Intimate.

Glasgow, Kentucky.

May 20, 2010.

Mulder sighed, tugging on the restraints that were wrapped around each wrist. He had made the mistake of pleading his case to the doctors, so all the necessary precautions had been taken. He was lucky they didn't sedate him. He had spent the last half hour trying to figure out how to get out of his bed without breaking his wrist, but the fluffy handcuffs confounded him.

"Would you stop doing that?"

He glared at Gene, who had been hovering near the window for three hours now. He was the last remaining group member, having sent the others home as soon as they arrived at the hospital. He still seemed genuinely concerned, but his concern was misguided.

"Would you take these things off of me?" Mulder asked, tugging on them again. It made the bars on the bed rattle. "I'm not crazy. I know what I saw."

"Scully will be here soon. Just stay calm until then."

"You don't know what that girl is going through," Mulder snapped.

Gene looked back at him, and for a moment Mulder thought he might be consider his words, but he turned away again. He was watching the storm outside, one hand pressed thoughtfully to the underside of his chin. "Ghosts aren't real, Fox."

"I've seen them! Millions of people have seen them!"

"Do you want me to call the nurse back in to sedate you?"

Mulder sunk into the pillows, scowling.

"Stop pouting."

"This is against the law. This is kidnapping. I demand to see a lawyer."

"Stop being dramatic. I brought you here for your own safety. If you had gone back into that cave you would have fallen to your death. You were nearly hypothermic! The doctors confirmed that you have a concussion! You're not thinking clearly."

"This is how I always think," Mulder said, pulling on the restraints again. He almost dislodged the railing, but he stopped himself. Gene looked at the rail, cocking an eyebrow, and Mulder relaxed his arms. "Just take these off. I'll stay here, I promise." Gene said nothing, only looked over into the storm, so Mulder raised his voice. "Get these things off!"

Gene jumped a little, but otherwise ignored him. His phone dinged in his pocket and he sent a quick response, glancing at the doorway, and then leaning over to look straight down.

And then he left the room.

"Get back here!" Mulder shouted, flexing against his restraints again. The railing started to come loose. He braced his toes against it to keep it from rattling and pulled hard, popping it out of place. It swung and clattered onto the floor, suspended by his arm. He used his other hand to free his wrist, and then unstrapped his feet, taking a moment to set the railing quietly on the bed.

It was only when he tried to stand that he realized he really did have a concussion. The room spun, he leaned forward, overcompensating for the tilting walls, and he hit the ground. He landed hard on his knees, grasping at the bed for some sense of balance.

"Mulder?"

Her voice brought the room to a full stop.

She appeared in front of him, wrapping both arms around his neck and holding onto him. She was warm, easing the chill spreading through his limbs. She whispered his name and pressed a hard kiss to his cheek before embracing him again.

"Scully… how did you get here so fast?"

"You were out for half a day," she informed him, pulling away a little. Her eyes were glimmering. She stroked his hair back, her eyes scanning his face. She pulled his bandages back a little to look at his forehead. "Oh, Mulder, I told you this would happen. What did I say before you left?"

"I'm having a hard time remembering my own middle name at the moment," he admitted.

She cupped his cheeks with both hands, seemingly trapped between irritation and relief. She helped him back into the bed, dropping the railing alongside it and eyeing the restraints doubtfully. She grabbed one and held it up for Gene, who was hovering in the doorway. "Did you put these on him? This was completely unnecessary."

"We barely got him here in the first place," Gene responded. "He wanted to go back into the cave. He would have gotten himself killed."

Scully frowned, glancing between them. "Is that true, Mulder?"

"I know what I saw," Mulder stated.

She sat beside him, her hand flat on his stomach, and fussed over his wounds. "What did you see? Was it the ghost ship? Or the poltergeist?"

"I don't appreciate your tone, and no, it was neither of those. It was a ghost."

She looked over at Gene, uncertain of his presence. "Could we talk privately?"

Gene looked suspicious, but he left anyway. Mulder imagined he had to figure out what his next move was, now that his theories were debunked. Instead of a monster, the top of the food chain in the cave system was a grieving ghost.

"How do you know it was a ghost?" Scully asked him.

He immediately appreciated her approach. She didn't outright deny that ghosts existed – she was asking for real proof that he had seen one. He had nothing to give her, but knowing that she could believe, if she saw it for herself, eased his frustration.

"She came out of the water," he said, catching her hand as she tried to check his bandages again. He pressed it to his face. "She touched me, just like this, and she shared her pain with me. She's trapped down there, suffering. She's so upset, Scully."

"So she's kidnapping people?"

"You sound like Helena."

"Who?"

"It's not important. The important thing is getting back down there to free her. I have a feeling that those people are alive somewhere. She wouldn't just kill them."

"Mulder, you don't know that."

"I saw her soul, Scully," he insisted, wishing he could convey everything he had experienced in those caves. It was impossible to put into words. "She wouldn't hurt anyone – not on purpose."

"You sound like a crazy person. I hope you know that."

"I sound like a crazy person most of the time, and most of the time I'm right. You can't deny that my instincts are good. We were partners, Scully. I predicted the outcomes of so many investigations. This is my area. This is what I'm good at. You have to trust me."

"We're still partners," she corrected, smiling gently. She twisted her hand around and drew his palm up to her lips, kissing it. "And I do trust you. But I'm not letting you go back down there."

"I can help her."

"You'll get yourself killed." She pulled the covers out from under him, draping them over his chest. She put pressure on his chest when he tried to sit up. "Get some sleep. When you wake up, we'll talk about this again. You're in no condition to do anything about the ghost right now."

"So you do believe that I saw a ghost?"

"I believe that you believe you saw a ghost."

"I hate it when you do that."

"I know," she said in a whisper, reaching over to dim the lights. He scooted over and she slid in beside him, curling up against his chest. She ran her hand up and down his arm, staring up at his face. "Just close your eyes. We can talk later."

"I can't sleep," he whispered in return.

"Why?"

"Every time I close my eyes, I have nightmares… about you. It come straight out of the journal I was reading – before I even got the passages, I had the same nightmares as Rousseau. He thought it was the monster, toying with him."

"Why would the sweet ghost you described give you such awful nightmares?"

He let his eyes slide shut, yawning. "Grief can do horrible things to a mind. It can twist your interpretation, make you believe things that you intimately wish were true. Maybe she thinks she's saving people…"