Am I the only one who thought we jumped a few spaces in the ending of '731'? Well, I decided to fill in the gap that Mr. Carter left. So nice of him to keep doing that, and leaving us with ideas for stories, isn't it? It's so nice, in fact that I have no intention of infringing on his copyright. I don't want money, this was simply so I could get some sleep tonight and not lie awake thinking of this vignette. Standard XA disclaimer applies. WARNINGS: Definite Third Season Spoiler. Language, PG-13. Not really a true 'relationship' story--no sex, real, imagined or implied. Just a short story about how I would feel if my partner did the boneheaded kind of things Mulder manages to pull off. Enjoy. Comments, questions, Christmas greetings to me at vmoseley@fgi.net. I love mail, especially mail I can read and not have to pay. ALL THE TIME by Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net Ft. Dodge Medical Center Ft. Dodge, Iowa The hospital had the usual sliding glass doors at the entrance. And the usual reception desk with the usual gray haired lady with a big smile and a shrill voice. At least he was in a private room, not the ICU. she reminded herself. She pushed the elevator button and tried very hard not to scream in frustration as it took forever to open the doors. Dana Scully was not a happy agent. She didn't like the fact that her always errant partner had once again run off on his own, leaving her to pick up the pieces, long distance. She didn't like that she had to deal with the mysterious Mr. X, whom she was beginning to despise almost as much as she despised the Cigarette Smoking fiend that was always in Skinner's office. she smiled a little triumphantly. And she certainly didn't like sitting in Mulder's apartment for six hours, crying her eyes out because she was sure he finally had the proverbial limb sawed off behind him and was dead, really dead, just waiting to be buried dead. That had been bad enough. Then, her cell phone rang and it was some poe dunk hospital in the middle of Iowa who had contacted her because she was his listed next of kin. She thought back to the short conversation. ************ "Scully," she sniffed, trying to regain some semblance of a normal voice. "Dana Scully?" an unfamiliar voice asked on the other end of the line. "Yes, I'm Dana Scully," she answered, a little perplexed. She was certain no siding salesmen had access to her cellular number. Who the hell was this joker and what did they want with her now? All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and die, not talk on the phone all night. "This is Dr. Dixon at Ft. Dodge Hospital. You are listed as the emergency contact for Agent Fox Mulder, aren't you?" the voice asked. Dana didn't answer. She didn't want to. She didn't want to travel to where ever in hell Ft. Dodge Hospital was and identify the body of her very best friend, especially after she had spent at least an hour of the last six condemning his soul to eternal damnation for putting her through the torment she was in. "Ms. Scully," the voice of Dr. Dixon continued. "Are you still there?" Scully swallowed. "Yes, I'm still here. Do you need me to I D the body," she asked, her voice wavering, threatening to disintegrate into sobs again. "Ah, no, actually," the doctor said, surprised. "Then you are aware that he's been injured?" "I was on the phone to him when. . ." her voice trailed off. "Wait a minute. He's. . .n-not dead?" she stammered. "Well, he could be in better shape, but he's a long way from dead, Ms. Scully. I called because I need your go ahead for treatment. I know this is long distance, but I really think we should start treating as soon as possible. He's been bleeding for some time, from the looks of the wounds. With your permission, I would like to start a unit of blood. I have his driver's license here and understand him to be AB neg., is that correct?" "What exactly _are_ his injuries, Dr. Dixon?" Scully asked, frantically now and really only half listening. she ranted to herself. ************** The elevator doors opened at last and she stepped inside the compartment. The music was overwhelming. She hated elevators in small hospitals. For some bizarre reason, it always took twice as long to get to the second or third floor in a small hospital as it did to get to the 15th or 20th floor in a large hospital. She was still angry at him. She had tried unsuccessfully to calm down on the plane to Des Moines and the little connecting flight to Ft. Dodge. He was injured, beaten up pretty badly, according to the doctor. But he had not been in an explosion, that was obvious. So the door to the train car had opened. And he had gotten out before the bomb went off. Then why the hell hadn't he called her! She had been hanging on that damn phone, watching that stupid tape he paid $29.95 for and screaming his name and all she got was static. Then the line went dead. She tried to redial, several times. So many times that her fingers were sore. But no answer. Nothing. Just like Farmington, New Mexico. She sighed, still waiting for the elevator to reach the third floor. A quick glance to her watch and an almost unconscious calculation told her he had been at the hospital for at least 5 hours already. And missing for 6 hours before that. He had a head injury, a hairline fracture to the skull with a resulting concussion, so it wasn't that unusual that he had not come around yet. she groused and it made her that much angrier. For the first time since she began this trip, she thought about her options. She should call it quits. He was too damn stubborn, too willing to commit suicide at every turn. She did not need this in her life, not after the year she had experienced. The trauma of her abduction had been enough. Then Missy's murder. Now, she wasn't sure what had been done to her when she had gone missing, but she had at least some proof that it was probably very dangerous. If she was going to have only a few years left on this planet, did she really want to spend them acting as a nursemaid to a suicidal manic with depressive tendencies? Maybe it was time to start thinking of herself, for a change. The ding of the elevator brought her to the present. She took a deep breath. This was it. This was where it all ended. He could have his precious X files, his beloved conspiracies, he ever present goddamned alien abduction theories! He could have it all! she thought wryly. Maybe that was exactly what they needed. A divorce. He could continue with his work, for a while at least. Until he stepped his foot in something really mucky again and his next partner wasn't fast enough, or smart enough, or resourceful enough. And then, since he would never remember to change his emergency card, she really would stand in some cold, white, sterile morgue and calmly tell the medical examiner, 'yes, that's Fox Mulder lying on that slab. I'll call and make the funeral arrangements.' It would finally be over and he'd get exactly what he had wanted all along. She walked the hall, noting the room numbers on the doors. Room 348 was in the corner. She pushed the half open door in front of her easily. She had already decided she would sit by his side, just this last time. She wouldn't abandon him Where had that thought come from? If anything, he had pushed her away. He had ignored her pleadings not to get on that train. Then he ignored her warnings to tell the conductor to stop the train and let a bomb squad handle the mess. It was hardly a case of abandonment on her part when he was always running away from her, was it? Her heart jumped into her throat at the sight of him. His face was all bruises and dried blood on the right side. She couldn't see the bandages on his ribcage, but she knew they were there. Cracked, this time, not broken. They would still hurt like hell. she gloated. An IV ran fluids into his left arm. The right shoulder had been dislocated, but the doctor had treated that. It would hurt, too. She knew that his right kidney was bruised, they were watching it for any signs of hemorrhage. she thought, shaking her head ruefully. Oddly enough there weren't many signs of the explosion. His leather jacket had some nice cinder burns, but it had protected him. He must have been some distance when the train exploded. That was odd, too. Dr. Dixon had made no mention of the explosion. Or the train car for that matter. All he had said was that Mulder had been found by the rail line, in the middle of nowhere. An anonymous caller had alerted the paramedics to his whereabouts. She sat down quietly and took his hand. It was warm. The fingers were long. She winced when she noticed his knuckles were scraped, like he had been in a fight. There was an ugly cut on his throat, almost as if he had been strangled. An almost imperceptible sob reached her ears. She looked up at his face and suddenly realized it had come from. . .her. She didn't think she had any tears left, especially not for this man lying before her. With a single word, he could shatter her world. With a single thoughtless action, he destroyed her faith in her country, her beliefs, herself. Why on earth was she crying? Just because she could see the worry lines beginning to form on his forehead? Just because she knew when he awoke he would feel the pain of his injuries, but they would be nothing compared to the agony of having his beliefs torn asunder? Then he would have to come to terms with the bitter, cold fear that maybe, his little sister was in the bottom of some unmarked grave, horribly disfigured, the victim of untold atrocities. How would he live with that? How would he ever be able to go on? Her heart broke and with it the thick shell of anger and ice that had enfolded it. All that remained was the very definite feeling that she could no more walk away from this man than she could readily accept his outlandish theories. Or walk on the moon. The hand she was holding moved, just a bit. He moaned softly, turning his head before opening his eyes. When, at last, his eyes did open, they were unfocused, searching. Finally, he settled on her face, so close to his. "Hi, Scully," he rasped. "Hi, Mulder," she returned. "Bet you're mad at me," he surmised. "Now, what would make you think that?" she asked, but she couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Because I screwed up big time," he answered. "God, I hurt." "Because God answers prayers, Mulder," she teased. "There was an alien in that train, Scully. I know there was. I don't care what you've been told. I know what I saw," he rambled, but his eyes were drifting closed again. "We'll talk about it later, Mulder. Right now, you need to rest. There'll be plenty of time to discuss this when we get you out of here," she said, reaching up and caressing his forehead. "We have all the time in the world." The end.