Title: Finding Her Author: Vickie Moseley Summary: Post Aubrey. Mulder finds a connection to the case that he never could have expected. Category: X, MT, UST Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: For 8 long years I've been meaning to write a post ep for Aubrey. If that gets your hackles up, so be it, Chris. But in the meantime, I am not infringing on your copyright. Additional Disclaimer: Although this might appear early on as a Mulder/Other, rest assured that is not what happens. Written for the After The Fact Challenge a way long time ago. Sorry this took so long, guys. It came out longer than I thought. Hugs and kisses to Ten for beta and to everyone who poked me on Mulder's Refuge. My backside is a little sore, but I got the job done! Feedback: vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com Finding Her by Vickie Moseley Gainesville, Nebraska January 10, 1994 Scully looked up to Detective Tillman from her position on the floor, cradling Mulder. "Ambulance?" she asked. They'd been waiting at least ten minutes since Tillman had called, making sure that the dispatcher realized it was _two_ officers down and not just one. "They have to come from Lincoln. That's 20 miles. It might be a while," Tillman answered, his eyes conveying his apology. Quickly, he turned back to the woman sitting listlessly by the window. "B.J.? B.J., honey, can you speak to me? It's Brian. Honey, do you even know who I am?" "She's disassociative, Detective. She's locked in another world," Scully said sadly. She'd been listening to Tillman trying to reach B.J. for the last several minutes of their long wait and it was wearing on her nerves. Not that her nerves weren't already worn completely through. Mulder was unresponsive and the wounds at his neck and forehead hadn't stopped bleeding, despite her attempts to keep pressure on both. "Mulder, can you hear me?" she whispered close to his ear, as she had about every minute or two, but the most she'd gotten from him was a groan. He'd looked awake when she found him on the floor, but he'd passed out in her arms. Mulder's pulse was rapid but he was breathing even and steady. She knew the blow to his head was the most immediate danger. His pupils had appeared unequal when she examined him briefly, she was positive he had a concussion, if not a skull fracture. B.J. had hit him square on the temple with the fire extinguisher. Scully looked over in the corner. The coroner's office had also been contacted. Harry Cokely would not be bothering anyone again. Or would he? Scully let her thoughts touch briefly on the baby B. J. carried. Was it possible? Was Cokely's evil hereditary, waiting, dormant until the right set of circumstances would wake it to kill again? It sounded like the premise of a bad horror movie, Nightmare on Elm Street style. But then, how many bad horror movies plots had she and Mulder already filed as case reports? She'd long ago lost count. She heard the siren and breathed a sigh of relief. The paramedics were well prepared, and had B. J. on a gurney, seeking instructions from the hospital in minutes. Mulder's condition was assessed and he, too, was strapped on a gurney. It was then that Scully discovered there was only one ambulance. "I'm a medical doctor, I'd like to ride with them," she said, squaring her shoulders and wishing she'd worn the 3 inch heels instead of the 2 inch heels she'd chosen. The driver of the ambulance snorted. "Look, Doc, if you can find a big enough shoe horn, you're more than welcome. But we kinda think it's a priority to get these two to hospital. You got a squad car out there, all tricked out with sirens. Why don't you lead the police escort?" And with that, he helped his companions load the two patients, slam the doors on the ambulance, and took off down the long gravel road. Tillman had her elbow and was moving her to his car before she even had a chance to blink. "Dissociative? What does that mean? Can she snap out of it?" he shot questions at her rapid fire as she pulled on her seat belt and he stomped on the gas. "She'll be assessed by psychiatrists at the hospital," Scully said, chewing on her lip. "Will this hurt the baby?" Tillman asked in a near whisper, as if his wife might be hiding somewhere in the car. Scully shot him a glare. "No. It shouldn't affect the fetus." She was surprised at the Detective's relieved expression. It was a mess, this office romance thing, but Tillman wasn't evil. Or if he was, he certainly wasn't the biggest evil they'd encountered on this case. She wouldn't let her anger at Tillman's attitude toward Mulder's theories color how she dealt with him now. The man was obviously confused and hurting. "I don't get it. Cokely was her grandfather. OK, I see that. But I knew Bob Morrow and he was a good cop, a straight cop. He was one of the best on the force, he gave me a lot of good advice when I was a rookie. It hurt like hell when he died of a heart attack about 5 years ago." "Did he know B. J. went into law enforcement?" Scully asked. "Know? Hell, he about busted his buttons when she got accepted! Man, he was proud of her," Tillman said with affection. "Damn proud," he added in a whisper. "Oh, god, B. J.," he moaned. Suddenly, another thought caught his attention. "Agent Scully," he looked over at her anxiously. "About Agent Mulder, you don't think . . . I mean we don't know that B. J. killed those women but today . . . if your partner dies . . ." Scully jerked her head toward the passenger side window and forced down the fear and anger that threatened to spill out. If Tillman had listened to them when she and Mrs. Thibideaux had first arrived at the station, if she'd gone with Mulder to Cokely's, if the police had gotten to Cokely's sooner . . . All 'what if's', and absolutely none of them would help Mulder. The image of Chaney's broken skull sprang to her mind and she tried with all her might to force it back in the dark recesses, but it wouldn't fade. 'Mulder is on his way to the hospital,' she reminded herself. 'He's receiving medical attention and Chaney had nothing, no one.' Somehow, even though she was trying to console herself, that thought didn't really make her feel any better. St. Elizabeth's Medical Center Lincoln, Nebraska The Emergency Department at St. Elizabeth's was well staffed and surprisingly quiet. BJ was taken in one direction and Mulder in another. Scully and Tillman separated in the waiting room, each being escorted back to the treatment rooms by separate hallways. Scully followed Mulder's gurney and inched her way into the exam room. A young doctor smiled up at her. "You must be the next of kin," he said and turned his attention back to his patient, gently turning Mulder's head to peer into each eye using a small penlight. "I want a CT scan, stat. What's b/p?" A middle-aged nurse was just finishing up with a blood pressure cuff. "110 over 75," she said, wrapping the cuff with its own cord and placing it back in the holder on the wall. "What did this?" the doctor addressed Scully again. "As near as we can tell, a fire extinquisher," she said chewing on her lip. "Wow, he must have run in to it pretty hard," the doctor replied with a low whistle. "It ran into him. A person was attacking him with it." The doctor looked up at her and cocked an eyebrow. "So it was with some force?" "I would say considerable force," Scully nodded. A young man as tall as Mulder but easily twice his size appeared in the door of the exam room. "You want this guy down to x ray?" The doctor nodded. As the young man started to move Mulder, he groaned and Scully was by his side. "Mind if I walk him down?" she asked. "Might as well make it a party. We can get his history on the way," the doctor shrugged. Two hours later, Mulder was settled in a room on the second floor of the small, but fairly state of the art hospital. Scully had found CNN and was catching up on the latest news while her partner slept on in the bed near her. He had a concussion, that was a given. It was graded moderate, so the precaution of keeping him overnight to monitor for changes in intracranial pressure and possible hemorrhage. He'd come around a little after they'd done the CT scan, but fell back to sleep after looking around and finding Scully at his side. He'd be checked through the night and she knew he'd be grumpy each time they'd have to wake him. The latest news on B.J. was not so comforting. She was still catatonic and Tillman had been forced to leave her to go home to his wife. He's stopped by to check on Mulder, relieved that the agent appeared to be doing better than they'd feared earlier. Scully didn't envy the Detective. He had the look of a man about to confess his sins, and go straight to the gas chambers. Scully could think of nothing to say to him, so she just nodded as he left. Mulder woke up. Had he been sleeping at his desk? He yawned and stretched and looked around. It was the bullpen at the office, but it looked strange. Everything looked like a set from an old movie. A noise behind him startled him. It sounded like a jingle. He jerked his head around in the direction of the noise and found another agent picking up an old black telephone, the kind his Grandmother Kuipers had in her hallway. What the hell? "Hi, handsome." It wasn't a greeting as much as a come on. He looked up and found a woman smiling at him. She wasn't beautiful in the sense that she would stop traffic, but the smile she gave him made him feel twenty feet tall. He was just about to answer her when he felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. "Mulder. Mulder, wake up. Neuro check. C'mon, sleepyhead. Wake up or I drag out the cold wet washcloth." He recognized the voice. He remembered a smile. But they came from two different people. His mind was trying to work through the puzzle when one eye was pried open. "I think he's just dreaming." He forced his other eye open and attempted to focus. The face in front of him was so jarringly familiar, but he was having trouble searching for a name. And his head felt like it was being cracked open with a chisel and sledgehammer. "Scuuuly," he moaned. That's when the name popped into his head, about two heartbeats after he'd said it. Where was he? How did he get out of the bullpen and into a bed? "Mulder, wake up. C'mon, the nurse has to see you awake. You don't want to stay here another night, do you?" He turned his head and it exploded in tiny shards of pain that he was sure would make some sort of sound over the loud buzzing in his ears. "His head is hurting," he heard Scully explain to the nurse. And they said women would never work out in the FBI, he thought groggily. "The doctor ordered Tylenol. I'll go get it," some woman's voice said and Mulder heard the soles of her shoes squeak on the tile floor. The small sound ricocheted off the sides of his head and echoed through his brain. "Scully," he whispered, but it really didn't help. Just the motion of his mouth hurt his head even more. "I'm right here, Mulder. The nurse is getting some pain meds. She'll be right back." "She said Tylenol, Scully. I need morphine," he gritted out, since whispering was taking too much effort. "You need something to help reduce the swelling and that's not morphine," Scully explained patiently. "You have a concussion. You're lucky you escaped a skull fracture. Your head is harder than poor Agent Chaney's apparently." Snatches of the dream came back to him, but mostly that smile. The smile that made him think he was the only man in the room. The only man in the world, for that matter. It confused him when he tried to figure it out and that just made his head hurt all the more. "Here, Agent Mulder. Can you swallow these?" Mulder had been around hospitals often enough to know he could always 'swallow these' because the alternative was too embarrassing to take when conscious. He started to nod, but remembered that way led to unconsciousness, so he just reached for the pill cup and the small cup of water. It was a bit of stretch and his head was pounding, but he managed to get the pills and the water in their final destination and he sighed as he fell back on the pillow. The nurse checked his vitals and patted his hand, then left the room. Scully made a show of adjusting his IV line so that it wasn't tangled in the blankets or around the remote for the television. He finally stopped her from fiddling any further. "What's the matter?" he asked. She shook her head for a moment, but slowly reached into her pocket and withdrew something shiny. A badge. She held it out and Mulder took it from her. "Chaney's badge?" he asked and she nodded. "Tillman came by while you were sleeping and gave it to me. I don't know what happened to Ledbetter's. It's probably still buried somewhere . . ." She trailed off and looked at her partner. "Mulder? Are you all right?" He'd been staring at the badge, moving it in his fingers so that it would catch the light. "It must have been cool. Wearing this, I mean." She smiled. "Definitely told everyone you were a 'G-Man'," she agreed. "Oh, unlike having F B I stamped in 10 inch letters in yellow across your back," he snorted. "No, this was . . . it was just cool." His faraway look was starting to concern her. She reached over and took the badge from him, putting it in her pocket. "Well, I guess it will go in some museum now. It's a shame we can't give it to his wife." "Chaney wasn't married. Ledbetter was single, too. Back in those days, they really preferred the agents in the field be single," Mulder said thoughtfully. "Makes sense. It isn't a job conducive to relationships," Scully said quietly. They were silent for a moment and Scully grew uncomfortable. "Hey, you need to get some sleep before we wake you up again." She forced a grin. "I will if you will," he taunted. At her rolled eyes, he persisted. "C'mon, Scully. It's late. I'm lucid. And I have it on good authority that I'm boring when I'm asleep." "Good authority, Mulder?" "My college flatmates. Apparently I never managed to react to any of the pranks they tried to pull on me when I slept. I was a real killjoy." That got the chuckle he was hoping for. "Scully, go. At least take a hot bath, get some food that's actually appetizing. Come back and tell me all about it, I can live vicariously." She seemed torn, but finally took the bait. "OK, but I plan on being back in time for the next wake up call," she told him firmly. He didn't think the Tylenol could do anything, but maybe it was just lying still with the lights off. He could feel himself drifting off to sleep. He heard a soft sigh and cracked his eyes open. He was sitting on the mall. The sun felt warm and bright and it didn't bother his eyes at all. He turned his head and that same woman, the woman with the smile was sitting next to him. "Missouri is so far away," she said, her mouth drooping into a feigned pout. "You'll be gone weeks." He wanted to reassure her, but he had no idea what to say. He wasn't even sure how he managed to be on the Capitol Mall and when he'd left DC it had been the tail end of winter, not the summer heat and humidity he felt. "Are you even listening to me?" she asked crossly. "You said you wanted to ask me something before you left. Now what is it?" He stumbled for an answer, but felt something pulling at his ear. His eyes flew open and once again Scully was staring down at him with worry in her expression. "Mulder, that is two for two. If you continue to be this hard to wake up, it's another CT scan for you, mister. The doctor is concerned that you may have a more serious injury than we first thought." He started to shake his head, but remembered just in time not to do that. "It was a dream, Scully. I just couldn't shake off the dream," he tried to explain. She didn't look at all convinced. "Mulder, what was the title of my senior thesis?" "'Einstein's Twin Paradox: A New Interpretation'. Want to know what you wrote at the bottom of page 47?" he grumbled. She raised an eyebrow but pretended to be unimpressed. "No thanks. So what was this dream about? Or don't I want to know?" Mulder brought his hand up to rub lightly at the uninjured side of his head. "I . . . I can't really say. There was a woman . . ." "Stop right there, I've heard enough," Scully quickly interrupted him. "No, it's not like that. I mean, I don't know her. But she seemed to know me. Everything was strange. We were sitting on the Capitol Mall and she was trying to get me to ask her something." The more he talked about it, the more confused he felt. And his head was really starting to hurt again. "Scully, got any more of that Tylenol hidden somewhere?" Scully looked concerned but rang the nurse. "You need to get some more rest. The doctor will be in at 9 to see if you can go home." "I don't want to stay here another night, Scully. Can't you spring me?" he whined. "Mulder, you have a concussion. I don't want to take you on an airplane and have the additional pressure result in a complication," she said with a tired sigh. "Let's talk to the doctor in a few hours. If he thinks you'd be all right to travel, I'll make the plane reservations." Dullas International Airport 9:45 pm Scully looked over at her partner with a worried expression. His doctor had released him with the standard 'take it easy, see your own doctor back home' line and Mulder had rejoiced in being a free man. That was fine, but things weren't quite so rosy. They were able to book a flight that very afternoon and Mulder had jumped at the chance to sleep in his own home rather than spend an extra night in Missouri and Scully had reluctantly agreed. It had been a long and somewhat turbulent flight. Over Ohio they hit major thunderstorms and a couple of times even Scully had felt her stomach in her throat. Mulder looked particularly green and she worried that the pressure might be too much for him. When they broke above the storm cell, he'd fallen into a restless sleep for the remainder of the trip. Now they were touching down almost 45 minutes behind schedule. "I want you to come to my apartment, Mulder," she said as they disembarked the plane. He rolled his eyes at her and kept walking. "I mean it. I promised Dr. Wyatt that I would keep tabs on you." "If I stay over, I'll expect breakfast in bed tomorrow," he said with a totally lecherous grin. "I'm serious," Scully replied, arms folded. He sighed and gingerly shook his head. "Scully, if you want to help me, drop me off at my place. I'm going straight to bed. You can call me in the morning. If I don't answer, you have my full permission to use the key I gave you and bust in on me in the shower." He then smiled again. "In fact, I insist," he added. It was her turn to roll her eyes. In the end, she relented and after dropping him at his place, she went home to her own apartment. "That'll be one hundred fifteen dollars," the man said cheerfully. Mulder felt himself pulling out his wallet, pulling out five crisp twenty dollar bills, a ten and five ones. "If the lady needs the ring adjusted, we do that for free," the man added with a hopeful expression. "I'm pretty sure it will fit," Mulder replied. He started walking out the door, into the bright sunshine. He was on M Street, not far from the Hoover, but it looked different. Some of the newer buildings weren't there. A few brown row houses stood in their place. He finally noticed that all the cars looked antique, but in excellent condition. Even the parking meters looked odd. Feeling off kilter, he made his way down the street. 'I'm dreaming,' he thought. 'This is a dream.' That thought gave him comfort until he stepped too close to the curb and a passing car splash water on his pants. It was wet! He couldn't remember feeling something like water when he was dreaming. "Sam! Hey, Sam. Wait up!" Mulder kept walking until someone touched his shoulder. "Sam, you gone deaf? Didn't you hear me calling you?" Mulder turned to the person addressing him and stared openly. The face was familiar but he was having a hard time placing it. The man didn't seem to notice Mulder's befuddled expression, he just pointed to the paper bag in Mulder's hand. "So you went ahead and did it, huh? You lucky SOB!" The man clapped him on the shoulder again in merriment. "Mulder! Mulder, either wake up or I call the ambulance!" The good-natured back-slapping had turned to full-shoulder shaking and Mulder felt his teeth rattling in his head. "Scully, stop it, you're givin' me whiplash!" he gasped out as he grabbed her arms in an effort to get her to cease her actions. She dropped her hands as if burned and sat down on the edge of the bed. He realized guiltily that she was trembling. "I couldn't wake you. I called twice before I came over. When I got here I fully expected to see you streak across the hall from your bathroom to your bedroom. Instead I found you in here. Mulder, I had to check your pulse to make sure you were still with me!" "I'm sorry," he said and kicked himself for sounding so lame after giving his partner such a fright. "I was having a dream." "This isn't like you, Mulder. You're normally a pretty light sleeper." He shrugged and sat up, the room tilting on its axis a bit before he felt steady enough to get to his feet. "I think it's the concussion. Aren't you supposed to have vivid dreams with a head injury?" "Vivid dreams, yes. Not semi-comas. Mulder, I could not wake you. I really think we should go by the ER, have them run a CT scan." "I have an appointment with my doctor this afternoon, Scully. And I feel fine now." She didn't look appeased. "OK, tell you what: if I keel over at any point in the next 6 hours, you can haul my ass over to the nearest hospital and they can do whatever they want with me." "Sure. You say that now, and only because you'll be unconscious and unable to object anyway," she growled. "Damn straight," he agreed readily. "Now, did you happen to bring any breakfast with you on this rescue mission or do I have to go out and forage for myself?" Much to Scully's chagrin, Mulder's doctor found no reason to keep him home after two day's rest. He allowed Mulder to return to work, but only light duty in the office, no fieldwork for two weeks. That was not much, by Scully's standards, but it was the best she was going to get. When she mentioned the difficulty she'd had rousing her partner, the doctor said it wasn't uncommon, especially if the patient was finally getting some much-needed rest. In other words, she was stonewalled. She greeted him on Tuesday morning with a sour expression. He knew she was angry that the doctor hadn't agreed with her dire assessment of his condition, but Mulder was overjoyed that he was back in their office. He tried to make it up to her. "I think I'll get started on the quarterly reports," he said, settling down in his chair. She did a double take and frowned. "They aren't due until the end of the month. This is only the tenth, Mulder," she pointed out. "I know, but by the end of the month we might be out of town on a case," Mulder replied, logging into his computer. "This way they're out of the way and we don't have to spend all night in some dingy motel room trying to piece them together." She chewed on that thought for a moment and finally grudgingly gave him a nod. "OK. At least that will keep you busy for a while. AD Skinner asked me yesterday if I'd mind filling in for a pathologist out on medical leave. I'll be working upstairs for the rest of the week." She left the 'can I trust you to be good' unspoken, but it was very present in the look she turned on him. "If you're just upstairs, let me know when you get lunch. That new place on Pennsylvania just opened and I thought we could try it out. It's Thai," he grinned at her. She relaxed a bit more. He was trying. Well, Mulder was always 'trying', usually trying on her nerves, her mental wellbeing. But it appeared he was actually 'trying' to be good and recuperate, as he should for once. She felt duty bound to encourage and support his efforts. "Sure, Mulder. That place looked like a shelled out building before they remodeled it. Let's do our part for urban renewal and patronize the place. I'll call you about 12:30, OK?" They met in the lobby and started to walk. January still had the city in her cold grasp and the wind seemed to threat icy rain if not snow. Scully wrapped her muffler tighter around her neck and nodded in approval when Mulder button the top button of his overcoat. It was only a five-minute walk, but both agents were more than ready for the warm and spicy smelling air that greeted them when they opened the door of the new restaurant. As usual, there was a wait, but they were promised it would be no more than 10 minutes. Scully found them a place to stand out of the draft from the door. Although the restaurant's cuisine was Thai, the owners were obviously proud to be located in the nation's capital, or they were hoping to profit from the active tourist trade from the nearby landmarks. There were several framed photos of the streets of DC, some from the early part of the century. Scully pointed a few out to Mulder, who turned and directed his attention to the pictures. One photo was shot in the building during the 40s according to the caption. It had been a nice restaurant, judging from the attire of the patrons. Mulder smiled at the ladies in their net veiled hats and the gentlemen, some sporting boutonnieres in their lapels. As his eyes scanned the picture he heard a strange high-pitched buzzing in his ears. "Your table is waiting, sir." A maitre de smiled at him and extended his hand toward a vacant table. Mulder smiled in return and looked over his shoulder to see if Scully was listening. Instead of Scully the woman from his dream smiled back at him. Mulder shook his head and slammed his eyes shut, then open. His vision was blurry and he blinked several times to clear the film from his eyes. When he could finally see clearly, Scully had hold of his arm and was steering him toward a chair near the wall. "Mulder, track my finger," she said firmly. She held her index finger up to his face, just inches from his nose. He batted it away. "Scully, what are you doing?" "You zoned out on me, almost blacked out," she said, standing up straight and staring at him. "I thought you were going to go down. You're white as a ghost." He shook his head. At least the buzzing was gone, but now a killer headache had taken up residence behind his left eye -- just inches from the line of three stitches. "I'm OK, really," he lied and tried to get up. "Oh no you don't," she warned. "You sit right there. I've called a cab." "Thank god," he muttered. When she shot him a frown he shrugged. "At least it's not an ambulance." Scully was not amused. "I'm calling your doctor the minute we get to your apartment. If he has the time to see you today, you're going." From the set of her jaw he determined that resistance was futile. Another trip to the doctor, this time with an accompanying CT scan, and once again Mulder was sent back to his apartment. Nothing conclusive had come up in the test, but the doctor had noticed that the swelling from the concussion was not reducing to his satisfaction. That was just enough of an excuse Scully needed to get Mulder benched. He was home for the rest of the week. The headache had clung to him all through the doctor's office, through the hospital for the scan and even all the way back home. Scully insisted that she stick around and make him something to eat, since their lunch plans had been postponed indefinitely. Finding only canned soup in his cupboards, she made up a can of chicken noodle, scrounged up an unopened sleeve of saltines and glared at him until he ate every bite. She then ordered him to stretch out on the couch. He was asleep in minutes and she snuck out the door. He was walking through the halls of an old building. He could smell varnish and pencil shavings, years of wax buildup shone on the floor. As he turned into an office he heard someone behind him call out a name. "Sam! Hey, Sam, wait up!" It was enough to cause him to turn around. A man was hurrying toward him. He recognized him after a moment. It was one of the agents who had been killed by Harry Cokely. Agent Tim Ledbetter, that was who was calling him. He stopped and let Ledbetter catch up to him. "Sam, did you get my message?" Ledbetter asked, pulling Mulder's sleeve and leading him further down the hallway. "I'm almost positive this is another stranger killer. I talked to the police captain in Gainsville last night." "That's good," Mulder commented. He wasn't really sure what was going on, but he decided to play along. "We better get out there. I got the OK for us to take a plane, can you believe it? They want us out there quick. This might be what we need, buddy. This might be the one to finally validate our work!" Ledbetter's enthusiasm was hard to ignore. "What time do we leave?" Mulder asked. "Four-thirty. You need to go home and pack." "Sure," Mulder replied. "Right after lunch." Ledbetter shot him a grin. "Just try to make it a 'short' lunch this time," he said with a smirk. "And remember what I told you. Never buy the cow when you can get the milk for free." The next minute, he was in a bed. It wasn't a hospital bed, but it was a twin bed and he wasn't alone. The woman, the woman with the smile was lying in his arms. They were both naked and somehow he'd skipped over a few events. She had her head on his chest and was looking up at him with a sated smile. "So, will you tell me the question you keep dancing around?" He reached past her to the little nightstand next to the bed. Fumbling in the top drawer for a moment, he extracted a small box and handed it to her. When she opened it, he was as surprised as she was to find a small but tasteful diamond ring. "Oh! Oh, gosh! Oh, Sam!" She sat up on her knees and he saw how small and beautiful she was. The smiles she'd given him before were nothing compared to the one she graced him with then. "Aren't you going to ask?" "Marry me?" he croaked out. He took the ring out of the box and slid it on the ring finger of her left hand. "Marry me, Helen." It was a statement of fact the second time he said it. She smiled at him, looked back at the ring and then threw her arms around his neck. "Yes! Yes, Sam Chaney, I will marry you! The minute you get back from Missouri, we'll start planning. Oh, Sam, I love you so much!" Mulder woke up in a cold sweat, his tee shirt sticking to his chest. He felt he was going to be sick, but after a moment the nausea subsided. It was a dream. It had to be a dream because the only Helen he knew of was his mother's aunt and she'd been dead before he was born. He leaned over with his elbows on his knees and tried to will away the headache that had suddenly returned. The phone rang and he grabbed for it. "Mulder." "It's me. Glad to see you woke up this time. I was about ready to come over." Scully didn't sound any happier than she'd been the night before. In fact, she sounded more worried. "I just woke up," he told her honestly. "How are you feeling?" "I -- I have a headache. I feel bad, Scully," he told her without elaboration. "You haven't eaten this morning. I'll bring over some breakfast. You just rest. No sneaking out for a run this morning, Mulder, do you hear me?" She was using her 'Commando Scully' voice as he thought of it, which meant she was concerned about him. He smiled through the pain in his forehead. "Yes, Sister Mary Dana. Oh, and no decaf. The doc said nothing about restricting caffeine." "But caffeine restricts the blood vessels, including the ones in your head, hot shot," she fired back. "I'll bring orange juice and the bagels you like." He was tired, but refused to go back to sleep. He gingerly lay back on the pillow on the couch and tried to remember the dream. These were new to his pantheon of nightmares. One thing was certain; they seemed to have a common theme. On a whim, he rolled off the couch and went to his bedroom, searching for and finding his suitcase. In a pocket he found the badge that had been buried with Chaney's remains. He brought it back into the living room and lay back on the couch. When he didn't answer her knock, Scully used her key. As usual, Mulder's apartment was almost void of daylight, his blinds drawn against the sun, casting the room in an off yellow gloom. He was lying on the sofa. She frowned and called his name. Finally, he looked up at her. "Hi, Scully," he said and attempted to smile. It didn't come close. He slammed his eyes shut against the pain in his head. "Mulder, have you taken anything for that?" she asked. "Didn' wanta throw it up," he said with a groan. "Can you eat a little something? That might help." She placed the bakery bag on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the couch. "Do you mind?" she asked, waiting for his permission to examine him. "Go 'head," he said with a tired sigh. "It just started when I woke up," he added. She looking into his eyes, checked the stitches on his head, took his pulse and then sat back. "I don't think it's that serious. I think it's just the concussion." "I've had concussions before, Scully. I've never felt this bad after a few days rest." "Maybe that's why this one is hitting you so hard, Mulder." She got up fished the bottle of orange juice and a half pint carton of milk out of the bag, taking them to the kitchen. "Every injury is different. Maybe you didn't rest after the other concussions you've had and this time your body is calling you on it." "You make it sound like my body is at war with me," he growled when she returned with the milk and a glass. "If I were your body, I'd take out a restraining order," she said smugly and he had to give her points for that one. "Here. Try some of the milk and few bites of the bagel. We'll see how works and then we'll try some Tylenol. If you can't keep anything down -- " "No threats, Scully, please. I'm not doing this on purpose," he mumbled. Her expression softened and she ran her fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. "I know you aren't. It just upsets me to see you in this much pain, Mulder. I'm sorry if I appear to be bossing you around." She sat next to him and watched as he sipped at the milk. When he reached for the bag of bagels, something fell off his lap and bounced on the floor. It came to rest near his desk. Scully went over to retrieve it. "Mulder, how did this get in here?" she asked, holding up Chaney's shield. "I remembered it was in my suitcase. We need to get that into Skinner. They'll probably want it for the museum." She nodded. "Weren't thinking of swiping it, were you?" she teased. "You did seem awfully impressed by it the other day." "I think he had a girlfriend," Mulder said quietly. Scully looked at him. "Chaney? I didn't see that in the file," she said calmly. "I've been having . . . dreams, I guess. I had a couple in the hospital." She chewed on her lip. "You mentioned a dream when we had trouble waking you." He nodded slowly. "You've been dreaming about Chaney? Mulder, that's not uncommon considering the case we were just on." "Not dreaming about him so much, Scully. I'm dreaming that I am him." "When he was killed?" She could imagine him having nightmares of the attack, only instead of BJ welding the weapon, it would be Cokely. "No. No, and that surprises me, too," he admitted. "No, I have dreams of Chaney before he went out to Missouri. I'm dreaming about him back here, in DC." He had her full, undivided attention. He chewed on his lip a second and then continued. "He was in love. He'd asked the woman to marry him." Scully frowned, that frown he recognized so well. "You got all that from a dream of the man?" "Her name was Helen. She loved him, Scully, really loved him. He bought her a ring and gave it to her the day he and Ledbetter left. Ledbetter was trying to talk him out of it, but Chaney went ahead and proposed. She accepted. She was so happy, Scully." She sat there a moment before she spoke. When she did say something, she dropped her gaze so she wasn't looking at his eyes. "Are you sure you aren't . . . projecting a little here, Mulder. Maybe you -- " He shook his head, which was a mistake because the pain increased dramatically. It just made him angrier. "What, you're saying I want to get married? Look around, Scully. There aren't any girls named Helen in my life right now. Unless one of my video lovelies is named Helen in real life!" She regretted her words, more for their affect on him than for the truth behind them. "Mulder, I'm just saying you dreamed an awful lot about the man. It was horrible, the way he died. And it had to be lonely back then for men in our job. Maybe you just 'wished' he had someone to care about him." "Scully, it all seemed so real," he said, the wind out of his sails. He was very tired and his head was killing him. "Can we try the Tylenol now, please," he asked stiffly. She nodded and hurried into the kitchen again, returning with a glass of water and two white capsules. He plucked them out of her hand, swallowed them with a sip of the water and handed the glass back to her. He melted back into the couch cushions. After disposing of the glass in the sink, she came back and sat on the coffee table. She ran her hand through his hair once more. "Mulder, I need to get to the office for a few hours. But I'm coming back at lunchtime. If your headache isn't any better, maybe we should call the doctor again." "Whatever," he mumbled and turned so that he was facing the back of the sofa, effectively cutting her off. She reached out to touch his shoulder, but stopped a few inches before contact. "I'll see you later. Call if you need me?" He grunted and she hoped it was in the affirmative. She checked her watch and headed out the door. He slept for the rest of the morning. When Scully came back at lunchtime, he knew she was seeking forgiveness. "Italian beef and fries from Tony's? Scully, that's all the way out in Northeast," he mumbled happily around a mouth full of sub roll and meat, juices trickling down his chin. She grinned and gingerly took a bite of her roast chicken on whole wheat. "It's not that far out of the way, Mulder. And you were saying the other day that we haven't been by there for a while. 'Jonesin' for some Tony's' I believe you put it." He finished the whole sandwich and left only enough fries for her to steal while he was getting himself another glass of iced tea. She knew she was forgiven. "So, how's the headache?" she asked when he returned to find the fry wrapper empty. He grinned at her as she gave him an innocent look. "The headache is much better." "No more dreams of Sam Chaney?" He thought for a moment. "No. No dreams that I can remember. I feel a lot better." "Which means that you're doing exactly what you should be doing -- resting," she chided. "I could come in for just a couple of -- " "Mulder, I really think you should just take it easy. I know it's a pain to be cooped up, but you were really feeling lousy this morning. Don't tempt a relapse. Stay home today and tomorrow and we'll see how it goes from there." He started to object when he realized she was offering to let him back one day earlier than his doctor had suggested. "OK. I'll stay home from school again, Mom," he teased. "But if the coach benches me for missing practice, it's on your head." "I'll take my chances," she said with a grin. "Now, I have to get back to work. I'll come by later. If you're good, I'll bring Thai." "From the place on Penn?" "None other. They're open for dinner and carryout. I'll even get sticky rice." "Sounds like a plan. Thanks, Scully. Thanks for looking out for me, even if it's counter to what I think." She shook her head and smirked. "Just stay put and get some more rest. Read a book, watch some of those videos you don't own, just take it easy. OK?" "I promise." He watched some television, flipped through a couple of magazines and was still bored out of his skull by 2:30. He briefly wondered if dying of boredom was a worse fate than dying of intracranial bleeding. He decided it wasn't, but he'd made a promise to Scully. He was trying to keep more of his promises to her, especially since she'd been returned to him. It wasn't much, but it was the least he could do. His body was resting but his mind wouldn't shut off. He thought back on what he knew. Sam Chaney and Tim Ledbetter had been agents in the DC bureau back in 1942. There might still be some records on them. He grabbed his cordless phone off the desk and dialed a number he knew by heart. "Danny? Mulder. Yeah, I'm at home 'resting'. Hey, Skinner wants me to write up something on Sam Chaney, the agent who was killed investigating a serial murderer/rapist back in 1942. Scully and I found the remains. Yeah, Sam Chaney, with an 'a' then an 'e y'. Just fax it over to my apartment. You know the number, right? Great, thanks!" By the time Scully arrived with dinner, he'd put in three more calls for information and was in debt to Danny for four box seats at the Orioles home opener, but it was worth it. He had every scrap of information on both Sam Chaney and Tim Ledbetter, which was a sizable amount. "Mulder, when I said you should rest -- " "I never left the couch, Scully. Well, except to refill the paper tray on my fax," Mulder looked up from the papers spread across his coffee table. "Did you know that Chaney was a lawyer? And Ledbetter had been a deputy sheriff in Baltimore before joining the Bureau." "You don't say," she muttered absently. "Mulder, where do you want to eat?" She held up the bags of dripping take out. "Oh, yeah, sorry," he replied and hastily grabbed his mail and several days newspapers off the kitchen table. "I'll get some plates." "No, you sit. I'll get the plates," she told him. After setting the table, she filled their glasses with iced tea and started removing food containers from the bags. A folded sheet of paper scuttled across the table to land on Mulder's lap. "What's this?" he asked, holding it up for inspection. "Their menu. They deliver, but not outside of the District. Still, some night when we're working out of my place -- " She stopped talking when she realized Mulder wasn't listening. He'd stood and was walking the menu over to his desk, where he rifled through a drawer and was examining the menu with a magnifying glass. "Mulder? What is it?" "Does this look like Sam Chaney in this picture?" he asked, walking the menu and the magnifier back to her. "Mulder," she said, not looking at the picture. "You have to stop with this obsession!" "Scully, would you just look?" he asked through gritted teeth. She took the menu and the glass, looking at the picture. It was the same picture she'd seen framed on the wall of the restaurant. After a moment she handed the menu and the glass back to Mulder. "Yes, that does look like him. But Mulder, the guy in the back row is a dead ringer for my Uncle Buddy and I can swear to you that he was in the South Pacific in 1942!" "That woman, Scully. The one next to Chaney? That's her. That's Helen!" "Mulder," she said, her voice low. "Put that away and come eat." He didn't move for a moment and she continued to glare at him. "You sound just like my mother," he groused as he walked back to the kitchen. "Leave your mother out of this. Now eat. We'll look at pictures after dinner." He ate all his Pad Thai and more than his share of the sticky rice, but that satisfied Scully, so she agreed to take a look at all the files he'd amassed over the afternoon. Mulder kept looking at the picture as she read through the pages of the impromptu report he'd compiled. "Mulder, did it occur to you that you're just seeing Chaney in that picture because we were just there so soon after the case?" she asked as sat glued to the grainy photo on the front of the menu. He looked over at her, exasperation evident. "Scully, this is the woman in my dream." "And I know that sometimes the mind can make leaps and see correlations that aren't really there," she countered. "Like an optical allusion? Scully, I've been having these dreams since BJ tried to open my skull with that fire extinguisher. I've seen this woman in almost every one of those dreams." "Well, looking at the picture isn't going to tell us who she is, Mulder." "She loved him. God, how awful that must have been. They didn't find a body, she might not have known anything was amiss for weeks because travel was a lot harder before Ike and the interstate system. She was waiting for him for who knows how long," Mulder mused, pulling on his lip. "Mulder," Scully said, stopping his hand. "Maybe you're relating a little here," she said softly. His eyes flashed, he bolted out of the chair, was halfway down the hallway before he turned around and spoke. "I hope to God you never have to wait for someone, Scully. I hope you never wonder, for years, what might have happened to them." She sat in the near darkness of his living room. She knew he needed to calm down, but she also knew she'd drawn blood. It had been unintentional, but that didn't really matter. She'd still caused him pain. When he came back into the room he sat on the chair across from her, his expression masked. "Mulder, I'm sorry. I - I just think you're getting in awfully deep here. You're still recovering from a serious blow to the head. I don't want you to get hurt." He drew in a deep breath and nodded. "I know, Scully. But I also feel that if I can find this woman, let her know what happened, maybe I can give her some peace. I would hope that someone would do the same for me, if it ever comes to that." Scully nodded slowly. She picked up the pages and started to read through them. She looked up suddenly when she something crossed her mind. "Mulder, tell me your dreams. Can you remember them?" He tilted his head. "I think so. The first one I was sitting in the bull pen, but it wasn't the one on 6th floor. I think it was in the old FBI Building. And this woman came up to me and said 'Hi, handsome'." "She came up to you in the bull pen? Mulder, maybe she worked with Chaney. Maybe she was someone in the building at the time." A slow smile grew across his face. "Scully, you're brilliant! She was probably a secretary or something. We just need a list of all the female employees who might have worked around Chaney and Ledbetter in 1942." "And then figure out where they are today. Mulder, this is still no small task and you are far from 100 percent. I'll go along with this trip, Don Quixote, but you let me do the legwork." "When we find her, Scully, I'd like to be there to tell her." "If we find her, Mulder, I will make sure you are." The next day 11:30 am Mulder had fallen asleep not long after Scully had left the night before and slept until 9. It was a record for him, but now he was bored and restless. Scully had threatened all sorts of torture if he attempted to go running, and he'd caught up on his mail and paid his bills. He'd even run through the 124 cable networks, until he realized he was watching the Home Shoppers Channel and he turned off the TV in disgust. Now, he was bouncing his basketball and planning an escape route so that his neighbor near the front door couldn't tell Scully he'd gone out. The knock on the door startled him, but he was overjoyed at the diversion. He answered it and Scully pushed past him, more food bags in her hands. "You know, I do have food here," he said with a wry grin. "You don't have to bring provisions every time you come over." "I've seen your refrigerator, Mulder. I wouldn't put petri dishes in that thing. Besides, it was on the way." She pulled out two large deli sandwiches, a bag of chips for him, side salad for her and two cans of soda. "So, what did you dig up this morning?" he asked as he sat down and picked up his sandwich. He smiled at her choice for him, roast beef with mustard, just the way he liked it. "Well, I didn't have much time, I had an autopsy consult. But I was able to come up with a list of all the clerical staff from 1942. It was in the Annual Report to Congress, in an appendix." She handed him the copies she'd made of several pages of the report. He ran his eyes over the list and grimaced. "I never realized Helen was such a popular name in the 40's," he said with a tired sigh. "There must be sixty Helen's on this list." "Well, I have two Aunt Helens, one on each side of the family," Scully said with a shrug. "So, anyway, we have someplace to start." "Maybe we can narrow it down a little. Is there anything approximating an org chart in that report you found?" "Organizational charts weren't big until the 60s, Mulder. Before then it was king bee and worker bees," she replied around bites of salad. At his disappointed expression, she relented. "I'll see what I can dig up tomorrow. I'll go down to the stacks and see if there is anything related directly to clerical or support staff. But it comes at a price," she said, staring at him. He sighed. "Stay home, rest, be a good little invalid," he chanted. "I never called you an invalid, Mulder. But you are on medical leave and that means you're supposed to be resting and getting better." "I haven't had a headache since yesterday. I feel a lot better, Scully." "Good, that means you're _almost_ there!" she said happily. "It's like when I was little and we got to Communion during Mass. I always wanted to leave right then, when everyone was walking up to the altar. But we still had the closing and the recessional song." "Are you telling me I have to wait for the fat lady to sing?" he asked derisively. "One more song, Mulder. Then you get out in the sunshine. Just stay home taking it easy until Monday, which is only three more days, and I'll personally vouch for you to the doctor." "All that for looking up old support staff records? You drive a hard bargain, Scully." "Take it or leave it," she said with a smug grin. "One more song, Scully. I'll take your offer. But it better be a quick song!" Friday 9:15 am Scully had hung around, watching old horror movies with him until eleven. He was surprised that he'd actually fallen asleep after she left and was disappointed when he woke up without remembering any of his dreams. It had become a promise, somewhere along the line. It went beyond the pain of losing someone and never knowing what really happened. He thought about Scully and his mother. If anything ever happened to him, he would want the people left behind to have some closure. He was sure Sam Chaney felt the same way. It was a whim that made him grab his car keys and head downtown. The restaurant opened at 11, but the manager was there, cleaning up and preparing for the day. One flash of the badge and Mulder was in the door, standing in the lobby where he'd first seen the picture. "Do you mind if I take a look at this?" The owner shook his head. The man was trying so hard to be helpful. "Take it out of the frame, if you like," he offered. The frame was nice, but discount store variety. The back slid out and Mulder was able to take the photo out easily. "There are others, we found a whole drawer full of them. Would you like to see?" Mulder was studying the back of the photo. In small, cursive writing some previous owner had listed the names of the people in the photo. He found T. Ledbetter and S. Chaney and next to that was the name H. Miller. Helen Miller. It was enough to keep the search going. "No, thank you, I found what I needed," Mulder assured the anxious little man. He put the photo back in the frame and handed it to the owner. "You've been a tremendous help. Oh, and your Pad Thai is excellent." The little man beamed from ear to ear. "Thank you. Come back, any time!" Now he had a name, but that was all he had. Back at his car, he pulled out the sheets of clerical names Scully had found at the Bureau. There was a Helen Miller listed. He knew where she was in 1942. The real question was where she was in 1995. She had looked young in the picture, but he knew from experience that all women worked hard at not looking their age. She could have been twenty something to thirty something. That would put her anywhere from 73 years old to 83 or even long passed. At the realization that he was very likely tracking down a woman in her grave, the wind went out of his sails. He was tired and the point behind his left eye was starting to throb again. What was he doing? Chasing after a woman on the basis of a couple of nightmares? By the time he got to his apartment, he was exhausted and his head felt ready to explode. Not to mention a very angry Agent Scully greeted him. "Where were you?" she demanded the minute he entered his apartment. On closeer appraisal, she softened her tone and helped him to his couch. "Mulder, lie down. I'll get the Tylenol." He hurt so bad he couldn't keep his eyes open. He could hear her in the kitchen and then he felt her touch his arm when she returned with water and the pills. He rolled forward just enough to take the medicine without spilling the water and then slumped back again. She sat on the edge of the coffee table and waited, giving him a couple of minutes for the pills to kick in. "I went back to the restaurant," he said quietly, in deference to his pounding skull. "You forgot your cell phone," she interjected. He cracked open one eye. "I guess so. Sorry." She didn't reply, just took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever he was going to tell her. "The woman's name is Helen Miller. The picture had the names listed on the back. The list you found has a Helen Miller listed as a secretary at the Bureau in 1942." "Good work," she replied. "If it was worth this headache." "Why do I still have a headache?" he asked, rubbing his temple. "I've been sleeping, I've been resting -- " "You've been working on this dream of yours as if it's a case, Mulder," she chided. "Not to mention how busy we've been lately. Plus, I think . . . maybe you aren't fully recovered from . . ." The pills were working enough for him to shift and look at her with both eyes. "Recovered from what?" he demanded. She bit her lip, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. "Mom said something the other day. She said while I was gone you didn't take very good care of yourself." Scully dropped her eyes to the floor, not wanting to argue her mother's statement, or reveal that her mother had been very worried about her partner during her disappearance. "I didn't sleep much," he admitted. He wasn't comfortable talking about it either, so he slowly sat up and leaned his head back against the top of the couch. "I'm just getting old," he said finally. "Yeah, that's it," she replied with a wicked grin. "Look, we have a name, we know she was a Bureau employee. It shouldn't be too hard to track her down. Let me see what I can find this afternoon. As for you -- " He held up his hand. "Look, Scully if you want me to do anything other than lay on this couch and watch Aussie Rules football, I'm sorry, I just don't think I'm up to it," he said with a smirk. He'd beaten her to the punch and he knew it. She shook her head and started for the door. "Mulder," she said in a warning voice. "Shh, Scully. I'm watching the game," he told her as he clicked up the volume on the television set where men wearing very short shorts were throwing a bloated football across the field. If she stopped to watch with him for a few minutes, she'd never get to the office. "See you later," she said with a smile. His response was just an absent-minded wave of his hand. The wind was tremendous and he looked around, trying to figure out where he was. An airport. An old airport. He glanced over at the terminal building and saw the word 'National'. He was standing on the tarmac, just yards from an vintage DC-3 emblazoned with the words 'TransWorld Airlines'. "Send me a telegram when you get there, so I know you're OK." It was Helen. He turned and looked down into her green eyes. "I promise," he told her. "C'mon, this baby won't wait forever," Ledbetter chided as he headed off for the stairs leading up to the door of the plane. "I have to go," he said softly as she wrapped her arms around him. "I'll miss you," she said tearfully. "I'll miss you, too. I-I love you," he said and gently pulled her arms from his waist. "I love you," she shouted after him. He waved one last time and ducked his head so the wind from the propellers wouldn't knock off his hat. When he got to the top step, just before he entered the body of the plane, he turned and looked back. It was Scully standing on the tarmac, waving at him and blowing him a kiss. He awoke with a start and sat straight up. It took a few minutes to get his breathing under control. Damn these dreams! Wasn't it enough that he had weekly nightmares about his sister and Scully's abductions? Now he had to endure someone else's nightmares, too? He looked around the apartment and sighed. He needed to get his mind off these dreams. Scully was right, he was obsessing about this woman. But he knew something Scully didn't know. The only way he could get his mind off the hunt was to get his body moving. It wasn't like the stupid headaches were going away, anyway. Nothing strenuous. A run? Nah, when he was tied up in mental knots he had a tendency to overdo on the track. Not a good option. His survey of his living room produced nothing to his liking until his eyes fell upon the round object hidden under the corner of his desk. Basketball. It was technically a non-contact sport. There was always a game going on down at the corner. He suspected that if he was ever to leave the FBI and become a truant officer he'd have a field day at that park, but that day wasn't coming soon. He rolled off the couch and picked up the ball, grabbed his keys and headed out the door. Hegal Place was all apartment buildings, built in the late 30s. In some stroke of civic wisdom, the city fathers had erected a small park in the forest of brownstone and mortar. One side had playground equipment and a few patches of grass, the other side had a basketball court enclosed in hurricane fencing. As Mulder predicted, there was a pick up game going on. "Hey, look, it's the old guy," one of the participants, a tall handsome latino young man called out. "He don' like it when you call him 'old', Julio," replied an equally tall dark skinned youth with a winning smile. "What's that word again, Mr. M?" "Vintage, Keyon. I'm 'vintage'." "Yeah, right," smirked another youth. "Like my old man's '78 Harley. 'Course, it don't got no engine," he added with a snort. "I can see you managed to miss English class again, Kevin, my man," Mulder said with a grin and put his ball down against the fence. "Who's up for a game? Two on two, I'll take Keyon." It was warm in the sunshine, even though the temperature was hovering near 40 degrees. Mulder soon removed his sweatshit, revealing his tee-shirt, which was quickly soaked in perspiration. The three boys were only half his age and in very good shape. They were definitely not of the couch potato generation, he mused as Julio made a perfect three pointer from mid court. "We're down by four, Mr. M. Let's see some hustle," Keyon yelled to his teammate as he started to dribble down the court, fending off Kevin's attempts to get the ball. Mulder loped down to the key, waving his arms to signal he was ready. Keyon feinted, dribbled and then let the ball sail, just as Julio plowed into Mulder, knocking him to the ground. "Foul! Julio, you dumb asshole! You fouled him!" Kevin yelled, putting his arms on his hips. It was Keyon who noticed the older man didn't seem to be moving to get up. "Kev, Julio, help me get him up," Keyon shouted as he trotted over to the agent lying on the ground. "No, wait, I remember this from health class. Don't move him, it coulda broke his back!" Kevin said urgently, throwing his arm out to stop Keyon. "Julio knocked him down, he didn't get hit by a car! Oh damn it --" Keyon said as he fell down to his knees next to his teammate. "He hit his head on the cement. Shit, he's bleeding!" "Oh, damn, I killed him," Julio cried out. "My mom is gonna shit a brick!" "Calm down, he ain't dead," Kevin assured his friend. "He's breathin'. See?" Keyon was chewing on his lip. "He don't look like he's breathin' too good," he said in quick assessment. "Did he bring his cell phone?" Quickly, he checked Mulder's pockets. "Check over where he tossed his jacket." Julio was happy to be doing anything productive. He checked the jacket and the sweatshirt. "Keys, but no phone. Now what do we do?" "My grandma's home. I'll go get her. Wait here," he said, but it was obvious no one was moving from their spots. Mulder had to be dreaming. The room was dark, but it wasn't his living room. There were lace curtains on the window and lace trim on the cloth covering the table by the chair. He was lying down and his head felt ready to split in two. And when he looked up at the wall, a framed picture of Helen Miller was staring back at him. "You're awake! Here, I have ice for your head." A woman's voice sounded behind him and he turned, but it caused his vision to blur and then double, so he lay back down and slammed his eyes shut. He felt something cold and wet pressed against his forehead, causing his stomach to churn. He opened one eye to a slit and tried to focus. Helen Miller looked down at him again, but she looked different, older. Much older. Scully's gonna be so pissed, he thought and let a groan slip between his lips. "I've called for an ambulance. The boys were so frightened, you didn't wake up even after they carried you in here." He tried to sit up but she forced him back to the cushions. "No, I think you need to stay still. The paramedics will be here soon." Mulder wanted to thank her, but was too busy passing out again. Georgetown University Medical Center Saturday 8:45 pm He recognized the smells, bleach and rubbing alcohol. Then he recognized the sounds, rubber soled shoes on tile, soft chimes and a public address system on mute. All that was missing was . . . He opened his eyes as far as he could, which turned out to be half-mast, and there she was -- Scully -- sitting by his bed reading his chart. "Quit playing possum, Mulder. I could tell you were awake from the spikes in your EEG," she said with her eyes never leaving the chart, her mouth twisted into a scowl. He licked his lips and blinked his eyes open a little farther. She was still blurry but when she finally looked up at him he couldn't miss the fire in her eyes. "Basketball, Mulder? That's your idea of resting? Playing basketball with a bunch of teenagers?" He closed his eyes. He knew he should just accept his punishment, but he was so thirsty. "Water?" he croaked. She looked like she wanted to pour the water on his head, but thought better of it. She filled a styrofoam cup, added a straw and brought it to his lips. He drank greedily and then let his head drop back to the pillow. "I'm sorry. I was just -- " "You were just damn lucky, Mulder! You could have done permanent damage to your brain. Thank god you have such a thick skull!" "I guess I deserve that," he mumbled and tried to sink further into the bed, to avoid her shouting. "What I can't believe is how you can do something so stupid and yet stumble onto exactly what you were looking for. How do you do that, Mulder? I really want to know how you manage to do that." He perked up a bit and looked over at her. "Did I miss something?" Scully leaned down and rifled through her briefcase. Sitting back up, she opened a file folder. "While you were trying to commit suicide through athletics, I was working on that name you gave me. I came up with up with something very interesting. Helen Miller worked for the Bureau as a typist in the Violent Crimes Division from 1939 until her retirement in 1979." "She worked there 40 years," Mulder said with a low whistle. "Save for one year, 1943. She didn't take a leave of absence; they didn't have that in those days. She quit and was rehired one year later." He chewed on his lip, confusion obvious on his face. "She had a child, Mulder. A baby boy. She lived with her parents and they helped her raise her son." He closed his eyes. It was Chaney's child, he was sure of it. What Helen must have gone through during that time? "Anyway, when her parents died, she moved to a small two bedroom apartment in Arlington. On Hegal Place." Scully sat back with a smug expression, waiting for Mulder to piece together the puzzle she'd laid out. "That picture on the wall . . . I woke up for a moment and I thought it was another dream . . ." "You played basketball with Helen's grandson, Mulder. Kevin Miller." "I never knew the kids last names, Scully," he whispered in awe. She looked dubious, but didn't question him on it. "Well, Ms. Miller saved your life. She called for an ambulance after the boys carried you off the playground. You hit your head hard enough to cause a small intracranial bleed, Mulder. You could have died if help hadn't reached you so soon." He started to sit up in bed and the pain and Scully's hand pushed him back against the pillows. "Does she know, Scully? Did you tell her?" Scully smiled affectionately at him. "It's your story to tell, Mulder. Kevin was concerned about you, as was his grandmother. I told them that you would need to rest today, but that they could come up and visit you tomorrow. Visiting hours are from 1 to 4. I expect them to come up as soon as you finish lunch." He breathed deeply, feeling relaxed for the first time since they'd returned from Aubrey. "I need a favor, Scully," he started. "If you want me to go past you apartment and bring up Sam's badge, I'm a step ahead of you. I talked to Skinner. He said it would be better for Helen to have it, maybe give it to her son. The Bureau has plenty of old badges in the museum." "Thanks, Scully. I owe you," he said with a contented sigh. "Good. I'll collect right now. You do me a favor and go back to sleep. And this time when they release you, Mulder, you are staying at my apartment until you are back on your feet, no argument. Agreed?" "Until you get tired of me and kick me out," he said with a grin. "I have a habit of making life miserable." "Oh, believe me, I can make your life just as miserable as you can make mine," she assured him, but the twinkle in her eyes softened the blow of her words. Georgetown University Medical Center Sunday 1:15 pm Helen Miller's gray green eyes filled with tears as Mulder placed the gold shield in her hand, closing her fingers over it. "He wanted you to have it," he said softly. "I was 18 years old when I got the job at the FBI, Agent Mulder. All the young agents were always asking the secretaries out, but it was frowned on back on those days. The only one I couldn't refuse was Sam. We'd been seeing each other a year when he proposed and then he went to Missouri on that awful case. I waited. I waited and prayed that he would turn up. They told me he was probably dead, but there were times I hoped that he'd just gotten cold feet and run off with another woman . . ." "He loved you too much for that," Mulder said quietly, but with conviction. "I think that's why he came to me. He couldn't let you think that." "After all these years, to know for certain. It's a relief, but it hurts to know that he died out there, all alone," she said and the sob she was holding finally broke free. "He was the only man I ever loved." "I'm so sorry for your loss," Mulder said in measured tones. "But I think . . . I think he's at peace now. I think he feels like he's finally come home." Helen looked into Mulder's eyes and smiled. "He came to you in your dreams?" she asked. Mulder nodded, unsure of what to say. Helen got a far away look to her eyes. "I used to dream about him. Every night for years and years." She looked down at the shield in her hand. "I think I'll probably dream about him tonight." Scully's apartment A week later Mulder woke up and looked around. It wasn't his apartment. Beige colored walls, beige colored curtains on the windows, beige carpeting. Oh, yeah, he was at Scully's, in her guest room. He rolled over and tried to remember his dream. Nothing about it came to him. "Hey, it's almost noon. Ready for some lunch?" Scully asked from the doorway. He blinked at her. She was wearing casual clothes, jeans and a sweater. Was it the weekend? Time really did fly when you had a head injury, he mused. "Yeah," he said, his voice raspy from sleep. "I am kinda hungry." "I made sub sandwiches and iced tea. You go wash up and we can eat in the dining room. I have a surprise for you." He met her in the dining room and immediately noticed the pie sitting on the table. "Is that the surprise -- sweet potato pie?" he asked, breaking into a grin. "Actually, I think it's pumpkin but don't hold me to that. I didn't make it," Scully replied as she filled two glasses with tea. "Kevin Miller dropped it by a little while ago. It's a 'thank you' present from Helen." "That was nice of her but she didn't have to do that," he said, settling in his seat and sipping at his tea. "Sandwiches look good, Scully." "Thanks. It's an art, tossing meat and sliced tomatoes on hoagie rolls," she said with a smirk. When he didn't come back with a smart remark she looked over at him. "Mulder, are you all right? Do you have another headache?" He looked up quickly and shook his head. "No, I was just thinking." "About Samantha," she asked quietly. He shook his head slowly. "No, really. About you. When you were . . ." Even after two months time, he couldn't say the words. "I was remembering the time when you were gone . . . Meeting Helen, knowing a little of what she went through, it just makes me think. It could have been so much worse." He couldn't meet her eyes, just stared at his empty plate. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "But I'm back, Mulder. We have to go forward." He looked at their hands, entwined on the table, and up at her face, smiling at him. "Yeah. We have to go on." the end