"No, no. Don't say that!"

"What? You wanted to know what I thought!"

"Not like that! I mean, you like him, don't you?"

"He's your boyfriend. You're the one who's supposed to like him!"

"I didn't mean it like that!"

Miranda Bailey stood a few paces ahead of her five interns, pretending she couldn't hear them bickering behind her. They had been standing outside the E.R. for ten minutes, waiting for the ambulance that was supposed to be arriving, and the interns had been chattering away for all ten of those minutes. Bailey would never hear the prefix 'Mc-' the same way ever again.

Just then, she heard the sound of ambulance sirens approaching in the distance. "Shh," Bailey hissed, putting up a hand to signal her interns to stop. "You can talk about your McDrama later. There's an ambulance coming now."

Sure enough, within a few moments, the ambulance drove in, flashing red and blue across the faces of the surgeons. A paramedic came out and opened up the back.

"What've we got?" Bailey asked, rushing over to him.

"Two FBI agents, late thirties, suffering from seemingly self-inflicted gunshot wounds," said the paramedic, wheeling out one of the stretchers. "A witness heard shots and found them lying in an alleyway. The man was having trouble breathing, so we had to intubate. I think the bullet may have punctured one of his lungs."

Bailey gripped the edge of the first stretcher, and looked down into the face of the person lying on it. It was a woman with red hair that was splayed out behind her head. There was blood soaking the front of her blazer, but her eyes were open and she seemed lucid.

"Not self-inflicted…" the woman was saying, gripping the side of the stretcher. "These… these wounds were not self-inflicted. And… where's my partner…?"

"It's okay, ma'am. We've got him right here," Bailey told her.

The woman focused on Bailey's face. "I'm a doctor," she said. "I don't… don't think any of my organs were punctured. But… I don't know the extent of my partner's injuries… I didn't get a chance to check before I passed out…"

Bailey looked over at the other stretcher. Lying on it was a man with dark hair whose eyes were fluttering weakly. There was a tube protruding from between his lips, and a second paramedic was pressing on the attached bag to keep him breathing. "O'Malley, take over," she told her intern, who took the bag from the paramedic. The redheaded agent glanced over at the other stretcher, and extended a blood-spattered hand over to her partner. However, Alex moved around the side of the man's stretcher, blocking her path. "Let's get them inside," Bailey ordered, pushing the woman's stretcher inside.

Chief Webber was standing just inside the doors. "Chief, you can take this one," Bailey said, pointing at the stretcher with the intubated man on it.

"Got it," Webber replied, and took the edge of the stretcher. "Grey, O'Malley, Karev, you're with me. Yang, Stevens, go with Dr. Bailey."

The interns split into two groups. Bailey waved for Cristina and Izzie to follow her. As they pulled her stretcher away, the redheaded agent's eyes followed her partner, who was being taken away by Webber and the three interns. "Mulder…" she mumbled.

"It's going to be okay," Izzie reassured her, placing a hand overtop of the FBI agent's. "We'll update you on your partner's condition as soon as we can. But right now, we just need to focus on helping you. Okay?"

The agent opened her mouth as if to respond, but then her eyes began to flutter, and her head fell back, unconscious. "All right," Bailey told her two interns. "Let's pick up the pace."

As Bailey lay in bed that night, the two FBI agents were on her mind. Judging by the location and amount of damage the bullets had caused, Bailey would have to agree with the paramedic that they were self-inflicted. But the female FBI agent, whose badge identified her as Dana Scully, had seemed so concerned about her partner, Fox Mulder. If they had been planning a double suicide, as the evidence suggested, then why would she have been so worried about him afterwards? Had Scully changed her mind at some point during the process? Would they be a danger to themselves again? Bailey wasn't sure what to think.

She went to check on the two agents as soon as she got to work the next morning. In room 1402, Scully was awake and sitting up in bed. "Good morning, Ms. Scully. I'm Dr. Bailey. How are you feeling?" she asked. The redheaded agent looked up when she saw Bailey approach.

"Tired, but much better than yesterday," Scully said. "How did my surgery go?"

"It went just fine," Bailey told her. "You were right; none of your organs were punctured, so we were able to remove the bullet and stitch up your injuries."

"What about Mulder?" asked Scully.

"Your partner's surgery was a success as well," said Bailey. "The bullet that hit him did some damage to one of his lungs, but we were able to repair it. He's off intubation, and is doing just fine."

A look of relief spread across Scully's face. "Oh, thank God," she breathed. "Can I see him?"

"Well, he's still recuperating from his surgery. He isn't awake yet," Bailey said. "And… we'll be getting a psych consult for both of you as soon as he regains consciousness."

Scully's eyes widened. "A psych consult?" she repeated. "Why?"

"The injuries that you sustained made it very obvious that they were self-inflicted," Bailey said gently. "Put simply, you and your partner both shot yourselves."

"It wasn't quite as simple as that," Scully replied. She swallowed hard, and looked toward the door. "I wish Mulder were here. I won't be able to explain this as well as he could. But… I'll try."

Bailey sat down on the edge of the FBI agent's bed. "Alright, I'm listening."

Scully paused for a moment before saying, "Mulder and I… we did not consciously do this to ourselves. We were coerced, in a way. By this man." She reached over to her bedside table, where her freshly cleaned blazer was folded up along with a gold crucifix necklace and a photograph of a man. She picked up the photograph. "This man knows that Mulder and I are trying to put him in jail. That's why he coerced us into shooting ourselves. If he comes here looking for us, you cannot tell him where we are. And if he finds us… you cannot look him in the eye. Under any circumstances. He's a telepath; that's how he uses his power."

Bailey took the photo that she handed to her and studied it. The man was pale, with close-shaven black hair. The look on his face sent chills up her spine. Still, what Scully was telling her was unbelievable. A man who could 'coerce' you into trying to kill yourself by just making eye contact with him? It seemed impossible.

"He caused the deaths of four teenagers. That's why Mulder and I were sent to investigate him," Scully went on. "I know you must think I'm insane. I would too, if I were you. But you have to trust me. I would never try to kill myself, and I would also never make up something like this." There was desperation in her blue eyes. Bailey pursed her lips.

"Ms. Scully…" she began. "I'll station a security guard to stand outside you and your partner's rooms. And do you mind if I take this photograph? I'll photocopy it and give it to all of the doctors around here so that they're familiar with the face."

Scully nodded, relief filling her face. "Thank you, Dr. Bailey."

Bailey smiled at her. "No problem, Ms. Scully. I want to do everything I can to keep you and your partner safe."

With that, she walked out of the room. On her way down to the main floor, she checked in on Scully's partner, Mulder, in the room next door. He was still asleep, chest rising and falling peacefully. Bailey walked over to him and peered down the front of his hospital gown at the bandages on his chest. "You," she said, "were lucky that the bullet missed your heart, because there is a woman in the other room who seems to be after it."