Title: One More Drive Author: Vickie Moseley Summary: Post ep for Drive with a minor twist. Written for After The Fact Challenge for Drive Category: MT SA UST Rating: PG13 Disclaimer: Not a bad story, Chris. Great visuals. Not the ending I wanted. I fixed it for you, free of charge. You can mail me the thank you. Author's Notes: I love this episode! I love seeing Hal as a construction worker. His wife's name was Vickie!! What was not to love? OK, there could have been a little more MT. So this is what I did. Thanks to Mary, for getting this in the line up, and to Deb and Mary for beta (and Ten, I'm pretty sure) and any one else who got a glimpse of it before now. Notes on the Revised version: Ten decided she wanted more and so I gave it to her in an epilogue. Kersh makes another brief appearance. Comments to vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com One More Drive vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com Dana Scully absently tucked her hair behind her ear to keep it from blowing in her face. Just off on the cliff, she heard the first siren. Soon, two police motorcycles, followed by a beat up brown stationwagon and two more motorcycles rounded the curve and headed toward the official, and literal end of the road. Highway 36 ended on a jetty, looking out over the rocks that lined the California coast. It was a beautiful day, but she hardly noticed. She could feel the paramedics behind her, chomping at the bit, as she was, to get this show on the road. She gripped the large bore needle and syringe tight in her fist, mentally replaying the exact procedure as it has been outlined by the ENT specialist at the hospital in Nevada. She knew exactly how to insert the needle, she wasn't afraid she'd miss. She was less sure she could perform the delicate procedure on a man who was obviously deranged and more than likely near psychotic with pain. She hoped the two paramedics and Mulder would be able to help restrain Mr. Crump. Once they had the eardrum punctured, sedating him would be the next course of treatment, but it all had to be timed just perfectly. No false steps, no second chances. The car was moving toward her now, but it seemed to be slowing and swerving. First one way, then another as if Mulder was moving through an obstacle course. Scully ran to the side of the road that gave her easy access to the driver's side and as she approached the car, her heart sank. On the window was the distinct pattern spray of blood that could only mean they were too late. She expected Mulder to stop the car. She expected him to turn off the engine, get out, walk away. None of those things were happening. The car was slowing, yes, but it appeared to be because Mulder was no longer driving it. He was slumped against the steering wheel. Panic caught her square in the chest and she lunged at the car, yanking on the door. Locked! Thank heavens, the window was rolled down for she grabbed the doorlock and pulled with all her might and then jerked the door open. She swung her foot around and stomped as hard as she could on the emergency brake. When she looked up, the front of the car was a mere three feet from the cliffs above the raging ocean tide. Trembling from relief and exertion, she touched her partner's shoulder. "Mulder? Mulder, you're safe." He didn't moan, didn't make any response. She put her arm around him and pushed him back against the seat. It was then she saw the blood. "Get over here, now!" she shouted to the paramedics and the two men trotted over to her, gurney in tow. She glanced at them over her shoulder, but quickly turned her attention back to Mulder. "He's been shot," she explained and moved out of the way so the two young men could do their jobs. She stepped back a few feet so she wouldn't be in the way, all the time listening to their assessment of Mulder's condition. She startled when someone touched her shoulder. It turned out to be one of the California Highway Patrol. "Are you Agent Scully?" "Yes, I am, and thank you for your help, Officer . . .?" "Ramirez," the officer said nodding politely. "Ma'am, the perp?" Scully sighed and looked into the backseat of the car. She was certain of what she would find, but she was the only doctor on the scene. Slowly she moved toward the car, being careful not to disturb the men working on her partner. She pulled open the back door and grimaced at the sight. Leaning forward, she checked Mr. Crump's pulse at his wrist and found none. She checked again at his neck. Finally, she straightened up and turned to the patrolman. "He's dead. We'll perform an autopsy, but judging from the blood in his ear and the pattern of blood on the window, he died from the same illness that killed his wife." Ramirez's eyes grew large. "He's sick? And it did that?" he croaked, pointing to the blood still running down the glass of the door. "It's not contagious," Scully assured him. "At least, as far as we know." "Agent Scully?" called one of the paramedics, Mike, if she remembered correctly. She looked over and he was getting ready to close the door of the ambulance. "I called the ME, they're on their way. We're ready to roll." Scully bit her lip and walked over to Mike. "How is he?" she asked, swallowing down her urge to pull open the door and see for herself. "He's unconscious. The bullet went straight through, he's lost a lot of blood but nothing to indicate a major organ or artery was damaged. Still, we need to get him in." "Yes, of course." Scully looked back at Mr. Crump's body. Her gut told her to go with Mulder. Her training told her to stay with Crump until the Medical Examiner arrived. It was tearing her apart, but Mike could see her struggle and made it a little easier for her. "We'll take really good care of him until you get to the hospital, Agent Scully. And if you give me your cell phone number, I'll have the Doc at the ER give you a call." She swallowed around the lump in her throat and rasped out her number, which Mike scribbled in his little notebook and tucked safely in his shirt pocket. "He's hurt, but it could have been a lot worse," he added and then turned and got into the back of the ambulance. "Agent Scully?" She felt pulled at both ends. Officer Ramirez was holding a gun between a latex covered thumb and forefinger. "Is this your partner's?" "No," Scully said with a shake of her head. "It belonged to a police officer in Elko, Nevada. It's what Crump used to hold my partner hostage and apparently was the gun he used to shoot him." Ramirez nodded and carefully slipped the weapon into an evidence bag. "Not that he's going to trial or anything, but it might come in handy when we try to sort out this mess," he said with a shrug. Sorting out was the last thing on Scully's mind. It was an hour before the Medical Examiner's wagon came down the road to collect the remains of Mr. Crump. Scully dutifully signed off on the certificate of death and then looked around for a possible ride. Officer Ramirez held up his hand. "If you can hang on a second, Agent Scully." She really didn't want to talk to the man any further, her thoughts were on her partner. The attending physician in the ER had called and told her the damage, which was thankfully minimal. Mulder did require some surgery to close the wounds and he'd been given a transfusion to replace the lost blood volume. At the rate things were going, he'd be ready to be released before she made it to the hospital. "Agent Scully?" She turned around and tried very hard not to grimace. "Yes, Officer," she said and hated the terse sound to her voice. "I know it's not what you're probably used to, but we found an extra helmet. If you hop on, I'll get you to the hospital in, oh, fifteen minutes?" he offered apologetically. His thoughtfulness was almost her undoing. Wiping at her hair in an attempt to clear her eyes, Scully nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Ramirez handed her a helmet, which she pulled on, and led her to his motorcycle. "Ever ride?" he asked "In college. My roommate's brother had a Harley." "This baby is much smoother than a hog," he chuckled. "Just hang onto the handles there and don't fight me when I make my turns." She nodded and got on behind him. Mulder could hear noises, but he wasn't about to open his eyes. He felt movement. Oh God, he was still driving! No, that couldn't be right. He was lying down. Was this one of those dreams where he thought he was falling from a great height only to 'land' with a jump on his own sofa? Was he dreaming he was driving? The only way to find out would be to open his eyes. With great reluctance, he pried his left eye open. A blur of dark blue and brown shifted in his field of vision. Something moved close to his face and then away again. He opened his right eye to a slit and tried to focus. A young man, African American with some Asian heritage from the looks of him, smiled down at him. "Agent Mulder. You're doing fine. We're almost to the hospital." Mulder raised his head and looked around. An IV was hanging from a hook on the wall beside him. He could feel a mask covering his nose. The young man was gently pushing him back against the mattress. "Easy now. We're almost there. Just relax. Enjoy the drive." It was a casual comment, but it brought a thousand images thundering back to Mulder. Drive. An ambulance swerving to a stop so suddenly that he had to brake hard to keep from ramming it from behind. A man with a gun, pointed at him. Driving. Always west, it had to be west. "Running out of west." "Crump!" Mulder shouted, but it just barely made it around the plastic mask and the hiss of the oxygen. The paramedic looked confused for a moment, then the name registered. "The guy who was holding you hostage?" Mulder nodded, exhausted. He let his head fall back to the pillow. "He didn't make it. He was dead before the car stopped." Mulder wasn't expecting Crump's death to affect him so hard. He'd realized they were on a fool's mission as they approached the coastline of California. Not that he doubted Scully's sincerity or her desire to have a humane end to the tragedy that kept building on itself. But the timing had to be perfect. And the minute he heard Crump ask in that soft, polite voice 'Just a little faster, Mr. Mulder,' he knew that they would never make it in time. The old station wagon was running full out at 90, there was no way he could squeeze an extra five mph out of it without getting out and pushing. The gunshot was an accident, a reflex action in the death throes of Mr. Crump. Mulder had felt the bullet hit him from behind and for a brief instant, he imagined that it would be nothing less than he deserved, to die for his failure to save the man. Just one more in a long list of failures. Suddenly too tired to even worry about where he was headed, Mulder let his eyes drop shut and hoped he wouldn't wake up again. When the foot of the gurney hit the swinging double doors, he found that even his wishes weren't coming true. He was alive, very much alive, and in a world of hurt. There were people surrounding him, pulling at his clothes, talking over him like he was a side of prime beef. "Mr. Mulder, can you hear me," one particularly unpleasant man shouted at him while shining a light in his eyes. "Yeah," Mulder responded, holding back one grunt when he was jostled as they cut his belt off him. "Do you know where you are?" the man continued. "I got shot in the back, not hit in the head," Mulder growled. He didn't miss one nurse turn her head and stifle a giggle. "I'm in an emergency room. They didn't tell me where." "Well, you seem to be responding to your environment," Jerk Doctor sneered. "We're going to be preparing you for surgery to close up this wound. Is there anyone we should contact?" "My partner will be here later," Mulder sighed. "She's still at the scene." "She'll know who to contact?" the nurse asked. "She _is_ the person to contact," Mulder corrected, catching his breath when the pain reached a zenith. "Please, just put me out," he spit out through clenched teeth. "Just a moment, then we'll be moving." After that, their discussion obviously didn't include him and he felt himself start to zone out. The only wish he made this time was that Scully would be there when he woke up. Ramirez pulled up to the emergency room entrance and killed the motor. He pushed up his visor and gave her a day brightening smile. He was cute, but another guy occupied her thoughts. She handed him the helmet she'd worn and gave him her thanks. With a wink, he revved the motor and pulled out, leaving her in the driveway. She sighed and headed toward the double sliding glass doors. Inside the emergency room, chaos was everywhere. Babies were screaming, an old man was shouting obscenities at a blank television screen and two gangbangers were holding a third young man between them, blood dripping from a bandage on his leg that must have been made from someone's black tee shirt. All within four feet of the door. She couldn't see farther into the waiting lounge, but from the din, she'd just seen the tip of the iceberg. Shaking her head, she wound her way toward the reception desk to the left of the door. She had to stand in line, four people were ahead of her, all with various ailments and injuries and all demanding immediate attention. After standing there for 20 minutes, it was her turn at the front of the line. The emotionally blank face that greeted her caused her to pause for only a heartbeat. "I'm trying to find my partner, Agent Fox Mulder." She pulled her ID wallet and displayed her credentials. The woman showed now outward sign of being impressed. "Spell the last name, please," she requested in a monotone. "M-U-L-D-E-R. He was brought in about two hours ago, a GSW to the back. I spoke with a Doctor Martin just about an hour ago and was told he was being taken to surgery." "Doctor Martin got off duty at 3," the woman was beginning to sound slightly annoyed. "I'll check the OR schedule." She typed a few keystrokes and the looked up. "I show no Miller in OR." Scully bit her lip and forced herself to calm down. "The name is Mulder, not Miller. M-U-L-D-" The woman held up her hand and frowned, then typed in a few more strokes. This time she looked up and past Scully to the next patient. "Sorry, I'm not finding him. Next!" Scully had one nerve left and it had just been stomped on. She leaned over the counter and much to the surprise of the receptionist, grabbed the keyboard, turned the screen toward her and started typing. Magically, a floor and a surgical unit number appeared on the screen. She tossed the keyboard back on the desktop. "M-u-l-D-e-r," she repeated and strode off before her fingers could reach for her gun. She found the surgical unit and spoke briefly with the nurse in attendance at the desk. At least this woman showed more dedication to her profession than the receptionist in the ER. There had been a delay getting Mulder into surgery. His surgeon had been tied up with an emergency appendectomy. But all was proceeding now and the nurse assured her that someone would be out shortly with an update. She scanned the waiting room. It was cozy, almost too much like a suburban living room. Couches and chairs and a matching ottoman. A table and a breakfront with coffee and Styrofoam cups looking tempting from afar. The television mounted near the ceiling was muted, but she could see the ticker at the bottom, detailing the last 24 hours of her life in the surrealistic tone of a 10 word soundbite. FBI agent taken hostage on 18-hour drive to coast. Film at 11. She sighed and walked over to the coffee, poured herself a cup, put in two packets of real sugar simply because she thought it would piss off someone, anyone and sat down on the comfy sofa, facing away from the TV. She'd no sooner put the cup to her lips when her cell phone chirped. She thought seriously about not answering. Who could it be? Her mother, that was a possibility. She could handle that, especially if her mother was watching CNN and already knew all the dots, just needed the connection. Her mother would also want the reassurance that she was fine, that Mulder would be fine. On the other hand, as the phone continued to trill unattended in her pocket, if God was really pissed at her, it could be Kersh. The phone stopped and she breathed a sigh of relief. She'd call her mother as soon as there was news on Mulder. Otherwise, she really didn't feel like talking to anyone at the moment. It was blissfully quiet in the waiting room and she closed her eyes, settling the cup on the armrest, but still in her grasp. She knew she wouldn't fall asleep, she just needed to rest her eyes. The cell phone started up again and she grimaced. This time, she would have sworn it sounded angry. She wearily put the cup down on the coffee table in front of her and pulled her phone out, answering it as she brought it to her ear. "Scully." "Is he dead?" She bit her lip to hold back the smart retort. As if you cared, you son of a bitch was the first thing that came to her mind. But she was the more responsible of the partners and knew that would not solve anything. "No, sir. He's very much alive," she replied in a calm voice. "Good. I didn't want anyone to deprive me of the privilege of killing him myself. Slowly, painfully." "He's in surgery," she interjected, trying very hard to keep all emotion out of her voice. Straining not to scream at the tops of her lungs. "Yes, CNN has a full report of his injury in the line of duty. Not that he was on a sanctioned FBI assignment, of course, since his direct superior has no recollection of ever giving him said assignment. But it's playing very nicely in the press right now. Do not, under any circumstance, think this is going to save him, Scully. Or you, for that matter. What the hell were you doing while Mulder was jacking cars across two states?" "I was determining the nature of the illness that killed three people, sir. Three people including the man who took Mulder hostage." "I'm sure that will be interesting bedtime reading," Kersh replied dryly. Scully swallowed to keep from verbally taking his head off for his callous disregard of the seriousness of the situation. "Is there anything else, sir?" "How long until you have word on Mulder?" Kersh asked. For a split second, Scully detected concern in his voice. "He's been in surgery a little over an hour. I should hear something soon." "I expect you back in this office at 9 sharp tomorrow morning. He can find his own damned way back. Nine tomorrow, Agent." He hung up before she could voice her strong objection. "Like hell I will," she said angrily to the plastic object in her hand. "I fucking quit!" "The family of Fox Mulder?" Scully looked up, startled and glanced around the room. She was the only person there, and it seemed a little odd that the nurse at the door was making such a formal announcement. It wasn't the same nurse she'd spoken to earlier, so Scully shrugged and held up her hand. The nurse, a pretty blond with a name tag that read Caroline, smiled brightly and came over to where Scully was now standing. "Mr. Mulder has been moved to recovery. The surgery went well. The doctor will be by later to give you a rundown, but if you'd like to go back and sit with him for a while, I'll show the way." It was like the first ray of sunshine after a storm. Scully smiled back at the young woman. "Yes, I would like that," she said quietly and followed Caroline through the maze of hallways and double doors until she found herself in a recovery bay. Her smile got brighter when she saw her partner. Unlike other times, this trauma, though real and terrifying, hadn't resulted in a 'skin of his teeth' brush with death. The bullet must have missed major arteries and organs because he was breathing steadily without assistance and only glucose and antibiotics dripped into the IV in his left forearm. An oxygen monitor was clipped to his left index finger, but the computer screen over his bed showed a hearty 99 percent O2 level, which was better than she expected. He was going to be fine. Unemployed, but fine. Her conversation with Kersh hit her once more. The man was set on kicking Mulder's ass into the street, regardless of how many lives they saved. After all they'd been through over the summer, the lies, the blame, nearly dying of exposure on an ice plain in Antarctica, and one asshole in Washington was going to throw it all away. A groggy moan brought her mind back to attention. Mulder's head moved slowly from left to right and back to left again, like he was shaking his head in slow motion. He moaned another time and she took his hand in hers. "Hey, go back to sleep," she whispered low near his ear. It had the opposite effect, he blinked and looked at her through drooping lids. "Hey, Scully," he slurred, his face twisting into a reasonable facsimile of a smile. "How ya doin'?" "Not as good as you, apparently," she grinned. "Flying without a plane again, Mulder?" He grinned back, closing his eyes. "Yeah. Flyin' high." "Good. Get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." He squeezed her hand in response and then his fingers slacked as he fell back asleep. She sat there, holding his hand and watching the various monitors to ensure he really was doing as well as he seemed. Someone entered the recovery room, she heard the person talking quietly with the nurse, but she didn't change her focus. She'd been so frantic all night and now it was a relief just to sit on a hard metal chair and watch Mulder sleep. "Mrs. Mulder?" She turned to see who was addressing her incorrectly. Her eyes met the deep green eyes of what could only be considered a modern day Adonis. Tall, tanned to perfection, blond hair in loose locks cascading around his face and teeth that had to have been made out of titanium, not enamel. He smiled down at her and she lost any semblance of rational thought, and her own name. "Mrs. Mulder?" he asked again, holding out his hand. Numbly, she took it and shook it perfunctorily. "I'm Jeff Barnes. I was your husband's surgeon." Scully was having a hard time swallowing, but blinked and choked out a strangled "Who?" "Your husband," Dr. Jeff smiled in amusement and pointed the chart he was holding toward the sleeping Mulder. "Fox Mulder, right?" "Oh, he's not my husband," Scully said in understanding and rose out of her chair so she didn't feel quite so much like a five year old looking up at the doctor. "He's my partner." Dr. Jeff nodded in understanding. "My work partner," Scully reiterated. Dr. Jeff smiled knowingly. "We work together. At the FBI," Scully continued, not quite able to stop herself from rambling. "In Washington," she concluded and bit her tongue to keep from blurting anything further. "Long way from home," Dr. Jeff said casually. "We travel a lot. For work." Some small part of Scully's brain starting kicking her cerebral cortex in a fit of exasperation. "Well, things went well in surgery. The bullet nicked a smaller artery, but it was an easy fix. No organ damage. He's doing well now." "I'm a doctor," Scully blurted out suddenly. "I mean, I'm a medical doctor, I could tell from the monitors that he was resting well." "A doctor? But you said . . ." "Forensic pathologist," Scully explained with a small, coy shrug. "At the FBI." "Wow. Like Quincy?" Dr. Jeff asked, suddenly showing an interest. "Well, not exactly. I mean, that would make Mulder that Asian guy and well, no, but sort of, it's hard to explain," she replied, finally giving up. "Cool. A cop doctor. I like that," Dr. Jeff grinned at her. "Well, Laura is watching over him now, so you can go grab a bite to eat or just relax a while. We'll be taking him up to a room in a few minutes, since he's doing so well." "He spoke to me just a while ago. He recognized me," Scully remembered that small fact. Dr. Jeff's smile got brighter. "Well, I bet he was happy to wake up to a pretty face!" Scully blushed and Dr. Jeff charged on. "That's good news. So we'll get him up to a regular room, keep an eye on him, probably get him up and out of bed tomorrow morning. You said Washington, right?" "Washington, DC," Scully nodded. "Long plane ride," Dr. Jeff frowned. "We'll have to see how he's doing before I release him. An extra day in here might make the difference in the level of pain he'd experience on a cramped flight." "He's not a good one for following doctor's orders, either," she offered. "An extra day would probably be a good idea." The smile she got was blinding. "Well, that settles it. He stays an extra day. So, why don't you run along and get something to eat and I'll leave orders for his meds. I'll be by to check on him tomorrow around 9." Scully waited a minute, watching him write out the orders on the chart. How did a body get that tan? She figured he must surf, maybe run along the beach. She'd seen Mulder run along the beach from time to time. Dr. Jeff looked up suddenly and caught her staring. She blushed and turned to go. "Wait a minute," he called. She turned on her heel, expecting some kind of brush off at her obvious interest. Instead he smiled at her again. "I know now that you aren't 'Mrs. Mulder', but I don't know what your name is." "Scully. Dana Scully," she said, feeling her cheeks redden again. "Doctor Scully, or Agent Scully?" Dr. Jeff teased. "Dana, Dana Scully," she answered coyly and promptly headed out the door. In the cafeteria, getting a cup of coffee and some yogurt, she mentally kicked herself. What the hell had she been thinking? Mulder was lying in a bed, recovering from a gunshot wound that he received during a hostage situation, in which _he_ was the hostage, and she was flirting with his surgeon? She knew she was tired from their collective ordeal, but that was not an excuse. There was no excuse, none at all! She took two bites of her yogurt and sat listlessly for the rest of forty-five minutes. Finally, she gathered up her mostly untouched food and deposited it all in the garbage. She had a partner to look in on. Mulder blinked twice and finally got a clear image. Hospital room. Check. IV bags hanging above his head, but only two. Check. Scully sitting by his bedside, waiting patiently for him to wake up. Houston, we have a problem. He stared at the empty chair. It was still against the wall, where the orderlies always put them after mopping the tile floors. That could only mean that not only was Scully absent at that moment, she hadn't been to the room at all. How long had he been here? Usually she walked him from recovery to his room. On rare occasions, she got there before him. Was that part of his life going to hell now, too? He thought back to the summer. Things had seemed so simple. Find bomb. Find out what the bomb was meant to hide. Find Scully. He'd never had to think about loyalties and divisions. He knew everyone was against him. Everyone except Scully. She was there, beside him, until they'd ripped her from him and tried to kill them both. But he'd found her, gone to the end of the world to find her. And together they'd come home. That was when everything went to hell. He knew something was wrong between them. Besides being assigned to 'shit detail', there was a tension that hadn't existed before. He suspected it had something to do with Diana, but that just didn't make sense to him. Scully wasn't concerned about any of his informants, didn't seem to mind his connection to the Gunmen. So why was his relationship with Diana any different? It wasn't like Diana was his girlfriend or something. It hit him with the force of a pile driver. Scully, his loyal, always there for him, never betray him partner was . . . jealous? Impossible! But then he remembered other times, comments made, eyebrows raised. "Smart is sexy, Mulder." "Oh, is that what you were extending?" "Look, we have different opinions, but I didn't expect you to ditch me!" Shit! He should have seen it coming. Diana, tall, sexy, arrogant has hell. She never worked well with other women, usually made damn sure she was queen bee in any hive. And Scully, petite but strong as nails. Never took anything from anybody. And there was him, right smack dab in the middle, sort of like the leg bone with just enough meat still attached to make it extra appealing to both combatants. He shook his head, suddenly thirsty beyond measure. The water was right there on the tray table. He only meant to lean up and grab the cup, but it was a bit farther than he expected. He felt a pull in his side, followed by such intense pain he dropped his upper body back to the pillow and stifled a scream. He didn't even hear the nurse enter the room. The woman must had seen his look of anguish and hurried from the room. Less than two minutes later, she was back with a nice fat syringe full of the really good stuff. "Here, Agent Mulder. The doctor left orders for pain meds. This should give you some relief in just a few minutes. Now, can I get you anything? Help you get to the water?" Her voice finally registered in the red-hot agony that was his existence at that moment. He nodded weakly toward the water cup and she brought it to his mouth. "Is there someone I should call? Your family? They should have contacted your next of kin by now." He shook his head. "I'm sure she'll turn up eventually," he said with more self-pity in his voice than he really intended to reveal. "Well, you should be able to get some sleep now, so why don't you close your eyes and rest. You're doing fine." She patted his hand with compassion and left him alone again. He stared at the empty doorway for a full five minutes. Slowly, the dull fog that comes with only really good medication surrounded him in its blanket of comfort and he let his eyes drift shut. Scully stopped at the nurses' desk to look over his chart. She was ready to pull her badge and her credentials, but apparently Dr. Jeff had already taken care of her. The nurse smiled and handed over the metal clipboard. Temp., 99.7. Nothing to worry about. Respirations good. Blood pressure, 80 over 110, excellent for that soon after surgery. He was doing very well. Then she got to the most recent notation. "Patient awake, some discomfort, administered Demerol per Drs instructions." Shit! She missed being there when he woke up again! Mulder was usually like clockwork, it always took him a little longer than most people to wake up after surgery. But then, this had been a relatively easy surgery and he'd been sort of awake in recovery. Not that he was likely to remember that. Still, he had woken up before she got there and now she felt even more guilty. With shoulder's slumped in defeat, she walked into the room. A not entirely uncomfortable chair sat near the wall at the foot of his bed. She sighed and pulled the chair across the floor, careful to not make too much noise. She sat down, biting back tears and took his hand in hers. "I'm sorry I wasn't here, Mulder," she whispered and wiped at the stray moisture that had escaped her lashes. "I was at the scene and I did see you in recovery. I've been at the hospital all this time, I just went down to the cafeteria for a minute . . ." Not an excuse, her conscious screamed at her. You should have been here. What if he needed you? She thought back to the notation. 'Some discomfort' usually meant Mulder was in a hellava lot of pain. Some discomfort in most people didn't even register on Mulder's radar. For him to show his 'discomfort' he had to be torn apart with agony. And she hadn't been here, hadn't been anywhere near enough to push the call button or call the nurse from the doorway. She laid her forehead on the railing of his bed and closed her eyes. What the hell was wrong with her? She'd been acting like a jilted lover for months now. Things were going fairly well until . . . She clenched her eyes tight, but it didn't stop the images. Mulder, introducing her to Diana in a hallway at the Bureau. The Gunmen, telling her that Diana had been his little 'chickadee'. Mulder holding Diana's hand through a window. Damn him! Damn her! Damn all three of them! She raised her head and wiped angrily at her tears. This was stupid! Mulder was her partner. He'd climbed out of a hospital bed not unlike the one he was currently in, traveled to the farthest reaches of the planet, just to save her. When Diana had been shot, possibly mortally wounded, he hadn't even stopped by the hospital. Didn't that account for something? Did that tell her where his real loyalties were? But then other images came back to her. Mulder foisting Gibson Praise at her and running off with Diana to the nuclear power plant. Mulder, sitting in his office, _their_ office, angrily deriding her for not agreeing with him. And the whole question of trust. They hadn't spoken of it after she'd handed him the file showing the PCR results. Mulder had internalized her information, his beliefs, taken it all inside and not let a speck of light shine on it. And she'd damped down her own feelings on the matter. They'd gathered their few belongings, the ones that hadn't been destroyed in the fire, and found new desks among the myriad of desks in the bullpit. They made endless calls, all day long about employees in sensitive areas. They checked fertilizer purchases. How frigging appropriate was that? Shit detail. There was simply no other name for it. How did it all get so confusing? Wiping her eyes again, she lowered the bed rail. She leaned over and kissed the knuckles of his hand. Silently, she lowered her head to rest on the mattress, resting her forehead on his long fingers. He woke up, feeling something warm on his hand. Looking down, he smiled as he saw the crown of her head. She couldn't be comfortable like that. Glancing around the room, he spied the clock on the far wall. Nearly 8, and it was dark outside. Had she gotten any sleep during the night? He reached over with his other hand, so he didn't disturb her, and stroked her hair. His personal tigress. His warrior princess. His Scully. He wondered briefly where she'd been but then he chided himself. She'd been doing their job, more than likely. And now, she was here and everything was better. He lay there, just running his fingers through her hair for a long time. When she stirred, turning her head and raising up, he dropped his hand and smiled at her. "Hey, sleepyhead," he said and winked at her. "I could say the same about you, Mulder." She sat up and stretched, creaks and pops audible in the quiet room. If she was sore, she didn't let it show. Running a quick eye around the various monitors, she looked back at him. "How's the pain?" "OK," he said. She cocked an eyebrow and he relented. "Five on a scale of ten. I'm OK for now, really." She gave him a single affirmative nod and then reached over the tray table for his water glass. She looked in the small pitcher and frowned. "No ice. Want to risk it or do you want some cold water?" "I'm fine, Scully, really. Relax. You're been running your ass off for the last two days. I really don't need anything right now." His smile was just a little cockeyed and she couldn't help but respond in kind. "Mulder, you are so stoned." She suppressed a giggle as he attempted to look shocked. "Are you accusing a law enforcement officer of the Justice Department of partaking of controlled substances?" he managed to get all the words out and in the right order. He was pretty pleased with himself. "Yes," she grinned back. "Guilty as charged," he nodded solemnly. "But only under the care of my personal physician." He took her hand and tenderly ran a finger across her palm. "Scully, are we OK?" he asked, still keeping the same serious expression. "I could ask you the same thing," she replied truthfully. He chewed on his lip a moment before speaking. "I've really screwed the pooch. I've dragged you into the mud with me. Kersh has enough ammo this time . . ." "Kersh can kiss my ass," Scully growled, which earned her a broad grin from her partner. "You'd really let him that close to your ass?" he shot back, trying hard not to laugh. "Mulder, we've been down this road before. At least this time they remembered that splitting us up doesn't do any good. At least this time, we're together." He nodded and went back to rubbing her palm. If he kept that up, she was going to have to take defensive action. "I'm going to fix it, Scully. I really am," he said, laying his head back on the pillows and letting his eyes drift closed. "I know you will, Mulder. We'll both work on it." She put her other hand over his as his fingers stilled and relaxed with sleep. "And partner, we're OK." In his sleep, Mulder smiled. Epilogue Jeff Barnes considered himself a lucky man. He'd had the right breaks, made a good living. Being a surgeon was everything it was cracked up to be. Sure, he knew he could have the pick of the nursing staff and most of the women in the lab, but on those rare and wonderful days he managed to snag a good date just running into someone visiting a patient. Dana Scully. FBI agent AND Doctor. A double! And cute as a button, to boot. Yeah, it was a shame her partner had to go and get shot, but what a lucky break for good ole Doc Barnes. He was certain that now that the evening visiting hours were over, the lovely Dr./Agent Scully would be looking for a nice dinner, maybe a chance to unwind after a particularly stressful day. An FBI agent. He'd never slept with an FBI agent before. It just never crossed his mind. But if dinner at the best restaurant along this stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway was worth anything, he'd be wearing his 'I got some' smile in the morning. He tapped lightly in the door before entering. There wasn't a sound coming from the room, but maybe the TV was muted. By all rights, his patient, what's his name, should be sound asleep. With the pain meds he'd prescribed, the guy should sleep through to morning, regardless of the number of vitals checks during the night. Dr. Jeff would make sure Dr. Dana got plenty of vital checks, as well. He plastered on his most compassionate face and opened the door. The room was dark, only the light bar over the bed was casting any light at all. His eyes took a moment to adjust from the brightness of the hallway. And that's when he saw her. Correction. Them. Dana Scully, who had seemed more than willing to investigate a certain young surgeon, was now lying next to a very sound asleep patient. From the position they were in, it was difficult to determine where one agent stopped and the other agent started. Jeff was just about ready to beat a hasty retreat when the female agent in question raised her head sleepily. "Oh, Dr. Barnes," she said with a yawn. "Did you need to do an examination?" Jeff stood there, not knowing what to say. Examinations had been on his mind, but not of the patient. He swallowed and grabbed for a reasonable response. "I just wanted to make sure that the pain meds were sufficient," he said in a hoarse whisper. Hopefully the lovely Dr. Scully would never detect his tight throat was caused by his disappointment and not from any sense of empathy for the man lying in the bed. "He fell asleep a few hours ago. I think he's good for the night," she said and looked down at her partner with a tender smile. As if she suddenly remembered they were not alone, in the room or the universe, Jeff couldn't tell, she looked up at him. "Thank you for stopping by. You could have called the nurses' station, you know," she added with a grin. "Oh, I prefer the personal touch," Jeff choked out. "Well, you're a credit to your profession, Dr. Barnes. Thank you, again." "I'll just, um, I'll be by in the morning, see how he's doing." Scully nodded and another yawn captured her breath. "Sorry. It was a long night last night." "Well, you both need to get some rest. I'll see you in the morning." She smiled again and lay down, careful not to crowd the man sleeping in the bed with her. Jeff turned to leave and ran smack into the floor nurse. "Do you want me to tell her she has to leave, Dr. Barnes?" Debbie asked with a nod toward the door. Jeff gave one look back and couldn't get the image of the two sleeping people out of his head. "Nah, Deb. I think she's OK for now." Debbie shrugged and went back to the desk. Jeff allowed himself a tiny smile, just a salute to fellow travelers, and made his way to the elevators and home. Assistant Director Kersh's office FBI Headquarters One week later Alvin Kersh was a very happy man. Not only did he have enough reason to dismiss Special Agent Fox Mulder, completely out on the street with no hope of reinstatement, but that conniving little red head had committed the ultimate act of insubordination by ignoring a direct order and failing to report to his office as assigned. Two birds with one stone. And from the looks of it, the new staff members of the X files division were behaving just as they had been expected to. Not a single 302 had come across his desk in the weeks since the assignment of Agent Fowley and Agent Spender. The two of them were probably sitting down in the basement playing tiddly winks and that was just fine by Alvin. As long as there was nothing going on, it would simply be a matter of zeroing out the appropriation for the division during the upcoming budget cycle. Life was good. And then the phone rang. "Yes sir, I do have a meeting with Agents Mulder and Scully this morning. Yes sir, as I outlined in my memo to the OPR, I fully intend to exercise my authority as their direct superior to dismiss them on the grounds . . . But sir! . . . No, sir, I didn't realize that. No, sir, I understand. Yes, sir, I . . . But sir, the money! Who's going to pay for this? Yes, sir. Yes, I do see your point. Yes . . .sir." Alvin hung up the phone with exaggerated gentleness, to keep from break the receiver in half. There was a knock at his door. Alvin looked up and if there was such a thing as laser vision, there would have been two perfectly form holes burned through the wooden door. His assistant stuck her pert little bleached blonde head around the door casing. "Sir, Agents Mulder and Scully are here to see you." She frowned, her boss had been in such a good mood just minutes before. Now she was certain she could hear his back molars cracking under the pressure. "Sir?" she repeated, still waiting for him to acknowledge her in any way. "Send. Them. In." His hands gripped the sides of his chair. He was going to need a whole botltle of zantac when this meeting was over. Maybe next time Mulder got shot, he'd save everyone the bother and just die! The thought caused Alvin a little glimpse of comfort. It was all he needed to center himself and address the agents before him. The end.