by Melinda Breau
mbbreau@hotmail.com
 

RATING: PG

CLASSIFICATION: story, angst

SPOILERS: none as far as I'm aware

KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST, MT

ARCHIVE: Please ask.

DISCLAIMER: All characters contained within are
the property of Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen
Productions.  No profit will result from this
story and no copyright infringement is intended.

SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully struggle with the
aftermath of a terrible shooting.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Um...:::stares at hands::: I don't
know how to explain myself for this one.  I don't
know what came over me.  I have never done
anything so not-nice to Mulder in a fanfic before,
and I feel bad about it.  Truly I do.  I promise
to say a few Hail Mulders and hope the big guy
will forgive me.

* * *
 

"I wonder what you sound like/When you're not
wearing words."
--Ani DiFranco

"Speak, hands for me!"
--Casca, Julius Caesar, III.i

* * *

As she wasn't in the market for a new job, Dana
Scully hadn't updated her
resume in a number of years.  But if she had, she
imagined wearily as she skidded to a stop in front
of the front desk at Northeast Georgetown Memorial
Hospital, her qualifications might read something
like this:

B.S., University of Maryland, 1985.

M.D., University of California at Berkeley, 1989.

Special Agent for the Federal Bureau of
Investigation, 1991-present.

Professional hospital vigil-holder for Fox Mulder,
1993-present.

After receiving directions from the harried nurse
at the front desk, Scully took
off at a jog down the hallway and was halted by
Walter Skinner, whose presence
seemed to swell to block the entire hallway.

"What's his condition?" she demanded.

"Scully, please, let's have a seat."  Skinner
nodded towards a bank of chairs
by the front entrance.  Scully shook her head.

"I don't want to sit down.  I want someone to tell
me what the hell is going on here."

Skinner sighed heavily.  "He was shot, Scully," he
said finally.

Scully could almost feel her insides freeze.

"Where?" she said.  Skinner stepped forward and
put a hand on her shoulder.

"In the head," he said quietly.  Scully stared at
him for a moment and then
rapidly sidestepped him to move down the hallway.

"I need to see him," she said.

"Scully!"  Skinner's voice was insistent.  "You
can't," he said gently.  "He's
in surgery and he'll be there a while."

Unthinkingly, Scully felt herself sink into a
Chair.

"What happened?" she said numbly.  Skinner sighed.

"It was a mess," he said heavily.  "We had Ansler
backed into a corner, nice
and smooth.  He turned and ran and it all went to
hell.  Scully, the man was strapped to the gills
with dynamite."

Scully lifted her head to look at Skinner, sensing
the implication behind his
words.

"Who shot him?" she said.

"Scully..."

"Who shot him?" she repeated insistently.  Skinner
broke away from her
piercing gaze.

"That's unclear at this time," Skinner admitted.
"It was bungled.  The operational opinion at this
time is that Ansler moved to fire at himself..."

"And Mulder jumped in front of the bullet," Scully
said slowly, realization
dawning.  Skinner's eyes held hers for a moment.

"I saw it," he said.  "If he hadn't, Scully,
fifteen agents would be dead right
now."

Scully didn't normally let her emotions show on
her face, but Skinner must
have sensed how frightened she was.

"He's going to make it," he said firmly.  "And
when he does, there are a lot of
men out there who are going to want to thank him
for saving their lives."

"First we have to save his," Scully whispered. But
she would not allow fear
to overtake the strength of her faith in Mulder.

* * *

Fourteen hours later, Mulder's doctor emerged from
surgery cautious but
hopeful.  Mulder would likely survive, he assured
them, but it was too early to
speculate about possible brain damage.

It was far from the first time Scully had heard
this prediction about Mulder's
fate, but it never failed to chill her to the
core.  In the several days before Mulder regained
consciousness, Scully spent most of her time
sitting next to him, gently squeezing her hand and
desperately attempting to reassure both of them
that he would escape without major trauma.

When Mulder began to stir, Scully felt the vast
range of emotions that always
accompanied Mulder's emergence from
unconsciousness begin to stir within her:
wild relief mingled with fear and hope.

"Mulder," she managed to say as he blinked warily
into awareness.  "It's
Scully."

Mulder was breathing on his own without the aid of
a ventilator, and Scully
recognized with a swell of relief the determined
face he always made from his
hospital bed just before he wet his lips and said
her name.  She waited for the sound of his voice:
the soft rounded S of her name, the small
hesitation that always accompanied the sound from
his scratched throat.

But it never came.  Instead Mulder's lips parted -
- so familiar, Scully thought
distantly, so much a part of her -- and no sound
emerged.

"Ssscc..." Mulder managed, a harsh hissing noise
that seemed to die in his
throat.

"Ssssccccu..." he tried again, his eyes becoming
frightened.

"You're right, Mulder, it's Scully," she said,
fighting to keep her voice calm
even as dread jumped into her throat.  "Don't
panic, I'm going to get a doctor."

But Mulder's eyes were pleading with her, their
message terrified and wild.

"Ssccuhhh," he nearly gagged out, his voice a
horrifying groan.
"Sssccuhhhh...Scccuhhh -- "

Suddenly his head jerked back and Scully realized
with a jolt of horror what
was happening.

"Mulder," she commanded even as his entire body
went rigid and began to
shake.  "Mulder, look at me."

But Mulder's throat was constricting, the sound at
the back of his throat awful
and frightening.  In all her nightmares, Scully
thought, she would hear that terrible sound.

"Sc...sc...sc-sc-s-c-c-c-c-c-cccccc -- "

"I need some help in here!" Scully called.  "He's
seizing," she shouted as a
nurse ran in the room.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"He woke up.  He was trying to speak," Scully
explained as they rolled
Mulder on his side and worked to calm his limbs.

To Scully, Mulder's seizure seemed endless.  When
his body finally stopped
its violent jolting, Mulder slipped back into
unconsciousness and Scully sank into a chair,
exhausted.

Mulder's recovery was not going to be easy.

* * *

"It's called aphasia," Scully explained
reluctantly to Skinner as they sat in the hospital
cafeteria.  "It's caused by damage to the left
hemisphere of the brain."

"What does it mean?" Skinner asked.

"We won't know more until he wakes up again,"
Scully said heavily.  "But
individuals with non-fluent aphasia experience
varying degrees of difficulty speaking, reading
and writing.  There is also," Scully continued, "a
possibility of right-sided weakness or paralysis."

Stunned, Skinner tried to absorb the news.

"You anticipated this," he said suddenly.  Scully
shook her head wearily.

"No," she said.  "I hoped otherwise.  "But with
any brain injury there is
always the possibility..."

Her worst fear hung in the air, unsaid.  She shook
her head again as if to
banish the thought.

"He recognized me," she said.  "He was trying to
say my name.  I think we
can be hopeful that his comprehension is intact."

Scully paused as a nurse approached their table.

"Agent Scully?" she said.  "It's your partner.  It
looks like he might be waking
up."

Scully's eyes met Skinner's as she hurried to her
feet.

Upstairs, Mulder was indeed stirring, and Scully
reached out impulsively to
cup his face with the palm of her hand.

"Mulder," she said quietly.  "It's Scully.  It's
okay, don't try to speak."

Mulder's eyes met hers expectantly.

"You were shot," she elaborated.  "You're
experienced something called
aphasia, which makes it difficult for you to
speak."  Scully attempted a smile.  "One of the
best speech-language pathologists in the country
can't wait to get her hands on you, Mulder, and I
promise you, we will work on this."  She paused.
"Do you understand?"

Mulder's eyes told her he did, but he nodded
anyway and then, very slowly,
lifted his hand as if to write with it.

Scully had been expecting this.  "The aphasia may
make it difficult for you to
write," she cautioned as she passed him a pad and
pen.  Mulder held the pen in his fist, as if he
had forgotten what to do with it, but the fact
that he was gripping at all on his right side was
a good sign, Scully thought.  He set it to the
paper and with tremendous effort scratched out a
few straight lines.

"Okay, Mulder," Scully said around the lump in her
throat.  She moved to
take the pad from him, but Mulder's eyes flashed
determinedly at her.  Scully could only watch as
Mulder struggled mightily with the pen.  After
what seemed like forever, he swiveled the pad
around to face her.

The handwriting was crude and shaky, but written
legibly on the paper was her name.

Scully almost felt her insides collapse with a
giddy sense of relief.  Her eyes filled with
tears, and she smiled at him.

"Good, Mulder," she whispered, "that's good."

She realized suddenly that no one had told him
what the outcome of the case had been.

"Mulder, Richard Ansler -- " she started to say,
but immediately the words died in her throat;
Mulder had frozen, his eyes unmistakably anxious,
and he began to breathe in quick, harsh gasps.

"Mulder."  She quickly placed her hand on his arm.
Mulder produced a startled sound deep in his
throat that reached Scully's eyes as a "hhhhuuuh-
hhhuuuh-hhhuuuuhhhhh..."

"*Mulder*," she repeated firmly, alarmed at his
uncharacteristic display of panic.  "It's okay,
Skinner told me what happened.  Everyone is okay."

Mulder gave a small nod.  "G-g-gggood," he said
suddenly.  Scully reached
for the pad and pen and gently plucked them out of
his hands, rubbing his knuckles softly with her
thumbs.

"You need to rest, Mulder," she said quietly.
"But you're going to be just
fine."

Mulder blinked as if did not quite believe her,
but his lashes slipped shut as he fell asleep.

* * *

The next day, Scully heard a woman's enthusiastic
voice inside Mulder's
room as she approached it.

"So!  Fox Mulder," the voice was saying brightly.
"But I hear you go by just
'Mulder.'  Pretty modest for a guy with an Oxford
Ph.D. and a talent for saving
lives."

Scully cleared her throat as she entered the room.
"I hope I'm not
interrupting," she said.  "My name is Dana Scully,
I'm Agent Mulder's partner."

The voice she had heard belonged to a petite,
brown-haired woman with a
pleasant face who was about the same size and age
as Scully.

"Dr. Scully, I'm very pleased to meet you," the
woman said.  "I'm Jamie
Vizzio, but please, call me Jamie.  I'm a speech-
language pathologist.  I'll be working with your
partner over the next few weeks and months."

She turned to Mulder.  "I know you've got physical
therapy in just over an
hour, but from what I hear of you in the hospital
rumor mill" -- she chuckled -- "I figured you
wouldn't mind getting started a little early."

Mulder looked as though he couldn't decide whether
to be insulted or proud,
but as he clearly wanted to start work on his
speech, he shook his head.  Scully
watched closely as he took a deep breath, his
throat constricting.

"No," he said.  Jamie smiled encouragingly.

"Ah," she said, "an overachiever already, I see."
She glanced at Scully.

"You're welcome to sit in, Dr. Scully," she said
casually, "as long as Mulder
here is okay with it."

Scully looked at Mulder, expecting him to wave her
out of the room; Mulder
had always been notoriously reluctant to expose
his physical weaknesses in front of her and the
last thing she wanted was for him to feel
embarrassed.  But Mulder stretched out his hand to
her and then let it drop back against the blanket.

"S-s-stay," he said.

Scully's eyes were warm.  "Okay, Mulder," she
said.  "I will."

* * *

By the end of the session, Scully couldn't decide
whether to be optimistic or
worried.  Mulder had followed Jamie's instructions
obligingly, competently
producing a range of sounds and syllables.  But
Scully had begun to see that his
aphasia extended beyond simple speech
difficulties; Mulder seemed to struggle with
choosing his words as well as saying them.

"What is this?" Jamie had asked, holding up a pen
in her hand.  Scully had
watched closely as Mulder opened his mouth
automatically to speak and then closed it again.
There had been, she thought, a brief flash of
panic in his eyes that she doubted anyone besides
herself ever would have picked up on, and then it
was gone.

"Ppppen," Mulder had said distinctly after a beat
of silence, and then
repeated it again for good measure, this time
without the stutter: "Pen."

But at Mulder's first physical therapy session,
things only got worse.  It was as Scully feared:
Mulder was experiencing some degree of weakness on
his right side, and she had never seen him look so
frustrated with himself as he did slowly moving
along the parallel bar.

"You're doing great," she encouraged even as
Mulder listed heavily to the
left, his right leg dragging uselessly behind him.
She meant what she said; Mulder's arms -- his
right arm seemed unaffected, she thought -- were
quivering with the effort even as Mulder continued
to push onward.

But Mulder clearly disagreed, shooting her a
poisonous look that said 'Don't lie
to me' as clearly as if he had spoken aloud.  When
he opened his mouth, she held up a hand to stop
him.

"It's all right, Mulder," she said wryly.  "I get
the message.  No more
cheerleading."

Mulder got enough cheerleading in his sessions
with Jamie Vizzio; Scully
hadn't decided if Jamie had the patience of a
saint or was just charmingly naive.  She had
beamingly pronounced Mulder a "whiz" at speech
therapy and the most determined patient she had
ever worked with.

"How's his speech therapist?" Skinner asked during
one of his daily check-ins
with Scully.  She grimaced, trying to surface with
the right word.

"She's...perky," Scully finally decided.  She
paused.  "You can imagine how
much Mulder appreciates that."

Skinner smiled and then quickly sobered.  "He's
working hard, Agent
Scully?"

"Yes," she answered emphatically.  She checked her
watch.

"He should be finishing up with Jamie right now,"
she said.  "I'm sorry, sir,
I've got to go."

Scully had taken to pausing outside Mulder's door
to listen to the sounds of
his work with Jamie before slipping into the room.
Mulder was definitely making
progress, Scully thought as he and Jamie
conversed.

"What's this?" she could hear Jamie asking.

"Ball," Mulder answered, with no hesitation.

"And this?"

"Book."

"You never told me where you grew up," Jamie said
conversationally.

"M...Marrrrth-tha's Va-vineyard."

"Hey, none of this 'Martha's Vineyard,'" Jamie
chided gently.  "Didn't your
mother ever tell you to speak in complete
sentences?"

"Th-there ah...ahhh...are...a-a-a lot of th-
thhhhings my m...mmmother
never...t-tttold me," Mulder said ruefully, but he
obliged: "I g...ggg...grew...up ihhhh -- in
Martha's...Vineyard," he said slowly.  The longer
and more complex his sentences, the more
difficulty Mulder had with his speech, Scully
noted.

"Fantastic," Jamie said.  "That's simple sounds to
complete sentences in just
a few weeks, Mulder."

Mulder must have rolled his eyes, Scully thought,
because Jamie rejoined
with, "Enough with the sarcasm, G-man.  Tell me
about your partner."

Scully, who had been just about to enter the room,
paused mid-stride and
strained guiltily to hear Mulder's response.

"Tell wh...wh...what?" Mulder said.

"Anything," Jamie responded.  "What's she like?"

Scully could almost hear the faint smile in
Mulder's voice.

"Suh...suh...stubborn," he said slowly.  "Smmmma-
smart.  Shhhe's my
par...par...partner.  A-and she dddoesn't b-b-
believe me moh-most of...the...time, but she
puh...puh...puts uhhh -- up-p-p with me
any...way."

It wasn't a declaration of love, Scully thought
from outside the door, but she
would take what she could get.  She was still
savoring the sound of Mulder's voice -- he had
come so far from his initial attempt at her name
several weeks ago -- when she heard Jamie say
casually, "And by the way, what is her name
again?"

The hesitation in Mulder's voice was palpable.
"Dana...Sssscu...Sscuhhh...
Ssssscc-Sssccccuhhhh..."

Scully sagged back against the wall, her name
reverberating painfully in her
ears.  After what seemed like a full minute of his
excruciating attempts, Jamie
smoothly cut him off.  "That's okay, Mulder,
that's enough.  Good try.  You did an awesome job
today -- you get the gold star," she added
teasingly.  There was a short pause, during which
Mulder had obviously made a rude face or gesture,
because Jamie said, "Yeah, I didn't think you'd
want it.  I'll see you tomorrow."

She exited the room and stopped short when she ran
into a startled Scully.

"Dr. Scully," she said in a stage whisper, and
paused as her face broke into a
grin.  "I understand completely, I'm an
eavesdropper myself."  She motioned Scully to an
empty room across the hall.  "I guess I'd have to
be, in my line of work," she added.  They sat down
at the table as Jamie scribbled something on a
videocassette she was carrying.

"I've been videotaping our sessions," she
explained as Scully gave her a
quizzical look.  "It helps to go back and watch
them to see where the effort is being expended,
and so on.  So how much did you hear?" she asked
cheerfully.  Scully smiled ruefully.

"Ball," she said, "book.  And so on."

"Yes," Jamie nodded sagely, "he's done great with
those short, declarative
words.  He's having very little trouble coming up
with them now, too.  I'm sure
you've noticed it's longer sentences that are
giving him pause?"

Scully nodded.  "And my name," she found herself
adding impulsively.

"True," Jamie mused thoughtfully.  "To be honest,
Dr. Scully, I don't know if
he'll ever get there.  The sounds are just
difficult to string together for someone who has
aphasia.  Have you ever considered going by your
first name?" she said with a smile.

For whatever reason, Scully felt a shudder ripple
through her.  "He's always
called me Scully," she said distantly.  "I don't
think either of us would ever get used to it."

"That probably explains the look I got when I
called him Fox," Jamie
laughed.  "Your partner has a strong will.  That's
likely why he's come as far as he has in such a
short period."

Scully hesitated, then sat forward.  "What can you
tell me," she said
carefully, "about his prognosis?"

Jamie looked at her thoughtfully.  "That's a
loaded question," she mused.
"Your partner is obviously not a typical aphasia
patient, I can tell you that much.  The very fact
that Mulder isn't dropping his short words -- like
'and' and 'the' -- the fact that he's working to
produce long, complex sentences, tells me that.
But if you're asking me whether his speech will
return to what we might unkindly term 'normal'?"
Jamie shook her head.  "I wouldn't venture to tell
you," she said.  "Aphasia is a complex condition.
Many aphasiacs don't stutter, but then again, many
don't make it past short, two-word sentences.  And
Mulder's already proven that he's not content to
sit around for the rest of his life saying, 'Want
food' or 'Go outside.'  I think he knows exactly
what he wants to say, but the effort it takes him
to say those things..."

She gave Scully a measured look.  "He gets
agitated," she said.  "You heard
what happened when I asked your name.  He
obviously knows what it is and how it
should sound, but what it does sound like when he
tries to say it is very different."  She paused
and Scully remembered the desperate hitching sound
in Mulder's throat as he tried to speak.

"What I can tell you," Jamie continued, leaning
forward, "is that he is
working very hard, and I'm sure that he will only
continue to do so.  But what you have to accept,
and what he has to accept, is that he may always
experience some degree of difficulty getting those
words out the way he wants to.  He could give up
and resign himself to 'Make bed' and 'Watch TV,'
but I don't believe he'll ever do that.  Do you?"

Scully shook her head.  "No," she said softly.
"You're right.  He won't."

"And if he does continue to be so insistent on
producing sentences like, 'She
doesn't believe me most of the time, but she puts
up with me anyway' -- well, that's a thought that
takes some effort to put out there."

"And Mulder is willing to put in that effort,"
Scully agreed.  She looked at
Jamie, her eyes warm.

"Thank you," she said.  Jamie waved her hand
dismissively.

"Anytime," she said pleasantly.  "And by the way,
next time you want to
eavesdrop on one of our sessions, you go right
ahead and come inside.  Mulder is..."  She paused,
searching for the right word.  "He's noticeably
more centered when you're in the room.  Almost
like his equilibrium isn't quite balanced without
you."

Scully couldn't help thinking back to the day she
had rushed to the hospital
with her heart in her throat, terrified of losing
him.  It was true, she thought; her equilibrium
wasn't quite balanced without him, either.

* * *

Over the next several weeks, Mulder continued to
make gradual progress.
Fitted with a brace on his leg, he could walk with
only a slight limp, and his hair had started to
grow in over the patch where it had been shaved
for surgery.  His handwriting, while still awkward
and deliberate, was improving, and Scully had
watched him read complicated articles in
psychology journals with seemingly no problems.
But it was in his speech therapy that he was
pushing himself hardest; Scully ached to see him
struggle with words that had once come so easily
to him.  Mulder insisted on longer and longer
sessions with Jamie Vizzio, who cautiously agreed.

One day, Scully arrived to find Mulder nearly
drained of color; she was torn
between being horrified to see that he appeared to
be struggling just to remain
upright and being impressed with his tenacity and
dedication.

"Mulder's telling me his life story," Jamie
confided as Scully entered the
room.  "It's fascinating."

Mulder flashed her a quick, determined smile.  "I
j-j-joined the...FBI in
19...88," he said.

"Joined," Jamie enunciated.  "Say it again,
Mulder, joined."

"Jjjjoined," Mulder repeated.

"Again."

"*Joined*," he burst out.  Jamie gave him a
measured look of approval.

"Great job," she said.  "Then what?"

"I w...worked in the...ISU for th-three...years."

"And the ISU stands for what?"

Scully instinctively opened her mouth to answer,
but Jamie shot her a
warning look.

"Invest...igative...Support...U-unit," Mulder
answered carefully, with almost
no trace of a stutter.  He hunched forward to
continue.  "Thhhen...I dis...discovered the
ehhhh...ehhhh...X Ffff...fi-fi-files."

Jamie shook her head.  "Okay, Mulder.  You're
getting tired."

But Mulder continued as if he hadn't heard her.
"I was p-p-partnerned
wwwwihhhwith..."  His eyes flickered over to her
and she braced herself for the
assault to come.  "Ssscc...sssccuh...sssscull-
Sscullllll-..."

Scully tried not to flinch; her name was a
horrifying moan on his lips.

"That's right, Mulder, come on, you can do it,"
soothed Jamie, looking
resigned.

"Sssscccc...Ssscccuh-uhhhhhhh-sc-sc-ull-Scully,"
he breathed, her name
suddenly tumbling out without warning.

Mulder was nearly panting with the effort, but
Jamie looked triumphant.

"There!" she beamed.  "Nice job.  All right, we're
ready to quit for today,
Mulder."

Mulder shook his head violently.

"Nnnn-nn-no," he gritted out.  "K--kk-eep g-g-gg-"
His voice had become
rapid and uneven, syllables spurting out like
staccato beats.

Jamie placed a gentle hand on his arm.  "Sorry, G-
man.  You've had
enough."

Mulder was clearly frustrated, and his speech
reflected it.  "Sssttt-sssttto-o-o-ppp," he said
emphatically, "t-t-treating m-me lllll-like
I'm..."

His eyes darted to Scully.  "I c...I ccc..."

But as hard as he pushed, the word wouldn't come.

"Go ahead, Mulder," Jamie said encouragingly, "say
whatever it is you need
to say."

"I cannn't e-even sss...ss..."  Mulder shook his
head angrily.

"You can try, Mulder.  Just try."

"Sss-saaayy her name!" Mulder choked out,
breathing hard.  Scully took a
deep breath and stepped closer to him.

"You just did say it," she said softly.  Mulder
shot her a glare; clearly his best efforts weren't
yet good enough for him.

"And nobody is treating you like anything other
than someone who is
working very, very hard."

"Dddd...don't p-patronize me," Mulder said
distinctly.

"And don't snap at me," Jamie rejoined patiently.
"You were shot in the
head, Mulder.  Nobody ever promised it would be
easy to recover from.  It takes
time."

Mulder looked away.

"J-jjj-" he started to say, his voice rough and
forceful.  Jamie stepped
forward warningly.

"Mulder," she said firmly.  "Don't.  That's
enough."

But Mulder's eyes were locked on her, and he
seemed unable to stop.

"J-jjj-jjj-jjj-jjjjj..."

Instinctively Scully recognized the stuttering
pattern of his speech, the same
thing that had happened when he had first awoken
and tried to say her name.  She
threw herself forward, but Mulder was beyond
speech now, his body jerking
uncontrollably.

"He's seizing!" she shouted over his shoulder as
she grabbed frantically for his
flailing limbs.

"Shhh, it's okay, Mulder," she tried to say
soothingly around the frightened
lump in her throat; this would be Mulder's second
major grand mal seizure since his injury.  "It's
okay, just calm down, you're going to be okay."

It was a mantra she repeated more to herself than
to him as his tremors finally
began to fade and his unconscious body was
deposited back into his hospital bed,
next to which Scully found herself holding vigil
for the third time in the past few months.

This time, however, Scully found that she was more
angry than frightened.
And the longer she sat, the longer she thought
about the deliberate decision Mulder had made to
push himself beyond any reasonable expectation.
When Mulder began to stir a full twenty-four hours
later, Scully fixed him with a glare with which
she knew he was intimately familiar.

"Do you have any idea," she said, her voice low
and deadly, "how stupid that
was?"

Mulder's eyes flashed angrily at the word
'stupid,' but Scully wasn't finished.

"You were brought to the ER seven weeks ago with a
bullet in your brain,"
Scully said icily.  "A team of four doctors worked
on you in the OR for fourteen
hours to repair the damage.  You were unconscious
for nearly a week, a time during which there was
widespread speculation that you would emerge with
major brain damage and very likely experience an
extremely low quality of life."

She paused.  "You didn't defy those odds to
sabotage your own recovery.  I
won't let you."

Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but Scully held
up a hand to stop him.

"No," she said gently.  "Please, Mulder."

Hesitatingly, Mulder reached his hand up to touch
her cheek; Scully felt
herself close her eyes as she covered his hand
with her own.

"I do believe you," she said faintly, without
opening her eyes.  Mulder made
a sound deep in his throat that sounded like a
sob.

"I nnnn...know I sssssccccca-sssscared y-y-you,"
he said quietly.  Scully
kept her eyes closed; his speech was faltering and
unsure.  "I'm-I'm-I'm s-s-s-orr-sorry, Sssscc -- "
He paused and swallowed convulsively.  "Da-dana."

Scully placed a finger softly on his lips and
allowed it to rest there for a brief moment.
"Shh, it's okay, Mulder," she said.  "I know.  I
know."

* * *

But Scully was afraid that the seizure had caused
greater damage, touching
off some electrical firestorm inside Mulder's
injured brain.  In his first therapy session after
the seizure, Jamie pointed to her wrist and asked,
"What's this?"

Mulder should have been able to answer easily,
even confidently: "Watch."
But instead he faltered, the W sounding like a
slap bounding reflexively across his lips.

"Wwwaaa..." he stumbled, then tried again:
"Wwwa...wawawwwaaaatch."
Scully, sitting in the corner of the room,
recoiled as if she had been struck.

"It's okay, Mulder," Jamie said calmly.  "Let's
try another one."  She held up
a small toy car.

Mulder took a deep breath.  "Cccccar," he managed.
Jamie nodded.

"Good," she said, "that's good.  Say this one with
me, Mulder.  Watch."

"Wwwwatch," Mulder managed.

"Better," Jamie observed.  She paused and cocked
her head to one side.  "I've
spent so much time firing questions at you,
Mulder.  Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

A question was very likely to start with the W
sound, Scully realized with a
grudging admiration for Jamie.  Mulder would never
stand for being asked to repeat a single syllable
over and over and Jamie obviously knew it.

"Wwwwhaaa-w-w-what mmma-maaaaade
you...choose...sp-p-p-peeeeee-
speech pathhhh...patholllllog-g-g-ggggy?" he
asked, sucking in a breath.  Scully
could feel her heart pounding in her ears: Mulder
was fighting, she thought, for every single word.

"I stuttered as a child," Jamie answered smoothly.
"I went to a really mean
therapist who used to berate me for every stammer.
I guess I just wanted to prevent other people from
having the same experience I did."  She paused.
"What about you, Mulder, why did you choose
psychology?"

"I gu-gu-g-gguess I just wwwaaa...wanted to
underst-st-stand," he
answered slowly.

"Understand what?" Jamie pressed him interestedly.

Mulder shrugged and looked away.  "People," he
said distantly.  His voice
rang clearly through the room for the first time.

* * *

The next few days, Scully thought, were among the
hardest of Mulder's
hospital stay.  Mulder could walk with only a
slight drag in his right leg, and
neurological tests since the seizure had shown
that his comprehension and reasoning abilities
were still strong.

But his speech...Scully was beginning to forget
what Mulder's voice had ever
sounded like.  One day, she arrived in Mulder's
room to find her partner emerging from underneath
the bed, triumphantly holding the remote control.
Her mouth quirked.

"What happened?" she asked, a touch of amusement
in her voice.  Mulder
looked mildly aggravated.

"I ddd...ddd...ddddro-o-o-pppped ih-ih-ih-ihhhh --
it," he said, then quickly
shook his head and turned away; she knew that even
to his own ears his speech must sound
unintelligible.

"Ah, I thought you were just hiding from me,"
Scully said lightly.  Mulder's
stony expression did not change.

"Mulder," Scully said softly, stepping further
into the room.  "I know you
must be frustrated -- "

Mulder's throat constricted.  "You - you - you --
"  His voice jerked
forcefully, out of his control.  "Hhhaaahave
nnn...nnn..."  His lips shook with the effort. "N-
nnnnnuhhhgggg -- "  Mulder was unable to modulate
his voice when he was upset, and it trailed
upwards into a strangled grunt.

"Mulder," she commanded.  Mulder tipped his head
back and closed his eyes.

"I ccc-can't d-d-do...thhh-thhhh-this ri-ri-right
nnnn...now," he said
wearily.  "I'll s...s...see...you t -- t -- t --"

But when the word wouldn't come, Mulder didn't
force it.  Instead he shook
his head and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

Scully took a step forward and brushed her hand
lightly over his forehead.

"Okay, Mulder," she agreed tenderly.  "I'll see
you tomorrow."

But the next day when Scully arrived, she was
surprised to hear no sound
coming from Mulder's room at all.  She stopped
short in the doorway and watched
Mulder and Jamie, sitting across from each other;
Mulder's hands -- so firm, Scully had always
thought privately, so like a musician's hands --
were shifting position hesitantly but deliberately
as Jamie chanted along with their movement.

"M, u, l, d, e, r," she said in a singsong tone.
"Nice.  Now a sentence: My
name is Fox Mulder."

Mulder complied, placing one palm flat against his
chest, then bringing the
first two fingers of his right hand down on the
first two fingers of his left hand; as Scully
watched, he put his right pinky finger to his lips
and then sent his right hand through a series of
motions that looked almost graceful, Scully
thought, almost fluent.  He looked...relaxed,
Scully realized suddenly, the tenseness gone from
his jaw and his throat.

Scully felt a wave of irrational anger sweep
through her.  "Hi," she said as she
stepped into the room.  "Dr. Vizzio, can I see you
outside?"

Jamie looked briefly startled, then nodded as she
got to her feet and followed
Scully into the hallway.  She looked at Scully
expectantly.

"You taught him sign language," Scully said, a
note of accusation in her
voice.  Jamie didn't seem aware of it, because she
brightened quickly.

"Yes, and I've never seen anyone pick up on it so
fast," she said happily.
"You weren't kidding about that memory of his, he
-- "

But Scully interrupted her.  "His speech will
never improve if he signs instead
of speaking."

Jamie's eyes narrowed.  "Dr. Scully, his speech
may very well never improve
anyway.  It's only been deteriorating since the
seizure -- "

"He just needs some time," Scully said stubbornly.
"You said so yourself."

Jamie sighed.  "Dr. Scully...Dana...please, try to
see the situation objectively.  Your partner has
an IQ of three hundred and forty-seven, an eidetic
memory and prior to his injury was one of the most
articulate people you've ever met.  Have I
described him correctly?"

Scully nodded mutely.

"He's trapped inside his own mind," Jamie said.
"He's working as hard as he
possibly can and showing very little improvement.
In fact, there's a definite
possibility that he is regressing.  You can barely
understand him, can't you?"

Scully lifted her chin but did not answer the
question.

"Scully," Jamie continued gently.  "There's
something I have to show you."
She motioned Scully into a nearby room and
inserted a tape into the VCR.

"This is one of Mulder's early therapy sessions,"
she explained.  On the tape,
Jamie was introducing the session: "This is Dr.
Jamie Vizzio, session #7 with this patient, whose
name is..."

She motioned for Mulder to speak, which he did
after some effort.  "Muh-
Muh-Mulder.  Mulder."

Scully watched silently as Jamie ejected the tape
from the VCR and inserted
another one.  "This is from yesterday," she said
quietly.

"This is Dr. Jamie Vizzio," the recorded Jamie
noted cheerfully as before,
and this patient's name is..."

Scully closed her eyes briefly; Mulder was clearly
struggling, his lips pressed
together and nearly becoming white from the
effort.  "Muh-muh-mmmmm-
uhhhh...Muhhhhh..."  He took a deep breath,
gasping for air.  On the tape, Jamie
leaned forward.

"It's all right," she was saying, "don't force it.
Say it with me:
Mmmullldddderr."

"Mmmmuhhhh...mmmmuh-uh-uh-uhhhhh..."  Mulder was
grunting, his
voice a desperate moan.

Scully felt her eyes become wet.  "Turn it off,"
she found herself whispering.
But Jamie let the tape play until Mulder's name
finally unspooled in an agitated
voice that sounded nothing like the man she
remembered.

"Mmmuh...mmmuhhhhh-mmmullllllld-d-ddder.
Mmmmuhhhh..."

"He wants to communicate," Jamie implored after a
beat of silence.  "But he
has days when he can barely say his own name.  My
job is to help him facilitate his correspondence
with other people, by any means necessary.  And if
that means ASL instead of verbal speech, then so
be it.  Do you understand?"

Scully looked away, closing her eyes briefly.

"I'm sorry," she said finally.  "I know how badly
Mulder wants his speech
ability to improve.  I guess I...I just wanted it
for him too."

Jamie smiled encouragingly.  "We'll keep working
on it," she assured Scully.
"But in the meantime, this will give Mulder the
opportunity to feel a part of this world again."

She gave Scully a small pat on the shoulder and
set off down the hallway.
Scully took a deep breath and stepped into
Mulder's room.

When he saw her, Mulder opened his mouth,
preparing to speak; his whole
body seemed to tense with the effort.  Scully held
up a hand to stop him.

"M-u-l-d-e-r," she spelled.

Her partner was visibly surprised.

"Y...yyyy...you...you c-cccaa...caaa...ccccaaa-
nuh-nuh-nnnnnn
sss...sss...sssiiisssiiignnnn," he said aloud.  It
took Scully a full second to translate Mulder's
painful slur into a sentence, and then Scully's
heart sank as she realized that Jamie had been
right; Mulder was having one of his bad days, and
it was clear that his speech was deteriorating.

"Only the alphabet," she replied as she took a
seat.  "But I hear that you're
getting to be a whiz."

Mulder hesitated.

"It's okay, Mulder," Scully said, laying a gentle
hand on his arm.  "I think
ASL may be the right way to go."

She was alarmed to see tears in Mulder's eyes.

"Mulder," she said, moving her hands from his arm
to encircle his body.
"Mulder," she repeated in a whisper, as if his
name were a private talisman between them.
"Mulder.  Mulder.  Mulder."

She could feel Mulder's hands moving insistently
against her, and she pulled
away to see him.

He held up his right hand in a fist, fingers
facing forward, then slowly curved
it into a C shape; then he held two fingers in the
air, then spread his thumb and index finger apart
into an L and repeated the gesture before pulling
his three middle fingers in with his thumb and
pinky sticking out.

His lips never moved.  But his hands, and his
eyes, told her everything she
needed to know.

S-c-u-l-l-y.

* * *

Mulder's ability to sign, unlike his ability to
speak, improved rapidly over the
next few days; it seemed to Scully that his
capacity for fluency in sign language had a
positive effect, in turn, on his speech.  Using
ASL, Mulder seemed more at ease than he had since
his injury as he eagerly consumed the contents of
an American Sign Language dictionary.

"Watch this," Jamie grinned one day as Scully
entered the room.

"Ridiculous," she challenged.  Mulder formed his
right hand into the sign for
the letter Y and waved it near his forehead.

"Ri...ri...ridiculous," he repeated.

"Guilty."

Mulder made the sign for the letter G and tapped
it over his chest.  "Gu-
guiltttt...guilty."

"Encourage."

Mulder spread both his hands apart, palms out, and
pushed them forward.
"Ehh...ennn...enc-c-c-ourag-g-g-e."

"Waffle."

Mulder's hands faced each other, his fingers
interlocked, while his right hand
moved up and down on top of his left.

"Wwaa...wwaaff -- waffle."

Scully arched an eyebrow with a smile.  "Waffle?"
she inquired.  Jamie
shrugged.

"What can I say, I was hungry for breakfast," she
said.  Mulder signed
something rapidly that Scully did not understand,
and she looked at Jamie
questioningly.

"He says remember those waffles you two had that
were made
with...artichokes?"  She looked to Mulder for
confirmation, and he shook his head, repeating the
sign.  "Avocados," Jamie amended.  Scully smiled.

"I guess I need to get cracking on my sign
language," she murmured.  Mulder
made a face.

"I ccc-ccaaan trannn...transsssla-la-late," he
said impatiently, "when --
when...you don't...undersssst-st-stand."  He
paused, then forged ahead.
"Althhhh...although you m-m-may n...n...not
underst-staaaaa-standdd m-m-me
anyw...wwwwwuhhhhh...way."

He gave her a small, sad smile.

"Mulder, I never understood you anyway," Scully
said lightly, and Mulder's
smile became genuine.

They were sitting in companionable silence when
Skinner appeared in the
doorway.

"Agent Mulder," he said.  "Agent Scully.  I hope
I'm not intruding."

Mulder shook his head, looking surprised.  He
opened his mouth to say
something but instead flicked his eyes toward
Jamie as if privately instructing her to translate
as he signed.

"No, sir," Jamie said, keeping her eyes on
Mulder's hands.  "Come in."

Skinner stepped into the room, watching Mulder
approvingly.  "Scully tells
me your ability to sign is tremendous."

"I'm a regular prodigy," Mulder signed; if it was
possible to inject a tone of
irony in one's ASL, Scully thought, Mulder had
already mastered it.

"Scully also tells me you'll be leaving the
hospital soon," Skinner continued,
"and on behalf of the FBI I've come to discuss
some...options with you."

Mulder's hands, along with his entire body, were
suddenly still.

"Options?" he echoed out loud.  Skinner agreed.

"If you so desire," he said, "you may retire from
the Bureau on full medical
disability."

Mulder's mouth twisted in disgust.

"Or," Skinner continued neutrally, "you can return
to the FBI as a
consultant."

Mulder considered this before signing, "What kind
of consultant?"

"Whatever kind you wish," Skinner answered
smoothly.  "You would still
report to me as your supervisor.  You would still
be partnered with Agent Scully.  I imagine you
would work closely with the ISU on profiles, but I
see no reason why you cannot return to the field
occasionally -- in a limited capacity," he
stressed, "provided that you remain seizure-free
after six months.  Scully tells me you've regained
full mobility in your upper body -- I believe we
can grant you special permission to carry a weapon
after the six-month period has passed."

Mulder stared at him disbelivingly for a moment.

"Are you kidding?" Jamie translated, though Scully
thought it was fairly clear
that Mulder's gestures needed no interpretation.
"How am I supposed to question a witness, or
interrogate a suspect?"

Skinner was nodding as if he had already
considered that.  "As I said, you
will still be partnered with Agent Scully," he
said.  "And," he added, "you can sign, can you
not?  Dr. Vizzio -- if you're willing, of course -
- the Bureau is willing to hire you as a full-time
sign language interpreter for Agent Mulder."

Jamie looked startled and then flattered.  "Of
course," she said, adding, "if
that's what Mulder decides that he wants."

Mulder closed his eyes briefly, as if gathering
his strength.  "And thhhhhe --
the X...X...ffffiles?" he asked.  Skinner seemed
surprised by the question.

"The X-Files will remain open," he said, "although
I imagine your travel
calendar may have to be...scaled back a little
bit.  "We'll ask you to consult for the ISU,"
Skinner repeated, "but as I said, you will report
to me.  You set the tone."

Mulder was silent for a long moment, but Scully
could read the gratitude in
his eyes.

"Whhhhyyy are you...d-d-d-oin-doing-g-g thhhhis,
s-s-sir?" he asked finally.

"Because the FBI owes you a great debt," Skinner
said decisively.  "And
because you're a good man, Mulder."

He turned to her.
"Wwwwha...wwwhaaa...wwwhaaaaaa..."  He shook his
head and gave up, signing: "What do you think?"

"It's not up to me, Mulder," she answered
honestly.  "But if you do choose to
come back...I'm not going anywhere."

Scully watched as Mulder took a deep breath and
turned back to Skinner.

"All ri...ri...riight," he said, though his voice
shook.  "I-I-I'm...in.  In," he repeated.

Scully smiled.  On the long road back, she
thought, Mulder had just been
given a green light.
 

* * *
 
 

"Nine weeks after he was rushed to the hospital in
critical condition, Special
Agent Fox Mulder was released from Northeast
Georgetown Memorial today -- "

Mulder shot Jamie, who had been narrating the
details of Mulder's recovery
with particular relish, a poisonous glare.

"What?" she said innocently.  Mulder rolled his
eyes.

"You're supposed to be my interpreter, not the
president of my fan club," he
signed to her.

"And you're supposed to be making an effort to
speak at least part of what
you sign," Jamie rejoined calmly.

Scully smiled.  "Both of you settle down," she
said mildly.

"Hhaahaaheard-d-d...Ssssk-k-k-ssskinn-in-inner?"
Mulder said aloud, as he
signed the complete question with his hands: "Have
you heard from Skinner?"
Scully nodded; Mulder's speech had been wholly
unpredictable of late, sometimes
nearly perfectly clear and other times, like now,
almost impossible to comprehend.

"He'd like you to proceed with caution," she
warned him.  "You can have
your office, Mulder, no one's going to deny you
that, but you are strictly confined to consulting
for the time being."

"Cccc...ccc-cay-cay-sssse --
ase...lll...lll...lllloaddd?" Mulder asked aloud.
Inwardly, Scully winced; she and Jamie had been
making every effort to encourage
Mulder to speak as much as possible when he could,
but sometimes, like now, she
doubted very much that anyone else would be able
to understand him.

"Your caseload will be light," she answered
smoothly as they walked to her
car.  "*Extremely* light," she amended after a
moment.  Mulder opened his mouth and then closed
it again.  He looked tired, Scully thought-perhaps
too tired to continue to speak.

"How light?" he signed.

"One case at a time," she responded, prepared for
an explosion of irritation
from Mulder.

But it never came.  Mulder's expression was
completely neutral as he signed:
"What case?"

"Mulder, this conversation can wait until Monday,"
Scully began to say, but
a sharp look from her partner cut her off.

"A serial killer," Scully continued reluctantly --
wasn't it always a serial
killer? -- "who's been targeting young black
males."

"Where?" Mulder signed insistently.  Scully sighed
heavily.

"D.C.," she said.

Despite the gruesome nature of their work, Scully
could swear that Mulder
brightened imperceptibly.  When he spoke, she had
the reason why: "F-ffffield?" he asked.  Scully
hesitated.

"Skinner is aware that as a profiler you like to
be able to examine the physical
crime scenes in person," she said grudgingly.
Mulder smiled.

"Bring your cowboy boots!" he signed
enthusiastically, and Scully could
swear that his hands almost sang.

* * *

Mulder would never admit that he was nervous,
Scully thought, but his hands
clutched at the door handle of her car as if he
were planning to make an escape.

"Mulder," she said without taking her eyes off the
road, "relax."

His response was soft.  "T-t-t-try," he said.

In the lobby of the Hoover building, they were
joined by Jamie Vizzio, and
Mulder was visibly calmer as they descended to the
basement office he and Scully
shared.

"Welcome home," Scully said wryly as she flicked
on a light to the dusty
office.  Jamie stepped inside interestedly.

"So this is the home of the X-Files," she
pronounced.  "I gotta say, Mulder, I
was hoping for something a little more upscale."

Mulder signed something to Jamie.

"Nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted,"
she repeated curiously.
"I don't know, G-man, saving a whole slew of FBI
lives probably gives you a little more pull around
here from now on, wouldn't you say?"  Mulder,
suddenly
uncomfortable, looked away, and Scully hastily
made a show of checking her watch.

"We're due to meet an Agent Thale at Quantico in a
few hours," she noted.
"Mulder, I know you're attached to your own
office, but Skinner's arranged for a
space at Quantico for the time being."

Mulder acquiesced with a nod.  Then he buried
himself happily in a mound of
files on his desk until Scully announced that it
was time to leave.

"And Jamie?" she said in a low voice as they
headed out the door.

"I know, I know," Jamie answered in matching
covert tones.  "At Quantico,
unless I am speaking for Mulder, I am to be seen
and not heard."

* * *

At Quantico, they had to wait a short while before
being joined by the other agents working on the
case.  Mulder, whose back was turned, was in the
midst of signing a particularly elaborate history
of the Investigative Support Unit to Jamie when
Scully noticed that two agents approaching them
had stopped short when they saw Mulder using sign
language.

"I thought he was in an accident," one of them
muttered to the other.

"Why, what's wrong with him?" the agent whispered
back.

"Not my...hearing, for one...thing," Mulder said
clearly and with only a
slight hesitation, turning to face the two men.
Scully was surprised; it was the most intelligible
thing he had said aloud in weeks.  As the startled
agents stared at him, Mulder began to sign while
Jamie translated.

"I have a condition called aphasia that affects my
ability to speak," she said.
"I have oral language, but I would prefer to use
American Sign Language to
communicate for the time being.  Agent Scully or
Dr. Jamie Vizzio, my interpreter, will translate
for me.  I assure you that my mental capacity has
not been affected in any way."

Scully was impressed; Mulder had managed to
explain his situation without
ever once using the words "brain damage" or "shot
in the head."

The agent who had speculated about Mulder's
accident recovered quickly and
stepped forward to shake Mulder's hand.

"I'm sorry, that was a terrible indiscretion on my
part," he said amiably.  "I
saw you signing and I assumed you were hard of
hearing -- not that that would have excused my
talking about you behind your back," he added.
"I'm afraid I'm wasn't quite up to speed on the
details of your arrival.  I'm Jim Thale, I've been
heading up the support team on this case."

Scully was reassured by Agent Thale's reaction;
she had been led to believe --
likely by Mulder, she thought -- that all the
agents in the Investigative Support Unit were
assholes.

"Fox Mulder," Mulder said steadily.  He turned to
the agent beside Thale,
who had not yet stepped forward.

"And y-y-you are?" he inquired.

"Mike Douglas," he said, but he didn't move to
shake Mulder's hand.  "I've
heard of you," he added.

Mulder managed a tight smile; Scully was certain
that it was not entirely
friendly.

"Agent Mulder's reputation frequently precedes
him," she said smoothly.  "I
don't think we've met.  I'm Dana Scully, I've been
asked to look into the forensics on this case."

Imperceptibly, she felt Mulder give her a small,
grateful glance.

"Well, we'll certainly be glad to have a fresh
pair of eyes, Agent Scully,"
Agent Thale said.  "Let me show you to your
office."

Scully, Mulder and Jamie followed Agent Thale
downstairs to a spacious
office.

"In the basement, just the way you like it,"
Scully couldn't resist pointing out
to Mulder.  Thale grinned.

"Ah, so you're the Fox Mulder with the basement
office in the Hoover I keep
hearing about!" he exclaimed.  Scully was
momentarily taken aback; she was unused to hearing
the phrase "the Fox Mulder with the basement
office" spoken aloud in such glowing terms.  "I
think I've just put two and two together," Thale
continued.  "Let's see, so you must work on the X-
Files.  And you were involved in that big showdown
a few months back, weren't you?  With Richard
Ansler and..."

He trailed off and his expression sobered,
realization obviously dawning on
his face.

"My God," he murmured, "I've put my foot in it
again, haven't I?"

Mulder mimed checking his watch.  "We nearly made
it to six minutes flat
before someone brought up Richard Ansler," Jamie
interpreted.  "Someone owes me
ten bucks."

His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but Thale
looked relieved to see that
Mulder was joking.

"I'll leave you to get acquainted with the place,"
he said.  "If it's all right with you, Agent
Mulder, I'd like us to sit down in a few hours so
we can hear your preliminary thoughts on the
case."

"We?" Mulder said.  Thale nodded.

"Mike Douglas is my right-hand man," he said, "and
there are a few other
agents who have been keeping an eye out on this
case  We've been short-staffed
lately -- there's not much of a team devoted to
this, I'm afraid -- but we're glad to have you
aboard."

Mulder nodded.

Scully waited until she was sure he had gone
before sidling up to Mulder.
"How long did you have that speech about your
'condition' planned out?"

Mulder managed a ghost of a smile.  "Wwwa - wwwee
- weeks," he said, and
then continued in sign: "How much longer do you
think I'll have to give it?"

"Weeks," Scully replied blandly.  She tossed him a
folder that had been
rubber-banded together.  "Let's get started," she
said.

Mulder was completely silent for the next several
hours, the only sound in the
room the insistent scratching of his pen on paper.
Scully had never understood it -- she herself
preferred to type whenever possible -- but Mulder
was stubbornly old-fashioned when it came to
taking notes in longhand.  While she pored over
the forensics reports -- there had been three
victims so far, each with his throat cut -- she
was bemused to see that Jamie was sitting in the
corner with her feet up on a desk, contentedly
reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

Moments before their scheduled meeting with Thale
and Douglas, Scully
glanced over to see that Mulder had filled nearly
half a legal pad with his sprawling writing.

"Well, Mulder," she said expectantly, "what do you
think?"

Jamie sat up and watched him closely as he began
to sign, hesitantly at first
and then more rapidly.

"I think there are a number of problems with the
current profile," Mulder was
saying.  "This is a killer who targets young,
black men, men, who theoretically
should have enough strength to fight him off.  The
current profile is operating under the assumption
that the killer is therefore strong, strong enough
to overpower his victims."

"And you don't agree," Scully said.  Mulder shook
his head.

"N-nnnot abou...abouttt va...vaaaa...violence,"
Mulder said, the words squeezing out of him.
"If...wa-was...would hahaaave been sss...ssstrang-
g-gled or b-
b-beaten.  In-in-stttead...thrrroats were cu-cu-
cut."

"What do you think that means?" Scully said, fully
engaged in the
conversation despite Mulder's obvious
difficulties.  For a brief moment it felt to her
like their old familiar sparring over a case, and
for that she was extremely grateful.  Just to have
Mulder alive, in this office, debating over a
profile or a particular M.O. -- for the moment,
that seemed enough.

"He knew thehhhthem," Mulder said.  "They wa-wa-
weren't...random.
T-t-too cal...cal...calcul...lll...lated.  Tuhhh-
took -- his...time.  Time."

Scully nodded slowly.  "The forensics reports on
all three victims indicate that
each man bled out slowly."

"Wh...which p...proves m-my...poin-n-n-t," Mulder
said.  "He d...he dddd...he d..."  The D sounded
like a strangled clucking in the back of his
throat.  "He didn't fear interruption," he signed.
"He had absolute power, but not in a
physical way."  He paused, then decided to speak.

"C-c-c-connnn-trol,"he stuttered unrelentingly.

Jamie had been watching their exchange with
fascination, and now she stood
up and stretched.  "Sounds good to me," she said
idly.  "Ready to go, Mulder?"

Mulder, Scully noted, did not look thrilled to be
heading for a meeting with
Agents Thale and Douglas; as Scully had expected,
he communicated almost
exclusively in sign.

"I believe the current profile is off-base,"
Mulder signed without preamble.
"Our killer is a black male, 18-to-35, with some
personal connection to each of the victims.  I'd
like to start by following up on each of their
backgrounds to determine who or what they may have
had in common."

"Well," Thale said after a beat, "you do jump
right in, don't you?  What do
you think, Mike?"  He turned to the other agent.
"It is your profile."

Douglas was eyeing Mulder in disbelief.  "How do
you figure the personal
connection?"

"The crime scenes are too ordered," Mulder signed,
"too precise.  His method
is methodical, not impersonal -- there are no
signs of rage or violence.  These victims aren't
random."

Douglas sat back in his chair, unimpressed.  "You
know," he said in a tone
that threatened to become a sneer, "I know
something about you...Spooky."

Scully glanced at Mulder, but he failed to react.
"Then you...know," he said
in a slow, deadly voice, "why I w...why I was
as...askkked...to con --
connn...sult...on this...case."

"Yeah," Douglas muttered, "like a freaking
oracle."

"That's enough," Thale spoke out sharply.  "Do you
have any idea how
raging disagreements over vastly different
interpretations of a crime scene I've heard in my
day?  In this office," he glared at Douglas, "I
intend to value every opinion."

But it was Jamie, not Mulder, Scully observed, who
looked smug.

* * *

The next few days were trying for everyone, Scully
thought ruefully.  She had
once seen Mulder go deep into a profile and had
then feared for his sanity.  This case was
different -- Mulder seemed to have his capacity to
profile completely under control -- but Scully
could sense his exhaustion in the way his speech
lapsed when they were alone.  Jamie had been
persistent in assuring Mulder that there was no
harm in using sign, but Mulder tended to be
emphatic in a way he could only be when he was
speaking out loud, and he seemed to think that
other agents -- especially Mike Douglas, Scully
thought privately -- would take him more seriously
if he could speak.  Mulder was remarkably careful
around them, his voice low and guarded as he
argued them point for point.  On a late night,
Scully returned from the Quantico lab -- Jamie had
already gone home, reassured that Scully was
becoming very competent in translating ASL -- to
hear Mike Douglas' voice coming from inside their
office.

"For the fourth time," he was saying, his voice
surprisingly patient, "we did
not find any neighborhood connections among the
victims -- none.  I will double- and triple-check
if you want me to, Mulder, but you can't uncover
something that just isn't there."

When she heard Mulder's voice, quiet but resolute,
Scully halted just outside
the door; she felt only slightly guilty about
eavesdropping.  Mulder's words were slow but
remarkably clear.

"Look," he was saying, "I know...what
I'm...doing."

Douglas was unimpressed.

"I hope so, man," he replied, "or this case is
going to go downhill real fast."

He barely met Scully's eyes as he left the room,
and she slipped inside.  She
sat in silence with Mulder for a moment before
saying, with forced casualness, "Your speech is
sounding clearer."

Mulder gave what might have been a small shrug of
agreement as he looked
away from her.

"It's...hhha-hhaa-hhhharddd," he admitted to the
far wall, his voice
tremulous the way it got when he was especially
tired.  Scully felt her heart sink; for the first
time, she noticed Mulder's hands practically
trembling from exhaustion and thought of the
effort it must have been taking him to speak
clearly enough that the other agents could almost
pretend that he didn't have a disability.

"Mulder," she said tenderly, moving to take his
hands, "you can sign.  I'll
understand you."

Mulder's eyes seemed to be deliberating about
something as he shook his
head and slipped his hands from underneath hers.

"No," he decided finally,
"it's...im...im...imppp..."

"Important?" Scully suggested gently.  Shooting
her a look of disgust, Mulder
backed away from her so rapidly that his chair
scraped the floor.  Even without
speech, his message was clear: This was something
he intended to tell her out loud, himself, without
any input.  No matter how painful Scully found it
to listen to him struggle, she knew she owed
Mulder her silence.

"The wo...wo...wordddd...*words*," he shot out,
choking for air, "are therrr-
there.  But somew-w-w-where between my bbbbrain
and my mou...mou...*mou*..."
He paused, looking at her helplessly.

"I want," Mulder said carefully, "to be
ay...aaaaaa...able to t...t..."

But the word simply would not come to him.  He
shook his head, clearly
frustrated.  Scully quickly stepped in front of
him.

"I know you do," she soothed.  "But your words
don't mean any less if you
need to sign them rather than say them."

"Te-te-tell thhhhat to D-d-d-uh-uhgggg -- " Mulder
spat, and gave up as
the words died on his lips.  He took a deep
breath.  "I waaaaaahhh-- *want*...you to un-n-n-
n...uh-uhhh...understand," he said quietly.  "D-
despite hhhow I s-s-sound.  I'm sss...I'm s-
stilllll in hhhhhuhhhhh-he-
here, Ssscc-Sssccuhhhh -- "

Scully tensed; her name was, without question,
still the most difficult thing for him to say.
But Mulder, rocking forward with the effort, was
determined: "Scccuhh-Sscccuhhhl-l-l-llly."

Scully could almost feel her heart tearing in two.

"Mulder," she answered softly, "I know you are.  I
know that you are one of
the most passionate, articulate people I have ever
met.  And I know that hasn't
changed."

"How?" he said despondently.

"Mulder," she said firmly.  "You've become nearly
fluent in American Sign
Language almost overnight.  You're still the ISU's
best consultant.  You're working your ass off
against incredible odds -- "

"Real muh...muh...*movie* of the...weeeeee...week-
k-k...material," he
interrupted.  Scully shot him a glare.

"Does that make it any less extraordinary?" she
demanded.  "Like it or not,
Mulder, you've taken the raw deal that was handed
to you and you're making the
best out of it.  And you're doing quite a
remarkable job of it, I might add."

After a beat, Mulder smiled at her and signed
something she couldn't
translate.  Relieved, Scully said, "What was that?
I'm sorry, Mulder, I couldn't quite catch it."

Mulder stuttered, but he seemed more at ease with
it than he had since his
injury.  "T...tttttough lo...love," he said.

Scully smiled back at him.  "Tough love," she
signed in ASL.  "Ready to call
it a night?" she said, waiting expectantly for him
to rise from his chair.

Mulder hesitated.

"Leh...llllleh...leg-g-g," he finally admitted
softly.  "Nnnnuhh...n-n-neeee-
*uhhhhhg*-g-g-gggg..."  He gagged a little, then
regained control.  "...need.  Cruh.  Cruh.  Cay-
cay-cay...n.  *annnnne*."  His face was white.

Scully's heart pounded in her ears; she hadn't
understood him at all.   She
must have looked puzzled, because Mulder lifted
his right hand and very slowly
finger-spelled to her.

C-a-n-e.  Then he tried again: C-r-u-t-c-h.

"Oh, Mulder," Scully whispered, horrified.  He had
left the hospital with a
fitted crutch, and Scully had been sure to bring
it to their office at Quantico, but Mulder had
seemed so sure on his feet that she had wrongly
assumed he would never need it.

"I'll go get it," she said numbly.  As she watched
Mulder maneuver
agonizingly to his feet, she saw what she had
earlier failed to notice: Mulder's right leg was a
dead weight behind him, and he leaned heavily on
the crutch as he began to walk towards the door.

"It'll...g-g-g-gggg...go awahhhh-awayuhhhhggg --
away," he tried to
reassure her.

"Mulder," she said, moving to support him, "you're
exhausted, let me help
you."

But Mulder swatted her away.

"Not...muhhhh -- mmmmuhhhhh -- mmmmmuhhhh..."  He
stopped and sighed.
"You're not my mother," he signed.  "I'll be fine,
Scully, it just seized up on me."

Scully was skeptical, but she nodded.  In the car
ride home, Mulder didn't
speak at all until she pulled up in front of his
apartment.  Whether it was chivalry or pride that
had convinced him he had to say goodnight to her
out loud, Scully didn't know.  But Mulder signed,
"Thanks for the ride" and then spoke.

His stutter was devastating to them both.

"Gggg-g-g-ggoo-gggoo-ood-ood-nuhhhhhg-g-g-niiii-
niiiiiiii-nnnnight-t-t," he
gagged, his voice strangled and barely human.

In the passenger seat, he closed his eyes briefly.
Scully reached across for
him.

"Mulder..." she started to say.  But Mulder shook
his head abruptly and got
out of the car, slamming the door shut as he
walked to the door.

* * *

The next morning, Scully pulled Jamie aside the
minute she arrived at
Quantico.

"You can't ask him to speak anymore," she said in
a low voice.  Jamie looked
startled.

"Good morning to you too, Scully," she said.
"What?"  Scully sighed.

"Mulder," she elaborated.  "He's exhausted.  He
limped out of here with his
cane last night, he could barely speak."

Jamie's eyes flashed.  "You don't think I've
noticed?" she said.  "I'm a speech
pathologist, Scully, it's my job to notice.  But
you can't force a man -- particularly *that* man -
- to remain silent.  It's not going to happen.
He's going to keep working at it, and God willing
he'll have a breakthrough."

Scully rocked back on her heels, stunned.  "You
think that will happen?" she
said, momentarily forgetting their argument.
Jamie bit her lip.

"He's working extraordinarly hard," she said.
"Something has to give, one
way or the other."

Scully stared at her.

"You think this is in his head," she said
accusingly.  "That if he could just get past his
frustration or his fear of how he sounds when he
speaks, he would lose his stutter."

Jamie was already shaking her head.  "No, Scully,
that's not it at all," she
said forcefully.  "Yes, Mulder becomes agitated
when he struggles with his speech, and yes, that
does tend to perpetuate a cycle of stuttering, but
-- "  She paused.

"We've been over this, Scully," she said in a
softer voice.  "You've seen him
using ASL.  You know he's more than capable.  But
when he's engaged, when he's
truly invested in getting his point across -- he
will always turn to speech rather than sign.  You
know Mulder better than I do, probably better than
anyone.  Do you honestly think you can get him to
give up speaking -- to give up *trying* to speak -
- just because that would be *easier* for him?"

Scully broke away from her gaze.

"No," she admitted softly.  "No, I don't.  But
Jamie..."

Jamie looked at her expectantly.

"I'm worried about him," she confessed.

"Wor-wor-worried abouttt who?"

Startled, Scully whirled around and came face to
face with Mulder.  She
sighed; it wouldn't do her any good to lie.

"About you, Mulder," she said quietly.  To her
surprise, rather than the stiff
rebuttal she had anticipated, Mulder seemed to
deflate in front of her.

"I...knnnow yyyou a...are," he said in a low
voice.  "But you...you-you-you
ccccan heh...hehhh...helppp."

"How?" she said, reaching out to cover his hands
with her own.

"By l...lll...let-t-ting-g-g mmmmuh -- me do,"
Mulder said haltingly,
"what...I ha...hhhhaaaaa...hhhaaaa-vuh-vuh-vuh-
vuh-vuh---" Mulder stuttered
uncontrollably for a moment, then calmed.  "...to
do."

"Mulder..." Scully started to say.

"I know you want me to sign," Mulder said in ASL.
"It would make it easier
for me and easier for everyone else to
understand."  Mulder let his hands drop to his
side.

"But I...I...I need...need...to d-do thi-thi-thi-
s-s-s.  In my...my
oh...ohhhhhh...own...way.  If thhhhat mmmay --
makes it ha...hhhhaaahaaaarddd --
harrrrddd f-f-for y-you..."

He spread his hands apart helplessly.  Scully
shook her head, feeling tears
threaten to fill her eyes.

"Okay, Mulder," she said softly, "you do what you
need to do.  I'm with you,
you know that.  But what I said to you last night
still stands."

She knocked the first two fingers of her hands
together and and then crossed
both palms over her heart.

"Tough love," she said.

Mulder gave her a small smile.

"How's your leg?" she asked after a short pause.
Mulder glanced away, not
quite meeting her eyes.

"Fffine," he said.  "I t-told...you it wa-wa-
would-d-d l-l-lllloosen...up."

"Mulder," Scully said gently, "if you're having
trouble walking..."
 "I'll t-el...el...elll...you," he promised.
"But I'm not."  The sentence
tumbled out of his mouth with remarkable clarity,
and Mulder's eyes widened almost imperceptibly in
surprise.

"Well," Scully said briskly, not wanting to make a
scene over it, "I'm going to
get some coffee.  Do you want anything?"

Mulder simply shook his head, as if he didn't
trust himself to speak again.

* * *

When Scully returned, she could hear Agent
Douglas' voice coming from
inside their office.  She sighed and pushed open
the door with slightly more force than necessary.

"The...connection...is...th-there," Mulder was
saying determinedly; Scully
knew he was speaking slowly to avoid stuttering,
but, she thought, it also gave off the impression
that Mulder was speaking to a small child.

"It's *not*!" Douglas replied, slamming his fist
down on the desk.
"Look, Mulder.  I want to work with you on this.
But you've gotta find a different angle -- "

"Lllllook...again."

Douglas sighed in disgust and pushed his chair
away from the desk.  "Look
yourself," he muttered.

"Can I help you, Agent Douglas?" Scully asked
pleasantly as she stepped into
the room.

"Yes," Douglas replied tightly.  "You can convince
your partner that I'm not
just disagreeing with him out of spite."

"I'm aware of the situation," Scully replied.
"And I'm aware that Agent
Mulder feels strongly about the facts of his
profile."

"S-s-sssomethinggg," Mulder spoke up.  "Nnno
matter...how...how...sma-
small."

Douglas blew out a breath.  "All right," he said.
"But when you come to
your senses, give me a call."

He left the room.  Mulder and Scully looked at
each other for a moment, and
Mulder sighed.

"I've got to get out there myself, Scully," he
said.

Scully's eyes widened in shock, but Mulder didn't
seem to realize what had
just happened.  Across the room, Jamie let out a
low whistle.

"Fox Mulder," she said, stunned, "you're going to
put me out of a job."

Mulder gave her a questioning look.  "What?" he
signed, striking his right
index finger against his palm.

"Mulder," Jamie sputtered, "do you have any idea
what you just said?"

Mulder shook his head slowly, and Jamie threw up
her hands.

"You said, 'I've got to to get out there myself,
Scully.'"

Mulder sat back in his chair.  "Doug-Doug-Douglas
is......bring...bringing
me noth-nothinggg," he said.

Scully stood up and crossed over to his desk.
"Mulder, it wasn't what you
said, it was how you said it," she said.

"You didn't stutter," Jamie interjected.  "At
all."

Mulder's eyes were distant, unfocused.  "I don...I
don...I d-d-don't
rememmmm -- rememb-b-er...that," he admitted.  He
looked over at Jamie.

"What...do y-y-you...think it...means?"

Jamie shook her head slowly.  "I couldn't even
begin to tell you, Mulder.
Aphasiacs rarely make spontaneous recoveries, even
with single sentences, but..."

Mulder stared at her for a moment.  "Some-some-
some sppppeech --
speech thhhh...thhhhherapist y-y-you...are," he
grumbled.  Jamie grinned.

"What was that, Mulder?  I couldn't quite hear
you," she said cheerfully.
Mulder frowned at her.

"Never...tease...a man w-with a...spppeech
impe......iment," he said
with irritation.

But Scully felt a wave of hope swelling within
her.  Mulder's speech was
clearer than it had been in weeks.  Maybe, she
couldn't help thinking, today had
been the breakthrough they were looking for.

She had no way of knowing how wrong she was.
 
 

* * *
 

The next day, Scully and Mulder had barely taken their
coats off when a
breathless Jim Thale appeared in the doorway.

"Don't make yourselves comfortable," he said without
preamble.  "We've got another one."

Scully shot Mulder a resigned glance as they got to
their feet.  Jamie, looking
anxious, stood up as well, but stopped short when
Mulder firmly shook his head.

"N-n-no," he said.  "A ccccrimuh-muh-crrrrime scene
is...no pppp-place
for a...sppp-speech...pathollllllo...ggggist.  I
hahavvve to...ttttry...thhhis...on my...own."

Jamie looked only slightly hurt as she sat back in her
chair.  On their way out the door, she pulled him aside.

"Mulder," she said in a low voice, "are you sure
you're up to this?"

The glare Mulder returned was all the answer Scully
needed.

The crime scene was similar to the others: an alley,
this one tucked behind a
convenience store.  Scully glanced at Mulder as they
pulled up beside an area that had been sectioned off
with yellow police tape.  He was gazing out the
window, his eyes someplace far away, but Scully knew
better than to think he was daydreaming.

"Mulder, we're here," she said as she shut the car
off.  Mulder blinked once and then grimaced.

"Doesn't...doesn't...doesn't muh-muh-mmmmaaaa --
make..."  He let out an
explosive sigh and signed the word 'sense' in her
direction.  Scully frowned;
Mulder's speech had been so clear yesterday, almost
normal, and yet today he was
already having a great deal of difficulty.

"What doesn't?" she said as they unbuckled their seat
belts and got out of the
car.

"Lllllo -- lo-locccation.  Wh-wh-why...alleys?
Nnnnnot...nnnnot-t-t...crime
of...op - op -- 'opportunity,'" he signed.

Scully shook her head.  "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said
quietly, "I'm not sure I'm following."

Mulder blew out a frustrated breath.
"Too...expppp...expo-oh-osssed."

Scully was becoming more confused by the second.
"You're convinced these
murders were pre-meditated?" she asked.  Mulder
stopped short and stared at her piercingly.

"Wh-wh-whyyy www-wwwould you-you-you qu --
quesssss...wh -- why would you ques - ques --
*question* me on - on -- on thhhhthat?" he asked, each
word constricted as if squeezing through a vice.  Scully
sighed.

"Mulder, I'm not questioning your judgement, you know
that -- " she started to say.  But Mulder's eyes, angry and
hooded, had already shut down.

The two agents made their way past a host of police
officers milling around
the crime scene to the body itself.  Like the others,
the man's throat had been cut with a single slash that
severed his carotid artery.

"From the looks of things, he's been here several
hours," Scully observed.
Mulder nodded absently and muttered something she
couldn't make out.

"What?" she said, glancing over at him.  He looked at
her with an expression
very close to an outright scowl and Scully suddenly
realized what she had done.  In the past, she thought,
if Mulder had said something under his breath at a
crime scene, she likely would have assumed he was just
thinking out loud and ignored him.  But now, she was
fighting to define every word he spoke, and it was
obviously irking him.

Her thoughts were forgotten as Mulder suddenly bent
over the body, peering
closely at the dead man's hands.

"Lllloo-lllloo-llllook-k-kkk," Mulder choked out.
Scully looked; on the right
hand, a small band of skin was a lighter color than
the rest of the man's hand.

"He was wearing a wedding ring," Scully said,
surprised.  Mulder nodded.

"S-s-so wh-wh-where d-d-ddddid-d-d it gggg-g-g-g -- "

The G sounded against his throat with a resounding
thwack, but refused to
budge.  Scully pretended not to notice as several
police officers turned slightly in curiosity or
averted their gaze as they listened to Mulder's
strained speech.

"That's the $64,000 question, Mulder," Scully
responded, pulling on a pair of
latex gloves and moving to search the ground for the
evidence.  Mulder pretended to look wounded.

"I'm the one in this partnership who's supposed to
make the crime scene
jokes," he signed.  Scully gave him a small smile and
then flagged down the police officer who had secured
the scene.

"Did you happen to find a wedding ring, by any
chance?"  She nodded down
at the body.  "We think he was wearing one."

The officer shook his head.  "Nowhere, Agent Scully."

She thanked him and turned back to Mulder.  "Well,"
she said thoughtfully, "he may not have been wearing
it at the time of his murder."

But Mulder, whose expression was one of intense
concentration, looked as
though a light bulb had just been switched on inside
his head.  Scully, who had seen this happen to her
partner a thousand times before, was almost willing to
bet that it had.

"Hhhhe wa-wa-was," Mulder answered, not looking
directly at her but somewhere past her.  "I'm -- I'm --
I'm sssssure of it."

"How?" Scully asked.

Mulder shook his head slightly.  "A fff...a feeling,"
he said.  Abruptly he
signed to her: "You finish up here.  I'll catch a ride
back to the Bureau."

"Mulder, wait!"

Mulder stopped to face her.

"A feeling?" she demanded.  "What's going on, Mulder?"

"I'll explain later," he signed, and then strode off.

In shock, Scully watched him go.  Just like old times,
she thought ruefully.

* * *

Several hours later, Scully returned to the Bureau
after performing an
autopsy.  Mulder motioned her excitedly into the
office.

"Scully," he signed, "take a look at this."

In front of her, he spread out three photos of the
three previous victims.
Scully studied them closely and then sat back in
shock.

"Missing wedding rings," she said.  "The killer's
collecting them.  Trophies?"

Mulder shook his head.  "No-no," he said.  "I
thhhhthhhinkkk...sssss...sssssome-ome-ommmmethinggg
ellllelse."

Scully cocked her head.  "What?"

In response, Mulder smiled, clearly on to something.

"Our vvvvvvuhh," he started to say, his smile quickly
melting to frustration.
"Our vuhhh-vuhhhh-vvvvvvuhhhhh -- *victims*," he
finally spat out, "were-were-
weren'tttt mmmmaaaaahhh-mmmmuhhhh-muh-muh-marrrrieddd.
Married."

Scully stared at him.  "What?" she said.

"Mulder's right," a grudging voice spoke up from the
doorway.  Scully turned; it belonged to Mike Douglas.

"They were gay," he continued, stepping into the room.
"All of them frequented gay bars in the area -- and Mulder, before
you ask, nobody, and I mean nobody, can place any two
of our vics together at any one of these places at any
time."

"Why would they be wearing wedding rings if they were
unmarried and gay?" Scully wondered aloud.

But Mulder was nodding already as if this made sense
to him.  "Nnn --
nnnnnnuhhh-need yyyyou to...fi-ffffuhhh-
finnnnddd...pictures of-of-of our
vvvvvvihhhh-vvvvvviccc-c-c-ctims."  Scully leaned
forward, concerned; Mulder
was breathing hard, nearly gasping for air.

"Bbbbef-f-fffore...mur-mur-murd-d-dered.  Need to...s-
s-ssssee...r-r-
rrrruhhhhhhh-ring-g-g."

Douglas glanced at Scully and then gave a small shrug.
"Mulder, I'm sorry,"
he said, more politely than Scully had ever heard him,
"but I didn't understand."

Mulder made a strangled noise of frustration in his
throat.  "Thhhhuh-uh-uh-
uhhh wwwwehhhh-weddinggg...rings," he repeated
insistently.  "I
need...need...to ssssssssss...see them."

Douglas hesitated.  "All right," he said finally.
"Let me check upstairs, I may
have some older photographs of the victims with the
other files in my office."

Mulder refused to meet her eyes as Douglas left the
room.

"Wha -- whattt diddd your...au...au...autopppsy f-
find?" he asked.

"Unfortunately," not very much," Scully replied.  "His
throat was cut, just
like the others."

"Ttttall?"

Scully blinked.

"What?  I'm sorry, Mulder, I'm not following."

Mulder took a deep breath.  "Wwwwaaaaa...was...was the
asssssailant...tttaller
thhhhan...the vvvvvv-vvvvvv-vvvvvvvv-"  He closed his
eyes briefly, as if in
pain.  "Victim?" he managed.

"Actually," Scully said thoughtfully, momentarily
forgetting her concern for
Mulder, "I don't believe he was.  The pattern of the
knife wounds on his neck look like the killer was
slashing up, not down."

"Ccccan...eh-ehhhh-estttimuh-muh-mmmmate
hhhhaaaaheight?"

"The victim was 5'11"..." Scully started to say, but
Mulder cut her off
angrily.

"Of the...kkkkill-killer."

"...so I would estimate the killer's height to be 5'7"
or 5'8"," Scully finished
patiently.  Mulder looked thoughtful.

"Sh-sh-shorrrttt," he said absently, his words
beginning to bleed together in a garbled blend Scully
had trouble deciphering.  "Hhhhe's...n-not
hhhhuuuuuhhhh-
hhhhand...ssssome.  Nnnnottt sttt-sssttt-strong...ong
orororuhhhh -- atttttracacacttttiv-tiv-tttivvv.
Ssssmmmmuhhhhssssmmmah-ah-al-l-l.  Hhhhhehehe's
ccccomp -- comp -- "

He stopped abruptly, his jittery eyes searching her
face; his own face was a
mask of despair.

"You...yyyyou ccccan...can...can'ttt und-d-d-und-uh-
uh-uh...understttt-
ssstt-ssssttttanddd me, cccc...cccaaaah-ah-aaaahhhh-a-
a-a-a-a-ahhhh -- "  Scully
tried not to flinch; Mulder, unable to control the
sound of his voice, had trailed abruptly into
something inhuman.

"I'm having trouble," Scully admitted softly when
Mulder fell silent.  "Your
speech, Mulder, it's unpredictable, and today..."

Mulder dropped his head almost to his chest.
"Nnn...nnn...not wor-wor-
workinggguhhh," he said in a low voice, wincing
slightly at the grunt that had tacked itself on to the
end of his sentence.  Scully lightly placed her hand
on his shoulder.

"What isn't?" she said.  Mulder closed his eyes and
tried to gather his breath.

"This!"  The word seemed to tear out of him.   "I
ccc...I ccccaaaannn'ttt..."

The word sounded like a frightening wail and seemed to
tear Scully's heart in two.

"What?" she said sharply.  "What can't you do?  Is it
so devastating to hear
'Mulder, I'm having a little trouble understanding
your verbal speech right now, can you please sign that
for me'?  Is it such a blow to your ego that you can't
accept it?"

Mulder looked at her as though she had struck him.

"Mulder, we have been over this," Scully went on.
"You were shot in the
head.  You're lucky to be ali -- "  She stopped
suddenly, feeling tears threaten to fill her voice.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," Scully continued.
"Nothing.  But I
don't know how many more times or in how many
different ways I can say this to
you before you believe me.  There are certain facts
you have to accept now.  Your speech is something that
only you can control.  It is something that only you
can modulate.  When you get upset, when you get
agitated, it deteriorates.  Markedly.  It may do that
for the rest of your life, Mulder.  And if you don't
accept that -- if you continue to push yourself the
way you are -- you could knock yourself into another
seizure.  You could have a stroke.  And what-what will
you have accomplished then, Mulder?"

Mulder didn't answer.  She grabbed his hand.  "But you
have given yourself,"
she said in a quieter tone, "the ability to
communicate.  Your head, and your heart, and your
hands -- Mulder, all the most important parts of you,
everything I lo -- "

She stopped herself abruptly again; she had been about
to say 'love.'  And
that was a word she and Mulder didn't use with each
other, not yet.

"Everything that makes you who you are," she said
softly, turning his hands
so that his palms were facing up, "is right here."
She touched his chest gently.  "And here."  She
smoothed her hands over his forehead as he let his
eyes flutter closed.  "And here."

"I know I said that I would support your decision,"
Scully continued in a
whisper, blinking away tears, "but Mulder...you don't
have to be hard on yourself in order to do your job
well.  It's not a sign of weakness to need someone to
interpret sign language for you, or bring you a cane
if your leg is tired.  I know that you can speak, and
walk.  I know.  I'm not asking to be your -- "  She
hesitated.  "Your nursemaid, Mulder."

It had been a poor choice of words; Mulder looked as
though she had slapped him.

"I want to be able to help you if and when you decide
that you need help,"
she said hastily.  "Please, let me do that for you."

Mulder's expression was unreadable; he looked both
furious and as if he
might cry at any minute.  But then he squared his
shoulders and sucked in a deep
breath as if gearing up for a great effort.

"I'll-I'll-I'll thhhhthinnnkkk a...a...abbbout it," he
said.

Scully let out a breath she didn't realize she had
been holding.  She hadn't
expected Mulder to acquiesce immediately, nor did she
envision herself caring for him as if he were a child.
But she was at least half as frustrated by his speech
problems as he was, and her heart ached to help him in
some way.

They stood for a minute, facing each other, until
their reverie was broken by
the arrival of Mike Douglas.

"I got what you were looking for, Mulder," he said,
studiously ignoring the
way their eyes seem to be flashing warning signs at
each other.  "Pictures of our four victims taken
shortly before they were murdered."

He spread them out on a table in front of them.

"This is #1," he said, pointing, "holding a beer at a
friend's engagement party.  See the ring?"

Mulder nodded.

"#2," Douglas continued, "at the finish line of a 10K
race.  #3 here is waving
to the camera, and #4 -- he's playing catch.  Anything
look unusual to you?"

Mulder studied the photos briefly and then looked up
at them, his eyes triumphant.

"It's the...say...say...sammme rrrihhh - rinnnnn -- ring-g-
g," he nearly choked out, his stutter fierce now and
unrelenting.  "Nnnnottt...thhhhthhhheir-r-rssss.  Ggg-
ggg-gi-vuh-vuh-vuh -- *given* t-t-to
thhhhuuhhhhthhhhhuhhhhthhhhhemmm.  Bbbbb-bbbb -- bbby.
Kkkk -- kkkk - kkkk -- kih-kih-kih-kih -- kill -- uhhhhnngggguh --
Uhhhhhnnnngggg -- uh-uh-uhhhhhnnnnnggggg..."  Mulder was
rocking forward, his eyes unfocused but somehow
totally resolute.

Dear God.  Scully sucked in a breath, feeling utterly
helpless as Mulder strained futilely; his speech had
completely disintegrated.  Beside her, Agent Douglas
looked like he was trying hard not to reveal his
revulsion.

"Mulder," he said in a low voice.  "Mulder, I can't
understand you.  *No one can understand you.*  For
God's sakes, just sign your damn theory -- "  He
stopped, embarrassed.

But when Scully looked into Mulder's eyes, she was
alarmed to see not determination but outright panic.
His mouth formed the shape of a word, and his eyes
were desperate now, locked on hers as his body rocked
back and forth; she suddenly had the terrifying
thought that Mulder was going to speak to her now or
die trying.

But what came out of his mouth in panicked, insistent
gasps was not recognizable as speech; it was, Scully
thought with horror, barely recognizable as human.

"Kkkkkih-kih - killlllluuuhhhhnnnggggguhhhuhhhhh --
kuhkuhkkkillllluhguh-guh-guhhhhhhgggg..."  His lips
slammed shut, and Scully knew with a sinking heart
that Mulder was no longer fighting to speak at all but
simply to survive the assault his aphasia had wrought.

"Uh-uh-uhhhhhh-uhhhhhhhhhuuuuuhhhhhh..."  It
seemed to go on and on, a low, gritty moaning that
tore at Scully's heart.  Mulder was locked into the
stutter, unable to stop his panicked grunting; the
sound burst out of him, utterly out of his control.

<He can't breathe>, Scully realized, desperate
to stop him.  "Mulder," she commanded sharply.
"Mulder!"  Douglas simply stared at him, frozen in
horror.

But Mulder was hyperventilating, his breath a loud,
desperate keening in her ears.  "Uh-uh-uh-
uhhhuhhhhuuuuhhhhgggg...uhhhhhuhhhhuhhhh..."  He was
gagging now, choking on the syllables that seemed to
be pouring from his throat.  Through her fear, Scully
thought she could recognize an attempt at a word in
Mulder's gasps:
"Hhhhuuuuhhhhuuuuhhhhuuuuhhhhh...*hhhhhuuuuuuhhhhh*..."

No one else would have picked up on it, but Scully,
though terrified for him, recognized it instinctively.

Mulder was trying to say <help me.>

"Hhhhhuuuuuhhhhuuuhhhhhuuuuhhhhhuh -- " He drew in an
impossibly sharp breath, the sound of it seeming to
tear through his lungs.  His eyes were pleading with
her, and then, without warning, they began to roll
back in his head.

"Sssssscccccchhhhhuuuuuuhhhh*uh*-*uh*-*uh*-*uh*-*uh*-
*uh* -- "

Frantic, Scully recognized the fierce staccato
that signaled the onset of a seizure.

"Mulder!" she nearly screamed.  "You need to calm
down.  We're just going to calm down and regain
control, okay?  Okay.  Let's just calm down.  Calm
down," she repeated.

Mulder sucked in a breath, then another.  "*Huh*-huh-
*hhhhuuuuhhhhh*..."

"Good," Scully said quietly.  "Keep breathing, Mulder,
keep breathing with me.  Calm down.  Calm down.  I
understood you, Mulder.  I understood you.  It's not
going to be the last thing I ever hear you say.  I
understood you."

A huge shudder ran through Mulder's body as his
tremors gradually subsided and he began to calm down.
A wide-eyed Douglas, who seemed to be afraid that it
might transform itself into a sob, backed toward the
doorway.

"I'm going to follow up on that ring lead," he said,
and then fled the room.

Mulder was still breathing in audible gasps, and
Scully reached over to rub his back.

"It's okay, Mulder," she said softly, "you're okay.
Right?"

Mulder glanced up at her with hollow eyes and then
nodded, drawing in an experimental breath that, at
last, did not seem to sear his throat.  A last,
garbled gasp escaped him, and then his lips clamped
down, utterly still.

"I'll get you some water," Scully said, and made her
way on shaky legs into the hallway.  It wasn't until
she reached the bathroom that she realized she was
crying, silent, gulping sobs that seemed to come from
deep inside her throat.  She pushed open the door of
the bathroom and her legs gave way; she felt herself
sliding down the wall until she was sitting on the
floor.

<Please>, she thought desperately, <please, please
pull it together.>

She sat for as long as she dared, then blew her nose
and splashed water on her face.  When she returned to
the office, she found Mulder sitting in the same
position she had left him in, staring ahead and
breathing with telltale hitches that told her he was
still having trouble catching his breath.

When he saw her, he raised his hands and Scully saw
that they were trembling.

"S-c-u-l-l-y," he spelled.  Scully felt her lips
tighten.

"Now you'll sign?" she asked him, her voice
frighteningly devoid of emotion.  Mulder closed his
eyes briefly as if she had wounded him.

"You were right," he signed.  "It was a stupid thing
to do, I'm sorry -- "

"Sorry for what?" she cut him off furiously.  "Sorry
to whom?  Sorry for frightening Agent Douglas?  Sorry
for putting me in the position of having to talk you
out of another life-threatening seizure?  Or just
sorry you couldn't say what you wanted to say when you
wanted to say it?"

Mulder was managing to look angry and hurt at the same
time.  "I thought..." he signed hesitantly.  He took a
deep breath.

"You've explained it to me, the doctors have explained
it to me, Jamie has explained it to me," he signed
rapidly.  "But part of me thought that the aphasia was
only in my head.  That if I were determined enough, I
could push past it."  He looked away from her.

Some of Scully's fury seemed to vanish with Mulder's
words.  She had accused Jamie of thinking the same
thing just the day before, and she couldn't deny that
Mulder had every right to be frustrated.

"And then you wouldn't have to admit to having
suffered a debilitating brain injury," she said
softly, thinking back to the day when Mulder had
described his aphasia as a 'condition.'

Mulder nodded.

"It's like I can't trust my own ability to
communicate," he signed.  "Some days, I'm just a guy
with a small stammer.  I can concentrate hard enough
to make myself understood.  And other days..."  He
shook his head.

"I'm afraid..." he continued tentatively.  "I'm afraid
that one day it might be gone altogether.  And if I
lose my ability to speak, what's to say I won't lose
the ability to comprehend speech, to write, to read,
to sign?"  His eyes were sorrowful and piercing, and
Scully felt herself drawn in by them.  She stepped
closer to him.

"Unfortunately," she said quietly, "nothing can
guarantee that, Mulder."  He swallowed convulsively,
another shudder running through him.

"But you can't live your life in fear of something
that is only a possibility," she continued.  "And you
can't live your life like this, either.  Mulder..."  She
swallowed.

"You can't keep doing this," she said in a whisper.
"You can't ask me to keep doing this, Mulder, because
I won't.  You have to decide, Mulder.  What is it
worth?  If the price of speech is your life...isn't that
too high?"

He looked away from her for a moment and then back,
opening his mouth instinctively to answer, but all he
could manage was a few garbled syllables --
"Ggguhguhgggg -- " -- and then he fell silent.

Scully had the feeling it might be Mulder's last
attempt at speech in a long time.

***
 

That night, Scully received a phone call from Jamie
Vizzio.
 
"Mulder told me what happened," she said before Scully
could say a word.  Scully's lips tightened.
 
"He told you, or he signed to you?"
 
Jamie sighed.  "He sent me an e-mail, actually."  She
paused.  "He told me you coaxed him out of a seizure,"
she said softly.  "Is that true?"
 
Scully closed her eyes, thinking back to the
terrified, high-pitched sounds Mulder had made as he
nearly started to convulse.
 
"It was more like he was coaxing himself into one,"
she answered.  "You have no idea how frightening..."
She trailed off, unable to continue.
 
"I've never seen anything like it," Jamie agreed
quietly.  "And I heard there may have been a break in
the case?"
 
Scully opened her eyes, startled; she had forgotten
all about the case that had provoked Mulder's struggle
that afternoon in the first place.
 
"All four victims were wearing the same 'wedding ring'
just before they were murdered," Scully explained.
"Mulder thinks it was probably a gift from their
killer."  To be honest, Scully couldn't summon the
energy to care.
 
"See?" Jamie said softly.  "You did understand him."
 
"Of course I understood him.  I understood that he was
nearly killing himself to make sure that I could,"
Scully snapped.  Jamie fell silent.
 
"Dana..." she started to say.  Scully sighed.
 "
He's punishing himself enough," Scully said.  "I know.
I know."
 
Scully's phone beeped.
 
"Jamie, that's my call waiting," she said.  "I have to
go."
 
On the other line was a breathless Mike Douglas.
 
"Agent Scully," he said, "you're not gonna believe
this."
 
"What?" she said, her pulse quickening.
 
"We got him.  We got the guy."
 
"*What*?" she repeated incredulously.  "How?"
 
"Mulder's catch," he answered.  "The ring.  Belonged
to a pawn shop dealer who was re-selling it -- "
 
" -- as a way to mark his victims," Scully interrupted
slowly.
 
"And he gave it up, easy as pie," Douglas said with
relish.  "Easiest bust that ever went down in the ISU,
no sweat.  I wanted to give you a call, figured you'd
want to let Mulder know."  He hesitated.  "Is he...okay,
Agent Scully?"
 
Scully's head was still spinning.  "Yes," she said
faintly.  "He'll be fine."
 
But as she hung up the phone, she couldn't help
thinking.  It had been such a simple case, one whose
details she doubted either she or Mulder would
remember in years to come.  It had been a simple case,
and it had almost destroyed him.
 
What would it be like when things got harder?
 
* * *

Days later, Mulder was still silent, and Scully was
unnerved by it.  There had to be, she thought, some
middle ground -- some place where Mulder could speak when
he felt able and fall back on ASL when he began having
difficulty.  But he hadn't reached it yet, and it was
obviously putting a strain on their professional and
personal relationship.
 
A week after they had closed the ISU case and resigned
themselves to sorting through their own backlogged
files, Skinner appeared in the doorway of the X-Files
office looking decidedly uncomfortable.
 
"Agent Mulder," he said.  "I apologize for the short
notice.  But I need to ask you to be present in
Conference Room C tomorrow morning at nine."
 
Mulder gave him a questioning look, and Skinner
hesitated.
 
"There's going to be a formal inquiry," he said
finally, "into the Ansler incident."
 
Mulder froze, and Scully could hear his breath
quicken.  She remembered his near-panic attack in the
hospital when she had brought up Ansler's name and
shot Skinner a warning glance.
 
"I was there, Agent Mulder," Skinner continued.
"But...is there something that happened during that
operation beyond what I saw?"
 
Mulder drew in a breath and then carefully shook his
head.
 
"Mulder?" Skinner pressed.  Mulder's lips clamped down
in a gesture that seemed almost violent, and he looked
away.  Scully and Skinner exchanged uneasy glances.
 
As the partners weren't currently on active duty,
Mulder had informed Jamie that her services would not
be required.  Now, Scully interpreted as Mulder
signed: "You said it yourself, sir.  You were there.
You saw what happened."
 
"Tomorrow morning at nine, then," he said, and added
as an afterthought: "Agent Scully, you're welcome to
attend as well."
 
<I wouldn't miss it for the world>, Scully thought
dryly as she snuck a worried glance in Mulder's
direction.

* * *

The inquiry started out, Scully thought, normally
enough.  Jamie had accompanied them to serve as
Mulder's interpreter -- Scully highly doubted Mulder
would test his vocal speech ability in a room full of
FBI agents -- and Mulder seemed calm and composed as
he answered questions from other agents in the room.
 
The very first statement was a direct hit.
 
"Agent Mulder, we are here today to make a formal
inquiry into the botched raid on Richard Ansler's
warehouse that led to your injury in the line of duty.
For the record, can you please reiterate for us what
that was?"
 
Mulder's eyes burned with cold fury, but he answered
the question.
 
"I was shot in the head," he signed.  "The bullet
damaged my left temporal lobe and caused the onset of
a condition called aphasia, which causes difficulty
with oral speech."
 
The agent who had asked the question nodded,
satisfied.
 
"Agent Mulder, how did you come to be involved in the
Ansler case?" asked another agent.
 
For the first time, Scully noted, Mulder didn't flinch
upon hearing Ansler's name.  She took that as a
positive sign.
 
"I was involved in a case several years ago that led
to the capture of Jesse Dusain."
 
"When you still worked with the Investigative Support
Unit?" another agent interrupted.
 
Mulder nodded.  "Dusain was responsible for several
church bombings in the D.C. area.  Ansler was believed
to be one of his accomplices.  When Ansler failed to
check in with his parole officer and a number of small
bombings matched their M.O., A.D. Skinner asked me to
consult on the case."
 
"A team of agents had been tracking Ansler with
limited success for over three months when you became
involved with the case, Agent Mulder.  How long were
you a consultant before the team was able to pin down
his location?"
 
Mulder hesitated.  "Three days," he signed.  The agent
who had asked the question widened his eyes in
surprise.
 
"Three days?" he repeated.  "Agent Mulder, am I
understanding your interpreter correctly?"
 
Jamie, Scully noted, was shooting the agent a
poisonous look, but he didn't notice.  His implication
that there had been some miscommunication was
obviously frustrating to Mulder, who wasn't accustomed
to being unable to speak for himself.
 
"Y-y-*yesss*," he said, his voice loud and sharp.
Scully drew in a breath; it was the first thing she
had heard him say aloud in over a week.  Several of
the agents in the room exchanged uneasy glances.
 
"Thhhhthere w-w-was a...bbbreak," Mulder continued
aloud, "sh-sh-shorttttly after I...I...arrived."
 
"Tell us about the raid on Ansler's warehouse," a
different agent suggested.  Mulder visibly tensed and
Scully sat forward, every nerve in her body on alert.
 
"There were sixteen agents involved," Mulder signed,
"including myself.  The operation proceeded as planned
until we had Ansler backed into a corner."
 
An agent in the back of the room spoke up.  "Agent
Mulder, A.D. Skinner has stated that you expressed a
strong opinion that Ansler would be, in the words he
ascribed to you, 'ready for us and prepared to use
deadly force.'  Did you, in fact, warn the other
agents involved in the raid that Ansler might be
wearing explosives?"
 
Mulder glanced away.  "Nnno," he said aloud.  "I ddd-
did...not."
 
Scully could see a tall agent in the front row shaking
his head.  He raised his hand partway.  "Respectfully,
I would have to disagree with that," he said.  "Every
single one of us participated in at least four team
meetings with Agent Mulder before the raid took place.
At each one of them, Mulder expressly told us that
Ansler would be prepared for our arrival and would
most likely be strapped with some kind of explosive
device, probably dynamite."
 
The eyes of the agent who had originally asked the
question narrowed.  "Is this true, Agent Mulder?"
 
Mulder nodded.
 
"Well, then," he replied, "which is it?  Did you or
did you not warn the other agents -- "
 
"I dddid...not," Mulder clarified, his throat visibly
constricting as he spoke, "gggive an...official w-w-
warning...ah-as the...raid...bbegan."
 
"But the other agents were aware of your position,"
the agent stated.  Mulder nodded reluctantly.
 
"Agent Mulder," another agent spoke up, "the reason we
want to be so clear on this is that it has come to our
attention that the weapon Ansler was carrying at the
time of the raid was a .44 Magnum."  He paused.  "The
injury you sustained in the course of that raid was
not caused by a .44."
 
Scully sat back in her chair, stunned.  She had been
so busy in the hospital worried about Mulder's life
that she had never inquired as to the
particular source of his gunshot wound.  If Mulder had
not been shot by Richard Ansler...
 
"In previous statements," the agent continued, "you
indicated that Ansler moved to fire his weapon and
that you, quote, got between him and his gun, unquote.
Do you wish to recant that statement now?"
 
Mulder hesitated for a brief second, then shook his
head.  Scully watched him closely.  <He knows who shot
him>, she thought suddenly.  <He's protecting one of
these agents.>  But who?
 
"Agent Mulder, can you describe your position for us
at the time you entered the warehouse?"
 
"In...ffffront," Mulder said, waving off an expectant-
looking Jamie with an impatient flick of his wrist.
"An...Ansssler w-was...in...front of -- of -- of...mmmme."
 
"Did he point his weapon at you at any time?"
 
"Y-yyyes."
 
"When did you know for certain that he was wired?"
 
"Wwwhhhwwhhhewwwhen..."  Mulder took a deep breath,
the word rolling out of him like a tidal wave.  Scully
sat forward, a sick feeling beginning to rise within
her stomach.  "When...he...raised hissss...gu-gu-
gunnnn.  I ssssaw...fl-fl-fffflahahahassshhh."
 
"Did you warn the other agents not to fire?"
 
Mulder stared straight ahead and did not answer.
 
"Agent Mulder -- "
 
"Yeh-yeh-yyyesss," Mulder spat.  Scully noticed with
foreboding the rising cacophony of hysteria in his
words.
 
"Agent Mulder, did any of the other agents involved in
the raid discharge their weapons?"
 
Mulder sat in silent defiance.
 
"Specifically," the agent persisted, "did an agent
named" -- he checked his notes -- "David Winso fire
his weapon during the raid on Richard Ansler?"

Mulder was breathing hard, his breath coming in short,
cruel gasps that echoed throughout the room.  His eyes
scanned the room, which had fallen silent.  Scully
half-rose from her chair.
 
<Please>, she thought desperately, <please, don't make
him do this.>
 
"Agent Mulder," the agent repeated in a slow, deadly
voice, "do you or do you not recall if Special Agent
David Winso fired his weapon during the raid on the
warehouse of Richard Ansler?"
 
He paused for Mulder's answer.  Mulder rocked forward
in his chair.  Scully rose to her feet.
 
"Do you need me to repeat the question?" he asked.
 
"Mulder, you don't have to answer that," Scully called
sharply.  Mulder's head flew up and he sucked in an
explosive breath.
 
"I ddd -- I d-d-dddddoh-doh-doh-donnnnnnn..." he
started to say, and then his eyes locked on hers.  She
would remember the panicked, terrified expression in
them for the rest of her life.  Instinctively, Scully
flung herself forward.
 
"Dddddduh-uh-uh-uh - uhhhhhhhh - hhhhhhhhhhhuh --
hhhhhhhhhhhuh -- ***hhhhhhhhhuuuhhhhhhhuhuhhhhhhh*** -- "
The hoarse, braying sound tore forth from his throat.
 
"Damn it, Mulder!" Scully swore under her breath as
she reached his side.  All around her she could hear
the noisy sound of chairs scraping as agents jumped to
their feet.
 
"Call a paramedic!" she shouted, and turned her
attention to Mulder.

"Mulder, you're having a panic attack," she said
firmly.  "Breathe with me, Mulder, come on, in and
out, breathe with me..."
 
But this time, she was too late to coax him out of it.
Mulder's arm shot out and groped blindly ahead of him
as the terrible sound continued to churn noisily
within, spewing from his throat.
 
"**Hhhhhuh**-**hhhhhhuh**-
***hhhhhhhuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhh***..."  With distant
familiarity Scully recognized the progression: Mulder
was gagging now, unable to catch his breath, choking
on his own attempt at speech.
 
And then suddenly, just as before, the long, agonized
grunts became short, tormented syllables that burst
uncontrollably from deep inside him.  "**Huh-huh-
*huh*-huh-huh-huh-huh-huh-huh-huh-
huhhhhhhhuhhhhhhhuhhhhhhhhhhhh**..."  The last rose
upward on itself, tumbling over and over into an
unbearable, anguished howl that was totally outside
Mulder's control.  The next few moments seemed to
happen in slow motion: Mulder tumbled bonelessly out
of his chair, his head meeting the marble floor with a
sharp crack.  As Scully grabbed frantically for him,
his body began to jerk and shudder wildly -- a full-blown
grand mal seizure.

* * *

Seventeen hours later, an exhausted Scully, her eyes
bleak and red-rimmed, sat in the hospital waiting
room.  Jamie Vizzio had already been by, breathless
and full of apologies, and now as Skinner approached,
the weariness in Scully's eyes turned to fury as she
looked up at Skinner.
 
"What exactly were you trying to accomplish in there?"
she said, her voice dead and cold.
 
Skinner dropped into a chair besides her.
"Scully...Dana...I had no idea.  You have to believe
me."
 
"Did they think they could just startle him into
admitting that he knew he had been shot by a fellow
agent and never gave up the name?" she demanded, her
voice shaking.  "Mulder is a lot of things, sir, not
all of them positive, but he is loyal to a fault.  He
would never voluntarily admit that another agent had
shot him in error.  He would die before he did that."
She swallowed convulsively.  "He may die before he
does that," she said in a near whisper.
 
"How is he?" Skinner asked.

Scully closed her eyes briefly.  "Unconscious,"
she said bluntly.  "He hit his head when he went into
the seizure, he has a moderate concussion.  He'll
likely need to be on seizure medication for the rest
of his life, which will effectively end his career as
a field agent.  And I can only imagine that his
aphasia will be more pronounced when he wakes up,
which will aggravate his right-side weakness to the
point where he may be unable to walk."

Skinner shook his head.  "Scully," he said
grimly, "I need to tell you something."  He averted
his eyes.  "David Winso killed himself a few hours
ago."

Scully sat back in her chair, numb.

"I know Mulder was trying to avoid this,"
Skinner said in a low voice.  "I am so sorry."

Scully stared at him with dull eyes.

"So am I," she said finally.

* * *

When Mulder finally awoke, he was not the panicked,
jittery wreck she had expected him to be.  The
medication had made him groggy, and Scully watched
with a sense of foreboding as he lifted his right
hand.  It seemed to take great effort, and after a
minute an exhausted Mulder let it drop back onto the
blanket.
 
His left hand trembled as he finger-spelled her name.
 
"I scared you," he signed, his hands shaking.  "I'm
sorry."
 
"It wasn't your fault," Scully soothed.  "No one ever
should have asked you to..."  She trailed off,
unwilling to finish.
 
"What...happened?" he signed slowly.
 
"You had a panic attack," Scully explained softly,
"which is perfectly understandable under the
circumstances.  It progressed into a grand-mal
seizure."
 
But Mulder was shaking his head.
 
"At the hearing," he signed.  "Agent Winso."
 
Scully drew in a breath; it was the one piece of
information she desperately wanted to withhold from
him, but as he watched her closely, his eyes pleading,
she knew it was the one piece of information she could
not deny him.
 
"Mulder," she said quietly, "I need to tell you
something."  Her serious tone of voice held his
attention.

"He killed himself last night," she said.

Mulder stared at her.

"Mulder," she said.  "I am so sorry.  But this was not
your fault, none of this -- "

Mulder drew in a strangled breath, a painful-sounding
one that she recognized immediately with a sinking
heart.

"Mulder, no," she commanded.  "Look at me."

"Hhhuh...hhhuh...**huhhhhhhhnnnnngggg** -- hhhhhhhhuh --
hhhhhhhhhuh - hhhhhhhhhhhhhuhhhhhhhuuhhhhhh -- **g-g-g-g-g-
ggggg* -- "  He gagged desperately, trying to suck in
a breath without choking.

"Mulder, *stop*!" Scully cried fearfully.

But Mulder could not stop, had never been able to
stop: "Hhhhhhuh-hhhhhhuh-
hhhhhhhhuuuuuuuhhhhhhhh...hhhhuh-hhhhuh-
hhhhhhhhuuuhhhhhhhh-***ngggggggg***..."

Scully waited for the fierce staccato that would
signal the onset of a seizure, his second grand mal
seizure in less than twenty-four hours, but it never
came; the Dilantin was working.  Instead Mulder
continued to breathe in loud, panicked gasps that
gradually gave way to a limp retching.

"That's good, Mulder," she said calmly, "good.
Breathe, Mulder, just breathe.  There.  Better,
Mulder.  Much better."

Mulder inhaled another series of painful, agonized
breaths and then signed furiously at her.

"I can't speak without having a seizure, and another
agent is dead.  How is that 'better'?"

Scully had no answer.

"Mulder," she said quietly, taking his right hand in
hers, "squeeze my hand."

But Mulder's hand was limp and still beneath her
fingers.  Scully turned her head so that Mulder
wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.

"You have a lot of work ahead of you now, Mulder," she
said.

Mulder nodded, but she could see he was getting tired.

"Square one," he signed with his left hand.  "I don't
plan to jeopardize it again."

Scully smiled.  Time and time again, Mulder was
proving himself to be an incredible fighter.

* * *

Unfortunately, it wasn't an understatement to say that
Mulder was starting from the beginning in terms of his
recovery.  If anything, Scully thought miserably as
several nurses helped him to sit up in bed, things
were much worse.  Mulder's entire right side had been
paralyzed, and while his doctors were optimistic that
physical therapy would help him regain most of his
strength, his current frustration was painfully
obvious.  Scully's heart ached to see her strong,
graceful, articulate partner reduced to finger-
spelling with his left hand and producing occasional
words only with tremendous effort.
 
But Scully could do little more than watch: watch as
Mulder worked harder than she had ever seen him work
in his life at exercises like squeezing a rubber ball
with his right hand.  Even if he had been able to,
Scully thought, Mulder wouldn't be talking much these
days; in all their years together she had never seen
him so single-mindedly focused on a goal.
 
"Incredible, Mulder," Scully said softly one day as
she walked beside his wheelchair.  Mulder's right hand
was cradled protectively in his lap, his left hand
doggedly pushing the wheel of the chair while Scully
steered the back to make sure Mulder didn't veer off
into the wall.  He gave her a questioning look at her
words.
 
"What?" he said aloud, after Scully had given him a
few seconds' pause to come up with the word.  It was
ironic, Scully thought, that Mulder's aphasia had
become the least of their problems; he still struggled
mightily with his speech, but what words he did
produce were clear and free of a stammer.

She smiled.  "You," she said.  Mulder blew out a sigh.

"There is nothing incredible," he signed -- he had
become so adept at rapid finger-spelling with his left
hand that Scully found her brain working overtime just
to translate -- "about a mute man wheeling himself
with one hand."  He paused.  "If I were a circus act,
maybe," he spelled, and gave her a wry smile to let
her know that she was joking.

"Ah, Mr. Mulder, my most studious pupil!" Dr. Appleman
exclaimed as they entered the room.  "How's that hand
strength today, eh?"  He grabbed Mulder's right hand
and Mulder gave it an obliging squeeze.
 
"Ow," Dr. Appleman grimaced and yanked his hand away.
"Mulder, my friend, now you're just showing off."  He
grinned at Scully.  "You try that with your partner,
you'll break her hand."
 
"He knows I would break his first," Scully noted
dryly.  Dr. Appleman winked at her.
 
"That's the spirit," he said kindly, turning his
attention back to Mulder.  "Let's move on to manual
dexterity today, shall we?"
 
Mulder spent the next hour and a half picking up
various small objects and manipulating his fingers
with, Scully thought, remarkable dexterity.  Dr.
Appleman nodded approvingly as he looked on.
 
"It's a lucky thing you had such good strength in your
hand and arm prior to this last seizure," he observed.
"I'd say you're nearly back to 100%."

"Not...my...leg," Mulder said suddenly.
 
Dr. Appleman frowned.  "Yes, well," he said.  "We're
working on it, aren't we, Mr. Mulder?"
 
Mulder gave her a long-suffering glance that she read
as easily as if he had spoken aloud: <*I'm* working on
it>, it said.  Scully was fully aware how much Mulder
hated the tendency of his therapists to use the royal
'we.'
 
But Dr. Appleman had been right to frown, Scully
thought.  Despite weeks of physical therapy on his
leg, Mulder's progress was still painfully slow.  He
was unable to stand without the aid of a cane or
crutch and, to Scully's dismay, could not walk at all;
his right leg was simply unable to bear weight.
 
But Mulder was nothing if not determined.  That day,
with the addition of a rigid brace on his leg to
prevent it from twisting sideways, Mulder took a step.
And then another.  He was breathing as hard as if he
had just run a marathon, but he had done it.
 
"All right, Mulder," Dr. Appleman cheered him on
softly.  "You wanna be my next poster boy for the
services of this rehabilitation center?"
 
Unbelivably, Mulder smiled.
 
"...sure," he choked out.  "Why...not?"

* * *

Mulder remained in rehab for several months, and
Scully was nothing short of amazed at his progress.
This Mulder was completely devoid of self-pity or
anger; all he wanted, she thought, was to function as
well as he could.  At first, Scully had worried that
Mulder was in denial, but he quickly disabused her of
that notion one day after a particularly grueling
physical therapy session that left him panting, tears
of frustration in his eyes.
 
"I...know...what's...ahead," Mulder said, slowly and
carefully.  Now that he wasn't pushing himself into
seizures, Scully thought ruefully, his speech was
improving.  "I may n...I may nnnnnnugggghhhh -- "  He
swallowed and began to sign, his right hand easily
keeping pace with his left.  "I may never walk without
a limp, or a cane.  I may never speak more than a few
words at a time.  But Scully..."
 
He looked up at her imploringly from his wheelchair.
"It was foolish for both of us," he signed hesitantly,
"to think we could pretend that I was never shot, that
I would never have any trouble."
 
He paused.  "This is...my life now, Sc-Ssscully," he
said.  "I need...need...need to...accept it."
 
Mulder, accept it?  Scully tried to process the
information.

"What changed your mind?" she said finally.

For the first time in months, his voice betrayed
no hesitation.

"You," he responded.

She studied him closely; his eyes were warm.
He seemed, Scully thought, more centered than
she had seen him in a long time.
 
"I've...been...thinking," he said.  "About what I-I-I
might...do."
 
She gave him a questioning look.  "Do?" she echoed.
 
Mulder wet his lips and his throat constricted.
"Scully," he burst abruptly.  "We
both...both...bbbbooohhhhhh -- "  He inhaled sharply and
began to sign, apparentl