CHAPTER 2

Mulder is in a four-bed room. The only other patient is behind a closed curtain. An older man with a baseball cap with Indian Motorcycle splashed across the front, sits vigil, his hunched form visible from the small opening between the curtains.

Scully is in the washroom cleaning up after a small nosebleed. She makes damn sure there is no trace of it because she knows that Mulder misses nothing, disoriented or not. Quietly, she opens the bathroom door as the sound of a flushing toilette follows her out. Another trick she has found. When in a bathroom for a nosebleed, always flush the toilette so that nobody gets suspicious.

She is caught off guard by the sight of Mulder. His eyes are opening and he is looking straight at her. She takes the three steps from the bathroom door to the bed and rubs his shoulder softly. "Mulder – come on – Time to open up your eyes. Rise and shine."

Wake Up Time. One of the songs he uses to annoy her when she starts to doze during one of their long car rides. But Mulder always pronounces it, Rise. And Shine.

Carefully, he looks up and sees a dingy, cream coloured ceiling. He knows where he is just by the smell. Hospital disinfectant is the same in every hospital in every city. But that is all he knows. He has a terrible headache, the kind that makes hangovers feel like nothing. He also knows he has something to do with the reason that her voice sounds so unsteady. Something happened. There was light and noise and the feeling that he was drowning while she tried to pull him back. He knew neither of them would made it.

As he carefully turns his head, he is relieved to see she is smiling at him, beaming. This is what an answered prayer looks like.

"How are you feeling?"

"Headache kills," he whispers and stares up at the ceiling. There are so many things swirling around in his head, some of them true, some of them imagined. He thinks he found his sister in a playground but even that much is unclear. "What's going to happen to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I killed those people."

"No, you didn't, you-" It only takes her a second. "Mulder, you didn't kill them. Detective Curtis and I proved it."

"When?"

"Yesterday." Short term memory loss. She was told to expect this, but she didn't expect it would frighten her so much. "It's okay, Mulder, you didn't -"

"I didn't even know them, Scully. Why did I do that?"

"You didn't. It was a murder-suicide. " She doesn't know if he is registering this or not. His eyes still won't leave hers. "You've still got the hallucinogenic in your system, its normal that you don't remember much. But they want to do some tests, just to make sure …."

He clears his throat nervously. "… Brain damage?"

"They won't know yet. The medication in your system is still active and it's what's adding to the activity in your brain. That's why you've been having the seizures."

"Did I have any more?"

She holds up two fingers. "Since we got here. And you'll probably continue to experience them, just with lessening intensity."

There are no brilliant words to come to his mind, so he can only say, "I'm sorry." They both know this covers more ground than he could possibly cover right now. "I just wanted this to be over. Now it feels like I've lost her all over again."

"Mulder, don't."

"I thought if I had some more answers – that if I didn't try this I would lose her for good. Sometimes the answers seem so close. Sometimes – most times – so far away."

And this is what she is afraid of. Mulder losing hope. Mulder giving up. Mulder finding a room away from the rest of the world, where nobody can hear a single gunshot. But she shakes this thought out of her head. She needs to give him more credit when these scenarios creep from the back of her mind to the front.

"I know I scared you," he says.

"Yes, you did." There is almost contempt in her voice. "Don't ever do anything like that again."

"I won't." He closes his eyes again. They are too heavy to keep open. "Does Skinner know about this?"

"I'll think of something to tell him. He doesn't have to know."

She should leave it at that, but she doesn't. Timing is not her forte these days. Hasn't been for a while. "Was finding those memories – ones you'll never know if they belong to you – worth this? Putting your body through all of that?"

"I need to know."

"No. Not at that cost. You can't do things like that anymore, Mulder. Not for your sister. Not for anybody."

The words barely stay in her mouth.

Because the next time, I may not be here to find you

The motel room is as disorganized as they had left it almost over 24 hours ago. Scully shuts the door behind her and sits down on the end of the bed, almost numb from the day. Her eyes drift to the carpet where Mulder woke up over twelve hours ago. There are splashes of blood on the sheets, the bed cover. She is so tired that she flops down on the bed, fully dressed. She is sound asleep in seconds.

She dreams she is in a shopping mall, trying to find Mulder's lost wallet.

She wakes up four hours later. It is still dark outside as she rolls over and tries to read the time on the clock radio. It blinks 0623. She will shower and make two phone calls she doesn't want to make. Only one of them will be simple. The other will involve a little finesse.

Scully gets the easy one out of the way first. It is too early for mother to be up, but if Scully doesn't call her now, she will have too much on her mind to remember later. She is going to have reschedule her tests, she tells her mother after reassuring her that nothing is wrong. Scully's mother has had enough early morning phone calls not to panic when the phone rings at six-thirty.

"Mulder got sick on a case," she explains. "He's in the hospital. I won't be back in town until tomorrow at the earliest."

This is not what Mrs. Scully wants to hear. She has booked time to go with her daughter to a series of tests and doesn't want to know that these tests are going to have to be postponed.

"I can't leave him, Mom," she half lies.

"Then I'll come down and stay with him and you come here and get those tests over with. You can't delay them much longer, Dana."

"I know, I know."

Lord, does she know.

"Have you spoken to Fox about your decision?"

"No. It's been a bit … crazy."

"He needs to know soon."

"I can't tell him now; he's in no condition to hear anything."

Silence on the other end. She knows the face her mother is making. Mrs. Scully has heard this excuse too many times. Mulder, for her daughter, is like the preverbal married man who will not leave his wife for his lover. And the other woman is always left to make the excuses, pretend to draw the lines, explain to the others why her life is the way it is.

Her mother's quiet voice finally returns to the line. "Is he all right?"

"He's been having seizures."

Mrs. Scully knows Mulder is prone to unusual illnesses and would like to know he is okay. It is not a maternal instinct she has towards him – he has his own mother and Mrs. Scully has her own children. "Let me know how he is."

The Skinner phone call is a tougher nut. She has called his office in hopes of leaving a message. Messages are always the safer way to make sure you have enough time to get the story straight.

But Skinner answers on the second ring.

Shit.

She tells him, truthfully, that Mulder has been admitted to a hospital, out of town.

"Are you on a case? There is no 302 or authorization."

No, she tells him. They are not on a case.

"Then what are you doing out-of-town together?"

Shit-Shit.

Mulder got sick and called me for advice, she half-lies. This is all she has intended to say. But there is unusual concern in Skinner's voice as he asks if Mulder is okay that sets Scully's conscience in the other direction.

She blurts out everything from the five am phone call to the ambulance ride to the hospital.

She almost has herself believing that this is the right thing to do; Mulder's arrest was processed through channels and this is going to reach Skinner's ears sooner or later.

"It was a misunderstanding," she underplays, absently holding the phone away from her ear and wincing as she speaks. She hates lying. She is not good at it and everyone knows this. "Yes, Sir. Probably not until end of this week. … Yes, I'll see that he goes through the proper channels…. Yes, Sir, I'll tell him. Goodbye."

Bullet dodged.

Skinner is pissed and he will want the full story when Mulder returns to work. But he has not made any unreasonable demands. "Keep me appraised," is all he has requested.

Dinner is brought at five o'clock. Mulder is sitting up in bed, picking at a small tub of jello as if it is about to explode in his face. He almost wishes it would, and then he would have a valid excuse for not eating it. The rest of the dinner isn't much better. He deserves it though. He landed himself in here; he'll have to put up with the crappy food.

He woke up thirty minutes ago to an empty, depressing room. Even the mysterious roommate has disappeared. Memories have been filtering back, out of order and fuzzy. What he knows for certain is that his last chance to find out what happened to his sister is gone. He's not ready to deal with that yet. There are a lot of things he is not ready to deal with yet.

The door opens. It is not someone to take his blood, or wheel him to x-ray. It's Scully and she looks much better than she did this morning.

"Just in time," he says, waving the bowl of jello in the air. It is the best attempt at humour he can manage right now. He feels like shit. He feels beyond sad.

"Gee, thanks." The rails have been lowered and she sits on the side of his bed. "Well, at least you're looking better."

He only shrugs.

"Are you up to some questions?"

Another shrug.

"What do you remember about yesterday?"

He is cautious about how to answer her casually posed question. So how was your day? So what do you think of the Mets chances? So why the hell did you almost kill the both of us? This is the question he dreads the most because there is no suitable answer in the world for what he did.

She tries again. "Waking up yesterday morning in your hotel room?"

He shakes his head.

"Going to your mother's?"

"I went to my mother's?"

"You wanted to – never mind, it will keep. Your neurologist thinks you should be clear to leave tomorrow morning. And yes, we both know you can sign yourself out any time you please, but that's not going to happen."

He is used to a general bossy streak to this woman but this time there is something more to the statement. Justice has been stewing in her head and is ready to be served.

She looks at him oddly. "Mulder? You okay?"

He would like to tell her that he isn't; why he isn't. But now isn't the time. "Just tired." He gently touches a fresh Band-Aid on the inside of her elbow. "What'd you do?"

She quickly jerks her arm away. "Nothing."

"Scully." His finger is on her arm again and he doesn't intend to remove it until he gets an answer.

"I had some blood work done. Did you pack any other clothes than what you had on yesterday?" she asks, looking around the room.

"I don't know."

"I'll pick you up somethings."

She is about to stand up but he pulls her back down by the wrist and asks unexpectedly, "Did you call me or did I call you on Friday?"

There is something odd about this question and the way he has asked it. As if he remembers that they have been barely speaking for the last several weeks.

"I called you."

"Oh."

"Why?"

"To tell you I wouldn't be in office for a few days."

"Why?"

She is getting antsy. "Why did I tell you?"

"No, why were you going to be away from the office for a few days?"

"Personal time."

"Oh. What kind?"

"Remember taking a day off for personal time, Mulder? I'm sure you must have done this once in your life. Weekends? Federal Holidays? Religious Holidays? Any of this familiar?"

He enjoys sarcasm from her, he always does, but he sees past it as usual. "What kind of things, Scully."

"Things. It's nothing important."

He nods at her arm. "Tests like that?"

She sits back and glares at him. Her sweater is across the room and she should have remembered to put it on. Even half-baked, Mulder misses nothing. "Yes," she sighs tightly. "I needed to have some blood work done. I arranged to do some of it here and have the results sent to my doctor."

"Oh." He rubs his eyes tiredly. "That takes two days out of work?"

Christ, she could strangle him right now. He is starting her down with those dark eyes that won't let you go until you cough up every iota of information they know you have hidden in the attic.

"I had some other tests scheduled."

"What kind?"

"Mulder… I don't want to do this now. We can talk about me later. Right now, there are some things I need to talk to you about."

He deposits the bowl of jello back on the tray and swings the tray away from his sight. His head is hurting and the thought of jello and an on-coming argument with Scully is making him nauseated.

"What's wrong?" she asks, almost accusingly.

"Nausea."

"Are you seriously going to be ill or do you just not want to talk to me right now?"

"Both."

She puts her hand on his forehead. "You're a little warm. Has anyone taken your temperature?"

He shakes his head.

This figures. Too much is riding on him getting out of here as soon as possible. If he comes down with a fever, she will have to do more rescheduling. She has already spent an hour on the phone with the oncology department trying to reschedule the series of tests that was scheduled for this afternoon.

"Has anyone spoken to you about what happens when you leave here?"

"Yeah," he whines sharply. "I'm supposed to keep sharp instruments away from my head."

"I'm not joking. There are some things you should expect."

Her voice is deadly serious. There is no bedside manner here. She has him very nervous. "Like what?" he asks cautiously.

"Headaches for a while, possible short term memory loss." She looks at him carefully. "Are you getting the idea, Mulder?"

He nods.

She crosses her legs in her best, don't you dare screw with me pose. "People can also have bouts of depression and suicidal thoughts."

They both know she is dancing around a subject never discussed between them; Mulder's state of Mental Health. She has never asked, he has never offered.

"If you experience any of these symptoms you need to tell me."

"Okay," he agrees. "If I can't stop weeping during a dog food commercial, you'll be the first person I call."

She stands up and stares down at him. "Mulder, this isn't funny. None of this is funny. You need to tell me."

"So they can lock me up?" He tilts his head back on the pillow so that all he can see is a very indifferent ceiling. "You're always the only one I'd call, Scully," he tells her quietly. "You don't need to worry."

"Maybe I think I do. You put a gun to your head, Mulder. For the second time. And you were going to use it."

"But I didn't."

This is so much bigger that what you did and didn't do, she wants to scream. Bigger than holding a gun to your head. It is every little thing in between, and after. His own quest is going to be the end of him.

"I've seen you go into these black places, Mulder. I think maybe you could be there now." She hesitates, giving him a chance to speak for himself. Instead he just shrugs. "If you think you are heading there again you have to tell me." She has never told him that she has always suspected he has suffered from clinical depression. He has always come out of them in his own way, and time. But one day - one day he may not find his way.

She delivers the final blow, "You'll be out of the field for at least a month."

"Skinner can't do that!"

"No, but I can. I'm a doctor with access and authorization to your medical records. While you're still susceptible to this brain activity, you can't work in the field. Period. This doesn't have anything to do with Skinner. This is my call."

"Christ, Scully, if this is your way at getting back at me, fine, just get something a little less personal."

"This isn't personal, Mulder."

Mulder uses both arms to push himself up to a sitting position. He is out of breath by the time his back rests against the pillows. They have had their issues before but she has never ambushed him like this. He stares her in the eye. "What's going on here, Scully?"

"Nothing's going on here except that I'm trying to tell you some facts you don't want to hear."

"No, this isn't about me. It's about you - Shit –" A sharp pain zaps through his skull; his head drops into his hands.

"Mulder-"She takes one of his hands and waits this out with him. She has forgotten, in twenty-four hours, this is how it is supposed to be. She is supposed to help him; not rip his heart out by telling him is grounded.

"Are you having any flashbacks?" she asks calmly, rubbing his back.

His head shakes, no.

"Just the pain?"

A slow nod. The grip he has on her hand eases.

He slowly lifts his head away from his knees.

Scully props two pillows and carefully lies him down. "This is why I don't want you out in the field until you know they have ended for good."

Don't start, he thinks, trying to get his brain back together. He doesn't want to argue with her. He doesn't think either of them can handle the stress. They are two mentally unarmed people swinging theoretical bats at the other.

The door opens. A nurse walks in with a tray of things Mulder doesn't like the look of. "I need to draw some blood."

"What did you tell Skinner?" By the tone of his voice, he already knows the answer. He doesn't take his eyes from Scully, who has begun to edge towards the door.

"I'll go pick up those things for you," Scully says.

"You told him, didn't you?"

"Sir, will you please stay still."

Mulder gives up. He is staring at Scully, ignoring the nasty process that is going on in his arm. He will wait this out for as long as the nurse takes. Finally, she leaves.

They allow for a moment of pre-battle silence once the door smoothly glides shut.

"You said you wouldn't tell him."

I lied, she wants to blurt out. It feels like a desertion. The only person you trust to not lie to you has just lied to you. "I was wrong to promise that."

"Anything else you've decided for me since I've been in here?"

Plenty, she wants to blurt out. But she won't. Ambushes are not her style, at least not yet.

"No."

"What is going on with you?" Mulder asks sharply.

"Besides dying of cancer, you mean?"

And, knowing this is about the cruelest thing she could do to him right now, Scully swings the door open and leaves him alone in this hospital room.

She spends an hour in a bookstore, looking for medical magazines, journals, anything to fill the endless evening ahead. An hour later - fed up with herself, Mulder, life in general - she leaves with a copy of People and Celebs Magazine.

Two women – they couldn't be much younger than she is - were going through every magazine with a celebrity plastered across the cover. It took them forty minutes just to go through the first shelf. Scully, on the opposite side of the stand, was listening to their conversation back and forth as she attempted to decide her own reading material.

She has not read this kind of magazine for years and, as she lies on the hotel bed, she understands why people devour these things. It is damn comforting to get lost in someone else's crap; crap way more glamorous than her own.

She left the hospital shaking. It took her fifteen minutes to gather herself together enough to drive. If life is beginning to catch up to her, it is choosing a really crappy time to do it. She tries to figure out what happened today, why she snapped at him. When one of them is broken the other steps up; not hiss something terrible and storm out of the room. That isn't the way they worked but now, they are both in so many pieces, she isn't sure there is enough glue to put them back together again.

Mulder is due to be released, for better or worse, into her custody. She has made several promises on Mulder's behalf. He must see a neurologist within the next day or two; he must have blood work done in three days to check on meds. Finally - and this is suggested in the most delicate of terms - he might want to find someone professional to talk to about what led him to do this.

Scully smiles despite herself. What led Mulder to have a whole drilled into his head, and administering a near fatal dose of a drug?

I'll suggest that to him, was all she could come up with for that last suggestion. Once upon a time, she might have been that person to talk to, professional or not. Sometimes, In their oddly incommunicative yet supportive moments, she would test the waters to see if he wanted to talk. Now, she didn't think he would ever speak to her again.

Fate sealed, she couldn't help thinking. She and Mulder are stuck with each other.

Shit shit, shit.

END OF CHAPTER 2