By Mary Kleinsmith
Buc252@aol.com

Category:   Missing Scene, MT, MS Friendship/UST or MSR, depending on your
POV.  Nothing overt
Rating:  PG (but only for language)
Spoilers:  Memento Mori
Summary: He Ran
Acknowledgments:  Thank you to Laura for the beta and support, and to Vickie,
Debbie, and Sara for keeping ATF up and running.  And a special thank you to
all the readers who support me and my work.  Oh, and a special acknowledgment
to whichever author it was (sorry, I can't remember) who first had Scully use
the expression, "like something the cat hacked up."  I loved the expression
so much, I had her use it in my story, too.  I hope, if you're reading, you
don't mind.
Author's Notes:  Written for After_The_Fact's Memento Mori challenge.
Feedback:  It's like food for the gods (forgive me, I wrote this while
watching The Ten Commandments). <g>

Personal Mementos
By Mary Kleinsmith (Buc252@aol.com)
 

He ran.

As soon as he heard the click of the electrified latch, he pushed his way
through the door like a thoroughbred coming out of the starting gate.  He
banished from his mind the memory of the assassin coming toward him, firing
shots through the bullet-proof glass until he'd managed to make a hole.
Bullets had flown behind him as he cleared the door, their wind displacement
almost tangible on the back of his neck.

He ran.

His arms pumped, his feet flew, and he made it back to the van.  He hadn't
even hesitated when a stitch in his side showed he needed a break.  For
safety's sake, they'd parked nearly a mile away, and he covered the distance
with astounding alacrity.  Throwing himself into the open back doors, he
shouted at the driver.

"I'm in!  Go! Go!"

"I'm on it," Frohike said, yanking his microphone/earpiece from his ear as he
stepped on the gas.  Langley sat silently beside him, the intensity of the
situation suppressing even the verbal barbs he normally would have thrown at
his partner.

"What about Byers?"

"He's out and okay," the driver confirmed.  Byers had taken his own car,
knowing that if one of them got caught, they didn't all have to.  "He was on
his way before we were."

"Good," Mulder said, pushing himself to a sitting position from where he'd
flung himself in his mad dash into the van.

The vehicle, license plate carefully concealed, sped off into the darkest
night.  Mulder didn't have to tell them where their next stop had to be.
 

Nearly eight hours later . . .

She hadn't wanted to let him go.  His arms had felt so good around her,
soothing away the aches and pains, mental as well as physical.  Even his lips
on her forehead had felt wonderful.  A blessing.  A benediction.

It was something she had that Penny hadn't.  A Mulder.  Somebody in her life
besides another abduction victim to sit by her side when she was unwell, to
help when she was feeling tired, or just talk to when she was feeling alone.
 

Dana Scully walked the halls of the hospital back toward her room, almost
ready to take the turn into the adjoining hall before she realized he wasn't
following as expected.

"Aren't you coming, Mulder?" she asked from nearly a hall's length away.
Somehow, he heard her voice, even though she hadn't spoken loudly enough to
wake the other patients.

"I'll be there in a second, okay?" he said, looking slightly embarrassed, but
she couldn't imagine why.  "I need to make a phone call."

"Who are you going to call at five o'clock in the morning?"

"I promised Skinner I'd let him know how you were doing.  And I guess I
should give him a verbal report on Scanlon, at least."  He smiled gently.
"Meet you in your room?"

"I'm standing here in my bathrobe, looking like something the cat hacked up.
Where do you think I'd go?"  She smiled.

"I heard of a big slumber party at a sorority house down the street . . ."
Mulder volunteered, smiling as well.

"Meet you in my room," she said in simple answer.

The hospital room seemed cold without him there, but a little warmth remained
when she picked up her journal.  He said he'd read her words.  Her first
instinct had been to feel disappointed; she'd decided to destroy it, just as
she'd told him.  But now, something seemed comforting . . . right . . . about
her being able to hold them in her hands and know he'd read them and still
accepted her.  Still wanted her in his life with a desperation they both held
for their relationship.  It was filled with her innermost thoughts and
feelings, which she hadn't ever shared with anybody.  And now, she could
assure herself that he knew her - all of her.

Setting the book back on the nightstand, a shadow on her fingers drew her
attention.  The lights were dim, the room bathed in a semi-dark quietness.
But there was enough illumination to see something there.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she flicked on the overhead light.  It bathed
her in it's white glow, and she could see her hands clearly.  Could see the
red flakes that adorned them.

It looked like nail polish, after it had been on for too long and began to
chip in tiny flakes.  Burgundy nail polish . . . but she'd had none on in any
color when she was admitted.  Studying her fingers more closely, she wondered
where she could have picked up the unidentified substance.  She knew they had
been clean as she held Penny's hand through her last moments of life.  And
the only thing she'd touched since then had been . . .

"Isn't it past your bedtime, young lady?" the voice came from the doorway.
She looked up sharply, startled.

"Mulder!  You nearly gave me a heart attack," she said, momentarily
distracted.

"Well, if you're going to have one, there isn't a better place," he smiled
sitting down beside her.  "What had you so fascinated that your sharp,
detective's instincts didn't take note of me in your doorway?"

"I picked up this red stuff somewhere - it's all over my hands," she
explained.  "I think it's on you, Mulder.  You're the only thing I've
touched."

"Thing?" Mulder smiled.  "Thanks for the compliment, Scully."

Scully slapped at his arm tiredly.  "You know that's not how I meant it.  But
we'd better get it off you before you get red paint all over the hospital."

"Scully, I haven't been anywhere where there was red paint," he denied as he
shed his leather jacket.  "I don't know where you got it, but it wasn't from
me."

His denial fell on deaf ears.  "Turn around, Mulder. I'm betting it's on your
turtleneck."

"There is nothing on my shirt!" he disagreed adamantly, but turned as he was
ordered.

Suddenly, Scully was yanking at the black cloth.  "Mulder, you've got a rip
back here a couple inches wide."  She retracted her hands and found more red
flakes.  Suddenly, she thought she knew what it was.

"Oh, my God, Mulder.  This looks like dried blood."  He looked over his
shoulder, trying to see the place she was examining.  "Where exactly were you
tonight?"

"It doesn't matter, Scully.  Just forget it."

But she wasn't forgetting it.  She was still fussing with his shirt; any
residual weakness was ignored in favor of a closer examination of her
partner.  Finally, she un-tucked an edge and lifted the shirt, gasping in
astonishment at what she revealed.

"Mulder, you have a gash here a mile wide!  What the hell happened to you?
Where were you tonight?"

"Nowhere special.  Just hanging out with the Gunmen."  He was lying, and she
could see it.  Or, at least, not telling the whole story.

"Hanging out where?  Deadman's Alley?" she accused.

He didn't know what to say to her.  Should he tell her about the raid?  About
the clones, and the ova?

And more to the point, how had he gotten cut?  Reviewing the night's events,
he couldn't think of any time he was near anything sharp enough to make the
mark Scully was describing.

"We were just looking into the Gregories and this Dr. Scanlon," he said when
she looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"<Where> were you looking into them?  And how did you get this?" she asked,
waving a hand at his side.

"It was just this clinic the Gunmen dug up."

"Didn't you feel when this happened?  The least you could have done was cover
it with a handkerchief to keep it from bleeding all over your shirt and
getting infected.  Haven't you even learned the basics in all our years
together?"

He sighed in frustration.  She was never going to believe it, but . . .

"I don't know <when> it happened.  I didn't even know anything was wrong
until five minutes ago when you started yanking at my shirt like a sex crazy
teenager!"  The joke distracted her for a moment.

"Very funny, Mulder."  She turned to the wall behind the headboard, pushing a
button.  A voice came back a few moments later.

"Yes, Miss Scully.  What can we get you?"

"My friend seems to have suffered a minor cut," she said, sending a message
with her eyes that he should remain silent.  He didn't disobey.  "Could you
please bring me a large syringe filled with sterile normal saline solution,
some Betadine, and a few gauze pads with saline as well?"

"Would you like me to send in a nurse to take care of it?" the voice asked
not unkindly, and while he was sure Scully probably thought he'd jump at the
chance, he knew the truth - he'd rather she do it than anybody.

"No, thanks.  I think having medical credentials qualifies me to bandage a
scrape myself."  It may have sounded harsh, but she said it with a weak smile
in her voice that was apparently recognized by the staff when she answered.

"I'll send the supplies right in."

"Thank you."

A nurse's aid brought in the tray a few silent moments later, and Scully
thanked the girl and let her go back to her duties.

"Okay, off with the shirt, and lie down."

"Scully, I . . ."

"Mulder!" she snapped, and he looked at her as if seeing her for the first
time.  "Look, I'm tired, I've been up all night, I haven't gotten completely
over the after-effects of the treatments, and the last thing I need is to get
into a pissing match on this.  So, please . . ."

He could argue with her until the cows came home over theories and aliens,
but he couldn't deny the exhaustion in her voice.  He pulled off his shirt.

"This is so undignified," he commented under his breath as she pulled him
down to the bed, positioning him half on his stomach and half on his side so
she had the wound where she could most easily work on it.

"Indignity is the worst of your problems, Mulder," she said seriously.  "You
know how I feel about your taking off without me."

"Well, I had to . . ."  he'd been prepared to say "save you," but bit back
the words as unproductive. It would just start an argument.  Fortunately,
Scully let it drop at that.

Instead, she'd taken a gauze pad and soaked it with saline, touching the pad
in gentle swipes to the injury on Mulder's flank, just removing the loose
flakes of dried blood from around the injury.  It came off gradually, as
she'd planned.   She didn't wish to put undue pressure on the wound and do
any more damage.

"You still say you don't remember how this happened?"

"That's my story, and I'm sticking to it," he responded, then flinched when
she hit a particularly tender spot.  "Ouch!"

"Sorry, Mulder.  I'm almost done."  She wiped a bit more, slowly revealing
the damage done to her partner.  Finally, she set aside the gauze pad, taking
a closer look at the injury.

"Mulder, this looks like a gunshot graze!"

"I've been shot?!"

"It sure looks like it," she said, continuing to examine the wound.  "I'm
going to ask you again.  Where were you tonight?  How did this happen?"

Mulder seemed to reach deeply into himself, into his mind and his memory.
She believed him when he said he didn't realize he'd been hurt, but that
didn't mean he didn't know how it had transpired.  Somewhere deep in the
recesses of his brain.  She let him stew over it for a bit.

"You're damn lucky, because it doesn't seem to be getting infected.  I need
to clean it out to be sure, though.  This isn't going to be comfortable."

"Why does that sound like an understatement," Mulder chuckled.

"I could give you a local.  Numb the area, then debride it."

"Nah, just do it, Scully.  Get it over with, so you can get back to resting."

"It's not a strenuous activity, Mulder.  But it is one that needs to be
done."

"Then do it," he said with no hesitation.

"As long as you're sure."  She began to clean the inner area of the wound,
being sure that anything taken into the wound by the bullet or his clothes
was removed.  She directed streams of saline from the syringe into the wound,
over and over, catching the overflow with the towel. "If we'd caught this
when it was fresh, I'd probably have recommended stitches, but in this case,
we can probably make due with two or three butterflies."  It was a type of
bandage Mulder knew well.

He held his tongue well, only letting loose of a few quiet grunts while she
continued her treatment.  She called on the intercom and asked for the
butterfly bandages, which were delivered quickly by a nurse.

After she handed them to Scully, she stood by.  "Would you like some
assistance, Dr. Scully?" she asked.

"If you can wait just a minute, I'd appreciate it if you could dispose of the
garbage," she answered, motioning toward the tray now full of red gauze.

The nurse nodded, and watched while Scully applied all three bandages, using
them to pull the wound closed.  She then took the tray and left the room,
leaving the two.

"I just don't see how you couldn't have noticed this when it happened,"
Scully said in confusion as he rose with a flinch, sitting on the bed beside
her.

"At the time, all I was thinking about was getting back here.  I was running,
and there was a stitch in my side, but I figured . . ."

"Did you hear gunshots then?"

"No, there weren't any.  The only time I was shot at was . . ."

"So you <were> shot at!  Why didn't you tell me."

"It didn't seem important."

"It wasn't important that somebody tried to kill you?"

"Well, we <were> trespassing in a top-secret facility."

"Doesn't sound like you did a very good job."  But she was smiling gently.
"What did the three stooges screw up this time?"

Sighing, he seemed to realize that there was no holding back.  "They were a
little slow in getting an electrified door open."  Quick to defend, he added,
"it wasn't their fault.  It was on a redundant system."

The image in her mind amazed her.  "Why aren't you dead?"

There was a glass door I closed behind me.  Bullet resistant, at the very
least.  The shooter was firing directly at me, but the glass protected me
until they could unlock the door.  He broke through just as they succeeded.
That must be when I got winged.  Maybe it was even a ricochet."

Through his story, she could feel her eyes welling up.  He'd done it for her,
to help her, she knew.  And he'd almost been killed.

"Mulder," she said, taking his hands in her own.  "You have to promise me not
to do anything like that again."

"But . . ."

"No, let me finish.  I know you felt you did what you had to do, but you need
to understand.  I said I was going back to work, and I meant it.  But I've
got a big fight on my hands - probably the biggest of my life.  Because it <
is> my life that's at stake."

He nodded, his own eyes growing wet.

"But I can't fight this fight without you.  You're my partner.  And my best
friend.  I need  you, Mulder.  And mostly, I need to be sure you're going to
be here - with me and for me - until I've won.  Promise me, Mulder.  No more
stunts like this."

"I was trying to save you from the battle," he whispered softly, not raising
his eyes from where their hands were clasped together.

"That's not possible," she said equally as softly, laying her hand on his
chin and raising his eyes to look into her own.  "All you can do is commit to
be here with me through it.  It's my fight . . . but you can give me the
strength of your beliefs."

"Always," he answered, unable to say any more.

She blinked back her tears, reaching to her bedside.  "I want you to have
this," she said, giving him the journal.

"To remember you by?" he laughed bitterly.  "That doesn't sound like you're
going to fight."

"No, not to remember me by.  To remind you of what you mean to me.  When you
feel the impulse to run off again, read it.  And, for me, call for backup
before you go anywhere."  Thinking of the Gunmen, she added, "that means
Bureau backup."

He nodded, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.  No more need be said.

Suddenly, the exhaustion overtook her, and it seemed that the same was true
of her partner.  She lay back against her pillows, drawing him with her until
they both rested, side by side, on the pillow.  It had been a long night, and
even longer days lay ahead, but she felt confident now that she could go
through it, and come out the other side.  With him at her side, how could it
be otherwise?

As she drifted off, she heard a drowsy voice beside her.  "Bastards probably
ruined my favorite leather jacket."

It made her smile as she gave into her exhaustion, falling into a sound and
contented sleep.

The End