

We were able to get the bleeding ulcer under control without surgery and a liver scan showed us that there was no damage as of yet but my partner had been very lucky. With his redesigned digestive tract, alcohol was absorbed directly into the liver and damage could result in as little as six weeks if the quantities were high enough. Mulder wouldn't tell me how he had kept his drinking from me and the staff but, being he was bedridden I knew there had to be an accomplice. Mulder would not cop to anything. He was seriously contrite and apologized profusely for worrying me, putting me through hell, causing my cancer, Bill Clinton's infidelities with Monica Lewinsky, etc. Mulder really knows how to take the guilt of the world on his shoulders.

About 10 days after he'd been found out, once he was feeling a bit better, I decided to snuggle up next to him. I needed it and I think he needed it too. Somehow, things just didn't seem so hopeless when we were lying next to each other. And if one thing led to another ...well it had been a while since that had happened, but, all the better. Of course, I was careful of hurting his already aching back, inching into the wide bed to lay beside him while he was watching an episode of classic Star Trek. When he flashed his patented Mulder grin, I melted -- as I always had, always would. He knew how to play me and I don't think he even realized the power he had over me. I started lightly playing my tongue over the soft, smooth skin of his chest.

"Ahh Scully...Ah, this is the best part, I think Kirk gets it on with the blue chick," he said teasingly, then he allowed the remote control to fall to the floor, in need of his hand for other, more important matters. His long fingers entwined in my hair and I grew more adventuresome at hearing his breath quicken in response. I moaned in appreciation of his excellent erection, and moved to show him my gratitude. His fingers tightened in my hair and I looked up at him in surprise.

I was shocked to see a scowl on his face, "You haven't wanted to do this in months." His voice was a pained whisper. "What is this, a sympathy fuck?"

I pushed away from him immediately and he winced in pain, with my sudden movements. Good. His words had hurt. He was, of course, flaccid now, and I threw the sheet over him, angrily before I stormed out of the room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mrs. Mulder had done a wonderful job on the house. The back porch was made into a physical therapy room/gym, complete with hot tub. I'd never been in the back yard of Mulder's boyhood home and was amazed to find that there was an Olympic-sized pool there, albeit in sad disrepair. Teena Mulder had workers enclosing it when we moved in so Mulder could begin swimming, if and when we got him to the point he was able again.

I was excited by all the things available to my partner and was grateful to Mrs. Mulder for what she had done for her son. She gave what she could, what she was able to give. This was how Teena Mulder could, should, show her love. Life makes us what we are and Mulder's mother had suffered through pain that I couldn't imagine. At least the horrible fate that had befallen her son had at last given her a tangible way to show what she'd always felt in her heart. Some of us are never able to let others know how we really feel. Lord, do I know that.

We flew on a chartered jet from Colorado to Maryland, then a private ambulance transported us to the house. I never knew the state department paid so well. The Mulders possessed money I couldn't even begin to fathom and I really didn't want to think about where they could have gotten it. I knew Teena Mulder had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but as I understood it, Bill Mulder had been a self-made man. It's kind of scary when you think about it -- kind of sad, too, because like my mother always says, "Money can't buy ..." Well, it can't, but it sure did build a nice place for us to live and Mulder to convalesce.

Things began to take on a routine and for a while, life was better. We had privacy for the first time in a long time and that fact gave Mulder heart. He seemed interested in what was going on around him and his depression lifted somewhat. Don't get me wrong, he was still a moody S.O.B. He'd not been the most even-tempered man before all this had happened to him. But he was working with me and the therapist and it looked like he just might be able to get in that pool by the time it was renovated. He was able to sit in his chair for periods of up to three hours without the pain getting too bad. His humor appeared every now and then, too. He had the men that worked on the pool in stitches. When he began to spend his free time, his "up" time out watching the construction and entertaining the men with his wit, I thought nothing of it. After our little deception at the center in Colorado I should have known better. Mulder was nothing if not clever. And the monkey he had gotten on his back in the Rockies had not left, it had just been sleeping.

My first hint this time that Mulder was "off the wagon" was after coming home from shopping, having left him with Elizabeth, the housekeeper. I walked into a house full of off-duty construction workers partying out by the pool with my partner, a stereo blaring Metallica full-blast, so loud the windows were shaking from the heavy metal cacophony. I'm sure the cops would have been called if my return hadn't put an end to the festivities.

When his guests left, Mulder tried to cover his rear.

"Before you say anything ..." he began, as I started the task of helping him back to bed, "I had a beer with Brian."

I paused and almost started to say something, but thought better of it. One look at the baiting sheen in his hazel eyes was all I needed to know to not go there now. After all, he wasn't drunk. He'd only had one beer. We hadn't addressed what had happened the prior month. We were not calling him an alcoholic. He was a grown man, almost forty years old. He knew the dangers of abuse to his system all too well. He was the person who'd suffered through them. So I kept quiet. And, so did he.

Brian was fired from the crew less than two weeks later. Teena Mulder herself gave the young man the ax. Mulder had almost overdosed from mixing Jack Daniels and Percodan and was in the hospital when Brian was released. The rest of the crew didn't want to play with him when he got home. They'd all been warned and valued their jobs. Mulder, for want of a better word, started pouting then. Julie, his therapist, couldn't get him to do much of anything. I couldn't get him to eat right. He was exactly like a surly adolescent.

I tried to talk to him and all I got was a look that reminded me of my baby brother Charlie. Charlie had been the youngest, and as is so often the case in families of more than two, my parents were less strict with him. As a teen, he tended to get a little mouthy with my mom. My father, away for over a year during the worst of it, wasn't around to see the petulant, indignant looks he gave Mom. How he rolled his eyes and often ignored her. I hated seeing Charlie treat my mom that way. He finally stopped when Mom slapped him. It surprised both of them so much that they both were reduced to tears. Then they talked, and things got better.

The straw that broke my back, so to speak, was just after the pool was finished. I had gone out with Mrs. Mulder for lunch. She'd sensed I was at the end of my rope and got me away for a while. We'd left Mulder with Elizabeth and when we got home, it was deja vu all over again. Well, not quite -- there were no drunk construction workers in the backyard. But Mulder was in his room, the stereo blaring, and he was more than a few sheets to the wind. He was listening to that damn song -- the one he'd gotten addicted to when Brian was around. That fucking depressing song that he'd begun to play constantly --the one that drove me out of my skull:

"I can't remember anything, can't tell if this is true or dream. Deep down inside I feel a scream, this terrible silence stops me.

"Back in a world that's much too real, in comes light that I must feel, but can't look forward to reveal, look to the time when I lived."

Mrs. Mulder and I walked into a bedroom and found Mulder buck naked with he housekeeper, Elizabeth, likewise unclothed, straddling him.

"Hold my breath as I wish for death, Oh, please, God, wake me."

There was a half empty JD bottle on his dresser.

"Darkness imprisoning me, all that I see, absolute horror. How can I live, how can I die, trapped in myself, my body my holy cell."

Elizabeth turned, saw us and grabbed her dress off the floor. She flew into the bathroom and that I'm happy to say was the last I saw of fair Lizzy.

"Land mine has taken my sight, taken my speech, taken my hearing, taken my arms, taken my legs, taken my soul, left me with life in Hell."

Mulder raised up, saw us and grinned like a little boy. This was one time it didn't work. I tried to hit the button to stop the music but kept missing it. Finally, in my anger I jerked the CD off the rack and through it against the wall. The tune stopped. It was completely silent in the room. Teena Mulder was in such shock. Her face was whiter that her hair. Mine was redder than my own hair.

"Whoa, Scully," Mulder laughed, rather pleased with my show of temper.

He laughed at me. That was the wrong thing to do. I stormed over to him and slapped him hard. The sound cut through the stillness. It was proof though -- two wrongs do not make a right. Mulder's eyes turned a murky green and I'll never forget the expression of hatred that crossed his face because it was directed at ME.

"THAT IS IT!!! Who the fuck do you think you are?!" He looked at his mother, who, God bless her soul, was about to have stroke after witnessing the surreal drama playing out in her tastefully-decorated home. He locked that simmering gaze on her, then pulled me his sight too then snapped, "Both of you!!! I'm talking to both of you! I'm a MAN!! I might not look like one, but here...here inside I'm a man!! If I want to kill myself the only way I have left to do it, then fucking let me do it!! Goddamn you!! Inside here...I'm a man..." His voice had turned to painful sobs.

Mrs. Mulder let loose an animal-like groan and ran from the room. I looked back at her son, tears streaming down my face.

"I love you," was all I could get out.

Mulder looked at me and his face went blank. He sighed and fell back on the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes.

"Mulder..." I said, starting over to him.

"Just get out" he said in a voice so old it was timeless.

So I did.

To Be Continued...

The X-Files and its characters are owned by FOX, 1013 and Chris Carter. No copyright infringment is intended.