Recovery.html

TITLE: "Recovery" (1/6)
BY: Ten
E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au

CATEGORY: S (post ep); Angst; MT; MSR
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Mulder's physical retrieval, recuperation and
more retrieval - this time of memories - during and after
"Amor Fati".
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers for "Biogenesis",
"Sixth Extinction" and "Amor Fati". I tweak the one-week
timelapse in the ep between Mulder being rescued by
Scully from the DOD and him being as relatively healthy
as we see him in the following hallway scene.
NOTE: I plundered cyber friends' brains for med info for
this story, but any mistakes are my own, and since Mulder
was afflicted with a rather unique and alien ailment in
those episodes, that provided a bit of a wildcard and
leeway.

ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be
archived anywhere as long as my name, addy and disclaimer
stay intact.
FEEDBACK: Always great to know who's out there in the
ether!
BIG THANKS TO: Debbie, Suzanne, Gerry, Mac, Judie and
Vickie for great help and patience, and to those who kept
asking about this story. I got there on it eventually.

DEDICATED TO: Helen Wills: for her great stories, her
sense of humour, and for dropping everything to look up a
quote from a certain royal personage that I really wanted
for this story.

My website for all my X-Files fanfiction, thanks to the
wonderful Skyfox, is now at http://tenxffic.tripod.com

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder
and Scully and all other characters from the show belong
to Chris Carter, the writers of the episodes, Ten
Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used
without permission. No copyright infringement is
intended, no profit will be gained.

The X-Files: "Recovery" (1/6)
By Ten, 9th April to May, 2000, resumed September-October
2000

xXx

"You have to get up!"

So close to his last breath, to giving up, so close.

"Mulder, help me. Please, Mulder..."

He heard her imploring, felt her tear shatter through his
lethargy like a cannonball, and he accepted his destiny.
That he was not to end here, like this, dying in
ignorance and bliss in the comfortable bedroom of his
mind while the world was ravaged. They had to fight the
fight. So he arose for her, into her embrace.

But his head...

The voices that had dragged him down from the moment he
had first seen the rubbing may have been removed, but
something else was in their place.

Mulder blinked. He knew where he was. He was lying atop
the unfinished sandcastle UFO, spread out along it, arms
outstretched. Somehow he could see himself from above.
The ocean was swirling around the sandcastle, making it
into an island, the water rising higher and higher.

The water was red. A sea of blood. His blood.

He could not get up. He could only turn his head, and he
saw Scully and the boy standing on rocks. They were out
of reach and further above the water than his body.
Scully's hand was outstretched, and she was calling out
to him, but he could not hear her words or reach out to
her.

The blood water was rising higher.

"Hold on. Please, hold on." Was that Scully or the boy?

He had to try.

xXx

Department Of Defense
Room unknown

Mulder's eyes had slid shut again and he slumped in
Scully's arms. But he was breathing. She had found him.
Now to finish the rescue with all speed.

There was no form of patient transport in sight. No
gurney, no wheelchair. And a terrible feeling was in her
bones that there was no time to waste. It had been
tangible from the moment that the keycard was slipped
under her door. Moving her partner would have been easier
if he was conscious, however there was no choice. She
would have to drag him until the cavalry met up with her.
A fireman's carry would be too risky for Mulder, too much
likelihood of causing a fatal bleed or swelling.

She pulled out her cellular. Before she could dial, she
heard the door opening. Her sense of desperation and
terror jumped to a whole new bonus level. Caught.

It was Byers. The three Lone Gunmen had come with her to
the DOD in their beat-up van, and she had insisted they
stay in the shadows of the parking lot and keep watch
while she went in armed with a tracer as well as her gun.
Byers must have gotten antsy and somehow managed to enter
the building, which was fortuitous, because he was the
one Scully had been about to call.

"I know you told us to wait," he babbled as he hurried
across to them. His eyes widened as he took in the sight
of his friend. "But..."

"It doesn't matter. I'm glad you're here - we'll have to
carry him. I'll take his feet. Make sure you keep his
head up higher than his body. If we find a gurney along
the way, we'll transfer him onto it, but otherwise, let's
get him out of here, now!"

She gave the room a sweeping look as they were carrying
Mulder towards the door. Apart from the huge table -
complete with shackles - and a heart monitor that she had
silenced, there was nothing much else in the room. Some
metal cabinets along the walls, but no time to stop and
try them. There were security cameras. But the building
appeared deserted. By design?

xXx

"Is he okay?" Langly threw over his shoulder in concern.
He was steering the Gunmen's van and its occupants away
from the facility and towards Georgetown Hospital. He
couldn't see Scully's face in the rear view mirror - she
was in the back, on her knees on the floor, head bowed
over Mulder's limp form. But her wavering voice and
Byer's pale face told him a lot about their friend.

"I can't wake him," she said. "Hurry!"

Scully held Mulder in her arms. Frohike had found a
blanket amongst the paraphernalia in the back of the van
and they had wrapped her partner in it. Melvin seemed
unable to tear his eyes away from the huge bandage that
ringed Mulder's head.

"It's going to be okay," Scully whispered in Mulder's
ear. "I won't let it be anything less." The ride seemed
to take forever, like she was on the ice in Antarctica,
waiting for the rescue helicopters. But he was back. She
had him back.

Then came a jumbled sequence of events. Hospital. ER. The
bandages were removed from Mulder's forehead, revealing
small and regular marks around his head - evidence that
it had been immobilized by a frame. Even more alarmingly,
he had staples closing a wound where someone had opened
up the back of his skull on the lower left side.

Brain surgery. Her empty stomach lurched.

She told the ER doctor about Mulder's recent
hospitalisation and condition and kidnapping from the
Neuro ICU ward here. The doctor looked at the staples and
asked, "Then what hospital did this?"

"He's a kidnapped federal agent. He was *not* found in a
hospital." Not a conventional one, anyway.

The doctor looked horrified. "If that's the case then I
think we'd better brace ourselves for a high likelihood
of infection and brain damage."

Scully nodded to acknowledge his words, but refused to
give such possibilities any contemplation or worry. Not
before she had evidence of them, no matter how expected.

Then came imaging scans. No implants were found.

The activity in Mulder's temporal lobe was back within
normal parameters. Whatever had been done to him had
worked. In that regard at least.

But...

The scans picked up a damaged blood vessel at the site of
the surgery. Now Mulder was undergoing brain surgery
again, the incision and small bone flap reopened, this
time to stop the bleed.

Guards had been assigned to the operating room, for all
the good that had done last time... And she was sticking
with him, watching the surgeons do their task.
Thinking...

Mulder lying in her arms in the back of the van. Even she
couldn't summon up his warmth: his skin had been cold. So
very cold.

Had she found him only to lose him again?

What if they found something? Something that didn't show
up on the scans? His beautiful mind. Had anything been
*taken* from it?

Though he *was* articulate when she found him. Then she
found herself thinking: Dana, he said three words and
hugged you before lapsing into a stupor. That's not
something to get too excited over.

Great, even her own mind was ganging up on her.

Scully blinked back tears. The Gunmen had left the
hospital at her instruction, busy trying to hack into the
DOD's files and also monitor comings and goings from the
building. They had copies of the UFO markings that she
had emailed to them while in Africa, and the book that
had been internally delivered to her at the FBI. She had
to rely on them to do the investigating now, to help her,
chasing leads at her direction, and to bring things for
her to go over while she waited at Mulder's bedside. She
couldn't ask Skinner to.

The OR team was buzzing around Mulder's head, like moths
to his light. He was her light. Irresistible to follow.

You went to Antarctica and into the Pentagon for me,
In return, I traversed Africa, Alaska and the DOD.

Scully nearly burst into hysterical laughter at the rhyme
that popped into her head. It was quickly tempered. She
had known the conspiracy reached far, but this was one of
the rare times that she herself had been in a government
facility, frantically searching for a clue or the grand
prize, seeing with her own wide-awake eyes instead of
being absent or semi-conscious.

Dana blinked herself back into the present. The chief
surgeon was speaking to her.

He was surprised that Mulder was showing no signs or
symptoms of infection. Fortunately nothing appeared to
have been removed from his brain. The surgery had
successfully cauterized the bleeding. It was not a major
bleed, but would still have killed Mulder if left
untreated. However the full effects of it - and whatever
had been done to him in the first procedure - could only
be ascertained when he woke up.

xXx

The water had threatened to spill over the top of the
sand UFO, but he concentrated as fiercely as he could,
and halted it.

Now the water was retreating, eddying out, exposing the
beach.

Making a pathway for Scully, Mulder thought muzzily. He
still couldn't move. He had to rest. He had to rest...

xXx

He hadn't woken up. Not once. Not even for a moment. And
it had been two days. He should have woken up within
twenty-four hours of the surgery. Yes, Mulder reacted to
painful stimuli. Scans showed that everything *seemed*
fine. No infection. He just wasn't waking up.

His skin was pale, apart from the ugly blooms of bruises
from the restraints and shackles and needlemarks and IV
punctures and struggles with the orderlies. The holes
from the frame were hidden again by new bandages, as was
the site of the surgeries. The fingers he had dislocated
when going out of his mind in the padded cell had healed
during the interim.

Also, his bloodwork showed no traces of the drugs from
the hospitalisation before his abduction. Ordinarily
Thorazine and Haldol could linger for weeks... Scully
considered that perhaps he had been injected with
something at the DOD which had counteracted or suppressed
those drugs, so they would not interfere with the
surgery.

Now the agents were back in the same Neuro ICU room that
Mulder had been taken from by Cancerman's cronies. Scully
was glad that it was a private room instead of a tiny
glass-enclosed Intensive Care room or a curtained ward.
The staff wanted to keep Mulder 'isolated' for now.

She talked to him. She read to him. She sat beside him
hour after hour and held his hand. Scully had promised
her partner she would not leave his side again, apart for
brief, necessary breaks. She argued with the doctors
about Mulder's care and the best way to get nutrition
into him - via an NG tube, or Total Parenteral Nutrition
which was delivered via IV. Nutrition was an important
factor - with the increased brain activity and no sleep
while he was here before his kidnapping, Mulder's body
had been burning calories like a forest fire consumed
trees.

She realised she had spent an hour debating with one
doctor whether or not Mulder's NG tube should be keeping
his stomach empty or delivering the feedings. They
couldn't risk him vomiting something up, raising his
intracranial pressure as a result. But on the flip side,
a TPN catheter leading directly to the heart would give a
chance of infection or air getting into the
bloodstream...

Skinner came by. He entered the room slowly, still
recovering from his own recent assault and probably not
sure of his reception. "How is he?"

"The same." She was trying not to let her anger show.
Frustration that their boss had not - or could not - help
her when Mulder vanished, and anger at the way the A.D.
had delivered the news. Skinner had probably not realised
that his 'He's gone' had sounded for a heart-shattering
moment like 'Mulder has died', until he further clarified
with 'He's disappeared'.

"When will they move him out of this section? Or will
they keep him in here?" Skinner asked.

"It's usually 48-72 hours after cauterizing a bleed, if
all is well. In Mulder's case his EEGs and PET scans are
normal - for an unconscious person - but they won't move
him out of Neuro ICU until he's awake, alert, and
exhibiting no signs of violence or insanity."

Skinner's gaze flickered to Mulder's wrists. Scully knew
what he was checking for. Restraints were attached to the
bed, but not to her partner. "I told Doctor Harriman that
Mulder is unlikely to become violent now that the
activity has stopped, and even if he did, after the
surgeries and all that he's been through, I doubt he'd be
physically capable of causing any harm. I'm prepared to
take the risk anyway." Then her voice became almost
fierce. "Mulder was put in restraints when I was in
Africa. Then when I found him at the DOD he was actually
in shackles. I refuse to subject him to that again."

Their boss nodded, then continued with a degree of
reluctance, "There are no leads on Michael Kritschgau's
death. Or the fire in his apartment." Skinner hesitated,
looking even more uncomfortable. "Diana Fowley has taken
a leave of absence from the Bureau - it was put through
when I was still in the hospital after the...incident, so
I didn't know about it. I haven't been able to contact
her on her home phone or cellular. She's not at her
apartment."

Scully checked the date with him and realised that Fowley
had gone on leave on the same day as her own DOD
excursion. "This may be more than vacation leave, sir."

"I know. We'll keep trying to locate her. To be sure."

Scully hoped that Diana was just on leave. However... Did
I force her hand? Did I help sign her death warrant? A
trade? Her for Mulder? Or has she disappeared back into
the 'fold'?

Skinner gave her an update on Mrs. Mulder, who had been
found on the floor of a motel room halfway between D.C.
and Rhode Island. She was now recuperating at home. She
could recall visiting her son, but had no memory of
signing him out.

Very convenient.

Scully reminded herself that she must contact Albert
Hosteen too. There had been so much going on. She had
thought he would be by, actually. It looked like Blessing
Way ceremonies worked wonders for both him and Mulder.
Perhaps the Navajo elder could continue this. He had
prayed over Melissa...

There was an awkward pause. Dana knew that Skinner wanted
to offer to stay with Mulder while she got some rest or
something to eat, but both knew that would not be a good
idea. As Skinner had tried to tell her, he was in a
compromised position.

xXx

When Dana woke, she was curled up in the chair, and found
that five hours had passed. The nurse who was checking
Mulder said, "You slept right through all the other
checks and range of motion exercises. So did he. No
change."

Dazed, Scully spent a few minutes sitting and
reorientating herself, clearing the sleep from her eyes
and stretching. Then she reached across to touch base
with her partner. She took in the bandages around his
head, the nasogastric tube, his pallor and gauntness.

Was it her fault that he hadn't woken up? Had she
interrupted whatever procedure they were doing on him,
leaving his salvation unfinished, his soul dangling?

We don't know what we're dealing with here. Perhaps this
is 'normal' after such brain activity. After such a
procedure...

"Should I cry over you again, Mulder? Kiss you? Beg?"

Her voice sounded brittle, her throat eroded down on the
inside like a metal pipe by the tears she was holding
back. Just need some water, that's all, she thought.

And a pair of hazel eyes.

There was no pitcher beside the bed seeing as Mulder was
unconscious and allowed nothing by mouth - better not to
run the risk of a well-meaning visitor dribbling some
water in his mouth. So Scully went into the private
bathroom to get herself a drink. The glass wobbled in her
hand.

She spent a few minutes freshening up and trying not to
let her mind dwell in dark places.

As she walked back into Mulder's room, she thought of the
spinning fragment from the now-missing craft. The
locusts. Her findings from the outer skin of the ship -
sets of translations that had rocked her to the core.
Passages from the Bible, the Koran... Why was it all
collected there and what repercussions did it have on the
Church, on her faith?

No. Put that aside for now. Focus on Mulder waking up. It
was the same thing that she had frequently told herself
over the last few days. It had replaced 'Focus on finding
Mulder's cure' and 'Focus on finding Mulder'. Trouble
was, since Mulder wasn't obliging with a show of
consciousness, there was a lot of time and silence to
turn her thoughts back to the craft and its implications,
especially when the Gunmen brought in more information
for her to go over.

She looked at her partner and traced his jaw. And when he
*does* wake up?

Focus on his recovery.

xXx

The boy looked worriedly at the man. The man was still
lying stretched out on top of the mound of sand. The
water and wind had erased the designs and symbols,
leaving a shapeless blob. The boy could not work on the
ship while the man was like this, a dead weight on it.

If the man did not wake soon, he would forget his
destiny. He would not rebuild the ship and come to learn
its secrets. He could not then understand and lead. He
would be just a shell, not knowing anything, even when
the day came that the sky would be full of these ships.

xXx

Two more days crawled by. The doctor on duty wanted to
discuss the need to find a nursing home if Mulder didn't
show any signs of waking up in the next couple of days.
Insurance would not cover a hospital bed when the person
was stable but comatose. Damn protocols...

When the doctor left, Scully sat in the chair, staring
blankly at the wall. If - God forbid - this state was
permanent, or if Mulder went into a waking coma, she
would look after him. She would provide whatever care he
needed. She would be the care.

Mulder, currently positioned on his back, suddenly
mumbled and rolled over onto his side, facing her. The
first voluntary movement he had made since the surgery.

His eyelids fluttered. His fingers curled in her hand.

"Mulder?"

END PART ONE OF SIX

TITLE: "Recovery" (2/6)
BY: Ten
E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au

My website for all my X-Files fanfiction is now at
http://tenxffic.tripod.com

xXx

The first thing he was conscious of was the quiet. Only
his own thoughts were in his mind, no one else's. His
second realisation was that he was lying on his back. His
head and upper body were very elevated, but he was still
on his back. Mulder felt a moment of panic, then quelled
it. He didn't have to be a mind reader to know that he
was no longer in Cancerman's clutches. He could feel it
in the sheets, in the smell of Scully's shampoo... In the
fact that his arms and legs weren't shackled down, the
former no longer stretched out at shoulder height.

He felt very tired, but did not want to remain on his
back. Not if he had a choice. Not if he could move. He
rolled over onto his side, sluggishly but successfully.
That was much better, despite his limbs offering up an
aching protest. He heard a soft gasp. Scully. He wanted
to open his eyes and greet her, to reassure her and be
reassured in turn, but he didn't know if he had an ounce
more of energy left for the effort.

"Mulder?"

He heard the waver in her voice. He was going to open his
eyes even if he had to use a damn crowbar. With a 'pop',
his eyelids obeyed. The figure before him was blurry, but
unmistakably Scully.

"Mulder?"

"Present," he managed in a dry whisper. "And hopefully
all accounted for..."

He couldn't see her smile, but he could feel it. As he
closed his eyes and tried to get all of his senses back
online, he could also feel that there was a damn feeding
tube up - or was it down? - his nose. He vaguely and
briefly wondered if it was set to 'suck' or 'blow'. But
there were no voices. He could handle a tube in his nose.
And in other places... They certainly beat everyone's
thoughts and feelings in his brain.

Scully's fingers were soft on his cheek. "Mulder? Hey,
stay awake. Please? Just for a bit longer." He felt her
lean across and press the intercom button. She told the
nurse that Mulder was conscious and stable. Once off the
intercom, she again gently instructed her partner to stay
awake.

He cleared his throat. "Trying. Your wish, my command,
Scully. So tired tho'..."

That was not surprising. Ironically, his weakened
physical state was more because of his ordeal when he was
hearing things than because of the brain surgeries, but
those were not to be dismissed out of hand either.

She couldn't tell if he could recall what They had done
to him or not. Joy was overriding any fears at the moment
though. He was himself. Awake and coherent. "You're safe
now. Are you thirsty?"

He was keeping his eyes closed. "Kind of. Mouth's so
dry..."

"You've had a long time between drinks."

She braced herself for the inevitable question of 'how
long?' but he said nothing. Part of her was worried that
he wasn't asking, another part was relieved, because it
was a tricky question, especially for someone in his
current condition. How much of his ordeal did Mulder
remember? And when he did ask, should she give him the
number of days that had passed since he had become ill
enough to be placed in a padded cell, or would he be
referring to the number of days since being in
restraints, or his abduction, or return to Georgetown?

She thought that he must be very exhausted indeed if his
natural curiosity was on the backburner. It would surface
soon. But until then he had enough to deal with. She
resumed the subject of water. "I can't give you anything
yet though, sorry. I can give you a swab; I was about to
give you one anyway."

"My favourite hospital food," Mulder said wryly, though
much quieter than usual. "A giant lemon-flavoured Q-tip."

She started to unwrap one of the lemon-glycerin swabs.
Glycerin was used to keep the mouth moisturised. "You're
NPO until the doctor and speech therapist can assess your
swallowing ability."

Mulder titled his head towards her, an amused grin
ghosting his face. "Sounds like a big production when I
only want a sip of water."

He had been unconscious for a long time following brain
surgery, which could mean swallowing difficulties - among
other problems. "We have to be careful."

"Okay..."

He was still keeping his eyes closed, which worried her.
A minute ago he didn't seem fully focused on her face. He
was just waking up after quite an ordeal, but... "What's
wrong? Can't you see?"

Reluctantly he opened his eyes and concentrated. Still
double. "Not very well." By all rights that should be
scaring the hell out of him, but he was really too tired
to care. It would go back to normal soon. "Trying to
focus makes me dizzy."

"But not nauseous?"

"No."

"Then keep them closed. It'll be okay. I'm not leaving
you." Because of where the Consortium had opened up his
skull, Scully knew there was a possibility that his
vision could be affected, but she hoped it was just
temporary. "Here's the swab - open your mouth." When
finished, she tossed it in the trash, and had another
question ready. She was pretty sure she knew the answer
but had to ask it anyway. "Can you still hear people?
Read minds?"

"No. Just me in here." There were also the memories of
what he had heard and felt when his brain was acting like
a radio receiver. But at the moment it was all jumbled
and he was too tired to separate it. The toll that all
those voices took had caused him to sleep for so long -
however long that was, and he'd ask for the figure next
time he woke up - he was sure of it, and to desperately
want more rest now. Sleeping off the party in his brain.
"Now I know how Gibson Praise felt. But he was born with
it. Used to it..." He heard his voice slur.

"Just stay awake for a little longer. The doctor will
want to check you. And you have to run the gauntlet of
reorientation questions."

"Oh, goody..."

She could hear footsteps approaching and knew it would be
a nurse to check his vitals and condition. Scully had
both of his hands in hers now. She squeezed and he
squeezed back. But something was wrong. They both felt
it. He couldn't grip as tightly with his right hand.

xXx

Twelve hours later:
Scully didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.

Mulder just seemed to...absorb and accept the fact that
he had been taken from the hospital under suspicious
circumstances, undergone some unknown and non-consensual
procedure on his brain, and subsequently been found in a
room at the DOD several days later. Scully had firsthand
experience with missing time herself - to be told that
the date on your mental calendar was far different from
that on the wall... She could easily recall her feeling
of stunned shock and an overwhelming determination not to
let it get to her. She had lost too much time. She would
not lose any more. It had happened and she would just
make the best of things.

This seemed to be Mulder's attitude too and although she
could understand, she felt somewhat disconcerted by it.

Was this the way Mulder had felt all those years ago when
their roles were reversed?

She focused on what he was saying now. "I remember being
in the hospital. Mom was here. I could hear her. I was
trying to speak to her. But she couldn't hear me."

He was glad he had the double vision as an excuse to keep
his eyes closed to hide the pain, though the problem with
his sight wasn't occurring constantly. "I don't know what
they did." Neither did Scully or the staff here. Nothing
had been taken or altered, apart from the damaged blood
vessel that had caused the bleed.

Mulder's recollection of events since Skinner first
handed him the rubbing were either fragmented or non-
existent. He squinted at the ceiling. He wasn't sure if
it was his double vision or memories or dreams or what he
had found out from Scully, but once or twice the ceiling
had seemed to change - to become like clouds. A sky. The
smell of the beach. Africa? Or something more?

Electricity was dancing through the clouds. His memories.
Just out of reach. A few tantalising flashes...

Little boys running towards him with his eyes and hair,
laughing. A boy throwing sand at him in anger.

Ceiling tiles again.

"Mulder!"

Scully's voice, uncharacteristically sharp, jolted him.
He looked around the room as best he could. "The boys...
Where are they?"

"Boys?"

"No," Mulder corrected himself. "*The* boy..."

She looked as baffled as he felt. "Who?"

"No-one. I think..." Then he was able to see how white
and shaken she looked. "Scully, what's -"

"It's okay. It's nothing." Her voice was now controlled.
Too controlled.

"Scully, I don't have to read minds to tell that you're
lying."

For a long moment she looked ready to deny it, then she
spoke quietly, "It's just... You just scared me there for
a minute. You were staring at the ceiling and you
wouldn't answer me and I was... I thought you'd become
catatonic again."

"I'm sor-"

"No, there's nothing to be sorry about. Just get better,
okay?" She gave a self-conscious smile.

Since there was no indication of abnormal brain activity,
no indications of an increase in intracranial pressure,
and the awake Mulder was clearly sane and non-violent, he
had been shifted into another room, from Neuro ICU into
Neuro Step Down.

He could sit up in bed, and even on the edge of the bed
for short intervals, and had gone for two brief test
walks with support - a walker and a Physical Therapist
holding onto a gait belt.

Tests showed no speech defects. Mulder could swallow
without difficulty or aspiration, and he wasn't fresh out
of surgery, so was being 'fast-tracked' towards regular
meals. Since he had been on alternative methods of 'food'
for more than a few days, a progression was necessary
instead of a leap straight to solids.

Within the next twenty-four hours he would start eating
normal food. "Nothing spicy or greasy though," Scully
informed him. "Or of the quantity you normally plough
through."

Doctor Harriman came in bearing test results. "Well,
Agent Mulder, it won't exactly be news to you that you're
experiencing a lot of weakness at the moment. A degree of
it is expected, especially after how long you were
bedridden and the two brain surgeries, and just how 'hot'
your brain was running for a while there..." The doctor
looked like he wanted to display Mulder as some sort of
medical exhibit or Barnum freak. "The right side weakness
and the periods of double vision can be put down to
whatever was done to the left side of your brain in the
first 'procedure'. There is, however, a good chance that
they will improve, especially the weakness - if you have
proper PT and OT. You could get your normal range of
function back. But if there is no improvement in those
areas soon, you could be facing months on leave or a desk
job."

The partners both knew that if the double vision lasted
too long, Mulder would have to go on medical disability
until he could try to requalify for field agent status -
or he would have to retire with a permanent disability.

Mulder simply said, "A long recovery or desk work isn't
an option. I'll pick up soon. I'm just finding my feet
again."

Harriman exchanged a look with Scully. Patient
determination was all very well, but bullheaded stubborn
refusal to accept less-pleasant possibilities could lead
to trouble... "Agent Mulder, considering your previous
condition, you have already made great progress. That's
indisputable. However, that is no guarantee that the same
will happen now. Recovery has to be paced out."

Mulder had that look on his face, that slight smile that
he usually wore when Scully was attacking one of his
theories. When the doctor finished and left, she turned
to her partner. "Mulder, I -"

Mulder gave her a calm smile. "I am going to get better.
I am going to get better *very* soon."

The degree of his resoluteness was startling, and that
was saying a lot considering the source. "You almost
sound like you're reading minds again..."

"No. I just know that I can't afford a long recovery.
Neither can you. The world can't."

"Why? What can you remember?"

Brief fragments in the darkness. Glimpses of the world on
fire. UFOs reducing skyscrapers to scrap metal.

She saw and felt his body stiffen, his fingers tighten.
"Mulder? What is it?"

"Something." He didn't want to discuss it, not just now.
Scully would probably tell him it was just a nightmare or
hallucinations. But there was something about the
visions, something he had to study more closely.

Surrender was not an option.

Scully studied him closely for several moments, then
realised he would not be drawn out. Not now, anyway. He
gave her a reasonably reassuring smile and she looked at
her watch. "I have to go for a few hours, Mulder." But
after she put the bedrail back up, she stood there,
fingering it.

"Don't worry. I doubt I'll be taken again. I'm sure they
got what they wanted out of me." His vision was in a
'good patch' now, enough for him to see her face
momentarily go stricken. He hastily squeezed her hand and
raised it to his mouth for a brief kiss. "It's okay. Go.
You need some rest."

"Well, actually, I have to go to the Bureau. I'm going to
have a video link up with the Abidjan police." At
Mulder's 'sounds familiar but I can't quite place it'
look, she said, "In Africa." She explained briefly about
Dr Barnes appearing on the beach and his subsequent
behaviour. "Ngebe and I were able to knock him
unconscious and escape, and I came back here, to
Washington. The next day, Barnes was found dead and the
craft was gone."

Mulder mouthed a whistle.

"There are timestamps as to where we were and what we
were doing at the time of his death. Security cameras at
the airport show me waiting for my flight, and Ngebe went
to the police station." She sighed. "Plus some of the
workers returned to the beach after we had left. They
were scared at some of the events that had happened, but
wanted to keep working as they needed money." She hoped
that Mulder wouldn't ask her to elaborate on those
strange events - at least not just yet. "They saw Barnes
alive but looking so manic that they decided not to
stay."

She paused for breath. "There is still an investigation,
but it hasn't been necessary for me to go back to Africa
for testimony. Yet, anyway. I'm glad, because I've had
more than enough on my mind." She reached out and ran a
hand through the hair that was sticking out on top of
Mulder's head above the bandage, and she tried
desperately not to picture the empty bed, the fear...

She began collecting her notes and satchel. There were
things she hadn't told him yet. His mother, Diana,
Kritschgau, Skinner...

The longer she delayed... But he was falling asleep now
as she watched, and Doctor Harriman had advised her not
to dump everything on him at once. They wanted to keep
his blood pressure on the low side. Mulder hadn't
directly asked about anyone yet, which helped.

xXx

Later that day:

Scully was reading a novel at Mulder's bedside, a break
from all the scientific study, but occasionally her
thoughts would stray to the video link-up with Africa. It
had gone well. It was Ngebe's comment that stayed with
her. The woman had smiled at her before they had even
exchanged a word. "I can see that your friend must be
better."

Mulder stirred and opened his eyes. "Hey."

Scully put the book aside and smiled. "How's your
vision?"

"Fine at the moment. But two of you are twice as nice."

She rolled her eyes. Whatever 'They' had done to Mulder,
his essence was definitely still intact. "While you were
sleeping -"

"Around being woken every five minutes for neuro checks
and tests and to be EEGed and hand squeezed and scanned
and eye-gazed and given therapy for this and therapy for
that and little walks..." he reminded her, exaggerating
freely. The tests were not as frequent now that he had
moved wards. And his tube collection had dwindled.

She acknowledged his sufferings with a nod and continued,
"I had a talk with your doctor. The bleeding was
successfully cauterized by surgery. Your neuro signs are
good, apart from the vision and right-side problems. But
they can be tackled with continued therapy, and you don't
have to be an inpatient for that. You can swallow without
aspirating. And the orderly reported that you ate almost
all of your last meal by yourself."

"Yeah. I can dress myself too, but not in a time that
will set any records." Though his right hand weakness
made tying his shoes impossible for the moment.

"And you are mobile as long as you have support or a
walker, though you tire easily. If you continue to
progress at this rate, the doctor is talking about
releasing you late tomorrow or the day after. Most likely
the latter."

"Really? Wow, I thought post-op after a subdermal
hematoma was at least three days." Then he realised. "Oh.
I've already slept past that, haven't I?"

"Yes. They're going to move you to the Med-surg floor. If
you can take the neglect there, you'll do okay at home."
They smiled at her choice of words, because both knew
there was no way she would let him become neglected in
any hospital or any department. "You'll be staying with
me, at least for now, so that's another reassurance for
the doctors. I can keep an eye on you and take you to OT
and PT and help with home exercises. I don't think we'll
need home health to do that."

"Are you sure? I mean, you've practically lived here for
days. I asked the nurses. You might need some time on
your own to relax."

"I had time on my own. You weren't there. It wasn't
relaxing at all." She felt herself teetering on the edge
of something. "I think we both need this." She forced
levity into her tone. "Plus, my place is nearer. Why do
you think I chose Georgetown to move to after Annapolis?
Expediency. Stay with me for a few days and then we can
move you back into your place, with everything restocked.
And the fourth floor won't seem as daunting."

"Deal. I appreciate it."

"On the condition that you don't push yourself too far
too fast."

"Are you talking about my recovery or my chances with
you?"

"Well, you'll be in my home and in my bed." A feeling
swept through her body when she said those words, centred
in her heart and lower, and although she hid it, she did
not try to dismiss the feelings as happening because she
was tired and her resistance lowered. She continued
speaking without missing a noticeable beat. "I'll be out
on the sofa bed. So it'll be just like we're married
anyway!"

"Tease. Good point though." He grinned. "It'll be great
to get out of here. Be able to walk around -"

"With a walker."

"Scully!" he moaned. "I hate that frame thing. They're
going to discharge me, surely that means I don't have to
have it anymore."

"Mulder, you still need something for now. I can't do the
gait belt with you. With our weight difference, if you
start to go down, I don't have the weight to hold you up
or let you down slowly."

His grin became pure wickedness. "Scully, if I went down
on you..."

"Don't say it! Your innuendo gland is obviously fine."

"If I have to have something, can't I use a cane?"

"Walkers are a lot more stable. You can graduate to a
cane when the Physical Therapist tells you." He already
had enough damage to his skull without falling and
cracking it open.

"All right... You've beaten me into submission," he
muttered grumpily.

Scully felt her own innuendo gland fire up and she leaned
in close to him. "No, Mulder. When I do that, you
*definitely* won't be disappointed."

He stared at her, then burst out laughing. They both did.

He indicated the angle that the head of his bed was on.
"And I gather I have to basically sleep and lie down
sitting up for the foreseeable future?"

She wanted to remind him that this wasn't the first head
injury he'd had and he should know the drill, but Mulder
would be hoping that brain surgery had at least some
advantages over run of the mill blows to the head.
"Sorry, but your head has to be at least on a 35 degree
angle to keep the intracranial pressure low." Scully
didn't tell him that this was called the semi-Fowler's
position. That name was a little too close to... "We
can't let your head get below the rest of your body for
at least three or four weeks."

"Well, that ruins some plans I had..."

Then Scully noticed that Mulder was wiggling his fingers.
And his toes too. "What's the matter? Are you
experiencing pins and needles - or numbness?"

"No. It's just so good to be able to move. And to talk."
He shrugged. "Remembered some more."

"You were completely aware, weren't you? I mean, in what
you can remember so far."

"Of everything that everyone said. And didn't say. They
didn't even have to be in the room with me, but it seemed
to be limited to nearby. God, those ceiling tiles were so
boring." He had made sure to use a jesting tone, and
cursed himself when he saw tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there, Mulder. I -"

"Hey, none of that. You were looking for the answers, the
artifact. That's what I wanted you to do."

"But when I came back from Africa, I should have stayed
with you -"

"And you would have ended up being admitted yourself
through running yourself into the ground. Plus, 'They'
wanted me. They would have gotten me somehow at some
point. I'm just glad you didn't get injured or killed in
the process."

Scully tried to compose herself. "Do you remember being
taken from the hospital?"

"No. How did they get me out?"

Scully hesitated, wondering if she should have mentioned
it, if he was up to hearing this. But she was not going
to try hiding anything from him, not if he asked. She
explained about the spray-painted video cameras, then
went onto more rocky ground. "The staff said your mother
checked you out AMA."

"Oh... Are they sure? Have you spoken to her?"

"The lab said that it was her handwriting. A tiny clear
patch in the hall monitor surveillance tape shows your
mother...talking to Cancerman." She waited while Mulder
took a long breath. "We couldn't find her to question her
and she wasn't returning my calls. Then a cleaner found
her lying on the floor of a motel room halfway between
D.C. and Rhode Island. Your mother was examined at a
hospital and is all right, but she -" Scully wanted to
say 'claims' but thought that might be a bit too harsh
for Mulder to hear. "- has no memory of signing you out,
just that she came down to visit. The doctor who examined
her said that it was probably something to do with her
previous stroke and advised that she take things easy in
case she triggered another one."

"How could she sign me out, anyway? You hold my Medical
Power of Attorney. And it wasn't like you were still in
Africa and unreachable."

"Someone swapped the form with another that named her as
first contact. It looks legitimate. But it isn't. And
since most of the staff here know that I hold your POA,
it looks like whoever took you made sure that some of
their own were on the desk that night to let it go
through."

Mulder fiddled with a crease in the sheet, not sure how
to respond to that. Instead he asked her how the video
link with Africa had gone, and was relieved that it had
been straightforward. He was also glad that the near-
constant need for sleep was giving him a 'get out of jail
free' card from thinking too hard at the moment.

END PART TWO OF SIX

TITLE: "Recovery" (3/6)
BY: Ten
E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au

My website for all my X-Files fanfiction is now at
http://tenxffic.tripod.com

xXx

A few hours later:

"Scully?"

"Yes?"

"You said I was rescued from the DOD. But how? How did
you know I was there?"

"Someone slipped a Department of Defense keycard under my
front door. I used it."

"That was it? Just the card?" He watched her nod. "That
was a big risk. You could have been walking into
anything."

"I had the Gunmen with me. And you've done the same for
me, remember? Some risks are worth taking." Before either
of them could continue that line of conversation, she
told him about the other mystery delivery: the book. Not
everything about it, just a general outline of the
contents and that he could have a good look at it when he
was discharged.

"Could it or the card be traced back to anyone?"

"The book came by interoffice mail. No originating
address. The keycard was an unassigned one, but with
access to the entrance and section that led me to you.
Not that the DOD is admitting you were held in there for
any period of time. Or even that you were in there at the
time."

"Wonder if it was Skinner?" Mulder murmured, sleep
tugging at him again.

Scully had another name in mind, but held her tongue for
now. She would tell him about Agent Fowley's possible
disappearance tomorrow.

xXx

Med-surg floor
Next morning:

Scully entered the hospital room to find Mulder and
Doctor Harriman waiting for her. The doctor looked like
he was on the second half of a double shift, but there
was something in his expression... And Mulder was wearing
his SmugFace.

"Agent Mulder keeps pulling miracles out from under his
bandage," the doctor announced. "Or is just inordinately
lucky."

"Why? What's happened?"

"My double vision and right-side weakness are gone,"
Mulder said, with an 'I TOLD you so' air.

"You're kidding..." Scully looked from him to the doctor
and back again.

"Nope."

Doctor Harriman said, "Well, if the double vision doesn't
reappear in the next seventy-two hours, then it's a
fairly safe bet that it won't be an ongoing problem. Your
body is still weak overall from your ordeal, but now your
right side seems to be 'up there' with your left."

"That isn't unheard of," Scully pointed out. She turned
to Mulder to explain. "Transient ischemic attacks can
occur - that's where the 'stroke' resolves totally within
twenty-four hours." Such logical possibilities were all
very well and good, but it was all she could do not to
break down as Mulder took both of her hands in his and
squeezed with equal - if not usual - strength.

She hated to pour water on his flame, however he had to
be reminded that there were limits. "You're still going
to need some therapy and care. And the walker for a
time." She looked to the doctor for confirmation on the
latter.

He nodded. "No gait belt though."

Mulder nodded too. As much as he hated to admit it, he
was sleeping most of the time and eating was a slow
process, though at least he could feed himself completely
now. But he wasn't going to be out of the game for
months. Probably six or so weeks, but that was by far
more preferable.

As if reading his mind, Scully and the doctor then
mentioned that timeframe as their own estimate of his
recuperation, providing all went well. Harriman
elaborated, "You probably won't need six weeks of therapy
since you were very healthy before and in good shape. But
you will need six to eight weeks for your body's
resources to recover from the illness and surgery, just
like anyone else after major surgery. Even more so, since
you've gone through so much. Therapy will be needed for a
couple of weeks, then a home exercise program, with
STRICT instructions not to push things, or you'll catch
whatever's going around and essentially have to start
over."

"I'll be good." Mulder knew he couldn't afford not to.
And he didn't want to put Scully through any more stress
either.

xXx

Next day:

Scully stood at the foot of her bed. It was noon. Mulder
had been discharged first thing that morning. There had
been no therapy scheduled for him today, either in-
hospital or outpatient, which helped conserve his
strength for the process of being discharged and going
'home'.

The curtains were drawn and the room was dim, but there
was still enough light for Scully to observe Mulder.
There was a recently purchased wedge cushion elevating
his head and upper body. Ever since Scully had liberated
Mulder from the DOD, he rarely remained on his back - at
least when he was conscious enough to be aware of his
positioning. He preferred to lie on his right side,
instead of on the staples. Fortunately the wedge cushion
was wide enough for Mulder to turn on his side, otherwise
she didn't think he'd use it. Three pillows was the other
option.

No signs of nightmares, thank God. But Mulder tended not
to nightmare much while in hospital - drugs and the after-
effects of anaesthetic seemed to have that effect on him
most of the time. She hoped that habit followed through
now. The doctor had told her in private to monitor Mulder
for any signs of depression or post-traumatic stress.

"See anything you like?" Mulder's sleepy mumble startled
her. A pair of amused eyes were regarding her from below
the bandage.

"One or two things, maybe." She moved around to sit on
the edge of the bed and put her hand on his upper arm.
"I'm going to start lunch soon."

"Sounds good." He shifted a little on the cushion and
gave it a mild glare. "God, I miss sleeping on my
stomach..." The need to keep his head up made that
impossible for now.

"I know," Scully sympathised. "But the human body doesn't
bend backwards at the hips."

"Check out the Kama Sutra. It can."

She allowed a chuckle at that, though the comeback had
nowhere near his usual edge to it. Reflex more than
anything else. She gestured toward the spare television
on her bureau that the Gunmen had loaned them. "Do you
want to watch something until it's ready? If so, I'll
open the curtains a little." She stood up.

"I need to use the bathroom. Then I might as well stay up
and watch TV in the living room." Getting no protest from
her, he pushed the bedding aside and slowly moved into a
sitting position. He accepted that for now this was his
'designated speed', as much as his body could handle. At
least he could move. He would build on this.

The walker was right there. Mulder put his hands on the
bed and, following instructions, leaned forward enough so
that his nose was over his toes, getting his weight far
enough forward that as he stood up he wouldn't fall
backwards. Then he pushed up to stand. Achieving that, he
put his hands on the walker and positioned his grip to
maneuvre it.

"Look out, Scully, or I'll run you over," he joked.

She had been right at his elbow in case he needed
assistance. Failing that, the need to touch remained, so
she patted him on his bare forearm. "Watch the speed
limit."

He sighed, feeling his positive mood dwindling. "I
feel..."

"Like a man who is very lucky to be able to walk at all?
To move at all," she reminded him gently.

He smiled. She had echoed his thoughts. "Yeah. There is
that. You're right."

"Mulder... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Some
frustration is natural and you need to let it out. I
didn't mean to dismiss or downplay it. It's just that
you've come so far."

"No, you're right. Focus on the positives. I can move."

Progress was slow but steady. While Mulder was heading
for the bathroom, Scully went around and opened the
bedroom curtains partway.

Mulder piped up, "So, when are you going to show me your
vacation photos?"

Scully smiled. The Gunmen had been waiting here when she
and Mulder arrived from the hospital. They had dropped
the TV off - thank God her bedroom was cable-ready or
Mulder would go crazy with only the local stations - and
searched for bugs. "I'll show you the photos and the
translations we have so far after dinner, when you've
rested some more. The scanned photos are all we have now
that the craft has vanished."

She sighed, thinking of the events of her final night in
Africa. "Not all of the photos, unfortunately, but most
of them, otherwise I wouldn't have left the originals in
the tent after we knocked Barnes out. And we hadn't
finished photographing all of the ship - even all that
was visible. Just sections at a time." She remembered the
slow work. And how sometimes the film had mysteriously
been developed nothing on it, setting them back.

"You did your best under the circumstances." Mulder
disappeared into the bathroom. A few minutes later she
heard him say, "Yee!"

"What? What's wrong?" Caution and modesty be damned - she
charged through the bathroom doorway.

Mulder was leaning against the counter, staring at his
reflection in the mirror, specifically at what the
bandage had done to his head, swallowing up his hair
apart from at the top. "Yow. Low maintenance hairstyle,
but scary. I might start a new trend."

Relief clashed with the urge to strangle him for alarming
her. "It's just like a headband."

"Like an aerobics instructor or Bart Simpson!" he said
dryly. "I gather I can't wash my hair until the staples
are out? Yuck."

"And until everything is completely scabbed over. After
all that you've been through, we are not risking a wound
infection that could get into the bone or even into your
brain."

He wondered if she realised she had used the word 'we'.
Soon he was settled on the couch with the remote control
and plenty of cushions. Scully got on with lunch. Ten
minutes later she looked over to find that Mulder's eyes
were closed.

She smiled, then it faded. He was lying very still.
Waxen. Fear and loss were once again centre stage in her
mind. The urge rose up in her to seize and shake him, to
make him move. She actually took a step to do so when he
murmured and shifted slightly.

Scully took a deep breath and watched him for long
minutes, then turned back to the counter and resumed
slicing tomatoes. But then she had to give up because her
hand kept shaking.

xXx

She jolted awake, not knowing how much time had passed.
She had fallen asleep at the kitchen table. It looked
like Mulder wasn't the only one who needed to regain some
reserves...

She stared blearily at her half-eaten salad. Lucky she
hadn't ended up facedown in it. She had decided to eat
her meal first and let Mulder get some more sleep. Scully
looked across at the sofa.

The walker was there, but Mulder wasn't.

Perhaps he was in the bathroom again or had put himself
back to bed. Still, he shouldn't have taken the risk of
walking unaided so soon. She pushed the chair back and
stood, muscles protesting. Stiffly, she approached the
bathroom. "Mulder?" she called, part in question, part in
warning, but her voice came out as a croak.

The door was half-open. "Mulder?" No response. No noises
within. As she pushed the door open and stepped through,
she thought that perhaps he was in the bedroom.

Until she saw him at the bathroom basin. Scully froze.
Mulder was leaning heavily against the counter, facing
the mirror, side-on to her. His head bandages were gone.
He was holding a hand mirror up to catch the back view of
his head and was looking at the resulting reflection in
the bathroom mirror. His skin was sweaty and his arm was
wobbling from the effort. The paleness of his skin made
the scabs from the head frame stand out.

Mulder was so distracted trying to get a look at what the
bandages had hidden, moving his head to get a better
view, that he had not heard Scully call his name. Her
soft gasp, however, got through to him in stereo.

He jumped and dropped the mirror, whirling around like
he'd been caught trying on her lingerie.

The movement worsened the dizziness he had been trying to
ignore, which had built up during the efforts of undoing
and unwinding the bandages and craning his head to
capture the best angle...

The bathroom floor undulated beneath him and he stumbled,
swayed... But did not collapse, because Scully was there,
seizing hold of him. Despite their size difference, he
didn't bring them crashing to the floor because somehow
his partner managed to lock them in position against the
counter.

"Breathe. Mulder, breathe."

Slowly Mulder came back to himself. "I'm okay. I just
moved too fast..."

Scully knew that neither of them could maintain this
position much longer. If he sat down on the floor there
was the chance that he wouldn't be able to get back up on
his feet, but at the moment she doubted she could support
him to the bed or sofa - she might find the strength, but
he might not. Carefully, slowly, Scully helped him sit on
the fuzzy bathmat, with his back resting against the
bathtub, to give him a chance to recover and less chance
of falling. This position also gave her access to wrap
new bandages around his head. If her aching muscles and
jangling nerves would let her.

He knew she was staring at the bandages he had discarded
on the countertop. "I'm sorry. I-I just wanted to see
what They did to me."

"I understand." She thought about the chip she had gotten
removed and its replacement that was now as much a part
of her as her arm. But a scary part. "If you want to, you
can have another look when I change the bandages again
next time. But I think this is enough for today. Your not
having eaten lunch yet probably didn't help. I'll bring
it to you in bed."

"I'll get crumbs in the sheets."

"Small price to pay. And you're the one who has to lie in
it. Not me."

He poked a pale tongue out at her then gave a worried
look. "The mirror. Did I break it?" He tried to turn
around to see, then changed his mind.

When she had startled him at the basin, he had
accidentally sent the mirror flying into the bathtub. At
least the shards would be easier to find and dispose of.
Scully checked out the damage and came to crouch down in
front of him. "We have an X-File. The plastic backing and
frame have been broken, but the mirror itself is actually
still intact."

"That's good. Didn't want any more bad luck."

She couldn't maintain a flippant smile in return.
"Mulder, I know what you were doing and why, but please
don't try that without me around. At least for the
moment, okay?"

"I was just going to use the bathroom, and then I didn't
want to wake you because you looked so tired... I thought
the walker would make too much noise clomping over the
boards and I felt like I could do it myself. I held onto
furniture..." He trailed off.

Scully put fresh gauze and bandages on. "I'll go get the
walker."

He nodded without complaint, glad she wasn't getting
angry at him.

Scully returned with the walker and braced it, hoping it
would be enough leverage for him. Fortunately it was and
Mulder also had enough strength in his legs and arms to
pull himself up to standing directly from the floor. When
the trek was over and he was settled in bed, he asked,
"Any word on...?"

Diana. Scully had broken the news to him on the day that
his right-side weakness had come good. "Nothing yet."

For some reason that did not surprise him. And he was
concerned, but not anywhere near the degree if it had
been Scully missing. Diana could just be on leave. He
hoped.

xXx

After finishing off lunch and doing the quota of home
exercises for the day, Mulder suggested that he and
Scully have a joint nap. He wanted her to get some rest
too, but of course didn't come out and say it that way.
He indicated her bed. "Big bed. Plenty of room. And it's
not like I can try anything."

Yeah, but *I* might...

Her need to touch him was very strong. She smiled at him
and nodded. "Better than sitting in a damn hospital
chair. You better not have got too many crumbs in there
though. I'm still finding African sand around the place."

She went around to get another blanket and lie down on
the other side, but both realised at the same time that
with Mulder lying on the right side of the bed and
favouring sleeping on his own right side, then positioned
like this they couldn't 'see' each other. Without a word,
without even voicing why this was so important, they
swapped sides, Mulder sliding across the mattress under
the bedclothes, Scully walking around. Pillows and the
wedge cushion were hastily reshuffled and rearranged. Now
he could lie on his right side, facing the middle of the
bed, and all would be well.

They stared at each other for a long moment, not feeling
uncomfortable in the least. Then they were asleep.

xXx

"Mom. Mom?"

The voice broke into Scully's sleep gently, like a
drifting dandelion. It was puzzled, inquiring.

"Mom? Mom!" The voice changed, scared and confused,
penetrating like a blade. She sat bolt upright.

Mulder was lying on his back beside her. His eyes were
closed, screwed up in pain. His voice was getting louder
and more desperate. "MOM!"

"Mulder! Mulder, wake up! It's a dream." Scully wanted to
reach out and give him a gentle shake, but was afraid of
what his reaction would be.

"MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!"

No choice. She shook his shoulder, ready to leap back if
he flailed an arm out in panic. "Mulder, wake up!"

With a cry, he jolted awake. He lay there, unmoving,
staring at Scully. That panicked her more. "Mulder, it
was a dream. It's okay." No response, just his hoarse
breathing. "Mulder, talk to me."

"I-I can't..." Then he looked surprised that he had
managed to speak. He looked down at his hand and raised
it a few inches off the sheets.

Scully hovered over him, slipping her hand into his.
"You're not catatonic anymore. It's okay."

"I couldn't move. She couldn't hear me. No one could hear
me. But I could hear everything..." He shut his eyes, and
tears flowed out. "What did they do to me?" he whispered.
Then his free hand slammed down on the mattress. "What
the HELL did they DO TO ME??"

He curled up into a ball, crying. Scully gathered him to
her and rocked him. She was startled by his sudden anger,
but relieved by it too. His previous calm acceptance of
his ordeal had been too unnerving. He needed to let this
out.

As he clung to her and cried, Scully cried too. Tears of
sorrow for his burden and the rollercoaster of the last
weeks, and tears of relief that she had him back at all.

xXx

Waking up was much more pleasant this time. He was in
Scully's arms, clasped to her chest. It wasn't sexual,
but it was meaningful and comforting and he wished it
could last forever.

So, naturally the phone had to ring.

He heard Scully stir and give a groan - of
disappointment? - and then she carefully disentangled
herself and moved over to 'her' side of the bed to reach
the phone.

"Hello, sir."

Checking up on us... Mulder watched from his sloped
vantage point and hoped the call would be quick, but
doubted that he and Scully would then resume their
clinch. He wanted to, and he was *almost* certain that
Scully did too... Something... Some memory that he
couldn't quite remember.

Skinner reported that there was still no word on Agent
Fowley. When the call was over, Scully said, "I'd better
start dinner."

"Yeah."

She reached over and touched Mulder's cheek. "You okay? I
mean, after..."

Is she touching me just because of my nightmare, he
wondered. "I'm fine. Thanks. Thanks for being there."

"That's what partners are for."

He didn't know how he felt about that sentence.

"Mulder?"

He realised that he had been staring off into space.

"What's wrong?"

"I shouldn't have..."

"Shouldn't have what?"

"Gone to pieces like that. In front of you."

"Why not?" Scully was gradually realising this was more
than simple embarrassment. "You had every right to after
what you've been through," she reassured him.

"Abduction," he said quietly, with the hint of a tremor.

That one word and his delivery crystallised for her what
was bugging him. In the times after her abductions - from
Skyland Mountain and to Antarctica being the main ones -
this had not been the way of things. No staying at his
place or having him move in with her. No holding while
they slept.

It was like there was one set of rules for her
recuperation and another for his. But the playing field
was an uneven one to begin with. It was time to admit
that.

She said, "In those times, I've had my family, my mother,
to take care of me. Or yes, I've been stubborn with my
independence and refused help. But I like to think that
I've learnt since then, that I'm doing this now because
of the stage we're at, how things have changed and grown
over time. That we're not afraid to let our weaknesses
slip out in front of each other now." He looked
thoughtful at that. "Mulder, I'm not doing this just
because I'm the only one you have in the vicinity. I
didn't fly to Africa to try to find your cure as
'payback' for the chip or the vaccine -"

The phone interrupted her again. Maggie. Scully hoped
that her message had gotten across, but the spell - where
they were almost in each other's arms - had been broken.
Temporarily, Dana hoped, but after dinner that night she
looked down on Mulder, sound asleep in her bed, too tired
to peruse the Ivory Coast photos after all, and she
juggled her decision for an eternity before dragging her
heels out to the living room to sleep.

xXx

The sofa bed was comfortable, but lacking a certain
something. Scully reluctantly derailed that train of
thought and turned one bleary eye towards the nearest
clock. Just after six in the morning. She decided to get
up long enough to check on Mulder, then lie in some more.
One of the benefits of taking leave.

As she approached the half-open bedroom door, she
realised that the room beyond seemed brighter than it
should be, unless the curtains had been drawn back.

They were. "Mulder?" A distracted grunt was her answer.

He was sitting at her desk, his head propped up on his
left forearm, right hand scribbling away on a legal pad.
Pages were strewn all over the desk. Some were on the
floor and on the half of the bed nearest the desk.

Every page was covered with something. Either Mulder's
handwriting, though larger than usual, or doodles. Or
were they drawings? Diagrams?

"Mulder, what are you doing?"

"Remembering."

END PART THREE OF SIX

TITLE: "Recovery" (4/6)
BY: Ten
E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au

My website for all my X-Files fanfiction is now at
http://tenxffic.tripod.com

xXx

Scully approached her partner from across the room,
having to pick up some of the pages to avoid stepping on
them. She glanced at them.

One had several symbols on it that looked _very_ similar
to those on the outer skin of the craft.

The bottom half of the page was in English. No
paragraphs. Infrequent punctuation. Rare capital letters.

Even at a sweeping glance - and FBI training had included
how to get all of the salient points off a page with
speed - Scully realised this was a very accurate
description of the section of beach on the Ivory Coast
where the ship had been.

No time to ponder that though. She had arrived at her
partner's side. He was still writing, and with an
unnerving intensity. His face reminded her of when John
Lee Roche had given Mulder directions to a grave out in
the woods, and Mulder had gone down on his knees and dug
into the soil with his bare hands, desperate to know if
the body beneath was his sister.

"I'm getting the memories back," he said to her now, in
an almost-excited tone. "Not everything, but a large
section from before I was abducted."

"Mulder, how long have you been sitting here?"

He didn't reply. His eyes were red-rimmed. Old. Her
laptop, which was usually in the centre of the desk, had
been shoved to one side and was barely visible under the
pages that had been dropped on it.

She gently put her hand on his upper arm. "Mulder -"

"If I stop, I might forget something."

"If you don't stop now, you might collapse off the chair
and set your recovery back even more." She glided her
hand down to still his. "Please." She gave a gentle
squeeze, then withdrew it, waiting for his reaction.

There was a pause. Mulder put down the pencil and flexed
his fingers, scowling at his hand. "I can't write fast
enough." He cautiously removed his head from its pedestal
on his left arm and gingerly moved his head from side to
side, wincing. "And I tried to use your computer, but the
screen was too bright. I couldn't see."

"Well, I don't think that writing for this long does much
good for your eyes either. Or the rest of you. Time for a
break."

"But -"

"Mulder, you have a PT session this morning. You need
more sleep first -"

"That's all I've BEEN doing! This is important."

"So is your physical recovery." She gestured over the
scattered pages. "I think you've done enough remembering
for the moment." As tired as he was, she could tell that
he would have trouble going back to sleep. Overtired,
over-stimulated.

"If you get some sleep, I'll dig out my tape recorder and
put new batteries in it and you can record your memories
that way. It won't put as much strain on your body."

A grateful grin lit up his face. Good. Now to get him to
bed.

Finally he capitulated. He even accepted some warm milk
to hopefully speed him to sleep. A pill was out of the
question since he had to be alert for the PT session,
though she would get the session postponed if he was
still too tired when the time came. As he lay there, he
indicated the stack of papers that Scully had made out of
the pages that had been on the bed. "Have a read."

"But, Mulder, it's your..." Was 'journal' the right word?

"My report. If I go back and censor it, then you might
miss something important, something that I can't see the
connection to..."

xXx

Even with Mulder's insistence and blessing, it still felt
like an invasion of privacy to be looking at what he had
written.

His handwriting was larger and messier than usual, almost
like a child's. Sometimes when he was immersed in a
profile it would go like that. He had said once that the
same happened in his exams. The writing appeared to be
stream of consciousness.

Scully didn't know where to begin, or if one page even
followed another. Then her own name caught her eye and
she backtracked a few lines above it to find the context.
Something about a quote he'd learned at Oxford...

**during world war one london's slums suffered heavy
damage from enemy blitzes. then when buckingham palace
was hit the queen mother said something like "i'm almost
glad we've been bombed. now i feel we can look the east
end in the face."

i know what she means. i'm so glad that i was abducted.
now i can look scully in the eye.**

Tears stung at Scully's eyes, and the nails on her hand
that wasn't holding the page dug into the skin of her
palm.

**though if we're comparing damage metaphorically she's
had basically her whole town wiped out. i've just had my
house razed. just glad that the suffering to be had has
landed on me this time.**

Mulder, you idiot. When you bleed, I bleed. Don't you
know that? Couldn't you feel me bleeding when I came back
from Africa and stood by your side? Couldn't you feel how
much I wished it was me in that bed instead of you?

She wiped her eyes and returned to her task. She found
notes about his hospitalization pre-abduction:

**knew i'd end up in here one day. pinkus got me close
with the restraints last year but that wasn't a padded
cell. but these voices i can't control them and i can't
turn them down like the radio and it's that artifact i
know it.

skinner's out there pacing got a lot to pace about too.
all these voices are driving me mad but i can make sense
of some of it focus on one if i concentrate enough.
krycek's got him on the leash.

skinner is wondering if krycek or one of 'them' pulled
the strings for me to be assigned to this case knowing
how i would react to the rubbing

and diana. she's out there. back home she tried to...
throwing up on her and her training bra certainly brought
that strategy to a screeching halt. ha. confronting her
about what i'd got a sense of when she was on the phone
got me a chest full of stun gun. at least when scully
shot me she had the decency to aim for my shoulder

but i can't warn anyone can't speak head is so overloaded
that it's short circuiting my tongue

scully where's scully

there

my sanity personified

"he's a danger to anyone."

"not to me."

i am a danger to you scully always have been

"you're both liars" she tells di and ski

my girl doesn't even need the talent or burden of mind
reading to work that one out. i don't deserve her

i feel her concern her determination that she will save
me. her horror at what I have been reduced to

then she is gone and i am a planet with no sun to orbit

i know how a toddler feels now. they have things to say
but they don't know how to or can't say it so toss a
tantrum in frustration. my tantrums involve hitting the
wall and pulling at my hair so they taped my fingers
together and weed whacked my head

those guys are not going on my christmas list

if the world ends when the millennium ticks over will i
hear everyone's screams

the longer scully is gone the more panicked i get. i know
where she has gone and that it takes time but i've
remembered something from the files i read about the cia
and their tests and studies of people who had extra
sensory perception. kritschgau may be my only chance of
communication and to get him the only person I can use
unless the gunmen pop up is skinner.

mission accomplished i hope. i'm taken out of my padded
cell and tied to a bed for my misdemeanour. come on guys
stop overreacting i've hit him before and all he did was
put me in a headlock. it only seems kinky the first
time**

Another page:

**night-time is better. less people less hurry less
voices in my head. most asleep. but i pick up their
dreams and nightmares. as if my own weren't enough. think
i can hear people in about a 100 yard radius. might also
work up and down as well as across or just on level of
great pain or projection because i can feel the pain of a
car accident victim as she is rushed into the er. i hear
the doctor's thoughts and know that the outlook is bleak.
she dies on the table. her last conscious thoughts are of
her daughter. her mother will become guardian.

skinner returns soon after that woman dies and his entry
distracts me from her mother sobbing in the waiting room
and the urgency around a heart attack victim being
defibrillated. the only way i can communicate with
skinner is with my eyes and my hand. skinner gives me a
pen to write with. geez sir could you have found one that
isn't 24 carat and weighs a ton i'm having a hard time
hefting it. speaking of which he doesn't even raise the
bed so i can see properly to write on his hand. scully
would have raised the bed

i wish 'kritschgau' had a shorter name**

xXx

Scully kept turning what she had read over and over in
her mind. Even when she put the pages down, their
contents would not leave her.

Before bedding back down Mulder had turned the TV on for
some 'white noise' to go to sleep by, but she still heard
his explosive gasp over the muted chatter. She raced back
in from the bathroom, her hands dripping wet. "Mulder?"

He was lying on his side, breathing hard, one hand fisted
into the cushion. "It's okay...I - It's just that I sort
of half woke up and could hear voices." He gestured at
the TV. "Guess I panicked and thought my 'gift' was
back."

Without a word, Scully turned the TV off and enfolded him
in her arms. They remained like that for a very long
time.

xXx

Georgetown Hospital
Rehabilitation Center
Outpatient Therapy

The Physical Therapist was putting Mulder through his
paces. Scully sat and watched, or turned her eyes to the
magazine in her lap whenever she thought that her
attention was making her partner too self-conscious. But
he had wanted her in the room, asking quietly if she
would stay. He was very determined and motivated in the
session.

Then in the middle of an exercise, Mulder stopped. His
eyes lost their focus, but he did not sway or do anything
else that indicated he was about to faint.

Before the therapist could comment, Scully put the
magazine down and stood up. "Mulder?"

He blinked and gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry." He
completed the exercise, but the next time he looked over
at her, his gaze was contemplative.

At the end of the session, Mulder was ecstatic to have
the PT's permission to trade the walker in for a cane. He
would have let out a cheer, but that would have disturbed
the other patients and therapists at the various stations
around the physical therapy 'gym'.

When he and Scully returned to her apartment from the
session, Mulder travelled straight to the sofa and curled
up on it before Scully could get the word 'Bed' out. She
watched him manipulate the remote control and knew his
thinking: if he went to sleep out here, so be it, but he
was sick of spending so much time in bed.

She sat at the kitchen table with her laptop and went
through some accumulated emails. By the looks of one, the
Gunmen had been fascinated by the pages of symbols Mulder
had made - the agents had dropped them in on the way to
the PT session, for copying and study. Full translations
would take time.

"Scully?" Mulder's voice showed that he had at least a
few toes in the land of Nod, if not one whole foot.

"Yeah?"

A pause. "Do you really think I have a beautiful mind?"

Scully stared at the cursor on the screen in front of
her. It blinked, more slowly and steadily than her own
now-racing heart. She looked over at the sofa. It was
facing away from her, towards the TV. The top of Mulder's
head was visible, resting on cushions. He was facing the
TV too.

"Your... Your mind is many things, Mulder," she replied
in a not-quite reply, hedging for time. She stood and
walked around the table to stand behind the sofa, looking
down at him. Her mind raced. Had he heard her all the way
over in Africa, when her thoughts were haunted by him and
his plight? Had her feelings been that strong?

Wait - upon her return, the twenty-two hour flight, the
confrontation with Skinner, she had found that Mulder was
no longer in the padded cell. It was even worse. He was
lying semi-catatonic in a hospital bed, by all accounts
dying, unable to communicate, and she had wept inside for
the disintegration of all that he was.

Now his head was turned towards her on the sofa, and he
was waiting for her to elaborate. Curious? Hopeful?

Had he 'heard' *everything*?

"Your mind is highly intelligent, articulate, witty, and
yes, beautiful."

Was the colour in his cheeks from the PT or from
embarrassment? "Beautiful," he repeated. "Flowers are
beautiful. People keep flowers in vases."

"I'm a pathologist, partner. Instead of flowers in vases
of water, I keep bits and brains in jars of
formaldehyde."

After saying that, she wondered if it was such a good
analogy, especially in light of whatever They had done to
Mulder's head, but he seemed to take no offence,
grinning.

"I'd prefer sexy to beautiful, but beautiful is good."
With that comment, Mulder closed his eyes and went to
sleep.

And Scully was left standing there, thinking about how
sexy he still looked even when he was exhausted.

xXx

A room. Dimness.

Stay or go?

Handcuffs weighing him down.

A noise.

A figure standing in the doorway, backlit, features
obscured.

"Hello?"

A familiar woman was walking towards him in a black
nightgown, holding the handcuff keys.

"Diana?"

Mulder opened his eyes. Scully was sitting next to him -
or rather on the coffee table while he was still on the
sofa. He vaguely noticed a strange expression on her face
- had he spoken out loud? - then she leaned forwards.
"Hey, are you all right? It's time for your medicine."

"Oh. Yeah." He tried to run his hand over his face and
through his hair, but the bandage brought that to a halt.
His head was hurting and he couldn't help checking his
hands. No handcuffs, but he was startled to see faint
bruising there.

"Mulder?"

"These marks..." That house. Those events. They weren't
real - were they?

"They're from when you were in the hospital before you
were taken to the DOD. The doctor had you in restraints
because you had been acting violently. And then you had
convulsions due to an overload of medication, so your
wrists got marked up."

"Oh yeah." Also from those linebackers wrestling him.

He had seen the bruising before. He'd forgotten in his
panic. "And what about when you found me in the DOD? On
that table. Was I tied down?"

"You were...in shackles. They had been left very loose
though. I was able to slip your hands out easily. With
your feet, I had to open the shackles, but they didn't
require a key. Just had to press and pull."

"Oh." Quietly he took his meds. But he was still rattled
by his dream.

When the lunch dishes were done, he asked to see her
report of the whole case and the photos from the beach.
It was time.

xXx

Mulder slowly shuffled through a handful of photos. Not
slowly because of his reduced physical condition, but
slowly to absorb what he was seeing. It was like the
ceiling above his head was in storm cloud-mode again,
glimpses of another sky, and lightening was crackling
through the clouds, offering glimpses. And Scully was
leaning over him, bedraggled like she had just walked
through a car wash but still so beautiful, yet so upset,
"I know you can hear me...", and she was leaning down and
he could feel -

Diana kissing him.

Then suddenly the memories and his surprise were knocked
aside, like a compact broadsided by a limo, and other
memories were there.

Mulder pointed to a photograph. "I recognise this."

"From where?"

"From you. Your mind."

The beach looked just like he had seen in her mind, but
even as he looked at the photos of the entire craft and
the shelter, he kept expecting to see something else
instead. The shape of the ship, but in ... sand? And no
African workers digging at the sand that obscured the
writings, but a little boy turning the sand into the
answer.

There must be some way that they all fitted together.
"All these photos. All these symbols," he pondered.

"And most of my translations have gone," Scully said
ruefully. "The Gunmen are working on deciphering them
again from what I emailed to them and what you've drawn
so far."

Mulder pointed to a line of symbols and moved his finger
along them. With assurity he recited, "'Thymine,
Cytosine, Guanine, Adenine.' Nucleotides. Science and
mysticism combined."

He met Scully's wide eyes calmly. He hadn't read her
report yet. Nor had she mentioned those details about the
craft in the last few days. But they both knew how Mulder
knew. "That was from your mind," he said. "I can see the
ship from when you looked at it, and I should be able to
write down the translations you lost and the tracts of
symbols that you don't have photos for. But you
translated this section in Africa. I can see your hand.
The way you were holding the pencil. The dead locusts.
You may think these are hallucinations, but I bet they're
*accurate* hallucinations, right?"

Her mouth moved twice before she could get her voice out
through it. "You could actually see me in Africa?"

"I could see your time in Africa, or parts of it, but
only once you came back and were standing at my bedside.
It was on your mind."

"You were on my mind too."

Mulder didn't have to be a mind reader to know what
Scully was wondering just now: what else he had read
during that reunion?

But now when he tried to concentrate on the feelings he
had gotten from her about him, about them, both in Africa
and by his side, he saw Diana instead.

Diana leaning over him in the hospital, walking towards
him in a nightgown, then with coffee, then her abdomen
swelled with pregnancy.

He felt a rise of panic. What was going on?

Then one Scullythread surfaced. Something he knew was not
going to go away.

"I can remember something. From before you went to
Africa. Before I ended up in the padded cell."

Scully didn't know if she wanted to hear this. His
expression was reluctant, yet resolute.

"You called me from New Mexico."

Scully remembered that. Diana had answered the phone. And
from Mulder's notes, Scully knew that Diana then tried to
pull something. The woman had stungunned Mulder
apparently, and was very defensive when asked if she knew
his whereabouts, yet the book, the DOD keycard...

"You'd found that Albert Hosteen had translated another
section of fragment. One with a piece from Genesis on
it."

Be fruitful and multiply. Catholic families generally
followed that one. Hers certainly had. Her brothers at
least. She pushed those thoughts and their related
feelings aside.

Mulder continued, "I said that it meant that our
progenitors were alien. That they had given that text to
us. You disputed this. I know you saw a lot after that in
Africa, but from somewhere in there, I can hear one
strong thought of yours. I know we were far apart, but
perhaps when you were on the phone with me I somehow had
a 'pipeline' into your mind or you were projecting so
hard, or something. It was that you had lost so much else
in this life - you were not going to lose your religion,
your faith, to this quest too.'"

Silence. Scully fumbled for some words.

Mulder watched her sadly. "And I've done it again,
haven't I? Taken something from you. I heard you on the
phone earlier when your mother rang. She wanted to know
if you were coming to church this Sunday and you said
no."

"Lots to catch up with. Work, having you here -"

"I may be back in my own place by Sunday. And even if I'm
not, the guys would be happy to babysit me for a few
hours."

"I'm just... At the moment I'm just focusing on one thing
at a time. I didn't go over to Africa with the goal of
shooting holes in your theory. And you being here now,
alive and all right after what you went through... My
prayers were answered."

"But at what cost to you?" he asked.

"You're proof that miracles still exist. That's enough
for me. Now, if you're not too tired, you can bring that
beautiful mind of yours over to the kitchen table and
help me with dinner. Your sexy behind can tag along."

"Not so sexy after all this bedrest. And you're
deflecting." His voice wasn't accusing, just concerned,
as he travelled the short distance to a kitchen chair and
sat.

She turned and faced him. Remembering the quote Mulder
had mentioned in his notes, she met his eyes. "Mulder, I
meant what I said. I'm constantly grateful to God to see
you sitting here. The rest... It's just going to take
time for me to absorb it all."

"Okay."

END PART FOUR OF SIX

TITLE: "Recovery" (5/6)
BY: Ten
E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au

My website for all my X-Files fanfiction is now at
http://tenxffic.tripod.com

xXx

"I've run you a bubblebath, Mulder."

Mulder blinked the sleep from his eyes. "I get bubbles?"

"Special treat." Her voice was deliberately brisk and
businesslike as she continued. "Now you'll need help
getting in and out of the tub, and for washing your back -"

Special treat indeed, he thought. His lucky day.

"- but otherwise you should be okay."

Mulder decided that the bubblebath was a good move on
Scully's part. Not only would it provide for general
modesty, but it gave him some cover and leeway if
anything threatened to jut up like a volcanic island.

Then again, after all he had been through and how early
into his recovery he was, he had to admit that he was
currently in no shape for Krakatoa to blow. Or to even
twitch. Oh well. He didn't even feel 'up' to any
innuendo.

Together they got him into the bath. Not even the nicely-
hot water could eclipse the heat he felt from the patches
on his bare skin where Scully's hands had rested.

Scully was trying to hold onto her own composure and her
laughter. She would be in trouble if she laughed, but
Mulder had been so modest during their maneuvre, trying
not to embarrass her. It was a good thing he didn't know
that she had done a lot of his wash ups in the hospital.
If she hadn't, the overworked shift nurses wouldn't have
always had time, or done a 'proper' job. Not to mention
that tiny sheet he had been graced with in the DOD...

The Gunmen popped over for a brief visit. Scully was glad
that Mulder was well clear of the bath upon their
arrival. They had made a copy of the "Native American
Beliefs and Practices" book for Scully and Mulder to
pursue at their leisure. Mulder was intrigued, but
tiring.

He still insisted on phoning his mother. He had tried the
day before, but the neighbour who was caring for her said
that she was asleep. This time he was able to speak to
Tena, and Scully willed her feelings not to show when the
conversation was mostly about how Mrs. Mulder was faring,
not Fox.

After that, when Mulder was in bed, Scully tried phoning
Albert Hosteen at his home. She left a message on the
answering machine, but didn't expect a quick reply. The
family might have gone on a vacation so that Albert could
fully recuperate, or be involved in another Hogan
ceremony, or be taking the world off the hook for now.

She resumed sorting through the pile of notes that Mulder
had made in his 'remembering' session, before finally
calling it a night.

xXx

Scully opened her eyes. Nearly two thirty in the morning
and her bedroom light was on.

He'd better be just going to the bathroom. Why do all
these 'memory bursts' have to happen at early hours?

By the time she reached the door, her eyes had adjusted
enough. It was closed. She had left it half-open. She
knocked and heard the bed creak. She entered.

And found that Mulder was treating her bedroom walls in
the same way as parents of young children treat their
refrigerator as an art gallery. "Mulder, what -?" was all
that could come out of her mouth as she stepped
completely into the room and pivoted.

For a moment it was like the time that Mulder had
wallpapered his living room with gargoyle pictures to get
into the killer's mind. Now he had used every available
surface, even her bookcases and framed prints. Clear tape
strips roughly secured the corners. No wonder her dreams
had been full of muted thumping noises. She must have
been tired.

Mulder was apologetic. "Guess I should have used the
floor, huh?"

"Mulder, you're not supposed to be stretching and
reaching like that." Arms above the head was more a
strain on the heart than on the brain, but still...

"I used the cane for the higher bits. It's a handy
extendable arm. No straining, I swear. And my head was
never lower than my heart, either."

One wall had a patchwork of symbol photos on it,
assembled like Scully and Ngebe had laid them out on the
matting in the tent.

Scully shook her head in wonder. "Putting a section
together like that took Ngebe and me half a day..."

"I was going to start on another, but then I got back
some memories that weren't Africa ones. I'm not even sure
they're memories, exactly. But they're important." He
frowned at the legal pad that was sitting in his lap.

Scully could see that the page barely had anything on it.
And he wasn't surrounded by any loose sheets. "Why aren't
you using the tape recorder?" Scully pointed to where it
was sitting on the bedside stand. "I made sure it had
fresh batteries."

"I know. Thanks. But I just didn't know where to start. I
still don't, and I thought that writing would be easier.
All these different visions are all tangled in my head.
They're there... I just can't..."

"At this hour of the morning I'm not surprised. You can't
push yourself too hard. How about you have time out for
now and then in the morning we'll turn the tape on and
I'll 'interview' you and we can see if that helps."

xXx

Late morning:

That day's therapy sessions and a restorative nap were
over. Mulder had taken his medication. Now he was ready
for the interview, but had a few questions of his own.

"Why do you think she did that?"

"Who? What?"

"My mom. The signature."

"Well, your mother knew Spender Senior back when your
father worked for the State Department," Scully reminded
him reluctantly.

"Not that she has ever been very forthcoming about that
connection."

Thanks to the stroke. The 'get out of jail free' card.

"Spender may have tricked her or convinced her that only
he could help you. Despite being more alive than you had
ever been, your body couldn't stand the pressure. She was
worried. She is your mother." The women who love you go
to great lengths to try to save you, Mulder. But you
can't comprehend that, can you?

"He could have done something to her... I know you said
she was examined after being found on the motel room
floor, but..." There was silence for a minute as Mulder
stared at the coffee table.

Then he said, "Cancerman told me he was my father." At
Scully's look, he continued, "In the hospital. You said
there was footage of him on the surveillance camera the
night I was taken. He came into my room and we spoke to
each other - telepathically - somehow. Yeah, I know it
sounds weird. It gets weirder. He told me that I wasn't
the saviour of mankind. To cease suffering and stop
playing the hero. He injected me with something and then
I found I could move and talk normally. It was then that
he told me he was my father." Mulder sighed. As if he
didn't have enough to process without that possibility.

"But I think all that was a dream I had based on what was
going on around me. I can feel something under the
surface of it, like another layer. I think that he did
come into my room and talk to me, say those things, but
not telepathically. Whatever drug he gave me to knock me
out for transport must have scrambled it up and played it
back that way. It was just too bizarre."

"What can you remember next?" Scully prodded gently.

"Waking up in the passenger seat of the car he was
driving. Another dream, but it felt real. It felt very
real. I was in my hospital gown and handcuffs.
Interesting mix, huh? He said that I was entering a
witness protection program, that any attempts at
contacting you would put you in danger. He dropped me off
at a nice suburban house and told me to go have a look at
it first before I decided whether to go back to my old
life or stay."

"Did you have any free will in this dream?"

"I'm not sure."

"So you went into the house?"

"Yeah. I think I was thinking that I could find a phone
and call you. I did find a kitchen full of packets of
sunflower seeds and none other than Deep Throat leaning
against the counter. He was alive - a bullet scar in the
wrong place, now that I think about it - and lived not
far away. He even had a family."

"What did he say?"

"That I wasn't the hub of the universe. And to let go of
all my guilt about everything that has happened." Then
Mulder looked reluctant.

That of course made Scully even more curious, though a
little apprehension crept in. "What happened next?"

"Um...Next thing I know, I'm married with two kids and
Diana is my wife and Spender lives nearby too with Sam
and her children." Mulder rattled that bit out, as if
hoping the less savoury parts of it would race right by
Scully and be forgotten.

Scully opted to put those parts on hold for the second.
Focus. It was a dream. A hallucination. "Sounds like you
were living the American dream."

"Like I said when I looked at 'my' house: 'It's perfect.
What am I doing here?'"

"You said once that you did have plans for life in a
small town one day. Thoughts of home and hearth. You do
have a right to normality, Mulder."

"Not with my responsibilities. And I don't..."

"Don't what?"

"Don't think I'd be cut out for it."

"Now who's deflecting? That isn't what you were going to
say."

"Then what was I going to say, O Mind Reader?"

She ignored the sarcasm. "You were going to say that you
didn't deserve it. That you didn't deserve some
happiness. Perhaps that dream was telling you that you
do."

He thought, then why the hell was it Diana in that dream,
and why do I keep thinking of her when you and I get
close? "No, it... There's something underneath that...
Like I'm seeing things on several levels. I just can't...
I'm lying there, but I'm not in the hospital. My arms are
stretched out and there's something on my head, digging
*into* it..."

Scully drew a sharp breath. The DOD. Mulder was
remembering being in the DOD. But was it only from when
she found and roused him, or earlier? And how much should
she push?

He was breathing more rapidly. "Mulder, I think we should
stop for now. Have a break. That's enough for the
moment."

"No, it's okay. Oh God," he said softly. "I can hear
Spender and Diana talking." He closed his eyes at the
betrayal. It confirmed the memories he had recovered
about her stun-gunning him. No wonder he had not felt
surprised when Scully had told him that she had vanished.
His subconscious had remembered what side of the fence
Diana was on. "Spender is boasting about my 'great
capacity for suffering', like he's a proud father. And
then Diana says, 'Like father, like son'. And I can read
their minds. Not as well because they've injected me with
something and I'm half in that literal 'dream home', but
he's my father, Scully. Or at least he thinks he is. And
a DNA test would have been a simple enough thing for him
to do over the years, considering some of the other
things he's managed."

Scully didn't know how to respond to that. How he seemed
to feel about the possibility. Or how she felt.

Mulder wasn't sure either, but chose to forge onwards.
"Then Diana... She wondered if I was dreaming. I was.
Things I can't believe I dreamed."

"Mulder, people can't control their dreams. Especially in
your case. Where they were operating on you - you could
have suffered hallucinations from them stimulating that
part of your brain. It was in the visual processing
area," she reminded him.

That was some consolation. Was it just hallucinations
though? And why were these images still occurring? "Diana
asked if I was dreaming," he repeated. "Spender said he
was certain of it. 'The dreams all men who are owned by
the world have - a simpler life... Full of small
pleasures.'" Mulder felt like one of his 'ceiling
thunderbolts' had struck home. "That sounds like insider
information to me. He knew. He knew what I was dreaming
about. So that means..."

It sounded bizarre, but with an undercurrent of logic.
"He could have been controlling what you were dreaming?"
Scully pondered. "Or perhaps more likely brainwashing
you, giving you images that he had selected."

Diana. Is that why it was Diana in the dream, he
wondered. And did Cancerman make sure she stayed in my
mind so that when I'm with Scully...

"They were keeping my brain busy. Or my subconscious. Or
it might have been one of his little mindgames. I'm not
sure - his thoughts... Dammit! Wait - something's coming
through... The black worms. I still had the black cancer
in me."

"Mulder, are you sure? Remember that when you told me
what happened in Russia I didn't waste any time getting
you to the hospital and checked out. We found no trace of
it. And in your rather frequent hospitalisations in the
years since Tunguska, nothing has set off the bells."

Bits of information were tumbling into his consciousness
like salt from a shaker. "The vaccine made the worms go
dormant and in that hibernation state their chemistry was
different or something. They became translucent. Hospital
equipment wouldn't pick it up, or wouldn't realise what
it was seeing. But the Consortium had a special type of
body scan. Plus the worms weren't dormant anymore."

"What made them wake up?"

"I think the paper that the rubbing was on had some of
that cosmic radiation on it. Somehow the worms could feed
off it and activate my entire brain. Little suckers might
have even been using it like a generator."

Scully thought back to when Kritschgau had confronted her
in the basement. "Kritschgau mentioned that the virus had
been reactivated in you by an energy source that you
thought was alien in nature..."

Mulder nodded. "When you called Chuck Burns in to verify
the rubbing, he mentioned the magic squares - access to
power or our recessive alien genes. Apparently I had
become a 'hybrid' - 'immune to the coming viral
apocalypse'. I can hear one of the doctors saying that.
The fact that I had survived the retrovirus may have also
had something to do with it. No one else had been exposed
to both. No one who's still around, at least. That's what
could have kept the worms translucent and different. So
they wanted to remove the worms from me and put them in
Spender instead."

"And what makes them think that he could cope with the
onslaught to his mind any better than you could? What is
the use of mind-reading when it locks up the rest of the
body and makes it so alive that it has to die to cope?"

"He had some ace up his sleeve. Or I got the feeling that
he felt he was running out of time - he had to know what
'They' were doing, and this was the best way..." He
strained, then shook his head. "His doctors loaded me up
with more drugs, but I could open my eyes. I couldn't
feel them digging around in my brain, but I could see
them working in the reflector around the overhead light.
And hear them talking." He looked shaken, but there was
also some other emotion there.

Scully remembered what he had said about her own
abduction. He was having a perverse relief about his own
suffering!

"Mulder, you did NOT deserve that either!" She wanted to
tell him how important he was to her and how frightened
she had been for him, but suddenly he was off on another
memory burst. His version of a subject change.

"It wasn't until Spender was under the anaesthetic too
that things altered in my dreamscape. I was an old man. I
had given in. I'd 'chosen' suburbia, to turn my back on
you and the X-Files. Spender and I were the last humans
left. It was the end of the world. I was about to die in
my comfortable bed. Then you came into my dream, Scully.
Perhaps I was finally getting back into control, into
what and who I wanted to see most." He saw Scully leaning
over him in the hospital. Then it became Diana. Scully
leaning over him in the DOD... It also became Diana's
image.

No, dammit! How do I get you out of my mind?! But she was
still there in the background, immutable.

Focus. "You reminded me of my true mission, Scully. You
told me that I had to get up and fight."

"I'm glad you listened."

"But... did I end up giving them something which I should
have taken to the grave with me? Better to die with me
than be in the wrong hands..."

"Mulder..."

"Am I still immune? Are you, because you were injected
with the vaccine? Couldn't they get 'it' out of Gibson
when they had him?" There were no answers to that. "And
you found me in the DOD. I wonder if they left me there
to die or not."

"You've got that 'I have some theories' look in your
eyes."

"Well, I have most of my memories intact. You said that
the MUFON women eventually got theirs back because they
were taken many times." And I pray you never get yours
back, Scully, he thought. I wouldn't want you to be aware
of whatever they did.

"But in my case, Spender might have thought I would die -
I don't know if they knew about that bleed or not - and
so didn't order my mind wiped. Or they did try but it
failed because this wasn't exactly a case that they'd had
before; or since I'd been drugged and had a head injury,
they thought that no one would believe anything I did
'remember'. I guess we'll never know."

Before Scully could comment on that, she saw Mulder
frown. "What?"

"There's something else. Something about a beach..."

"Africa?"

"Must be." But he didn't look convinced. "Can't get it
back."

xXx

Two weeks after Mulder's rescue from the DOD
Mulder's apartment:

Mulder stood at the bathroom sink, contemplating the job
he'd done of rebandaging his head. Not a full gauze-and-
all job, just enough to act as a buffer between his
healing skin and his baseball cap. The staples had been
removed several days before, and the skin left open to
the air, but he was about to go out. Just shoving the cap
on by itself would tempt a long Scully-litany about not
taking care of his wounds: 'The cap will rub, it's
probably not freshly washed, infection, infection'...etc.

He carefully put his New York Yankees cap on, several
notches looser than usual, and examined the effect in the
mirror. Good, it lessened the impact of the bandage.
People would stare at him a lot less like this than if
the frame scabs and shaven patch were visible.

At least a walker or cane wasn't required anymore and he
had his appetite back - and strength to take care of it
himself. The double vision had not returned. No more PT
and OT, just exercises under Scully's supervision. Naps
and taking it easy were still very much on the agenda. He
had written out as much information about the craft as he
could recall, and spent some time each day studying the
transcripts and the Native Americans Belief book,
wondering about his possible roles in both. A man who
could save humankind from mass extinction. The burning
buildings...

Could he really?

Scully was back at work. They talked on the phone several
times each day, usually him phoning her so that she
wasn't inadvertently waking him up. She would come over
each evening and they would eat and spend some time, do
the exercises and such, then she would go home. She had
washed his hair. That had felt so good. Not just finally
having clean hair, but having her hands running through
it again. Her touch had been so careful and gentle.

Then for some reason he had flashed to an image of Diana
running her hand down his chest, unlocking the cuffs with
a key...

He hadn't slept well the previous night or in that day's
naps so far because of images of her and that other life,
the fires, waking up in horror. Precious sleep that he
couldn't afford to lose.

Was he going insane? He had thought the images were just
because he had been sick, but now he was getting better,
they hadn't abated. They were getting worse and were like
a poison, a toxin he had no idea how to rid himself of.
He had managed to hide them and the effects of them from
Scully, but it was a matter of time before something
happened, before his recovery started sliding backwards.
Bad. Very bad.

Mulder sighed, picking up one end of the tie that hung
loosely around his neck, over his half-buttoned shirt. He
looked at it without really seeing it. Scully would not
be happy to see him turn up at the basement, but he
wasn't there to work, just to tell her what he had found
out from an email this morning, confirmed via a phone
call. It wasn't something he felt he could say to her
over the phone. Why was it always bad news he had to give
her?

He went out to the living room and sat on the couch for a
while to collect himself. Then he was just getting up to
return to the bathroom to finish getting ready when there
were a series of knocks on the front door, a rhythm that
easily identified the owner. Scully had just saved him a
trip to the Hoover Building.

He opened the door. "Scully, what are you doing here?"
His happiness at seeing her was quickly replaced by
explanation mode because she was staring at what he was
wearing. "Actually, I was just getting dressed to come
see you but I... I couldn't find a tie to go with my
victory cap."

She reached up and took the cap off his head. "Mulder, no
work. You have to go back to bed." She pulled at one end
of the tie.

Mulder grabbed at it in time. First the cap, now the tie.
Did she want to try for the pants too? "Oh wait. Tie goes
to the runner."

They smiled, but it couldn't last. He had to tell her.
"Scully, I, um... I was coming down...to work to tell you
that Albert Hosteen is dead. He died last night in New
Mexico." He told her the length of Albert's coma. "There
was... no way he could have been in your apartment."

She could not believe that - or at least accept it just
now. Albert Hosteen had held her hand, been solid. There.
It was too much. She was about to cry. "I don't know what
to believe anymore. Mulder, I was so determined to find a
cure to save you that I could deny what it was that I saw
and now I don't even know... I don't know what the truth
is... I don't know who to listen to. I don't know who to
trust." She started to cry.

Instinct told him that if he moved towards her now, tried
to hold her, she would resist. She was in overload.
Before he could decide what *would* be best to do or try,
Scully spoke. She had her own message to impart.

"Diana Fowley was found murdered this morning. I never
trusted her... but she helped save your life just as much
as I did. She gave me that book. It was her key that led
me to you. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry. I know she was your
friend."

This time Mulder was the one to stare. He'd had a
feeling, somehow known that it was too late... And Scully
was the one to move forward, holding him.

That shook him out of his daze. He knew what he wanted to
say, but could he say it? Would it come out the right
way? "Scully, I was like you once - I didn't know who to
trust. Then I... I chose another path... another life,
another fate, where I found my sister. The end of my
world was unrecognisable and upside down. There was one
thing that remained the same." He held her face in his
hands. "You... were my friend, and you told me the
truth." She was his friend, but she was so much more too.
Could he get past these hauntings to say it? "Even when
the world was falling apart, you were my constant...my
touchstone."

"And you are mine."

She kissed him on the forehead, half on the bandage, for
a long time. Then she put the baseball cap back on his
head and it was her turn to cup his face. They stared
into each other's eyes.

But Diana was looming in his mind like a spectre. That
was one of the reasons why he didn't invite Scully into
his apartment. Plus most of their important moments
seemed to end up happening in hallways... Some people had
restaurants and nightclubs - they had benches and
hallways.

Scully's fingers slid over his lips and her hands framed
his face lovingly. Then her hands were gone and so was
she, walking rapidly off down the hallway, as if trying
to outrun their emotions.

Mulder stared down at the floor. His head hurt, feeling
too heavy for his neck and shoulders to support. He
wanted to run after Scully, to throw his arms around her
and hold her and cry together and just rejoice in the
fact that they were alive and together.

But...

Diana again. She had been haunting him for days, even
before her death.

You and I are over, he cried out in his mind. We were
over a long time ago. How do I end this?

He heard the elevator doors close. The ping as the car
descended.

Then he shoved away from the doorframe and launched
himself down the hallway, racing for the stairs. He would
outrun Diana, break through Spender's last party trick.
He would catch Scully coming out of the elevator or in
the foyer or out at her car, and he would NEVER let her
go again. He may not be able to have a normal life, but
Scully was definitely part of his destiny. And life with
her would never be anything less than special anyway.

Despite all his best intentions and despite the stubborn
will that had seen him race to the Antarctic with a
bullet wound to the head, Mulder was currently not in any
shape to be doing an impromptu wind sprint.

Things went a wobbly gray on the landing of the second
floor, and pitch black halfway down the final flight of
stairs.

END PART FIVE OF SIX

TITLE: "Recovery" (6/6)
BY: Ten
E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au

My website for all my X-Files fanfiction is now at
http://tenxffic.tripod.com

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder and
Scully and all other characters from the show belong to Chris
Carter, the writers of the episodes, Ten Thirteen Productions and
Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No copyright
infringement is intended, no profit will be gained.

xXx

He was caught in a maelstrom of fire. The end of the world.
Spaceships were blasting laser fire all around him in the gutted
street. There was nowhere to hide. A shockwave sent him tumbling.

"Over here!"

Trying to protect his eyes, Mulder raised his head. He was on the
lawn of a house. A picture-perfect, undamaged house and garden.

He looked back over his shoulder. The street and sidewalk were a
series of smoking craters. The ships were banking for another
sweep at him.

"Fox!"

He turned back to the house. Diana was standing in the doorway,
beckoning to him.

Mulder went to her. But he stopped just before the threshold.

"Fox, come in. You'll be safe."

Mulder reached out and touched her cheek. "For the person you were
when I first knew you, and for the person who gave Scully the
means to find me, I'll always be grateful. But we end here." He
reached out and took the doorknob, and gently closed the door
between them. Then he turned to face the firing ships, watching as
the garden blew apart, then the lawn, then the path, then where he
was standing...

The world went white...

...he turned away from it and realised that he had been staring
into the sun. He blinked. He knew the sounds, the smells, this
place now. A major piece he had not been able to remember. He was
back on the dream beach.

The boy was standing there. Mulder hurried up to him. "Hey kid, we
have a sandship to build."

The boy smiled in delight and they set to work. Soon they were
sitting atop their masterpiece. It became the real thing, lit up
from an unearthly power source within, and Mulder felt that power.
The beginning of understanding.

Then he saw two men standing beside the ship.

Albert Hosteen and Deep Throat. Mulder slid down to stand before
them.

"You are close," Albert said.

Close to dying due to my fall or close to the answer to life, the
universe and everything?

It was hard to tell. Both men were impassive.

"Look!" Mulder waved a hand at the craft, like a child showing his
parents the model he painstakingly crafted out of Popsicle sticks.
"I remember this now!" he said excitedly. He turned to the boy,
who was still standing on top of the ship. "I don't know whether
you represent my inner child or future generations that
colonisation would wipe out or a child of my own, but I'm going to
fight the fight. To keep going no matter what. As they say on TV,
'This is my mission, and I've chosen to accept it.' With Scully."

Then he looked around. "Where is she, anyway? How do I get back to
her?"

Albert and Deep Throat exchanged glances. Mulder realised they
were disappointed. "What? I broke Spender's programming - or at
least my own mind block. I know what was false and what was real
from my mind."

"That's good," Deep Throat said laconically. "'Tennis elbow'
indeed. Spender knows I hated tennis." He snorted. "But take under
advisement that you were not responsible for my death. Or for what
else you've got in that burden sack you haul around. It slows you
down. You can't afford that."

Mulder nodded in relief. But he was still on the beach and they
were all still staring at him like they were waiting for him to do
one more thing. He wracked his brain. "So what more is there? Why
can't I go back to Scully?"

The ship reverted to sand. The boy gave a huge groan and threw a
handful of stinging grains at Mulder.

Mulder stared at him, the ship, the men. And then he realised.
"She's here, isn't she? With me. Even though I can't see her.
She's always with me."

Behind him he heard the boy give a whoop of joy, but his attention
was caught by the satisfied nodding of Albert and Deep Throat, who
were looking like a pair of Yenta matchmakers.

Albert said, "Some things do not have to be seen for you to know
that they are there."

And one final, vital piece of the puzzle fell into place.

xXx

Another hospital room, another hospital chair. Any make up that
she had been wearing had been washed off long ago. She couldn't
stop crying.

The doctor had assured her that Mulder would be all right and
should wake up soon. Maggie had been with her in the waiting room,
so the doctor had given his report in layman terms. "Orthostatic
hypotension. He ran down four flights of stairs after two brain
procedures and while on medication to keep his blood pressure on
the low side - a frenetic burst of exercise too soon, so he passed
out. Unfortunately it was on the stairs, but from the MRI and the
bruises, it looks like his arms cushioned his head from the bad
knocks. No fractures, no more permanent damage. We'll just have to
remind him of the side effects of anti-hypertensives. This little
mishap won't set his recovery back. So, good news."

But it wasn't really. Scully sat in the chair, her hands resting
on the bedrail. She had not lowered it. She was not holding
Mulder's hand. He had called her his touchstone, and he was hers,
but she could not let herself touch him.

This was her fault. She had allowed herself to break down in front
of Mulder, to panic about Albert's spirit and all that had
happened. That had made Mulder worried about her, enough to pursue
her and get hurt, when it all should have been about him and his
recovery. She had lost her focus. Let it slip. The guilt over
Diana. The fact that she had touched Albert in her apartment, held
his hand in prayer, and he had been a ghost...

She should not have just turned around and hurried away. It had
all become too much. She should have known that Mulder would go
after her. When the elevator delivered her to the ground floor of
his building, she had hesitated in the foyer. Had she just done
the right thing? She turned to go back to the elevator, but it was
in use, the doors closing on a weary looking woman with her arms
full of groceries.

Scully looked towards the door that led to the stairwell. Then she
heard a thud and knew who it was and what had happened. And why.

Pulling some tissues from the box on the bedside stand, Scully
tried to compose herself. She had to stop crying now. She had to
pull herself together and never let emotion get in the way like
this again. He was alive and he would be all right. That was
enough. They would go on from here and investigate the evidence
about the craft in Africa, a puzzle meant for them both to solve,
and they would bring down the Consortium, in whatever form it was
now in, and find Samantha.

She lobbed the wad of tissues into the trashcan and sat down in
the chair again to find Mulder was watching her.

Her hand disregarded the voice in her head, immediately snaking
through the bedrail to take his own seeking hand. "Hey."

He saw the tear marks on her face. Now he could remember her
crying over him at the DOD too. "Not your fault, Scully. Next time
I want to stop you, I'll get you on the cellular instead. Or call
out before you get out of range." He was smiling at her. A smile
she could easily drown in. "Can you put the bedrail down, please?"

"Okay, but not for too long. I have to go into work soon - but
I'll be back later."

Deflecting again. He stilled her hand as she reached for the
buzzer.

"Mulder, the doctor is going to want to ask you reorientation
quest-"

"FoxWilliamMulder. Georgetown Hospital. Bill Clinton." He rattled
off the date. "At least I think that's still the date. That's when
I tumbled down the stairs anyway. Are you satisfied? Good. You're
not going anywhere until I say a few things," he said firmly. He
almost laughed at the startled expression on her face. He held her
hand and stroked her fingers, and there was no Diana hovering over
him at all. But... "There's a lot to explain. Firstly, there are
some things I have to tell you about Diana. Visions I was having
of her."

Scully listened quietly as he spoke, giving details, telling of
his confusion and alarm and sleeplessness. Was this why he didn't
invite me into his apartment yesterday? "You think this was like a
post-hypnotic suggestion?"

"Most likely. It could have been my own little mindblock, but it
could have been his last little dig at me. I think it was
triggered by a keyword. Perhaps when you first said her first name
out loud to me when we were at your place. Befor