TITLE: "Recovery" (1/6) BY: Ten E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au CATEGORY: S (post ep); Angst; MT; MSR RATING: PG-13 SUMMARY: Mulder's physical retrieval, recuperation and more retrieval - this time of memories - during and after "Amor Fati". TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers for "Biogenesis", "Sixth Extinction" and "Amor Fati". I tweak the one-week timelapse in the ep between Mulder being rescued by Scully from the DOD and him being as relatively healthy as we see him in the following hallway scene. NOTE: I plundered cyber friends' brains for med info for this story, but any mistakes are my own, and since Mulder was afflicted with a rather unique and alien ailment in those episodes, that provided a bit of a wildcard and leeway. ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be archived anywhere as long as my name, addy and disclaimer stay intact. FEEDBACK: Always great to know who's out there in the ether! BIG THANKS TO: Debbie, Suzanne, Gerry, Mac, Judie and Vickie for great help and patience, and to those who kept asking about this story. I got there on it eventually. DEDICATED TO: Helen Wills: for her great stories, her sense of humour, and for dropping everything to look up a quote from a certain royal personage that I really wanted for this story. My website for all my X-Files fanfiction, thanks to the wonderful Skyfox, is now at http://tenxffic.tripod.com DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder and Scully and all other characters from the show belong to Chris Carter, the writers of the episodes, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. The X-Files: "Recovery" (1/6) By Ten, 9th April to May, 2000, resumed September-October 2000 xXx "You have to get up!" So close to his last breath, to giving up, so close. "Mulder, help me. Please, Mulder..." He heard her imploring, felt her tear shatter through his lethargy like a cannonball, and he accepted his destiny. That he was not to end here, like this, dying in ignorance and bliss in the comfortable bedroom of his mind while the world was ravaged. They had to fight the fight. So he arose for her, into her embrace. But his head... The voices that had dragged him down from the moment he had first seen the rubbing may have been removed, but something else was in their place. Mulder blinked. He knew where he was. He was lying atop the unfinished sandcastle UFO, spread out along it, arms outstretched. Somehow he could see himself from above. The ocean was swirling around the sandcastle, making it into an island, the water rising higher and higher. The water was red. A sea of blood. His blood. He could not get up. He could only turn his head, and he saw Scully and the boy standing on rocks. They were out of reach and further above the water than his body. Scully's hand was outstretched, and she was calling out to him, but he could not hear her words or reach out to her. The blood water was rising higher. "Hold on. Please, hold on." Was that Scully or the boy? He had to try. xXx Department Of Defense Room unknown Mulder's eyes had slid shut again and he slumped in Scully's arms. But he was breathing. She had found him. Now to finish the rescue with all speed. There was no form of patient transport in sight. No gurney, no wheelchair. And a terrible feeling was in her bones that there was no time to waste. It had been tangible from the moment that the keycard was slipped under her door. Moving her partner would have been easier if he was conscious, however there was no choice. She would have to drag him until the cavalry met up with her. A fireman's carry would be too risky for Mulder, too much likelihood of causing a fatal bleed or swelling. She pulled out her cellular. Before she could dial, she heard the door opening. Her sense of desperation and terror jumped to a whole new bonus level. Caught. It was Byers. The three Lone Gunmen had come with her to the DOD in their beat-up van, and she had insisted they stay in the shadows of the parking lot and keep watch while she went in armed with a tracer as well as her gun. Byers must have gotten antsy and somehow managed to enter the building, which was fortuitous, because he was the one Scully had been about to call. "I know you told us to wait," he babbled as he hurried across to them. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of his friend. "But..." "It doesn't matter. I'm glad you're here - we'll have to carry him. I'll take his feet. Make sure you keep his head up higher than his body. If we find a gurney along the way, we'll transfer him onto it, but otherwise, let's get him out of here, now!" She gave the room a sweeping look as they were carrying Mulder towards the door. Apart from the huge table - complete with shackles - and a heart monitor that she had silenced, there was nothing much else in the room. Some metal cabinets along the walls, but no time to stop and try them. There were security cameras. But the building appeared deserted. By design? xXx "Is he okay?" Langly threw over his shoulder in concern. He was steering the Gunmen's van and its occupants away from the facility and towards Georgetown Hospital. He couldn't see Scully's face in the rear view mirror - she was in the back, on her knees on the floor, head bowed over Mulder's limp form. But her wavering voice and Byer's pale face told him a lot about their friend. "I can't wake him," she said. "Hurry!" Scully held Mulder in her arms. Frohike had found a blanket amongst the paraphernalia in the back of the van and they had wrapped her partner in it. Melvin seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the huge bandage that ringed Mulder's head. "It's going to be okay," Scully whispered in Mulder's ear. "I won't let it be anything less." The ride seemed to take forever, like she was on the ice in Antarctica, waiting for the rescue helicopters. But he was back. She had him back. Then came a jumbled sequence of events. Hospital. ER. The bandages were removed from Mulder's forehead, revealing small and regular marks around his head - evidence that it had been immobilized by a frame. Even more alarmingly, he had staples closing a wound where someone had opened up the back of his skull on the lower left side. Brain surgery. Her empty stomach lurched. She told the ER doctor about Mulder's recent hospitalisation and condition and kidnapping from the Neuro ICU ward here. The doctor looked at the staples and asked, "Then what hospital did this?" "He's a kidnapped federal agent. He was *not* found in a hospital." Not a conventional one, anyway. The doctor looked horrified. "If that's the case then I think we'd better brace ourselves for a high likelihood of infection and brain damage." Scully nodded to acknowledge his words, but refused to give such possibilities any contemplation or worry. Not before she had evidence of them, no matter how expected. Then came imaging scans. No implants were found. The activity in Mulder's temporal lobe was back within normal parameters. Whatever had been done to him had worked. In that regard at least. But... The scans picked up a damaged blood vessel at the site of the surgery. Now Mulder was undergoing brain surgery again, the incision and small bone flap reopened, this time to stop the bleed. Guards had been assigned to the operating room, for all the good that had done last time... And she was sticking with him, watching the surgeons do their task. Thinking... Mulder lying in her arms in the back of the van. Even she couldn't summon up his warmth: his skin had been cold. So very cold. Had she found him only to lose him again? What if they found something? Something that didn't show up on the scans? His beautiful mind. Had anything been *taken* from it? Though he *was* articulate when she found him. Then she found herself thinking: Dana, he said three words and hugged you before lapsing into a stupor. That's not something to get too excited over. Great, even her own mind was ganging up on her. Scully blinked back tears. The Gunmen had left the hospital at her instruction, busy trying to hack into the DOD's files and also monitor comings and goings from the building. They had copies of the UFO markings that she had emailed to them while in Africa, and the book that had been internally delivered to her at the FBI. She had to rely on them to do the investigating now, to help her, chasing leads at her direction, and to bring things for her to go over while she waited at Mulder's bedside. She couldn't ask Skinner to. The OR team was buzzing around Mulder's head, like moths to his light. He was her light. Irresistible to follow. You went to Antarctica and into the Pentagon for me, In return, I traversed Africa, Alaska and the DOD. Scully nearly burst into hysterical laughter at the rhyme that popped into her head. It was quickly tempered. She had known the conspiracy reached far, but this was one of the rare times that she herself had been in a government facility, frantically searching for a clue or the grand prize, seeing with her own wide-awake eyes instead of being absent or semi-conscious. Dana blinked herself back into the present. The chief surgeon was speaking to her. He was surprised that Mulder was showing no signs or symptoms of infection. Fortunately nothing appeared to have been removed from his brain. The surgery had successfully cauterized the bleeding. It was not a major bleed, but would still have killed Mulder if left untreated. However the full effects of it - and whatever had been done to him in the first procedure - could only be ascertained when he woke up. xXx The water had threatened to spill over the top of the sand UFO, but he concentrated as fiercely as he could, and halted it. Now the water was retreating, eddying out, exposing the beach. Making a pathway for Scully, Mulder thought muzzily. He still couldn't move. He had to rest. He had to rest... xXx He hadn't woken up. Not once. Not even for a moment. And it had been two days. He should have woken up within twenty-four hours of the surgery. Yes, Mulder reacted to painful stimuli. Scans showed that everything *seemed* fine. No infection. He just wasn't waking up. His skin was pale, apart from the ugly blooms of bruises from the restraints and shackles and needlemarks and IV punctures and struggles with the orderlies. The holes from the frame were hidden again by new bandages, as was the site of the surgeries. The fingers he had dislocated when going out of his mind in the padded cell had healed during the interim. Also, his bloodwork showed no traces of the drugs from the hospitalisation before his abduction. Ordinarily Thorazine and Haldol could linger for weeks... Scully considered that perhaps he had been injected with something at the DOD which had counteracted or suppressed those drugs, so they would not interfere with the surgery. Now the agents were back in the same Neuro ICU room that Mulder had been taken from by Cancerman's cronies. Scully was glad that it was a private room instead of a tiny glass-enclosed Intensive Care room or a curtained ward. The staff wanted to keep Mulder 'isolated' for now. She talked to him. She read to him. She sat beside him hour after hour and held his hand. Scully had promised her partner she would not leave his side again, apart for brief, necessary breaks. She argued with the doctors about Mulder's care and the best way to get nutrition into him - via an NG tube, or Total Parenteral Nutrition which was delivered via IV. Nutrition was an important factor - with the increased brain activity and no sleep while he was here before his kidnapping, Mulder's body had been burning calories like a forest fire consumed trees. She realised she had spent an hour debating with one doctor whether or not Mulder's NG tube should be keeping his stomach empty or delivering the feedings. They couldn't risk him vomiting something up, raising his intracranial pressure as a result. But on the flip side, a TPN catheter leading directly to the heart would give a chance of infection or air getting into the bloodstream... Skinner came by. He entered the room slowly, still recovering from his own recent assault and probably not sure of his reception. "How is he?" "The same." She was trying not to let her anger show. Frustration that their boss had not - or could not - help her when Mulder vanished, and anger at the way the A.D. had delivered the news. Skinner had probably not realised that his 'He's gone' had sounded for a heart-shattering moment like 'Mulder has died', until he further clarified with 'He's disappeared'. "When will they move him out of this section? Or will they keep him in here?" Skinner asked. "It's usually 48-72 hours after cauterizing a bleed, if all is well. In Mulder's case his EEGs and PET scans are normal - for an unconscious person - but they won't move him out of Neuro ICU until he's awake, alert, and exhibiting no signs of violence or insanity." Skinner's gaze flickered to Mulder's wrists. Scully knew what he was checking for. Restraints were attached to the bed, but not to her partner. "I told Doctor Harriman that Mulder is unlikely to become violent now that the activity has stopped, and even if he did, after the surgeries and all that he's been through, I doubt he'd be physically capable of causing any harm. I'm prepared to take the risk anyway." Then her voice became almost fierce. "Mulder was put in restraints when I was in Africa. Then when I found him at the DOD he was actually in shackles. I refuse to subject him to that again." Their boss nodded, then continued with a degree of reluctance, "There are no leads on Michael Kritschgau's death. Or the fire in his apartment." Skinner hesitated, looking even more uncomfortable. "Diana Fowley has taken a leave of absence from the Bureau - it was put through when I was still in the hospital after the...incident, so I didn't know about it. I haven't been able to contact her on her home phone or cellular. She's not at her apartment." Scully checked the date with him and realised that Fowley had gone on leave on the same day as her own DOD excursion. "This may be more than vacation leave, sir." "I know. We'll keep trying to locate her. To be sure." Scully hoped that Diana was just on leave. However... Did I force her hand? Did I help sign her death warrant? A trade? Her for Mulder? Or has she disappeared back into the 'fold'? Skinner gave her an update on Mrs. Mulder, who had been found on the floor of a motel room halfway between D.C. and Rhode Island. She was now recuperating at home. She could recall visiting her son, but had no memory of signing him out. Very convenient. Scully reminded herself that she must contact Albert Hosteen too. There had been so much going on. She had thought he would be by, actually. It looked like Blessing Way ceremonies worked wonders for both him and Mulder. Perhaps the Navajo elder could continue this. He had prayed over Melissa... There was an awkward pause. Dana knew that Skinner wanted to offer to stay with Mulder while she got some rest or something to eat, but both knew that would not be a good idea. As Skinner had tried to tell her, he was in a compromised position. xXx When Dana woke, she was curled up in the chair, and found that five hours had passed. The nurse who was checking Mulder said, "You slept right through all the other checks and range of motion exercises. So did he. No change." Dazed, Scully spent a few minutes sitting and reorientating herself, clearing the sleep from her eyes and stretching. Then she reached across to touch base with her partner. She took in the bandages around his head, the nasogastric tube, his pallor and gauntness. Was it her fault that he hadn't woken up? Had she interrupted whatever procedure they were doing on him, leaving his salvation unfinished, his soul dangling? We don't know what we're dealing with here. Perhaps this is 'normal' after such brain activity. After such a procedure... "Should I cry over you again, Mulder? Kiss you? Beg?" Her voice sounded brittle, her throat eroded down on the inside like a metal pipe by the tears she was holding back. Just need some water, that's all, she thought. And a pair of hazel eyes. There was no pitcher beside the bed seeing as Mulder was unconscious and allowed nothing by mouth - better not to run the risk of a well-meaning visitor dribbling some water in his mouth. So Scully went into the private bathroom to get herself a drink. The glass wobbled in her hand. She spent a few minutes freshening up and trying not to let her mind dwell in dark places. As she walked back into Mulder's room, she thought of the spinning fragment from the now-missing craft. The locusts. Her findings from the outer skin of the ship - sets of translations that had rocked her to the core. Passages from the Bible, the Koran... Why was it all collected there and what repercussions did it have on the Church, on her faith? No. Put that aside for now. Focus on Mulder waking up. It was the same thing that she had frequently told herself over the last few days. It had replaced 'Focus on finding Mulder's cure' and 'Focus on finding Mulder'. Trouble was, since Mulder wasn't obliging with a show of consciousness, there was a lot of time and silence to turn her thoughts back to the craft and its implications, especially when the Gunmen brought in more information for her to go over. She looked at her partner and traced his jaw. And when he *does* wake up? Focus on his recovery. xXx The boy looked worriedly at the man. The man was still lying stretched out on top of the mound of sand. The water and wind had erased the designs and symbols, leaving a shapeless blob. The boy could not work on the ship while the man was like this, a dead weight on it. If the man did not wake soon, he would forget his destiny. He would not rebuild the ship and come to learn its secrets. He could not then understand and lead. He would be just a shell, not knowing anything, even when the day came that the sky would be full of these ships. xXx Two more days crawled by. The doctor on duty wanted to discuss the need to find a nursing home if Mulder didn't show any signs of waking up in the next couple of days. Insurance would not cover a hospital bed when the person was stable but comatose. Damn protocols... When the doctor left, Scully sat in the chair, staring blankly at the wall. If - God forbid - this state was permanent, or if Mulder went into a waking coma, she would look after him. She would provide whatever care he needed. She would be the care. Mulder, currently positioned on his back, suddenly mumbled and rolled over onto his side, facing her. The first voluntary movement he had made since the surgery. His eyelids fluttered. His fingers curled in her hand. "Mulder?" END PART ONE OF SIX TITLE: "Recovery" (2/6) BY: Ten E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au CATEGORY: S (post ep); Angst; MT; MSR RATING: PG-13 SUMMARY: Mulder's physical retrieval, recuperation and more retrieval - this time of memories - during and after "Amor Fati". TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers for "Biogenesis", "Sixth Extinction" and "Amor Fati". ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be archived anywhere as long as my name, addy and disclaimer stay intact. FEEDBACK: Always great to know who's out there in the ether! My website for all my X-Files fanfiction is now at http://tenxffic.tripod.com DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder and Scully and all other characters from the show belong to Chris Carter, the writers of the episodes, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. xXx The first thing he was conscious of was the quiet. Only his own thoughts were in his mind, no one else's. His second realisation was that he was lying on his back. His head and upper body were very elevated, but he was still on his back. Mulder felt a moment of panic, then quelled it. He didn't have to be a mind reader to know that he was no longer in Cancerman's clutches. He could feel it in the sheets, in the smell of Scully's shampoo... In the fact that his arms and legs weren't shackled down, the former no longer stretched out at shoulder height. He felt very tired, but did not want to remain on his back. Not if he had a choice. Not if he could move. He rolled over onto his side, sluggishly but successfully. That was much better, despite his limbs offering up an aching protest. He heard a soft gasp. Scully. He wanted to open his eyes and greet her, to reassure her and be reassured in turn, but he didn't know if he had an ounce more of energy left for the effort. "Mulder?" He heard the waver in her voice. He was going to open his eyes even if he had to use a damn crowbar. With a 'pop', his eyelids obeyed. The figure before him was blurry, but unmistakably Scully. "Mulder?" "Present," he managed in a dry whisper. "And hopefully all accounted for..." He couldn't see her smile, but he could feel it. As he closed his eyes and tried to get all of his senses back online, he could also feel that there was a damn feeding tube up - or was it down? - his nose. He vaguely and briefly wondered if it was set to 'suck' or 'blow'. But there were no voices. He could handle a tube in his nose. And in other places... They certainly beat everyone's thoughts and feelings in his brain. Scully's fingers were soft on his cheek. "Mulder? Hey, stay awake. Please? Just for a bit longer." He felt her lean across and press the intercom button. She told the nurse that Mulder was conscious and stable. Once off the intercom, she again gently instructed her partner to stay awake. He cleared his throat. "Trying. Your wish, my command, Scully. So tired tho'..." That was not surprising. Ironically, his weakened physical state was more because of his ordeal when he was hearing things than because of the brain surgeries, but those were not to be dismissed out of hand either. She couldn't tell if he could recall what They had done to him or not. Joy was overriding any fears at the moment though. He was himself. Awake and coherent. "You're safe now. Are you thirsty?" He was keeping his eyes closed. "Kind of. Mouth's so dry..." "You've had a long time between drinks." She braced herself for the inevitable question of 'how long?' but he said nothing. Part of her was worried that he wasn't asking, another part was relieved, because it was a tricky question, especially for someone in his current condition. How much of his ordeal did Mulder remember? And when he did ask, should she give him the number of days that had passed since he had become ill enough to be placed in a padded cell, or would he be referring to the number of days since being in restraints, or his abduction, or return to Georgetown? She thought that he must be very exhausted indeed if his natural curiosity was on the backburner. It would surface soon. But until then he had enough to deal with. She resumed the subject of water. "I can't give you anything yet though, sorry. I can give you a swab; I was about to give you one anyway." "My favourite hospital food," Mulder said wryly, though much quieter than usual. "A giant lemon-flavoured Q-tip." She started to unwrap one of the lemon-glycerin swabs. Glycerin was used to keep the mouth moisturised. "You're NPO until the doctor and speech therapist can assess your swallowing ability." Mulder titled his head towards her, an amused grin ghosting his face. "Sounds like a big production when I only want a sip of water." He had been unconscious for a long time following brain surgery, which could mean swallowing difficulties - among other problems. "We have to be careful." "Okay..." He was still keeping his eyes closed, which worried her. A minute ago he didn't seem fully focused on her face. He was just waking up after quite an ordeal, but... "What's wrong? Can't you see?" Reluctantly he opened his eyes and concentrated. Still double. "Not very well." By all rights that should be scaring the hell out of him, but he was really too tired to care. It would go back to normal soon. "Trying to focus makes me dizzy." "But not nauseous?" "No." "Then keep them closed. It'll be okay. I'm not leaving you." Because of where the Consortium had opened up his skull, Scully knew there was a possibility that his vision could be affected, but she hoped it was just temporary. "Here's the swab - open your mouth." When finished, she tossed it in the trash, and had another question ready. She was pretty sure she knew the answer but had to ask it anyway. "Can you still hear people? Read minds?" "No. Just me in here." There were also the memories of what he had heard and felt when his brain was acting like a radio receiver. But at the moment it was all jumbled and he was too tired to separate it. The toll that all those voices took had caused him to sleep for so long - however long that was, and he'd ask for the figure next time he woke up - he was sure of it, and to desperately want more rest now. Sleeping off the party in his brain. "Now I know how Gibson Praise felt. But he was born with it. Used to it..." He heard his voice slur. "Just stay awake for a little longer. The doctor will want to check you. And you have to run the gauntlet of reorientation questions." "Oh, goody..." She could hear footsteps approaching and knew it would be a nurse to check his vitals and condition. Scully had both of his hands in hers now. She squeezed and he squeezed back. But something was wrong. They both felt it. He couldn't grip as tightly with his right hand. xXx Twelve hours later: Scully didn't know whether to be relieved or worried. Mulder just seemed to...absorb and accept the fact that he had been taken from the hospital under suspicious circumstances, undergone some unknown and non-consensual procedure on his brain, and subsequently been found in a room at the DOD several days later. Scully had firsthand experience with missing time herself - to be told that the date on your mental calendar was far different from that on the wall... She could easily recall her feeling of stunned shock and an overwhelming determination not to let it get to her. She had lost too much time. She would not lose any more. It had happened and she would just make the best of things. This seemed to be Mulder's attitude too and although she could understand, she felt somewhat disconcerted by it. Was this the way Mulder had felt all those years ago when their roles were reversed? She focused on what he was saying now. "I remember being in the hospital. Mom was here. I could hear her. I was trying to speak to her. But she couldn't hear me." He was glad he had the double vision as an excuse to keep his eyes closed to hide the pain, though the problem with his sight wasn't occurring constantly. "I don't know what they did." Neither did Scully or the staff here. Nothing had been taken or altered, apart from the damaged blood vessel that had caused the bleed. Mulder's recollection of events since Skinner first handed him the rubbing were either fragmented or non- existent. He squinted at the ceiling. He wasn't sure if it was his double vision or memories or dreams or what he had found out from Scully, but once or twice the ceiling had seemed to change - to become like clouds. A sky. The smell of the beach. Africa? Or something more? Electricity was dancing through the clouds. His memories. Just out of reach. A few tantalising flashes... Little boys running towards him with his eyes and hair, laughing. A boy throwing sand at him in anger. Ceiling tiles again. "Mulder!" Scully's voice, uncharacteristically sharp, jolted him. He looked around the room as best he could. "The boys... Where are they?" "Boys?" "No," Mulder corrected himself. "*The* boy..." She looked as baffled as he felt. "Who?" "No-one. I think..." Then he was able to see how white and shaken she looked. "Scully, what's -" "It's okay. It's nothing." Her voice was now controlled. Too controlled. "Scully, I don't have to read minds to tell that you're lying." For a long moment she looked ready to deny it, then she spoke quietly, "It's just... You just scared me there for a minute. You were staring at the ceiling and you wouldn't answer me and I was... I thought you'd become catatonic again." "I'm sor-" "No, there's nothing to be sorry about. Just get better, okay?" She gave a self-conscious smile. Since there was no indication of abnormal brain activity, no indications of an increase in intracranial pressure, and the awake Mulder was clearly sane and non-violent, he had been shifted into another room, from Neuro ICU into Neuro Step Down. He could sit up in bed, and even on the edge of the bed for short intervals, and had gone for two brief test walks with support - a walker and a Physical Therapist holding onto a gait belt. Tests showed no speech defects. Mulder could swallow without difficulty or aspiration, and he wasn't fresh out of surgery, so was being 'fast-tracked' towards regular meals. Since he had been on alternative methods of 'food' for more than a few days, a progression was necessary instead of a leap straight to solids. Within the next twenty-four hours he would start eating normal food. "Nothing spicy or greasy though," Scully informed him. "Or of the quantity you normally plough through." Doctor Harriman came in bearing test results. "Well, Agent Mulder, it won't exactly be news to you that you're experiencing a lot of weakness at the moment. A degree of it is expected, especially after how long you were bedridden and the two brain surgeries, and just how 'hot' your brain was running for a while there..." The doctor looked like he wanted to display Mulder as some sort of medical exhibit or Barnum freak. "The right side weakness and the periods of double vision can be put down to whatever was done to the left side of your brain in the first 'procedure'. There is, however, a good chance that they will improve, especially the weakness - if you have proper PT and OT. You could get your normal range of function back. But if there is no improvement in those areas soon, you could be facing months on leave or a desk job." The partners both knew that if the double vision lasted too long, Mulder would have to go on medical disability until he could try to requalify for field agent status - or he would have to retire with a permanent disability. Mulder simply said, "A long recovery or desk work isn't an option. I'll pick up soon. I'm just finding my feet again." Harriman exchanged a look with Scully. Patient determination was all very well, but bullheaded stubborn refusal to accept less-pleasant possibilities could lead to trouble... "Agent Mulder, considering your previous condition, you have already made great progress. That's indisputable. However, that is no guarantee that the same will happen now. Recovery has to be paced out." Mulder had that look on his face, that slight smile that he usually wore when Scully was attacking one of his theories. When the doctor finished and left, she turned to her partner. "Mulder, I -" Mulder gave her a calm smile. "I am going to get better. I am going to get better *very* soon." The degree of his resoluteness was startling, and that was saying a lot considering the source. "You almost sound like you're reading minds again..." "No. I just know that I can't afford a long recovery. Neither can you. The world can't." "Why? What can you remember?" Brief fragments in the darkness. Glimpses of the world on fire. UFOs reducing skyscrapers to scrap metal. She saw and felt his body stiffen, his fingers tighten. "Mulder? What is it?" "Something." He didn't want to discuss it, not just now. Scully would probably tell him it was just a nightmare or hallucinations. But there was something about the visions, something he had to study more closely. Surrender was not an option. Scully studied him closely for several moments, then realised he would not be drawn out. Not now, anyway. He gave her a reasonably reassuring smile and she looked at her watch. "I have to go for a few hours, Mulder." But after she put the bedrail back up, she stood there, fingering it. "Don't worry. I doubt I'll be taken again. I'm sure they got what they wanted out of me." His vision was in a 'good patch' now, enough for him to see her face momentarily go stricken. He hastily squeezed her hand and raised it to his mouth for a brief kiss. "It's okay. Go. You need some rest." "Well, actually, I have to go to the Bureau. I'm going to have a video link up with the Abidjan police." At Mulder's 'sounds familiar but I can't quite place it' look, she said, "In Africa." She explained briefly about Dr Barnes appearing on the beach and his subsequent behaviour. "Ngebe and I were able to knock him unconscious and escape, and I came back here, to Washington. The next day, Barnes was found dead and the craft was gone." Mulder mouthed a whistle. "There are timestamps as to where we were and what we were doing at the time of his death. Security cameras at the airport show me waiting for my flight, and Ngebe went to the police station." She sighed. "Plus some of the workers returned to the beach after we had left. They were scared at some of the events that had happened, but wanted to keep working as they needed money." She hoped that Mulder wouldn't ask her to elaborate on those strange events - at least not just yet. "They saw Barnes alive but looking so manic that they decided not to stay." She paused for breath. "There is still an investigation, but it hasn't been necessary for me to go back to Africa for testimony. Yet, anyway. I'm glad, because I've had more than enough on my mind." She reached out and ran a hand through the hair that was sticking out on top of Mulder's head above the bandage, and she tried desperately not to picture the empty bed, the fear... She began collecting her notes and satchel. There were things she hadn't told him yet. His mother, Diana, Kritschgau, Skinner... The longer she delayed... But he was falling asleep now as she watched, and Doctor Harriman had advised her not to dump everything on him at once. They wanted to keep his blood pressure on the low side. Mulder hadn't directly asked about anyone yet, which helped. xXx Later that day: Scully was reading a novel at Mulder's bedside, a break from all the scientific study, but occasionally her thoughts would stray to the video link-up with Africa. It had gone well. It was Ngebe's comment that stayed with her. The woman had smiled at her before they had even exchanged a word. "I can see that your friend must be better." Mulder stirred and opened his eyes. "Hey." Scully put the book aside and smiled. "How's your vision?" "Fine at the moment. But two of you are twice as nice." She rolled her eyes. Whatever 'They' had done to Mulder, his essence was definitely still intact. "While you were sleeping -" "Around being woken every five minutes for neuro checks and tests and to be EEGed and hand squeezed and scanned and eye-gazed and given therapy for this and therapy for that and little walks..." he reminded her, exaggerating freely. The tests were not as frequent now that he had moved wards. And his tube collection had dwindled. She acknowledged his sufferings with a nod and continued, "I had a talk with your doctor. The bleeding was successfully cauterized by surgery. Your neuro signs are good, apart from the vision and right-side problems. But they can be tackled with continued therapy, and you don't have to be an inpatient for that. You can swallow without aspirating. And the orderly reported that you ate almost all of your last meal by yourself." "Yeah. I can dress myself too, but not in a time that will set any records." Though his right hand weakness made tying his shoes impossible for the moment. "And you are mobile as long as you have support or a walker, though you tire easily. If you continue to progress at this rate, the doctor is talking about releasing you late tomorrow or the day after. Most likely the latter." "Really? Wow, I thought post-op after a subdermal hematoma was at least three days." Then he realised. "Oh. I've already slept past that, haven't I?" "Yes. They're going to move you to the Med-surg floor. If you can take the neglect there, you'll do okay at home." They smiled at her choice of words, because both knew there was no way she would let him become neglected in any hospital or any department. "You'll be staying with me, at least for now, so that's another reassurance for the doctors. I can keep an eye on you and take you to OT and PT and help with home exercises. I don't think we'll need home health to do that." "Are you sure? I mean, you've practically lived here for days. I asked the nurses. You might need some time on your own to relax." "I had time on my own. You weren't there. It wasn't relaxing at all." She felt herself teetering on the edge of something. "I think we both need this." She forced levity into her tone. "Plus, my place is nearer. Why do you think I chose Georgetown to move to after Annapolis? Expediency. Stay with me for a few days and then we can move you back into your place, with everything restocked. And the fourth floor won't seem as daunting." "Deal. I appreciate it." "On the condition that you don't push yourself too far too fast." "Are you talking about my recovery or my chances with you?" "Well, you'll be in my home and in my bed." A feeling swept through her body when she said those words, centred in her heart and lower, and although she hid it, she did not try to dismiss the feelings as happening because she was tired and her resistance lowered. She continued speaking without missing a noticeable beat. "I'll be out on the sofa bed. So it'll be just like we're married anyway!" "Tease. Good point though." He grinned. "It'll be great to get out of here. Be able to walk around -" "With a walker." "Scully!" he moaned. "I hate that frame thing. They're going to discharge me, surely that means I don't have to have it anymore." "Mulder, you still need something for now. I can't do the gait belt with you. With our weight difference, if you start to go down, I don't have the weight to hold you up or let you down slowly." His grin became pure wickedness. "Scully, if I went down on you..." "Don't say it! Your innuendo gland is obviously fine." "If I have to have something, can't I use a cane?" "Walkers are a lot more stable. You can graduate to a cane when the Physical Therapist tells you." He already had enough damage to his skull without falling and cracking it open. "All right... You've beaten me into submission," he muttered grumpily. Scully felt her own innuendo gland fire up and she leaned in close to him. "No, Mulder. When I do that, you *definitely* won't be disappointed." He stared at her, then burst out laughing. They both did. He indicated the angle that the head of his bed was on. "And I gather I have to basically sleep and lie down sitting up for the foreseeable future?" She wanted to remind him that this wasn't the first head injury he'd had and he should know the drill, but Mulder would be hoping that brain surgery had at least some advantages over run of the mill blows to the head. "Sorry, but your head has to be at least on a 35 degree angle to keep the intracranial pressure low." Scully didn't tell him that this was called the semi-Fowler's position. That name was a little too close to... "We can't let your head get below the rest of your body for at least three or four weeks." "Well, that ruins some plans I had..." Then Scully noticed that Mulder was wiggling his fingers. And his toes too. "What's the matter? Are you experiencing pins and needles - or numbness?" "No. It's just so good to be able to move. And to talk." He shrugged. "Remembered some more." "You were completely aware, weren't you? I mean, in what you can remember so far." "Of everything that everyone said. And didn't say. They didn't even have to be in the room with me, but it seemed to be limited to nearby. God, those ceiling tiles were so boring." He had made sure to use a jesting tone, and cursed himself when he saw tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry I wasn't there, Mulder. I -" "Hey, none of that. You were looking for the answers, the artifact. That's what I wanted you to do." "But when I came back from Africa, I should have stayed with you -" "And you would have ended up being admitted yourself through running yourself into the ground. Plus, 'They' wanted me. They would have gotten me somehow at some point. I'm just glad you didn't get injured or killed in the process." Scully tried to compose herself. "Do you remember being taken from the hospital?" "No. How did they get me out?" Scully hesitated, wondering if she should have mentioned it, if he was up to hearing this. But she was not going to try hiding anything from him, not if he asked. She explained about the spray-painted video cameras, then went onto more rocky ground. "The staff said your mother checked you out AMA." "Oh... Are they sure? Have you spoken to her?" "The lab said that it was her handwriting. A tiny clear patch in the hall monitor surveillance tape shows your mother...talking to Cancerman." She waited while Mulder took a long breath. "We couldn't find her to question her and she wasn't returning my calls. Then a cleaner found her lying on the floor of a motel room halfway between D.C. and Rhode Island. Your mother was examined at a hospital and is all right, but she -" Scully wanted to say 'claims' but thought that might be a bit too harsh for Mulder to hear. "- has no memory of signing you out, just that she came down to visit. The doctor who examined her said that it was probably something to do with her previous stroke and advised that she take things easy in case she triggered another one." "How could she sign me out, anyway? You hold my Medical Power of Attorney. And it wasn't like you were still in Africa and unreachable." "Someone swapped the form with another that named her as first contact. It looks legitimate. But it isn't. And since most of the staff here know that I hold your POA, it looks like whoever took you made sure that some of their own were on the desk that night to let it go through." Mulder fiddled with a crease in the sheet, not sure how to respond to that. Instead he asked her how the video link with Africa had gone, and was relieved that it had been straightforward. He was also glad that the near- constant need for sleep was giving him a 'get out of jail free' card from thinking too hard at the moment. END PART TWO OF SIX TITLE: "Recovery" (3/6) BY: Ten E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au CATEGORY: S (post ep); Angst; MT; MSR RATING: PG-13 SUMMARY: Mulder's physical retrieval, recuperation and more retrieval - this time of memories - during and after "Amor Fati". TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers for "Biogenesis", "Sixth Extinction" and "Amor Fati". ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be archived anywhere as long as my name, addy and disclaimer stay intact. FEEDBACK: Always great to know who's out there in the ether! My website for all my X-Files fanfiction is now at http://tenxffic.tripod.com DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder and Scully and all other characters from the show belong to Chris Carter, the writers of the episodes, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. xXx A few hours later: "Scully?" "Yes?" "You said I was rescued from the DOD. But how? How did you know I was there?" "Someone slipped a Department of Defense keycard under my front door. I used it." "That was it? Just the card?" He watched her nod. "That was a big risk. You could have been walking into anything." "I had the Gunmen with me. And you've done the same for me, remember? Some risks are worth taking." Before either of them could continue that line of conversation, she told him about the other mystery delivery: the book. Not everything about it, just a general outline of the contents and that he could have a good look at it when he was discharged. "Could it or the card be traced back to anyone?" "The book came by interoffice mail. No originating address. The keycard was an unassigned one, but with access to the entrance and section that led me to you. Not that the DOD is admitting you were held in there for any period of time. Or even that you were in there at the time." "Wonder if it was Skinner?" Mulder murmured, sleep tugging at him again. Scully had another name in mind, but held her tongue for now. She would tell him about Agent Fowley's possible disappearance tomorrow. xXx Med-surg floor Next morning: Scully entered the hospital room to find Mulder and Doctor Harriman waiting for her. The doctor looked like he was on the second half of a double shift, but there was something in his expression... And Mulder was wearing his SmugFace. "Agent Mulder keeps pulling miracles out from under his bandage," the doctor announced. "Or is just inordinately lucky." "Why? What's happened?" "My double vision and right-side weakness are gone," Mulder said, with an 'I TOLD you so' air. "You're kidding..." Scully looked from him to the doctor and back again. "Nope." Doctor Harriman said, "Well, if the double vision doesn't reappear in the next seventy-two hours, then it's a fairly safe bet that it won't be an ongoing problem. Your body is still weak overall from your ordeal, but now your right side seems to be 'up there' with your left." "That isn't unheard of," Scully pointed out. She turned to Mulder to explain. "Transient ischemic attacks can occur - that's where the 'stroke' resolves totally within twenty-four hours." Such logical possibilities were all very well and good, but it was all she could do not to break down as Mulder took both of her hands in his and squeezed with equal - if not usual - strength. She hated to pour water on his flame, however he had to be reminded that there were limits. "You're still going to need some therapy and care. And the walker for a time." She looked to the doctor for confirmation on the latter. He nodded. "No gait belt though." Mulder nodded too. As much as he hated to admit it, he was sleeping most of the time and eating was a slow process, though at least he could feed himself completely now. But he wasn't going to be out of the game for months. Probably six or so weeks, but that was by far more preferable. As if reading his mind, Scully and the doctor then mentioned that timeframe as their own estimate of his recuperation, providing all went well. Harriman elaborated, "You probably won't need six weeks of therapy since you were very healthy before and in good shape. But you will need six to eight weeks for your body's resources to recover from the illness and surgery, just like anyone else after major surgery. Even more so, since you've gone through so much. Therapy will be needed for a couple of weeks, then a home exercise program, with STRICT instructions not to push things, or you'll catch whatever's going around and essentially have to start over." "I'll be good." Mulder knew he couldn't afford not to. And he didn't want to put Scully through any more stress either. xXx Next day: Scully stood at the foot of her bed. It was noon. Mulder had been discharged first thing that morning. There had been no therapy scheduled for him today, either in- hospital or outpatient, which helped conserve his strength for the process of being discharged and going 'home'. The curtains were drawn and the room was dim, but there was still enough light for Scully to observe Mulder. There was a recently purchased wedge cushion elevating his head and upper body. Ever since Scully had liberated Mulder from the DOD, he rarely remained on his back - at least when he was conscious enough to be aware of his positioning. He preferred to lie on his right side, instead of on the staples. Fortunately the wedge cushion was wide enough for Mulder to turn on his side, otherwise she didn't think he'd use it. Three pillows was the other option. No signs of nightmares, thank God. But Mulder tended not to nightmare much while in hospital - drugs and the after- effects of anaesthetic seemed to have that effect on him most of the time. She hoped that habit followed through now. The doctor had told her in private to monitor Mulder for any signs of depression or post-traumatic stress. "See anything you like?" Mulder's sleepy mumble startled her. A pair of amused eyes were regarding her from below the bandage. "One or two things, maybe." She moved around to sit on the edge of the bed and put her hand on his upper arm. "I'm going to start lunch soon." "Sounds good." He shifted a little on the cushion and gave it a mild glare. "God, I miss sleeping on my stomach..." The need to keep his head up made that impossible for now. "I know," Scully sympathised. "But the human body doesn't bend backwards at the hips." "Check out the Kama Sutra. It can." She allowed a chuckle at that, though the comeback had nowhere near his usual edge to it. Reflex more than anything else. She gestured toward the spare television on her bureau that the Gunmen had loaned them. "Do you want to watch something until it's ready? If so, I'll open the curtains a little." She stood up. "I need to use the bathroom. Then I might as well stay up and watch TV in the living room." Getting no protest from her, he pushed the bedding aside and slowly moved into a sitting position. He accepted that for now this was his 'designated speed', as much as his body could handle. At least he could move. He would build on this. The walker was right there. Mulder put his hands on the bed and, following instructions, leaned forward enough so that his nose was over his toes, getting his weight far enough forward that as he stood up he wouldn't fall backwards. Then he pushed up to stand. Achieving that, he put his hands on the walker and positioned his grip to maneuvre it. "Look out, Scully, or I'll run you over," he joked. She had been right at his elbow in case he needed assistance. Failing that, the need to touch remained, so she patted him on his bare forearm. "Watch the speed limit." He sighed, feeling his positive mood dwindling. "I feel..." "Like a man who is very lucky to be able to walk at all? To move at all," she reminded him gently. He smiled. She had echoed his thoughts. "Yeah. There is that. You're right." "Mulder... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Some frustration is natural and you need to let it out. I didn't mean to dismiss or downplay it. It's just that you've come so far." "No, you're right. Focus on the positives. I can move." Progress was slow but steady. While Mulder was heading for the bathroom, Scully went around and opened the bedroom curtains partway. Mulder piped up, "So, when are you going to show me your vacation photos?" Scully smiled. The Gunmen had been waiting here when she and Mulder arrived from the hospital. They had dropped the TV off - thank God her bedroom was cable-ready or Mulder would go crazy with only the local stations - and searched for bugs. "I'll show you the photos and the translations we have so far after dinner, when you've rested some more. The scanned photos are all we have now that the craft has vanished." She sighed, thinking of the events of her final night in Africa. "Not all of the photos, unfortunately, but most of them, otherwise I wouldn't have left the originals in the tent after we knocked Barnes out. And we hadn't finished photographing all of the ship - even all that was visible. Just sections at a time." She remembered the slow work. And how sometimes the film had mysteriously been developed nothing on it, setting them back. "You did your best under the circumstances." Mulder disappeared into the bathroom. A few minutes later she heard him say, "Yee!" "What? What's wrong?" Caution and modesty be damned - she charged through the bathroom doorway. Mulder was leaning against the counter, staring at his reflection in the mirror, specifically at what the bandage had done to his head, swallowing up his hair apart from at the top. "Yow. Low maintenance hairstyle, but scary. I might start a new trend." Relief clashed with the urge to strangle him for alarming her. "It's just like a headband." "Like an aerobics instructor or Bart Simpson!" he said dryly. "I gather I can't wash my hair until the staples are out? Yuck." "And until everything is completely scabbed over. After all that you've been through, we are not risking a wound infection that could get into the bone or even into your brain." He wondered if she realised she had used the word 'we'. Soon he was settled on the couch with the remote control and plenty of cushions. Scully got on with lunch. Ten minutes later she looked over to find that Mulder's eyes were closed. She smiled, then it faded. He was lying very still. Waxen. Fear and loss were once again centre stage in her mind. The urge rose up in her to seize and shake him, to make him move. She actually took a step to do so when he murmured and shifted slightly. Scully took a deep breath and watched him for long minutes, then turned back to the counter and resumed slicing tomatoes. But then she had to give up because her hand kept shaking. xXx She jolted awake, not knowing how much time had passed. She had fallen asleep at the kitchen table. It looked like Mulder wasn't the only one who needed to regain some reserves... She stared blearily at her half-eaten salad. Lucky she hadn't ended up facedown in it. She had decided to eat her meal first and let Mulder get some more sleep. Scully looked across at the sofa. The walker was there, but Mulder wasn't. Perhaps he was in the bathroom again or had put himself back to bed. Still, he shouldn't have taken the risk of walking unaided so soon. She pushed the chair back and stood, muscles protesting. Stiffly, she approached the bathroom. "Mulder?" she called, part in question, part in warning, but her voice came out as a croak. The door was half-open. "Mulder?" No response. No noises within. As she pushed the door open and stepped through, she thought that perhaps he was in the bedroom. Until she saw him at the bathroom basin. Scully froze. Mulder was leaning heavily against the counter, facing the mirror, side-on to her. His head bandages were gone. He was holding a hand mirror up to catch the back view of his head and was looking at the resulting reflection in the bathroom mirror. His skin was sweaty and his arm was wobbling from the effort. The paleness of his skin made the scabs from the head frame stand out. Mulder was so distracted trying to get a look at what the bandages had hidden, moving his head to get a better view, that he had not heard Scully call his name. Her soft gasp, however, got through to him in stereo. He jumped and dropped the mirror, whirling around like he'd been caught trying on her lingerie. The movement worsened the dizziness he had been trying to ignore, which had built up during the efforts of undoing and unwinding the bandages and craning his head to capture the best angle... The bathroom floor undulated beneath him and he stumbled, swayed... But did not collapse, because Scully was there, seizing hold of him. Despite their size difference, he didn't bring them crashing to the floor because somehow his partner managed to lock them in position against the counter. "Breathe. Mulder, breathe." Slowly Mulder came back to himself. "I'm okay. I just moved too fast..." Scully knew that neither of them could maintain this position much longer. If he sat down on the floor there was the chance that he wouldn't be able to get back up on his feet, but at the moment she doubted she could support him to the bed or sofa - she might find the strength, but he might not. Carefully, slowly, Scully helped him sit on the fuzzy bathmat, with his back resting against the bathtub, to give him a chance to recover and less chance of falling. This position also gave her access to wrap new bandages around his head. If her aching muscles and jangling nerves would let her. He knew she was staring at the bandages he had discarded on the countertop. "I'm sorry. I-I just wanted to see what They did to me." "I understand." She thought about the chip she had gotten removed and its replacement that was now as much a part of her as her arm. But a scary part. "If you want to, you can have another look when I change the bandages again next time. But I think this is enough for today. Your not having eaten lunch yet probably didn't help. I'll bring it to you in bed." "I'll get crumbs in the sheets." "Small price to pay. And you're the one who has to lie in it. Not me." He poked a pale tongue out at her then gave a worried look. "The mirror. Did I break it?" He tried to turn around to see, then changed his mind. When she had startled him at the basin, he had accidentally sent the mirror flying into the bathtub. At least the shards would be easier to find and dispose of. Scully checked out the damage and came to crouch down in front of him. "We have an X-File. The plastic backing and frame have been broken, but the mirror itself is actually still intact." "That's good. Didn't want any more bad luck." She couldn't maintain a flippant smile in return. "Mulder, I know what you were doing and why, but please don't try that without me around. At least for the moment, okay?" "I was just going to use the bathroom, and then I didn't want to wake you because you looked so tired... I thought the walker would make too much noise clomping over the boards and I felt like I could do it myself. I held onto furniture..." He trailed off. Scully put fresh gauze and bandages on. "I'll go get the walker." He nodded without complaint, glad she wasn't getting angry at him. Scully returned with the walker and braced it, hoping it would be enough leverage for him. Fortunately it was and Mulder also had enough strength in his legs and arms to pull himself up to standing directly from the floor. When the trek was over and he was settled in bed, he asked, "Any word on...?" Diana. Scully had broken the news to him on the day that his right-side weakness had come good. "Nothing yet." For some reason that did not surprise him. And he was concerned, but not anywhere near the degree if it had been Scully missing. Diana could just be on leave. He hoped. xXx After finishing off lunch and doing the quota of home exercises for the day, Mulder suggested that he and Scully have a joint nap. He wanted her to get some rest too, but of course didn't come out and say it that way. He indicated her bed. "Big bed. Plenty of room. And it's not like I can try anything." Yeah, but *I* might... Her need to touch him was very strong. She smiled at him and nodded. "Better than sitting in a damn hospital chair. You better not have got too many crumbs in there though. I'm still finding African sand around the place." She went around to get another blanket and lie down on the other side, but both realised at the same time that with Mulder lying on the right side of the bed and favouring sleeping on his own right side, then positioned like this they couldn't 'see' each other. Without a word, without even voicing why this was so important, they swapped sides, Mulder sliding across the mattress under the bedclothes, Scully walking around. Pillows and the wedge cushion were hastily reshuffled and rearranged. Now he could lie on his right side, facing the middle of the bed, and all would be well. They stared at each other for a long moment, not feeling uncomfortable in the least. Then they were asleep. xXx "Mom. Mom?" The voice broke into Scully's sleep gently, like a drifting dandelion. It was puzzled, inquiring. "Mom? Mom!" The voice changed, scared and confused, penetrating like a blade. She sat bolt upright. Mulder was lying on his back beside her. His eyes were closed, screwed up in pain. His voice was getting louder and more desperate. "MOM!" "Mulder! Mulder, wake up! It's a dream." Scully wanted to reach out and give him a gentle shake, but was afraid of what his reaction would be. "MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!" No choice. She shook his shoulder, ready to leap back if he flailed an arm out in panic. "Mulder, wake up!" With a cry, he jolted awake. He lay there, unmoving, staring at Scully. That panicked her more. "Mulder, it was a dream. It's okay." No response, just his hoarse breathing. "Mulder, talk to me." "I-I can't..." Then he looked surprised that he had managed to speak. He looked down at his hand and raised it a few inches off the sheets. Scully hovered over him, slipping her hand into his. "You're not catatonic anymore. It's okay." "I couldn't move. She couldn't hear me. No one could hear me. But I could hear everything..." He shut his eyes, and tears flowed out. "What did they do to me?" he whispered. Then his free hand slammed down on the mattress. "What the HELL did they DO TO ME??" He curled up into a ball, crying. Scully gathered him to her and rocked him. She was startled by his sudden anger, but relieved by it too. His previous calm acceptance of his ordeal had been too unnerving. He needed to let this out. As he clung to her and cried, Scully cried too. Tears of sorrow for his burden and the rollercoaster of the last weeks, and tears of relief that she had him back at all. xXx Waking up was much more pleasant this time. He was in Scully's arms, clasped to her chest. It wasn't sexual, but it was meaningful and comforting and he wished it could last forever. So, naturally the phone had to ring. He heard Scully stir and give a groan - of disappointment? - and then she carefully disentangled herself and moved over to 'her' side of the bed to reach the phone. "Hello, sir." Checking up on us... Mulder watched from his sloped vantage point and hoped the call would be quick, but doubted that he and Scully would then resume their clinch. He wanted to, and he was *almost* certain that Scully did too... Something... Some memory that he couldn't quite remember. Skinner reported that there was still no word on Agent Fowley. When the call was over, Scully said, "I'd better start dinner." "Yeah." She reached over and touched Mulder's cheek. "You okay? I mean, after..." Is she touching me just because of my nightmare, he wondered. "I'm fine. Thanks. Thanks for being there." "That's what partners are for." He didn't know how he felt about that sentence. "Mulder?" He realised that he had been staring off into space. "What's wrong?" "I shouldn't have..." "Shouldn't have what?" "Gone to pieces like that. In front of you." "Why not?" Scully was gradually realising this was more than simple embarrassment. "You had every right to after what you've been through," she reassured him. "Abduction," he said quietly, with the hint of a tremor. That one word and his delivery crystallised for her what was bugging him. In the times after her abductions - from Skyland Mountain and to Antarctica being the main ones - this had not been the way of things. No staying at his place or having him move in with her. No holding while they slept. It was like there was one set of rules for her recuperation and another for his. But the playing field was an uneven one to begin with. It was time to admit that. She said, "In those times, I've had my family, my mother, to take care of me. Or yes, I've been stubborn with my independence and refused help. But I like to think that I've learnt since then, that I'm doing this now because of the stage we're at, how things have changed and grown over time. That we're not afraid to let our weaknesses slip out in front of each other now." He looked thoughtful at that. "Mulder, I'm not doing this just because I'm the only one you have in the vicinity. I didn't fly to Africa to try to find your cure as 'payback' for the chip or the vaccine -" The phone interrupted her again. Maggie. Scully hoped that her message had gotten across, but the spell - where they were almost in each other's arms - had been broken. Temporarily, Dana hoped, but after dinner that night she looked down on Mulder, sound asleep in her bed, too tired to peruse the Ivory Coast photos after all, and she juggled her decision for an eternity before dragging her heels out to the living room to sleep. xXx The sofa bed was comfortable, but lacking a certain something. Scully reluctantly derailed that train of thought and turned one bleary eye towards the nearest clock. Just after six in the morning. She decided to get up long enough to check on Mulder, then lie in some more. One of the benefits of taking leave. As she approached the half-open bedroom door, she realised that the room beyond seemed brighter than it should be, unless the curtains had been drawn back. They were. "Mulder?" A distracted grunt was her answer. He was sitting at her desk, his head propped up on his left forearm, right hand scribbling away on a legal pad. Pages were strewn all over the desk. Some were on the floor and on the half of the bed nearest the desk. Every page was covered with something. Either Mulder's handwriting, though larger than usual, or doodles. Or were they drawings? Diagrams? "Mulder, what are you doing?" "Remembering." END PART THREE OF SIX TITLE: "Recovery" (4/6) BY: Ten E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au CATEGORY: S (post ep); Angst; MT; MSR RATING: PG-13 SUMMARY: Mulder's physical retrieval, recuperation and more retrieval - this time of memories - during and after "Amor Fati". TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers for "Biogenesis", "Sixth Extinction" and "Amor Fati". ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be archived anywhere as long as my name, addy and disclaimer stay intact. FEEDBACK: Always great to know who's out there in the ether! My website for all my X-Files fanfiction is now at http://tenxffic.tripod.com DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder and Scully and all other characters from the show belong to Chris Carter, the writers of the episodes, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. xXx Scully approached her partner from across the room, having to pick up some of the pages to avoid stepping on them. She glanced at them. One had several symbols on it that looked _very_ similar to those on the outer skin of the craft. The bottom half of the page was in English. No paragraphs. Infrequent punctuation. Rare capital letters. Even at a sweeping glance - and FBI training had included how to get all of the salient points off a page with speed - Scully realised this was a very accurate description of the section of beach on the Ivory Coast where the ship had been. No time to ponder that though. She had arrived at her partner's side. He was still writing, and with an unnerving intensity. His face reminded her of when John Lee Roche had given Mulder directions to a grave out in the woods, and Mulder had gone down on his knees and dug into the soil with his bare hands, desperate to know if the body beneath was his sister. "I'm getting the memories back," he said to her now, in an almost-excited tone. "Not everything, but a large section from before I was abducted." "Mulder, how long have you been sitting here?" He didn't reply. His eyes were red-rimmed. Old. Her laptop, which was usually in the centre of the desk, had been shoved to one side and was barely visible under the pages that had been dropped on it. She gently put her hand on his upper arm. "Mulder -" "If I stop, I might forget something." "If you don't stop now, you might collapse off the chair and set your recovery back even more." She glided her hand down to still his. "Please." She gave a gentle squeeze, then withdrew it, waiting for his reaction. There was a pause. Mulder put down the pencil and flexed his fingers, scowling at his hand. "I can't write fast enough." He cautiously removed his head from its pedestal on his left arm and gingerly moved his head from side to side, wincing. "And I tried to use your computer, but the screen was too bright. I couldn't see." "Well, I don't think that writing for this long does much good for your eyes either. Or the rest of you. Time for a break." "But -" "Mulder, you have a PT session this morning. You need more sleep first -" "That's all I've BEEN doing! This is important." "So is your physical recovery." She gestured over the scattered pages. "I think you've done enough remembering for the moment." As tired as he was, she could tell that he would have trouble going back to sleep. Overtired, over-stimulated. "If you get some sleep, I'll dig out my tape recorder and put new batteries in it and you can record your memories that way. It won't put as much strain on your body." A grateful grin lit up his face. Good. Now to get him to bed. Finally he capitulated. He even accepted some warm milk to hopefully speed him to sleep. A pill was out of the question since he had to be alert for the PT session, though she would get the session postponed if he was still too tired when the time came. As he lay there, he indicated the stack of papers that Scully had made out of the pages that had been on the bed. "Have a read." "But, Mulder, it's your..." Was 'journal' the right word? "My report. If I go back and censor it, then you might miss something important, something that I can't see the connection to..." xXx Even with Mulder's insistence and blessing, it still felt like an invasion of privacy to be looking at what he had written. His handwriting was larger and messier than usual, almost like a child's. Sometimes when he was immersed in a profile it would go like that. He had said once that the same happened in his exams. The writing appeared to be stream of consciousness. Scully didn't know where to begin, or if one page even followed another. Then her own name caught her eye and she backtracked a few lines above it to find the context. Something about a quote he'd learned at Oxford... **during world war one london's slums suffered heavy damage from enemy blitzes. then when buckingham palace was hit the queen mother said something like "i'm almost glad we've been bombed. now i feel we can look the east end in the face." i know what she means. i'm so glad that i was abducted. now i can look scully in the eye.** Tears stung at Scully's eyes, and the nails on her hand that wasn't holding the page dug into the skin of her palm. **though if we're comparing damage metaphorically she's had basically her whole town wiped out. i've just had my house razed. just glad that the suffering to be had has landed on me this time.** Mulder, you idiot. When you bleed, I bleed. Don't you know that? Couldn't you feel me bleeding when I came back from Africa and stood by your side? Couldn't you feel how much I wished it was me in that bed instead of you? She wiped her eyes and returned to her task. She found notes about his hospitalization pre-abduction: **knew i'd end up in here one day. pinkus got me close with the restraints last year but that wasn't a padded cell. but these voices i can't control them and i can't turn them down like the radio and it's that artifact i know it. skinner's out there pacing got a lot to pace about too. all these voices are driving me mad but i can make sense of some of it focus on one if i concentrate enough. krycek's got him on the leash. skinner is wondering if krycek or one of 'them' pulled the strings for me to be assigned to this case knowing how i would react to the rubbing and diana. she's out there. back home she tried to... throwing up on her and her training bra certainly brought that strategy to a screeching halt. ha. confronting her about what i'd got a sense of when she was on the phone got me a chest full of stun gun. at least when scully shot me she had the decency to aim for my shoulder but i can't warn anyone can't speak head is so overloaded that it's short circuiting my tongue scully where's scully there my sanity personified "he's a danger to anyone." "not to me." i am a danger to you scully always have been "you're both liars" she tells di and ski my girl doesn't even need the talent or burden of mind reading to work that one out. i don't deserve her i feel her concern her determination that she will save me. her horror at what I have been reduced to then she is gone and i am a planet with no sun to orbit i know how a toddler feels now. they have things to say but they don't know how to or can't say it so toss a tantrum in frustration. my tantrums involve hitting the wall and pulling at my hair so they taped my fingers together and weed whacked my head those guys are not going on my christmas list if the world ends when the millennium ticks over will i hear everyone's screams the longer scully is gone the more panicked i get. i know where she has gone and that it takes time but i've remembered something from the files i read about the cia and their tests and studies of people who had extra sensory perception. kritschgau may be my only chance of communication and to get him the only person I can use unless the gunmen pop up is skinner. mission accomplished i hope. i'm taken out of my padded cell and tied to a bed for my misdemeanour. come on guys stop overreacting i've hit him before and all he did was put me in a headlock. it only seems kinky the first time** Another page: **night-time is better. less people less hurry less voices in my head. most asleep. but i pick up their dreams and nightmares. as if my own weren't enough. think i can hear people in about a 100 yard radius. might also work up and down as well as across or just on level of great pain or projection because i can feel the pain of a car accident victim as she is rushed into the er. i hear the doctor's thoughts and know that the outlook is bleak. she dies on the table. her last conscious thoughts are of her daughter. her mother will become guardian. skinner returns soon after that woman dies and his entry distracts me from her mother sobbing in the waiting room and the urgency around a heart attack victim being defibrillated. the only way i can communicate with skinner is with my eyes and my hand. skinner gives me a pen to write with. geez sir could you have found one that isn't 24 carat and weighs a ton i'm having a hard time hefting it. speaking of which he doesn't even raise the bed so i can see properly to write on his hand. scully would have raised the bed i wish 'kritschgau' had a shorter name** xXx Scully kept turning what she had read over and over in her mind. Even when she put the pages down, their contents would not leave her. Before bedding back down Mulder had turned the TV on for some 'white noise' to go to sleep by, but she still heard his explosive gasp over the muted chatter. She raced back in from the bathroom, her hands dripping wet. "Mulder?" He was lying on his side, breathing hard, one hand fisted into the cushion. "It's okay...I - It's just that I sort of half woke up and could hear voices." He gestured at the TV. "Guess I panicked and thought my 'gift' was back." Without a word, Scully turned the TV off and enfolded him in her arms. They remained like that for a very long time. xXx Georgetown Hospital Rehabilitation Center Outpatient Therapy The Physical Therapist was putting Mulder through his paces. Scully sat and watched, or turned her eyes to the magazine in her lap whenever she thought that her attention was making her partner too self-conscious. But he had wanted her in the room, asking quietly if she would stay. He was very determined and motivated in the session. Then in the middle of an exercise, Mulder stopped. His eyes lost their focus, but he did not sway or do anything else that indicated he was about to faint. Before the therapist could comment, Scully put the magazine down and stood up. "Mulder?" He blinked and gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry." He completed the exercise, but the next time he looked over at her, his gaze was contemplative. At the end of the session, Mulder was ecstatic to have the PT's permission to trade the walker in for a cane. He would have let out a cheer, but that would have disturbed the other patients and therapists at the various stations around the physical therapy 'gym'. When he and Scully returned to her apartment from the session, Mulder travelled straight to the sofa and curled up on it before Scully could get the word 'Bed' out. She watched him manipulate the remote control and knew his thinking: if he went to sleep out here, so be it, but he was sick of spending so much time in bed. She sat at the kitchen table with her laptop and went through some accumulated emails. By the looks of one, the Gunmen had been fascinated by the pages of symbols Mulder had made - the agents had dropped them in on the way to the PT session, for copying and study. Full translations would take time. "Scully?" Mulder's voice showed that he had at least a few toes in the land of Nod, if not one whole foot. "Yeah?" A pause. "Do you really think I have a beautiful mind?" Scully stared at the cursor on the screen in front of her. It blinked, more slowly and steadily than her own now-racing heart. She looked over at the sofa. It was facing away from her, towards the TV. The top of Mulder's head was visible, resting on cushions. He was facing the TV too. "Your... Your mind is many things, Mulder," she replied in a not-quite reply, hedging for time. She stood and walked around the table to stand behind the sofa, looking down at him. Her mind raced. Had he heard her all the way over in Africa, when her thoughts were haunted by him and his plight? Had her feelings been that strong? Wait - upon her return, the twenty-two hour flight, the confrontation with Skinner, she had found that Mulder was no longer in the padded cell. It was even worse. He was lying semi-catatonic in a hospital bed, by all accounts dying, unable to communicate, and she had wept inside for the disintegration of all that he was. Now his head was turned towards her on the sofa, and he was waiting for her to elaborate. Curious? Hopeful? Had he 'heard' *everything*? "Your mind is highly intelligent, articulate, witty, and yes, beautiful." Was the colour in his cheeks from the PT or from embarrassment? "Beautiful," he repeated. "Flowers are beautiful. People keep flowers in vases." "I'm a pathologist, partner. Instead of flowers in vases of water, I keep bits and brains in jars of formaldehyde." After saying that, she wondered if it was such a good analogy, especially in light of whatever They had done to Mulder's head, but he seemed to take no offence, grinning. "I'd prefer sexy to beautiful, but beautiful is good." With that comment, Mulder closed his eyes and went to sleep. And Scully was left standing there, thinking about how sexy he still looked even when he was exhausted. xXx A room. Dimness. Stay or go? Handcuffs weighing him down. A noise. A figure standing in the doorway, backlit, features obscured. "Hello?" A familiar woman was walking towards him in a black nightgown, holding the handcuff keys. "Diana?" Mulder opened his eyes. Scully was sitting next to him - or rather on the coffee table while he was still on the sofa. He vaguely noticed a strange expression on her face - had he spoken out loud? - then she leaned forwards. "Hey, are you all right? It's time for your medicine." "Oh. Yeah." He tried to run his hand over his face and through his hair, but the bandage brought that to a halt. His head was hurting and he couldn't help checking his hands. No handcuffs, but he was startled to see faint bruising there. "Mulder?" "These marks..." That house. Those events. They weren't real - were they? "They're from when you were in the hospital before you were taken to the DOD. The doctor had you in restraints because you had been acting violently. And then you had convulsions due to an overload of medication, so your wrists got marked up." "Oh yeah." Also from those linebackers wrestling him. He had seen the bruising before. He'd forgotten in his panic. "And what about when you found me in the DOD? On that table. Was I tied down?" "You were...in shackles. They had been left very loose though. I was able to slip your hands out easily. With your feet, I had to open the shackles, but they didn't require a key. Just had to press and pull." "Oh." Quietly he took his meds. But he was still rattled by his dream. When the lunch dishes were done, he asked to see her report of the whole case and the photos from the beach. It was time. xXx Mulder slowly shuffled through a handful of photos. Not slowly because of his reduced physical condition, but slowly to absorb what he was seeing. It was like the ceiling above his head was in storm cloud-mode again, glimpses of another sky, and lightening was crackling through the clouds, offering glimpses. And Scully was leaning over him, bedraggled like she had just walked through a car wash but still so beautiful, yet so upset, "I know you can hear me...", and she was leaning down and he could feel - Diana kissing him. Then suddenly the memories and his surprise were knocked aside, like a compact broadsided by a limo, and other memories were there. Mulder pointed to a photograph. "I recognise this." "From where?" "From you. Your mind." The beach looked just like he had seen in her mind, but even as he looked at the photos of the entire craft and the shelter, he kept expecting to see something else instead. The shape of the ship, but in ... sand? And no African workers digging at the sand that obscured the writings, but a little boy turning the sand into the answer. There must be some way that they all fitted together. "All these photos. All these symbols," he pondered. "And most of my translations have gone," Scully said ruefully. "The Gunmen are working on deciphering them again from what I emailed to them and what you've drawn so far." Mulder pointed to a line of symbols and moved his finger along them. With assurity he recited, "'Thymine, Cytosine, Guanine, Adenine.' Nucleotides. Science and mysticism combined." He met Scully's wide eyes calmly. He hadn't read her report yet. Nor had she mentioned those details about the craft in the last few days. But they both knew how Mulder knew. "That was from your mind," he said. "I can see the ship from when you looked at it, and I should be able to write down the translations you lost and the tracts of symbols that you don't have photos for. But you translated this section in Africa. I can see your hand. The way you were holding the pencil. The dead locusts. You may think these are hallucinations, but I bet they're *accurate* hallucinations, right?" Her mouth moved twice before she could get her voice out through it. "You could actually see me in Africa?" "I could see your time in Africa, or parts of it, but only once you came back and were standing at my bedside. It was on your mind." "You were on my mind too." Mulder didn't have to be a mind reader to know what Scully was wondering just now: what else he had read during that reunion? But now when he tried to concentrate on the feelings he had gotten from her about him, about them, both in Africa and by his side, he saw Diana instead. Diana leaning over him in the hospital, walking towards him in a nightgown, then with coffee, then her abdomen swelled with pregnancy. He felt a rise of panic. What was going on? Then one Scullythread surfaced. Something he knew was not going to go away. "I can remember something. From before you went to Africa. Before I ended up in the padded cell." Scully didn't know if she wanted to hear this. His expression was reluctant, yet resolute. "You called me from New Mexico." Scully remembered that. Diana had answered the phone. And from Mulder's notes, Scully knew that Diana then tried to pull something. The woman had stungunned Mulder apparently, and was very defensive when asked if she knew his whereabouts, yet the book, the DOD keycard... "You'd found that Albert Hosteen had translated another section of fragment. One with a piece from Genesis on it." Be fruitful and multiply. Catholic families generally followed that one. Hers certainly had. Her brothers at least. She pushed those thoughts and their related feelings aside. Mulder continued, "I said that it meant that our progenitors were alien. That they had given that text to us. You disputed this. I know you saw a lot after that in Africa, but from somewhere in there, I can hear one strong thought of yours. I know we were far apart, but perhaps when you were on the phone with me I somehow had a 'pipeline' into your mind or you were projecting so hard, or something. It was that you had lost so much else in this life - you were not going to lose your religion, your faith, to this quest too.'" Silence. Scully fumbled for some words. Mulder watched her sadly. "And I've done it again, haven't I? Taken something from you. I heard you on the phone earlier when your mother rang. She wanted to know if you were coming to church this Sunday and you said no." "Lots to catch up with. Work, having you here -" "I may be back in my own place by Sunday. And even if I'm not, the guys would be happy to babysit me for a few hours." "I'm just... At the moment I'm just focusing on one thing at a time. I didn't go over to Africa with the goal of shooting holes in your theory. And you being here now, alive and all right after what you went through... My prayers were answered." "But at what cost to you?" he asked. "You're proof that miracles still exist. That's enough for me. Now, if you're not too tired, you can bring that beautiful mind of yours over to the kitchen table and help me with dinner. Your sexy behind can tag along." "Not so sexy after all this bedrest. And you're deflecting." His voice wasn't accusing, just concerned, as he travelled the short distance to a kitchen chair and sat. She turned and faced him. Remembering the quote Mulder had mentioned in his notes, she met his eyes. "Mulder, I meant what I said. I'm constantly grateful to God to see you sitting here. The rest... It's just going to take time for me to absorb it all." "Okay." END PART FOUR OF SIX TITLE: "Recovery" (5/6) BY: Ten E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au CATEGORY: S (post ep); Angst; MT; MSR RATING: PG-13 SUMMARY: Mulder's physical retrieval, recuperation and more retrieval - this time of memories - during and after "Amor Fati". TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers for "Biogenesis", "Sixth Extinction" and "Amor Fati". ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be archived anywhere as long as my name, addy and disclaimer stay intact. FEEDBACK: Always great to know who's out there in the ether! My website for all my X-Files fanfiction is now at http://tenxffic.tripod.com DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder and Scully and all other characters from the show belong to Chris Carter, the writers of the episodes, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. xXx "I've run you a bubblebath, Mulder." Mulder blinked the sleep from his eyes. "I get bubbles?" "Special treat." Her voice was deliberately brisk and businesslike as she continued. "Now you'll need help getting in and out of the tub, and for washing your back -" Special treat indeed, he thought. His lucky day. "- but otherwise you should be okay." Mulder decided that the bubblebath was a good move on Scully's part. Not only would it provide for general modesty, but it gave him some cover and leeway if anything threatened to jut up like a volcanic island. Then again, after all he had been through and how early into his recovery he was, he had to admit that he was currently in no shape for Krakatoa to blow. Or to even twitch. Oh well. He didn't even feel 'up' to any innuendo. Together they got him into the bath. Not even the nicely- hot water could eclipse the heat he felt from the patches on his bare skin where Scully's hands had rested. Scully was trying to hold onto her own composure and her laughter. She would be in trouble if she laughed, but Mulder had been so modest during their maneuvre, trying not to embarrass her. It was a good thing he didn't know that she had done a lot of his wash ups in the hospital. If she hadn't, the overworked shift nurses wouldn't have always had time, or done a 'proper' job. Not to mention that tiny sheet he had been graced with in the DOD... The Gunmen popped over for a brief visit. Scully was glad that Mulder was well clear of the bath upon their arrival. They had made a copy of the "Native American Beliefs and Practices" book for Scully and Mulder to pursue at their leisure. Mulder was intrigued, but tiring. He still insisted on phoning his mother. He had tried the day before, but the neighbour who was caring for her said that she was asleep. This time he was able to speak to Tena, and Scully willed her feelings not to show when the conversation was mostly about how Mrs. Mulder was faring, not Fox. After that, when Mulder was in bed, Scully tried phoning Albert Hosteen at his home. She left a message on the answering machine, but didn't expect a quick reply. The family might have gone on a vacation so that Albert could fully recuperate, or be involved in another Hogan ceremony, or be taking the world off the hook for now. She resumed sorting through the pile of notes that Mulder had made in his 'remembering' session, before finally calling it a night. xXx Scully opened her eyes. Nearly two thirty in the morning and her bedroom light was on. He'd better be just going to the bathroom. Why do all these 'memory bursts' have to happen at early hours? By the time she reached the door, her eyes had adjusted enough. It was closed. She had left it half-open. She knocked and heard the bed creak. She entered. And found that Mulder was treating her bedroom walls in the same way as parents of young children treat their refrigerator as an art gallery. "Mulder, what -?" was all that could come out of her mouth as she stepped completely into the room and pivoted. For a moment it was like the time that Mulder had wallpapered his living room with gargoyle pictures to get into the killer's mind. Now he had used every available surface, even her bookcases and framed prints. Clear tape strips roughly secured the corners. No wonder her dreams had been full of muted thumping noises. She must have been tired. Mulder was apologetic. "Guess I should have used the floor, huh?" "Mulder, you're not supposed to be stretching and reaching like that." Arms above the head was more a strain on the heart than on the brain, but still... "I used the cane for the higher bits. It's a handy extendable arm. No straining, I swear. And my head was never lower than my heart, either." One wall had a patchwork of symbol photos on it, assembled like Scully and Ngebe had laid them out on the matting in the tent. Scully shook her head in wonder. "Putting a section together like that took Ngebe and me half a day..." "I was going to start on another, but then I got back some memories that weren't Africa ones. I'm not even sure they're memories, exactly. But they're important." He frowned at the legal pad that was sitting in his lap. Scully could see that the page barely had anything on it. And he wasn't surrounded by any loose sheets. "Why aren't you using the tape recorder?" Scully pointed to where it was sitting on the bedside stand. "I made sure it had fresh batteries." "I know. Thanks. But I just didn't know where to start. I still don't, and I thought that writing would be easier. All these different visions are all tangled in my head. They're there... I just can't..." "At this hour of the morning I'm not surprised. You can't push yourself too hard. How about you have time out for now and then in the morning we'll turn the tape on and I'll 'interview' you and we can see if that helps." xXx Late morning: That day's therapy sessions and a restorative nap were over. Mulder had taken his medication. Now he was ready for the interview, but had a few questions of his own. "Why do you think she did that?" "Who? What?" "My mom. The signature." "Well, your mother knew Spender Senior back when your father worked for the State Department," Scully reminded him reluctantly. "Not that she has ever been very forthcoming about that connection." Thanks to the stroke. The 'get out of jail free' card. "Spender may have tricked her or convinced her that only he could help you. Despite being more alive than you had ever been, your body couldn't stand the pressure. She was worried. She is your mother." The women who love you go to great lengths to try to save you, Mulder. But you can't comprehend that, can you? "He could have done something to her... I know you said she was examined after being found on the motel room floor, but..." There was silence for a minute as Mulder stared at the coffee table. Then he said, "Cancerman told me he was my father." At Scully's look, he continued, "In the hospital. You said there was footage of him on the surveillance camera the night I was taken. He came into my room and we spoke to each other - telepathically - somehow. Yeah, I know it sounds weird. It gets weirder. He told me that I wasn't the saviour of mankind. To cease suffering and stop playing the hero. He injected me with something and then I found I could move and talk normally. It was then that he told me he was my father." Mulder sighed. As if he didn't have enough to process without that possibility. "But I think all that was a dream I had based on what was going on around me. I can feel something under the surface of it, like another layer. I think that he did come into my room and talk to me, say those things, but not telepathically. Whatever drug he gave me to knock me out for transport must have scrambled it up and played it back that way. It was just too bizarre." "What can you remember next?" Scully prodded gently. "Waking up in the passenger seat of the car he was driving. Another dream, but it felt real. It felt very real. I was in my hospital gown and handcuffs. Interesting mix, huh? He said that I was entering a witness protection program, that any attempts at contacting you would put you in danger. He dropped me off at a nice suburban house and told me to go have a look at it first before I decided whether to go back to my old life or stay." "Did you have any free will in this dream?" "I'm not sure." "So you went into the house?" "Yeah. I think I was thinking that I could find a phone and call you. I did find a kitchen full of packets of sunflower seeds and none other than Deep Throat leaning against the counter. He was alive - a bullet scar in the wrong place, now that I think about it - and lived not far away. He even had a family." "What did he say?" "That I wasn't the hub of the universe. And to let go of all my guilt about everything that has happened." Then Mulder looked reluctant. That of course made Scully even more curious, though a little apprehension crept in. "What happened next?" "Um...Next thing I know, I'm married with two kids and Diana is my wife and Spender lives nearby too with Sam and her children." Mulder rattled that bit out, as if hoping the less savoury parts of it would race right by Scully and be forgotten. Scully opted to put those parts on hold for the second. Focus. It was a dream. A hallucination. "Sounds like you were living the American dream." "Like I said when I looked at 'my' house: 'It's perfect. What am I doing here?'" "You said once that you did have plans for life in a small town one day. Thoughts of home and hearth. You do have a right to normality, Mulder." "Not with my responsibilities. And I don't..." "Don't what?" "Don't think I'd be cut out for it." "Now who's deflecting? That isn't what you were going to say." "Then what was I going to say, O Mind Reader?" She ignored the sarcasm. "You were going to say that you didn't deserve it. That you didn't deserve some happiness. Perhaps that dream was telling you that you do." He thought, then why the hell was it Diana in that dream, and why do I keep thinking of her when you and I get close? "No, it... There's something underneath that... Like I'm seeing things on several levels. I just can't... I'm lying there, but I'm not in the hospital. My arms are stretched out and there's something on my head, digging *into* it..." Scully drew a sharp breath. The DOD. Mulder was remembering being in the DOD. But was it only from when she found and roused him, or earlier? And how much should she push? He was breathing more rapidly. "Mulder, I think we should stop for now. Have a break. That's enough for the moment." "No, it's okay. Oh God," he said softly. "I can hear Spender and Diana talking." He closed his eyes at the betrayal. It confirmed the memories he had recovered about her stun-gunning him. No wonder he had not felt surprised when Scully had told him that she had vanished. His subconscious had remembered what side of the fence Diana was on. "Spender is boasting about my 'great capacity for suffering', like he's a proud father. And then Diana says, 'Like father, like son'. And I can read their minds. Not as well because they've injected me with something and I'm half in that literal 'dream home', but he's my father, Scully. Or at least he thinks he is. And a DNA test would have been a simple enough thing for him to do over the years, considering some of the other things he's managed." Scully didn't know how to respond to that. How he seemed to feel about the possibility. Or how she felt. Mulder wasn't sure either, but chose to forge onwards. "Then Diana... She wondered if I was dreaming. I was. Things I can't believe I dreamed." "Mulder, people can't control their dreams. Especially in your case. Where they were operating on you - you could have suffered hallucinations from them stimulating that part of your brain. It was in the visual processing area," she reminded him. That was some consolation. Was it just hallucinations though? And why were these images still occurring? "Diana asked if I was dreaming," he repeated. "Spender said he was certain of it. 'The dreams all men who are owned by the world have - a simpler life... Full of small pleasures.'" Mulder felt like one of his 'ceiling thunderbolts' had struck home. "That sounds like insider information to me. He knew. He knew what I was dreaming about. So that means..." It sounded bizarre, but with an undercurrent of logic. "He could have been controlling what you were dreaming?" Scully pondered. "Or perhaps more likely brainwashing you, giving you images that he had selected." Diana. Is that why it was Diana in the dream, he wondered. And did Cancerman make sure she stayed in my mind so that when I'm with Scully... "They were keeping my brain busy. Or my subconscious. Or it might have been one of his little mindgames. I'm not sure - his thoughts... Dammit! Wait - something's coming through... The black worms. I still had the black cancer in me." "Mulder, are you sure? Remember that when you told me what happened in Russia I didn't waste any time getting you to the hospital and checked out. We found no trace of it. And in your rather frequent hospitalisations in the years since Tunguska, nothing has set off the bells." Bits of information were tumbling into his consciousness like salt from a shaker. "The vaccine made the worms go dormant and in that hibernation state their chemistry was different or something. They became translucent. Hospital equipment wouldn't pick it up, or wouldn't realise what it was seeing. But the Consortium had a special type of body scan. Plus the worms weren't dormant anymore." "What made them wake up?" "I think the paper that the rubbing was on had some of that cosmic radiation on it. Somehow the worms could feed off it and activate my entire brain. Little suckers might have even been using it like a generator." Scully thought back to when Kritschgau had confronted her in the basement. "Kritschgau mentioned that the virus had been reactivated in you by an energy source that you thought was alien in nature..." Mulder nodded. "When you called Chuck Burns in to verify the rubbing, he mentioned the magic squares - access to power or our recessive alien genes. Apparently I had become a 'hybrid' - 'immune to the coming viral apocalypse'. I can hear one of the doctors saying that. The fact that I had survived the retrovirus may have also had something to do with it. No one else had been exposed to both. No one who's still around, at least. That's what could have kept the worms translucent and different. So they wanted to remove the worms from me and put them in Spender instead." "And what makes them think that he could cope with the onslaught to his mind any better than you could? What is the use of mind-reading when it locks up the rest of the body and makes it so alive that it has to die to cope?" "He had some ace up his sleeve. Or I got the feeling that he felt he was running out of time - he had to know what 'They' were doing, and this was the best way..." He strained, then shook his head. "His doctors loaded me up with more drugs, but I could open my eyes. I couldn't feel them digging around in my brain, but I could see them working in the reflector around the overhead light. And hear them talking." He looked shaken, but there was also some other emotion there. Scully remembered what he had said about her own abduction. He was having a perverse relief about his own suffering! "Mulder, you did NOT deserve that either!" She wanted to tell him how important he was to her and how frightened she had been for him, but suddenly he was off on another memory burst. His version of a subject change. "It wasn't until Spender was under the anaesthetic too that things altered in my dreamscape. I was an old man. I had given in. I'd 'chosen' suburbia, to turn my back on you and the X-Files. Spender and I were the last humans left. It was the end of the world. I was about to die in my comfortable bed. Then you came into my dream, Scully. Perhaps I was finally getting back into control, into what and who I wanted to see most." He saw Scully leaning over him in the hospital. Then it became Diana. Scully leaning over him in the DOD... It also became Diana's image. No, dammit! How do I get you out of my mind?! But she was still there in the background, immutable. Focus. "You reminded me of my true mission, Scully. You told me that I had to get up and fight." "I'm glad you listened." "But... did I end up giving them something which I should have taken to the grave with me? Better to die with me than be in the wrong hands..." "Mulder..." "Am I still immune? Are you, because you were injected with the vaccine? Couldn't they get 'it' out of Gibson when they had him?" There were no answers to that. "And you found me in the DOD. I wonder if they left me there to die or not." "You've got that 'I have some theories' look in your eyes." "Well, I have most of my memories intact. You said that the MUFON women eventually got theirs back because they were taken many times." And I pray you never get yours back, Scully, he thought. I wouldn't want you to be aware of whatever they did. "But in my case, Spender might have thought I would die - I don't know if they knew about that bleed or not - and so didn't order my mind wiped. Or they did try but it failed because this wasn't exactly a case that they'd had before; or since I'd been drugged and had a head injury, they thought that no one would believe anything I did 'remember'. I guess we'll never know." Before Scully could comment on that, she saw Mulder frown. "What?" "There's something else. Something about a beach..." "Africa?" "Must be." But he didn't look convinced. "Can't get it back." xXx Two weeks after Mulder's rescue from the DOD Mulder's apartment: Mulder stood at the bathroom sink, contemplating the job he'd done of rebandaging his head. Not a full gauze-and- all job, just enough to act as a buffer between his healing skin and his baseball cap. The staples had been removed several days before, and the skin left open to the air, but he was about to go out. Just shoving the cap on by itself would tempt a long Scully-litany about not taking care of his wounds: 'The cap will rub, it's probably not freshly washed, infection, infection'...etc. He carefully put his New York Yankees cap on, several notches looser than usual, and examined the effect in the mirror. Good, it lessened the impact of the bandage. People would stare at him a lot less like this than if the frame scabs and shaven patch were visible. At least a walker or cane wasn't required anymore and he had his appetite back - and strength to take care of it himself. The double vision had not returned. No more PT and OT, just exercises under Scully's supervision. Naps and taking it easy were still very much on the agenda. He had written out as much information about the craft as he could recall, and spent some time each day studying the transcripts and the Native Americans Belief book, wondering about his possible roles in both. A man who could save humankind from mass extinction. The burning buildings... Could he really? Scully was back at work. They talked on the phone several times each day, usually him phoning her so that she wasn't inadvertently waking him up. She would come over each evening and they would eat and spend some time, do the exercises and such, then she would go home. She had washed his hair. That had felt so good. Not just finally having clean hair, but having her hands running through it again. Her touch had been so careful and gentle. Then for some reason he had flashed to an image of Diana running her hand down his chest, unlocking the cuffs with a key... He hadn't slept well the previous night or in that day's naps so far because of images of her and that other life, the fires, waking up in horror. Precious sleep that he couldn't afford to lose. Was he going insane? He had thought the images were just because he had been sick, but now he was getting better, they hadn't abated. They were getting worse and were like a poison, a toxin he had no idea how to rid himself of. He had managed to hide them and the effects of them from Scully, but it was a matter of time before something happened, before his recovery started sliding backwards. Bad. Very bad. Mulder sighed, picking up one end of the tie that hung loosely around his neck, over his half-buttoned shirt. He looked at it without really seeing it. Scully would not be happy to see him turn up at the basement, but he wasn't there to work, just to tell her what he had found out from an email this morning, confirmed via a phone call. It wasn't something he felt he could say to her over the phone. Why was it always bad news he had to give her? He went out to the living room and sat on the couch for a while to collect himself. Then he was just getting up to return to the bathroom to finish getting ready when there were a series of knocks on the front door, a rhythm that easily identified the owner. Scully had just saved him a trip to the Hoover Building. He opened the door. "Scully, what are you doing here?" His happiness at seeing her was quickly replaced by explanation mode because she was staring at what he was wearing. "Actually, I was just getting dressed to come see you but I... I couldn't find a tie to go with my victory cap." She reached up and took the cap off his head. "Mulder, no work. You have to go back to bed." She pulled at one end of the tie. Mulder grabbed at it in time. First the cap, now the tie. Did she want to try for the pants too? "Oh wait. Tie goes to the runner." They smiled, but it couldn't last. He had to tell her. "Scully, I, um... I was coming down...to work to tell you that Albert Hosteen is dead. He died last night in New Mexico." He told her the length of Albert's coma. "There was... no way he could have been in your apartment." She could not believe that - or at least accept it just now. Albert Hosteen had held her hand, been solid. There. It was too much. She was about to cry. "I don't know what to believe anymore. Mulder, I was so determined to find a cure to save you that I could deny what it was that I saw and now I don't even know... I don't know what the truth is... I don't know who to listen to. I don't know who to trust." She started to cry. Instinct told him that if he moved towards her now, tried to hold her, she would resist. She was in overload. Before he could decide what *would* be best to do or try, Scully spoke. She had her own message to impart. "Diana Fowley was found murdered this morning. I never trusted her... but she helped save your life just as much as I did. She gave me that book. It was her key that led me to you. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry. I know she was your friend." This time Mulder was the one to stare. He'd had a feeling, somehow known that it was too late... And Scully was the one to move forward, holding him. That shook him out of his daze. He knew what he wanted to say, but could he say it? Would it come out the right way? "Scully, I was like you once - I didn't know who to trust. Then I... I chose another path... another life, another fate, where I found my sister. The end of my world was unrecognisable and upside down. There was one thing that remained the same." He held her face in his hands. "You... were my friend, and you told me the truth." She was his friend, but she was so much more too. Could he get past these hauntings to say it? "Even when the world was falling apart, you were my constant...my touchstone." "And you are mine." She kissed him on the forehead, half on the bandage, for a long time. Then she put the baseball cap back on his head and it was her turn to cup his face. They stared into each other's eyes. But Diana was looming in his mind like a spectre. That was one of the reasons why he didn't invite Scully into his apartment. Plus most of their important moments seemed to end up happening in hallways... Some people had restaurants and nightclubs - they had benches and hallways. Scully's fingers slid over his lips and her hands framed his face lovingly. Then her hands were gone and so was she, walking rapidly off down the hallway, as if trying to outrun their emotions. Mulder stared down at the floor. His head hurt, feeling too heavy for his neck and shoulders to support. He wanted to run after Scully, to throw his arms around her and hold her and cry together and just rejoice in the fact that they were alive and together. But... Diana again. She had been haunting him for days, even before her death. You and I are over, he cried out in his mind. We were over a long time ago. How do I end this? He heard the elevator doors close. The ping as the car descended. Then he shoved away from the doorframe and launched himself down the hallway, racing for the stairs. He would outrun Diana, break through Spender's last party trick. He would catch Scully coming out of the elevator or in the foyer or out at her car, and he would NEVER let her go again. He may not be able to have a normal life, but Scully was definitely part of his destiny. And life with her would never be anything less than special anyway. Despite all his best intentions and despite the stubborn will that had seen him race to the Antarctic with a bullet wound to the head, Mulder was currently not in any shape to be doing an impromptu wind sprint. Things went a wobbly gray on the landing of the second floor, and pitch black halfway down the final flight of stairs. END PART FIVE OF SIX TITLE: "Recovery" (6/6) BY: Ten E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au CATEGORY: S (post ep); Angst; MT; MSR RATING: PG-13 SUMMARY: Mulder's physical retrieval, recuperation and more retrieval - this time of memories - during and after "Amor Fati". TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers for "Biogenesis", "Sixth Extinction" and "Amor Fati". ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be archived anywhere as long as my name, addy and disclaimer stay intact. FEEDBACK: Always great to know who's out there in the ether! My website for all my X-Files fanfiction is now at http://tenxffic.tripod.com DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder and Scully and all other characters from the show belong to Chris Carter, the writers of the episodes, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. xXx He was caught in a maelstrom of fire. The end of the world. Spaceships were blasting laser fire all around him in the gutted street. There was nowhere to hide. A shockwave sent him tumbling. "Over here!" Trying to protect his eyes, Mulder raised his head. He was on the lawn of a house. A picture-perfect, undamaged house and garden. He looked back over his shoulder. The street and sidewalk were a series of smoking craters. The ships were banking for another sweep at him. "Fox!" He turned back to the house. Diana was standing in the doorway, beckoning to him. Mulder went to her. But he stopped just before the threshold. "Fox, come in. You'll be safe." Mulder reached out and touched her cheek. "For the person you were when I first knew you, and for the person who gave Scully the means to find me, I'll always be grateful. But we end here." He reached out and took the doorknob, and gently closed the door between them. Then he turned to face the firing ships, watching as the garden blew apart, then the lawn, then the path, then where he was standing... The world went white... ...he turned away from it and realised that he had been staring into the sun. He blinked. He knew the sounds, the smells, this place now. A major piece he had not been able to remember. He was back on the dream beach. The boy was standing there. Mulder hurried up to him. "Hey kid, we have a sandship to build." The boy smiled in delight and they set to work. Soon they were sitting atop their masterpiece. It became the real thing, lit up from an unearthly power source within, and Mulder felt that power. The beginning of understanding. Then he saw two men standing beside the ship. Albert Hosteen and Deep Throat. Mulder slid down to stand before them. "You are close," Albert said. Close to dying due to my fall or close to the answer to life, the universe and everything? It was hard to tell. Both men were impassive. "Look!" Mulder waved a hand at the craft, like a child showing his parents the model he painstakingly crafted out of Popsicle sticks. "I remember this now!" he said excitedly. He turned to the boy, who was still standing on top of the ship. "I don't know whether you represent my inner child or future generations that colonisation would wipe out or a child of my own, but I'm going to fight the fight. To keep going no matter what. As they say on TV, 'This is my mission, and I've chosen to accept it.' With Scully." Then he looked around. "Where is she, anyway? How do I get back to her?" Albert and Deep Throat exchanged glances. Mulder realised they were disappointed. "What? I broke Spender's programming - or at least my own mind block. I know what was false and what was real from my mind." "That's good," Deep Throat said laconically. "'Tennis elbow' indeed. Spender knows I hated tennis." He snorted. "But take under advisement that you were not responsible for my death. Or for what else you've got in that burden sack you haul around. It slows you down. You can't afford that." Mulder nodded in relief. But he was still on the beach and they were all still staring at him like they were waiting for him to do one more thing. He wracked his brain. "So what more is there? Why can't I go back to Scully?" The ship reverted to sand. The boy gave a huge groan and threw a handful of stinging grains at Mulder. Mulder stared at him, the ship, the men. And then he realised. "She's here, isn't she? With me. Even though I can't see her. She's always with me." Behind him he heard the boy give a whoop of joy, but his attention was caught by the satisfied nodding of Albert and Deep Throat, who were looking like a pair of Yenta matchmakers. Albert said, "Some things do not have to be seen for you to know that they are there." And one final, vital piece of the puzzle fell into place. xXx Another hospital room, another hospital chair. Any make up that she had been wearing had been washed off long ago. She couldn't stop crying. The doctor had assured her that Mulder would be all right and should wake up soon. Maggie had been with her in the waiting room, so the doctor had given his report in layman terms. "Orthostatic hypotension. He ran down four flights of stairs after two brain procedures and while on medication to keep his blood pressure on the low side - a frenetic burst of exercise too soon, so he passed out. Unfortunately it was on the stairs, but from the MRI and the bruises, it looks like his arms cushioned his head from the bad knocks. No fractures, no more permanent damage. We'll just have to remind him of the side effects of anti-hypertensives. This little mishap won't set his recovery back. So, good news." But it wasn't really. Scully sat in the chair, her hands resting on the bedrail. She had not lowered it. She was not holding Mulder's hand. He had called her his touchstone, and he was hers, but she could not let herself touch him. This was her fault. She had allowed herself to break down in front of Mulder, to panic about Albert's spirit and all that had happened. That had made Mulder worried about her, enough to pursue her and get hurt, when it all should have been about him and his recovery. She had lost her focus. Let it slip. The guilt over Diana. The fact that she had touched Albert in her apartment, held his hand in prayer, and he had been a ghost... She should not have just turned around and hurried away. It had all become too much. She should have known that Mulder would go after her. When the elevator delivered her to the ground floor of his building, she had hesitated in the foyer. Had she just done the right thing? She turned to go back to the elevator, but it was in use, the doors closing on a weary looking woman with her arms full of groceries. Scully looked towards the door that led to the stairwell. Then she heard a thud and knew who it was and what had happened. And why. Pulling some tissues from the box on the bedside stand, Scully tried to compose herself. She had to stop crying now. She had to pull herself together and never let emotion get in the way like this again. He was alive and he would be all right. That was enough. They would go on from here and investigate the evidence about the craft in Africa, a puzzle meant for them both to solve, and they would bring down the Consortium, in whatever form it was now in, and find Samantha. She lobbed the wad of tissues into the trashcan and sat down in the chair again to find Mulder was watching her. Her hand disregarded the voice in her head, immediately snaking through the bedrail to take his own seeking hand. "Hey." He saw the tear marks on her face. Now he could remember her crying over him at the DOD too. "Not your fault, Scully. Next time I want to stop you, I'll get you on the cellular instead. Or call out before you get out of range." He was smiling at her. A smile she could easily drown in. "Can you put the bedrail down, please?" "Okay, but not for too long. I have to go into work soon - but I'll be back later." Deflecting again. He stilled her hand as she reached for the buzzer. "Mulder, the doctor is going to want to ask you reorientation quest-" "FoxWilliamMulder. Georgetown Hospital. Bill Clinton." He rattled off the date. "At least I think that's still the date. That's when I tumbled down the stairs anyway. Are you satisfied? Good. You're not going anywhere until I say a few things," he said firmly. He almost laughed at the startled expression on her face. He held her hand and stroked her fingers, and there was no Diana hovering over him at all. But... "There's a lot to explain. Firstly, there are some things I have to tell you about Diana. Visions I was having of her." Scully listened quietly as he spoke, giving details, telling of his confusion and alarm and sleeplessness. Was this why he didn't invite me into his apartment yesterday? "You think this was like a post-hypnotic suggestion?" "Most likely. It could have been my own little mindblock, but it could have been his last little dig at me. I think it was triggered by a keyword. Perhaps when you first said her first name out loud to me when we were at your place. Before that all you and Skinner had used was 'Agent Fowley'." He sighed. "And so every time you and I would be getting close, I'd get this image of her in my mind. I had to get past it to see what it was hiding." "And have you?" "Yes. It was hiding some memories. Of the times you came to visit me in the hospital before I was abducted. Or rather, I already had some memories from those times, like the fact that you were there and the voices of hospital staff and what you saw in Africa. But I couldn't remember certain aspects of your thoughts. Your feelings. Both from Africa and the hospital." He felt her hand begin to shake. He didn't have to be a mind reader at the moment to know how uncomfortable or nervous she was feeling. "I know that's an invasion of privacy, but I couldn't turn the ability off or down. And what I felt from you when I was in the padded cell... It kept me going when you were away, when I couldn't move or talk. When I knew that I was dying. And when you came back and told me to hold on..." "I was scared," she blurted out. "I didn't want to lose you. I didn't know what to do. You found the chip and the vaccine for me, but I couldn't even -" "Scully, you did everything you possibly could. If it wasn't for you, for you wanting me to live -" Begging. She had actually begged him. "- I couldn't have held on that long. The stuff with Diana in the dream. It isn't what I wanted to happen. It's what shouldn't happen." For a long moment they both stared at their hands. Then Mulder continued. "You know, for a long time, I've known that I love you. Am in love with you. And I've looked across at you in the basement, or in the car on another field trip, or just lain awake at night, and wondered if you could possibly feel the same about me. I knew you cared for me a lot and we share a bond, and sometimes something would happen and you would look at me... But then I'd remind myself that I was being stupid and that you wouldn't feel as strongly as I did about us. Not in this way." She looked up from their hands. "Uncertainty like this coming from the man who leaps on board so many bandwagons - or trains - on the strength of little scraps or just sheer fierce hope? Mulder, you're supposed to be the believer. No matter how scant the evidence." "I thought it was my wildest theory." She shook her head, allowing him to witness a revealing smile. "Looks like I'll have to provide more conclusive evidence." "You did - your feelings. Your actions. But I saw Albert Hosteen in a dream after I fell down the stairs. He told me: 'Some things do not have to be seen for you to know that they are there.'" "When I...saw him, he told me that there were more worlds than the one I could hold in my hand." She looked down at their clasped hands. "That may be true, but this is the one that matters the most to me. I need to have you in my life. Fully." Mulder smiled at her. "You know, for all his scheming, Spender made one fatal flaw with that dream he engineered. Putting Diana in there may have been his sick sense of humour, but if it had been you in that dream as my wife, I wouldn't have wanted to leave." The smile he got in response was all the proof he needed that their days of unfinished business in hallways were over. xXx Mulder's apartment: As the weeks passed, Mulder regained his strength and didn't need to hand so much time over to sleep. His naps became shorter and less frequent. But he didn't mind that time, because - if he was good - Scully would often curl up with him when she wasn't at work. And she would always curl up with him at night. "We can't bang the bedframe yet, but we can catch up on some holding." The act of touching was definitely a pleasure of life. Scully couldn't believe how much distance she had kept beforehand. And they were talking like they never had before. Covering so many areas... Her guilt over Diana's death, Mulder's guilt over Kritschgau's. Faith, loss, gains. Assuring and reassuring each other instead of locking it all away. Today she was sitting on the couch with Mulder's head in her lap. It was nearing noon on a Saturday, and she was reading, holding a book in one hand and her other resting on his shoulder. As she turned the page, she looked down at him and smiled. They were both back at work full time now - Mulder on desk duty - continuing to go over the translations from the craft. This was the end of the first week of his return to work, so he was having a nap now, adjusting to the change of pace. He would have to undergo a physical exam to requalify for field agent status, but Mulder and Scully were confident there would not be a problem. And he would not have to retest on the gun range. Stirring from his doze, he rolled over so that his face was pressed against her belly. "Mmmm," he murmured contentedly. Her concentration broke away from her historical fiction and shifted...downwards. Should today be the day? Were they ready? His injuries had healed. They had just started kissing, and were enjoying exploring those possibilities immensely. Perhaps tonight they would go further. Instead of just a candlelight dinner, she would fill her bedroom with them... "Hey, Mulder. How about we pack a picnic lunch and go to Rock Creek Park or Great Falls? It's a beautiful day." "Sounds good to me," he said fairly clearly, blinking his eyes open. The beach would be fitting. The beginning of everything. It was further than she really wanted to travel though. She ruffled his hair affectionately. "We'll have to stop by my place to get my picnic basket." He yawned and rolled over. "I've got one. Somewhere. I think." She gave him a look. "Not your clothes hamper, Mulder." "Not that one. Mom sent me a Christmas hamper when I was at Oxford, with food and everything in it. The hamper was such a good one that I ended up keeping it and brought it back over when I finished my degree. I've still got it here." "Mulder, I don't think it would have all the plates and cutlery needed." "We can take some of my stuff - I've got a stash of paper plates and plastic utensils like any self respecting bachelor. And I can feed you by hand." "Find the hamper - if by miracle - *then* we'll see." "Yes, ma'am. I'm sure it was stashed with my old camping gear." He got up, gave her a kiss, and disappeared into his bedroom. A minute later Scully followed him to ask a question and found him on his tiptoes in one side of his closet, reaching up and pulling at something on the top shelf. "Mulder, I think you need a chair." "It's just under this old -" Suddenly whatever Mulder was tugging at came loose, and he leapt back as it toppled to the floor with a thud and a liberal amount of dust. "- sleeping bag," Mulder finished. Scully stared at the rolled-up bag. It was a sign. A symbol. A revelation. "Scully? Hey?" "Mulder, it just rained sleeping bags. Or bag." A grin took over his features - hopeful and anticipatory. "It did, didn't it?" "Yep. And we know what that means." A devilish grin. "Well, I hope I know what it means." "It means that we're going to have this picnic inside because if we had it in the Park, they'd arrest us." She sat down on the side of Mulder's bed, leaned back on her hands, and watched him. "Now get over here." THE END (PART SIX OF SIX). Author's notes: Hope you enjoyed the ride! I thought I'd share a few things from the making of this story. I learn so much from my editors. For example: A line of dialogue from one of my 'Recovery' drafts: "Diana Fowley is missing." A beta reader's comment on it: "Like that bothers anyone." And another usually-serene beta reader's response to a note I left in a draft about possible discussion of Diana's redemption: "Nothing could redeem that bitch." I also learned that timing is everything with beta readers. As one put it: "You tell me you're not going to write a full love scene for this, then you STILL expect me to answer your questions????" My med contact told me that the staples like Mulder has in this story have a way of catching on things (like pillowcases) and pulling. That info led to these 'cut' lines from the story : "Scully, I'm stapled to the couch!" "Mulder, what's that cushion doing dangling from your head?" And, Dawn, now that I have finally gotten around to finishing and posting this story, I can go read "Damaged Goods" at last! Looking forward to it!