Summary: Mulder's a horrible patient, Scully's beside herself trying to help him recover and get her work done, but maybe Maggie can help them both. Category: S H (hopefully) and a little A. Deep Abiding Affection, safe for all readers. Rating: PG Disclaimer: Boy, I feel like I should disclaim some fan fic for this one. The characters belong to 10-13 productions and I use them without permission and with no thought of renumeration. The attitude of Mulder is courtesy of some very talented but highly unpaid writers on the Gossamer Archive and other places. Please consider this a tribute to all of you. Archive: Everywhere, including the newsgroup Dedicated to Mulder Torture Anonymous Website and all who reside therein :) Love you, Shirley! Thanks to Susan Proto--I'm glad it made you laugh Comments to me: vmoseley@fgi.net Completed March 21, 1998 How To Cure A Bad Patient by Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net FBI Headquarters March 23, 1998 "But you said you would keep him at least three more days," Dana Scully hated the simpering whine she'd been reduced to using, but was not above using it if it could be to her advantage. "Yes, Dr. Scully, I did. But that was before the vote," said the male voice on the other end of the phone line. The rather stern, no nonsense male voice of the Chief of Internal Medicine of Northeast Georgetown Medical Center. "Vote?" Scully asked, perplexed. "What vote?" "The vote by the nursing staff. Dr. Scully, in your field of pathology, you probably aren't aware of the current nursing shortage. But we at NGMC are very aware of it. And when an entire ward of nurses comes to me with the results of a recent vote, telling me that they will--as a body--walk the streets before attending to the needs of a certain patient, then I have some big decisions to make. In this case, I'm afraid the patient has to go." Scully closed her eyes and rubbed her aching temple with one hand. It had been a horrible week and it was getting worse by the minute. She had to think of something, and fast. "Dr. Chalmers--what about your oath? The patient you are refering to was recently shot, almost bled to death and was in a coma for two days--" "The only peaceful days we've had with him, I might add," Chalmers interjected. "Be that as it may," Scully growled, wresting control of the conversation, "he is still very ill. His leg is in a cast, his arm is in a cast, the man can't even stand up. He needs bed rest, you have said so yourself. He needs constant monitoring of a low grade infection that he's picked up God knows where. You could be liable if you release him too soon--" "Dr. Scully, I can't be held responsible if my nursing staff deals with him in the manner they were plotting earlier today! That would result in an even _bigger_ law suit, believe me." "Well, what am I supposed to do?" Scully cried, and realized that she had just gone full circle. She was back to whining again. "I'll give you plenty of sedatives to take with you. More than enough to keep him under. And I suggest you make sure he's not near any electrical or mechanical devices." "You aren't still thinking of charging him for that heart monitor?" Scully asked fearfully. "It's hardly his fault that it became disabled." "Fell victim to his wrath is more like it, Dr. Scully," Chalmers sneered over the line. "He was the one to `disable' it, as you so euphemistically put it. And don't forget the seventeen IV packets he used to 'knit' his art project. You can't reuse those, Dr. Scully. It's against state law." Scully decided she'd better change the subject before Mulder ended up contributing a new wing to the hospital. "When are you releasing him?" she asked in defeat. "Released, Dr. Scully. Released. His paperwork has been processed, he is free to go. We'd appreciate it if you would remove him as soon as possible. By noon, actually." "That was the deadline given you by the nurses, wasn't it," Scully sneered back. "No, one o'clock was the deadline, but I didn't want there to be any difficulties," Chalmers returned hautily. Scully looked at her watch. It was 10:45. If she left immediately, she could be to the hospital by 11. But what was she supposed to do after that? She had to buy some time to form a plan of action. "Look, Chalmers, here's my best offer," Scully said in a conspiritorial tone. "I'll be there to spring Mulder by 12:30. You have to give me that much time." "I thought the FBI didn't negotiate," Chalmers shot back. "You've been watching too much TV, Chalmers. Now, are you going to take my offer? Because if not--well, I might not be able to pick up 'little Red Chief' for quite some time," Scully said with casual nonchalance. "OK, all right, you win. I'll keep him isolated until 12:30. But if you are one minute late--I let loose the nursing staff. There may not be enough of Mr. Mulder to pick up," Chalmers said in a low threatening voice. Scully huffed at that. She hoped Chalmers never played poker--he couldn't bluff worth shit. But she didn't have time to gloat, she had to get working on her plan. "We have a deal, Dr. Chalmers. See you at 12:30." She wasn't very happy with the turn of events. She'd just barely had the rest of the week planned out with Mulder _in_ the hospital. Skinner had assigned her to a high profile case in Baltimore, and she was expected there by four that very afternoon. It was sure to take two days, at the least. She was going to have to work her butt off, but she had decided that she could be back in DC in time to take Mulder home. Home. That was a laugh. There was no way she could take him 'home'. At least not to his apartment and definitely not by himself. Even with the extra hospital time, he was still incapacitated. His right leg and his left arm were encased in plaster. He had sustained a broken rib when he fell after being shot. The infection, she was certain, was probably a urinary tract infection resulting from his catheterization, but there was no way in hell she was going to tell him that--he'd be on the phone to his lawyer in no time flat. In short, he was a mess. A very sick, very grumpy, very bored mess. And she had no where she could put him. All the time she'd been thinking, she'd been walking. She realized this when she noticed that she was in front of Assistant Director Skinner's outer office. Squaring her shoulders, she marched in and looked directly at Kimberly, his assistant. "Is he in?" Scully asked, cocking her head toward the door. "He asked not to be disturb, Agent Scully," Kim said regretfully. "But it's sort of an emergency," Scully said with a wince. It wasn't really a lie--it was an emergency to _her_. "Agent Mulder?" Kim asked, concerned. "Yeah, right, Agent Mulder. That's the emergency, all right," Scully said, nodding her head like those little dogs that people put in the back window of their cars. "I'll get you in," Kim said with a conspiring nod. "Have a seat for a minute." Shortly, Kimberly was smiling and ushering Scully into her superior's office. "My assistant seems to think you have some sort of emergency, Agent Scully. Agent Mulder's condition hasn't deteriorated, has it?" Skinner had taken off his glasses and was standing next to his desk. For a moment, Scully thought he might head over to the hospital and make sure Mulder was all right. "It appears the opposite is true, sir. Agent Mulder's doctor called me and, well, he's being released today. At lunch time," Scully said. "I don't see where that constitutes an emergency," Skinner growled, putting on his glasses again and taking his seat behind his desk. "Well, sir, it does. As you are aware, Agent Mulder is pretty much incapacitated. He'll be confined to a wheelchair, since it's impossible for him to use crutches or a cane because of the casts. And he still has a low grade fever that needs attention." "Then why the hell aren't they just keeping him till he's better?" Skinner asked tersely. Scully had opened her mouth, desparately trying to form an answer when Skinner waved her off. "Damned HMO's," he grumbled. "So what is the emergency, Scully?" "Sir, you assigned me to the Baltimore Strangler case, and I was wondering if you could find someone to take my place? Agent Mulder is in no condition to stay by himself, and his mother is not able to care for him, since her stroke. He has no one else, sir." Skinner thought for a moment. "They really need you on that case, Scully. You were asked for, specifically. You and Mulder could use all the bargaining chips you can find, for the next time you get in hot water," he reminded her. "I'm afraid I can't give it to anyone else." He stopped and rubbed his chin. "Doesn't your mother live in Baltimore?" "Yes, sir. I was planning on staying at her house while I was on the case," Scully said with great trepidation. She didn't like the direction the conversation had taken. "Well, that's your solution," Skinner said confidently. "Take Agent Mulder with you to your mother's. Your mother has a fairly large house, doesn't she?" "Yes, sir, she does, but sir--" "And you will be near by in case she needs the help," Skinner continued. "Yes, I would, but sir--" "And your mother _did_ raise two sons and two daughters, with a husband who was out to sea quite a bit of the time, as I recall," Skinner added thoughtfully. "Sir, you are correct on all counts, but sir--my mother, I mean, I haven't asked her--" "You think she would refuse, Scully?" Skinner asked. His eyes expressed his incredulity. "No sir, never. I mean, she was down here herself when Mulder was in the coma--" Scully stopped suddenly. She knew when she was beat. She sighed in resignation. "I guess I better call her," she said dully. "And pack, Scully. Don't forget to pack," Skinner reminded her, then turned his attention back to the files on his desk. "Shut the door on your way out, Scully?" he asked, but he didn't hear her answer or the click to the door as she shut it behind her. Scully was dragging her feet all the way back to the office. It wasn't that she didn't want to help her partner--far from it. It was her duty to take care of him. It was something she did because he would do it for her. There was also the fact that he was injured on a case, and while saving her life--she _owed_ it to him to take care of him. That wasn't the problem. The problem was Mulder himself. He was impossible when he was sick. Insufferable, infuriating, ungrateful and undeniably a pain in the ass. She was used to it. Her mother was not. She didn't want to subject her mother to a sick Mulder. It was a fate worse than death. But now, she had no choice. It was her only option. Relunctantly, she picked up the phone on her desk and dialed the familiar number. Northeast Georgetown Medical Center 12:27 pm Fox Mulder sat in the hospital bed and flipped channels. He wasn't even watching what images flashed on the screen, it was just _something_ he could do. There was so little he could do. He couldn't get to the bathroom unassisted, he couldn't cut his food without help, he couldn't even dial a phone without all sorts of fumbling. But at least he was getting out. He wondered, idly, what had done it. What had pushed them over the top, this time? He knew full well that his doctor had planned on keeping him until the weekend, but all of a sudden, he was being released. The dull headache and the burning sensation behind his eyelids told him that his fever hadn't broken yet. He certainly didn't feel any stronger then he had the day before. Something else had changed their minds. Probably the 'nurse alarm', he thought gleefully. A device of pure genius. He'd had to use his teeth, his one arm and the barely exposed toes on his leg with the cast, but he'd gotten the drawstring out of his pajama bottoms and rigged up an 'alarm' so that the nurses couldn't sneak in and give him his meds without his knowledge. He'd been impressed with his own ingenuity. Scully had been, too, when she stopped ragging on him for being such pain to the nursing staff. He didn't care, if it got his sentence reduced, that was all he wanted. Scully hadn't sounded very happy on the phone when she called to tell him she was coming to get him. In fact, she had used the 'Sister Mary Dana' voice--like if she could get her hands on a good, sturdy wooden ruler, his knuckles would be history. He wasn't worried. One groan, one weak cough, one 'look at that doggie in the window' gaze and she would melt like butter. Yeah, he had Scully right where he wanted her. "Well, Buggsie, you ready to jump in the getaway car?" she drawled, leaning against the doorframe. "Yo," he replied, happily swinging his good leg over the edge of the bed and pushing himself upright with his good arm. The room swam before him and he clutched for the mattress to keep himself from falling. "Careful there, G-Man," Scully chided as she dove around the wheelchair to catch him before he fell. "Don't want you stuck here for a concussion," she warned him. "I think it might prove fatal," he smirked. "The nurses are starting to play with syringes with nothing in the barrels--just air." "Time to go," Scully said, putting on her best 'I'm not amused' face. She pulled the wheelchair over to the bed and leveraging him under his arms, slipped him successfully into the chair. She helped him to straighten and adjusted the leg rest so that his leg was kept level. "Comfy?" she asked sweetly. "No, but let's get the hell out of here, anyway," he growled. She wheeled him down the hall and the nursing staff stopped what they were doing, right where they were, and gave him a standing ovation. They were laughing, but that was probably because he was finally out of their hair. He waved to his appreciative audience and blew kisses to a few of his favorites. Scully tried very hard not to look anyone in the eye and all but jammed the button into the wall calling for the elevator. It took some doing, getting him settled in the car. There was no way the leg cast was going to fit in the front seat, even though he kept insisting that if she just pushed the seat back a 'little bit' farther, they'd make it. Finally, she practically shoved him in the back seat, almost caught his cast in the door trying to close it, and they were on their way. He leaned against the back car door, which Scully had dutifully locked, and closed his eyes. He could never admit it to his partner, but he felt horrible. His head was pounding, his eyes burned, there was a horrible ache in his groin and around his hips, and the broken bones he'd sustained were screaming for heavy duty drugs. Plus, sitting in the back seat was making him decidedly car sick. He had to get his mind off his troubles, or he would find himself 'barfing' all over Scully's new car. He looked out the windshield to see where they were going. "Hey, wasn't that the corner to get to the bridge?" he asked absently as she sped along. "Yep," she agreed and promptly turned the corner in the opposite direction. "You're heading through town?" he asked. "No, I'm not going to Arlington," she told him. "Scully, I don't want to go to your place. It's too nice. I feel like I'm in an issue of _Better Homes and Gardens_. I can't be comfortable there. Besides, your bed is too small." She lowered her eyelids and raised her eyebrows at his disparaging remarks about her home, but shook off her retort and kept driving. "Are you headed for the beltway?" he asked. "No, the B-W parkway," she explained. "Why?" he asked. It was more of a whine, but he would never have called it that. "Because it's the fastest way to Baltimore," she answered cheerfully. "Baltimore!!??" he cried. "Why in the hell are we going to Baltimore? I'm not up for a vacation, Scully, and if I were, Baltimore, Maryland would be the LAST place I would go!" "You are NOT going there for a vacation, Mulder," Scully said tersely. "You are going there to recuperate. I am taking you to my mother's house, where you will do as you are told, be on your best behavior and in short, make yourself the most lovable patient the world has ever seen. Or I will fill you full of lead--and you KNOW I can do it!" He cringed. Scully's tirade was well deserved, he had to admit. He knew he was a pain in the ass when he was sick, but when he hurt, he wanted someone--anyone to make it better. If they didn't, he felt he was within his rights to make _them_ hurt a little, too. In any way he could. But he couldn't do that with Mrs. Scully. Mrs. Scully was the most patient, loving, caring woman he had ever known. She had his mother beat nine ways from Sunday. She had _Scully_ beat nine ways from Sunday. She was a saint, plain and simple. He would just have to be good, that was all there was to it. When he didn't say anything for several miles, Scully moved the rearview mirror so she could see his face. He'd fallen asleep. His head was thrown back, his mouth just slightly open. When she turned down the radio, she could hear his soft snoring. The hair on his forehead had fallen ever so rakishly across his eyes. Needs a haircut, she noted. He looked angelic. Just like most two year olds, she noted further. They look that cute when they're asleep so you don't take the opportunity to drown them, she added to herself with a silent chuckle. She was more than happy to be heading to an autopsy bay as soon as she dropped him off. She pulled into her mother's driveway to a flurry of activity. Her mother's neighbor and a few other men where busily hammering a ramp up the two steps in the garage. Maggie was bringing them cups of coffee and waved happily to her daughter. "Hi, sweetheart," she called, as she hurried over to the car. Dana got out of the front seat and her mother pulled her into a hug. "It's so nice to have you home for a few days," Maggie told her. Immediately Maggie's attention turned to the passenger of the car. She opened the back door and leaned in to give Mulder a hug. "Fox, how are you feeling?" she crooned. "You must be exhausted. Where is your wheelchair? John and his friends made us a nice little ramp to get you into the house. I made up Bill's old room for you. Now, we'll only have to figure out how to get you in to the bathroom . . ." Maggie's voice trailed off as she headed for the house. Scully had the wheelchair positioned and reached in to help her partner when she noticed his bright red flush. "Mulder?" she asked, concerned. "Are you all right?" He grabbed her shoulder with his good hand and searched her eyes frantically. "Scully, you have to take me somewhere else! I can't do this!" he cried in a hoarse whisper. "Mulder, don't be such a baby. It's a short ramp," Scully scolded. "No, that's not it," he hissed. "Your mom! I can't--I mean, she's talking--Scully!" he wailed. "You mother can NOT help me go to the bathroom!" She didn't mean to laugh, but she couldn't help it. In fact, in the face of all the tension of the last 8 days, Dana Scully laughed harder than she had since the day following her medical boards. She guffawed and gawked, giggled and teehee-d, and belly laughed for a full five minutes. When she was finished, her partner was giving her the 'evil eye'. She giggled a little and forced herself to be serious. "Mulder. My mom was married for over 35 years. She had two sons. You haven't got anything she hasn't already seen," she pointed out reasonably. "Scully," Mulder hissed again. "That was different. She is _not_ married to me, she is _not_ my mother and what I've got she has _never_ seen before," he growled low and angry. She regarded him coolly. "Then you can hold it," she said spitefully. "What?!" he cried, not trusting his ears. "You heard me. Hold it. You can just hold your bladder till I get home. You've done it on long stake outs, Mulder. I know you can do it. If you're going to be such a wimpy, fussy, baby about it, you can hold it." She folded her arms to make her point. "I don't believe you're actually suggesting-- My god, Scully, you told me yourself you think I have a urinary tract infection--" "Well, then, you can just tamp down that male ego and let my mom help you. I promise you, Mulder, it won't be a picnic for _her_ either! But if you make her feel self conscious--" "I would never do that!" Mulder interjected. "Never intentionally, at least." "Then there's nothing to worry about," Scully said lightly. "Now, can we get you inside, or are you going to come up with any more excuses?" she asked, eyes narrowed to pencil points. His head drooped into the famous 'Mulder pout' that Scully knew so well, but he didn't say another word. Scully tried hard to keep the smile of triumph off her face as she wheeled him into the house. After some struggling, Maggie and Dana were able to get him settled into bed. Mulder was truly exhausted by that point and didn't cause any trouble. He was dying for a pain pill, and even went so far as to ask for it. Scully knew that meant he was really hurting, and gave it to him without hesitation, then propped his casts on pillows and added another blanket to make him more comfortable. In minutes after the medication took affect, he was sound asleep. Dana looked at her watch. It was already 3:30. "Ohmigod, I have to go," she announced in a rush and headed for the door. "Mom, my cell phone is on. If you need me--" "We'll be just fine, Sweetheart," Maggie smiled indulgently. "Do you think you'll be home for dinner?" Dana frowned. "I doubt it. I want to get this case over and done with so I can get him back to DC. I don't want to be a burden on you any more than we have to, Mom." "Don't be silly, Dana," Maggie scolded. "You are not a burden. Neither is Fox. I'm more than happy to lend a hand. It makes me feel needed," she informed her daughter. "Well, you should never have doubt of that," Dana chuckled and kissed her mother's cheek. "I promise I won't be too late, Mom. The meds and the time table are on the shelf in the hall bathroom. I don't expect he'll eat much, he loses his appetite when he runs a temp. Push fluids--even if it makes him have to go a lot. He needs to flush out that infection," she finished, her hand on the door. "How often should I burp him?" Maggie asked sarcastically, arms folded across her chest in a perfect imitation of her daughter. "Only if he's _really_ grumpy," Dana smiled sweetly and hurried out the door before her mother could swat her on the backside. Once Dana had pulled out of the driveway, Maggie walked back into the bedroom and looked at her sleeping charge. He looked so young. So innocent. She had no idea why the hospital staff thought he was such a problem. She'd never had problems with Fox. She remembered having to calm him down, on more than one occasion, but that was his protective nature and she'd seen it as an attribute, not a fault. Those nurses just didn't know how to deal with a person whose emotions were more often like a 12 year old boy than a 36 year old man. It was something Maggie had plenty of experience in--the emotions of pre-adolescent boys. She automatically started planning her defenses. Mulder woke up groggily at around 7 pm. He was hungry, he was achy and he had to pee so bad he was sure he could fill a lake. He started to reach for the nurses call button when he remembered there was no nurse to call. There was just Scully's mother. There was no way, absolutely no way he was going to subject either himself or that sainted woman to the embarrassment and humiliation of taking him to the bathroom to piss. On the other hand, without _some_ assistance, the humiliation level was going to increase geometrically when he failed to hold his bladder in check. An event that was going to happen very soon if he didn't do something. He was most definitely between a rock and a hard place. Maggie tapped softly on the door frame. "You're awake," she smiled brightly. "Uh, yeah, just now," he said, trying not to squirm while she was watching. "Well, good. I just stepped across the street for a moment and I was afraid you might wake up and need something while I was gone." "Nope, been fine and dandy," Mulder replied, shifting uneasily in the bed. The pressure was building and he was working hard not to wince every time he moved. "Good, good. Well, I went over there because I was talking to Janice, that's my neighbor's, on the phone, and I told her that you were going to be staying with me while you recover. She reminded me that she and Ben, her husband, took care of Ben's uncle when he fell and broke his hip last winter. They bought all sorts of home medical supplies and offered to loan them to us. I ran over and picked them up. They're in excellent condition, and I just finished washing them." Maggie reached down into a bag she was holding. "I thought some of the items might make life a little easier." Mulder was cringing during Maggie's rather lengthy explanation, so it was hard to see what she brought up first, but when he forced his eyes to focus, he couldn't help but smile. A small, very familiar white plastic jug. A urinal. Just like the ones at the hospital. No fuss, no muss, he could handle it himself--except for the inevitable removal of liquid waste, of course. He reached for it anxiously. Maggie bit back a smile. "I have to put some of these things away in the hall pantry. I'll just be a minute." Mulder had never been so glad to see a woman leave in his life, including the day Phoebe moved out of their flat on campus. He didn't even think, he just went about his business. By the time Maggie came back, he was looking much happier and very much relaxed. He did get a sheepish grin on his face when he handed her back the container, almost filled. "Uh, that was a great idea, Mrs. Scully. Sorry to bother you, but would you mind--" Maggie smiled again. "That's what it's for, Fox," she said lightly and went to the bathroom to finish the clean up. "Now, I'll just leave it here on the night stand, behind the plant, and you can use it whenever you need to. You can reach it there, can't you?" she asked. "Sure, no problem, thanks," Mulder replied happily. His greatest fears had been for naught. He might just make it through this ordeal alive and sane, dignity intact. "Now, there's also a bed pan in there, but Dana seemed to think that the diet you've been on would make that less likely--" Mulder rushed to change the subject from solid waste. "Speaking of diet, I'm a little hungry right now." Maggie smiled again, she hadn't missed the sudden change of topics. "Dana told me that you should take your medicine on an empty stomach. I'll go get them now and then in a few minutes, I'll bring you something to eat, all right?" Mulder didn't really like that idea, but knew he wasn't in an position to argue. He nodded his head back and forth and waited for Maggie to hand him his pills and then some water. He downed the numerous colored ovals and capsules, drank all the water and handed her back the glass. "Very good," Maggie said with a smile of approval. "I'll go get you some dinner. In the meantime, why don't you finish off that glass of juice." Mulder looked curiously at the glass--it was a nice shade of ruby red. He sipped it--cranberry. Idly, he remembered Scully trying to get him to drink cranberry juice in the hospital, but theirs didn't taste as good as the glass he was holding. He drank it down, not spilling a drop, and decided he would ask for another. Dinner, however, wasn't exactly what Mulder had been hoping for. Visions of Maggie's meatloaf surrounded by heaping mounds of mashed potatoes swimming in an ocean of deep brown creamy gravy had been making brief appearances in his dreams during his nap. Unfortunately, the fantasy in no way compared to the reality. "Creamed corn?" Mulder whined loudly. "Yes, and I blended some vegetable soup to make a bisque. Dana said you need to stay on a soft diet for a few more days. I can introduce some 'regular foods' a little at a time, but if we piled them on you all at once, you'll only disturb your stomach." "I was hoping for meatloaf," Mulder said with a pout. Maggie laughed. "Good, because that's what I'm planning for the day after tomorrow--when you can handle it. For now, just finish up the corn and soup, I have some rice pudding on the stove right now, for dessert. Which I'd better go check on, as a matter of fact," she said and hurried from the room Mulder screwed up his face in dismay at the bowl of orange goo that was supposed to be vegetable soup. It smelled like vegetable soup, even tasted a little like vegetable soup. He just didn't have the heart to tell Maggie that he _despised_ vegetable soup--more so when it had been pureed. Besides, after two glasses of cranberry juice, he really wasn't hungry. He ate a couple of spoonfuls and finally gave up in disgust. He knew it wouldn't do to leave a full bowl on his lap tray. Scully had threatened the use of sharp objects on parts of his anatomy when he begged off eating the slop at the hospital. She'd consider it a capitol offense if he refused her mother's cooking. And he really didn't want to insult Maggie anyway. He sat there for a few minutes, making swirls in the soup with his spoon. He picked up spoonfuls of the corn and dropped them in the soup, making pale yellow patterns in the orange substance. He got very creative after a while and even added a little of the last drops of cranberry juice from his glass to the mix. All the colors, orange, yellow and bright red, flowed around in the bowl, making a lovely design. "Fox, are you ready for your pudding yet?" Maggie called down the hallway. Busted! Mulder knew he had to think fast. "Just about, Mrs. Scully. Give me a minute, OK?" "All right, I'll just get you a bowl," Maggie called back. Mulder let out the breath he'd been holding. It hurt his ribs, but at the moment, minor pain didn't even show up on his radar. He had to get rid of the soup. If Maggie caught sight of his 'artwork'--he didn't want to know what would happen. He glanced frantically around the room. Nothing jumped out at him. He thought about the urinal, but then the idea that Maggie would find the deception the minute he had to empty his bladder made him search for a better hiding place. Finally, his eyes fell on the plant. It was a nice normal houseplant. Mulder had seen one just like it in Scully's apartment. He'd often envied her the ability to keep living entities, well, living. He went through fish more often then he changed socks. But a houseplant, it could usually take a beating and still come out on top. Shoving aside the thought that feeding a plant vegetable soup was almost a form of cannibalism, he grabbed the plant and set it down on the laptray next to the bowl. He was awkward because he was one handed, and had to rely on tipping the bowl up so that the contents flowed down into the dirt under the foliage of the plant, but he got the job done. Pleased with himself, he put the bowl down, then put the plant back on the nightstand. He wiped the rim of the bowl with his napkin and sat innocently waiting for his dessert. Maggie came in just a moment later, a warm, steaming bowl of rice pudding in her hands. "Well, you did pretty well," she commented, picking up the empty soup bowl and the barely touched bowl of corn. "Sorry about the creamed corn. Some people love it, some people hate it." "I've always tended to be in the 'hate it' category," Mulder advised her, picking up his spoon and digging into the rice pudding. "Well, it was that or creamed spinach. I guess we'll try that for lunch tomorrow." Mulder choked on the mouthful of pudding, sputtering it across the laptray and his blankets. "Oh, my, Fox, are you all right?" Maggie asked anxiously. "Be careful, it's hot. And I might have left in too many lumps. I'm sorry," she exclaimed, wiping up the mess. "Here, let me get you another blanket," she said, shaking her head. In the time she was gone getting another blanket, Mulder had added the rice pudding to the vegetable soup concoction and the plant was now turning a lighter shade of green, but he chose to ignore it. He hoped Maggie would do the same. She came in with the blanket, and smiled at the empty pudding bowl. "Well, that certainly went down quickly enough," she said happily. She lifted the tray from the bed and made quick work of changing the blankets. "There, all clean again." She picked up the tray and left for the kitchen. Mulder watched her go. She really was being nice to him. He was beginning to feel a little guilty about the soup and pudding. After all, his own mother had never bothered to make homemade vegetable soup for him when he was sick. Canned or boxed was the best he could hope for. Blending it to a bisque--unheard of in his family. And how did he repay such kindess? By killing Maggie's plant, which was now appearing to gasp for breath next to him on the nightstand. Mulder felt like crap. Maggie returned and he was ready to confess when she went into the closet and pulled out an old television set. It was small and had an old dial tuner instead of a digital one, but it was a TV. He was overjoyed and forgot all about his sins. "Now, it's black and white--sorry about that. It was Charlie's when he was in the dorms. I have to use a pair of pliers to adjust the sound, but it can get a few of the major channels. What would you like to watch?" Maggie asked. "Could you see if there's a game on?" Mulder asked, hoping he didn't sound as pleading as he felt. Maggie nodded and fiddled with the control. Finally, the old screen grew to a brighter shade of gray, with a lot of snowy images. Maggie frowned and changed the channel. More of the same. "Uh, Mrs. Scully, how about trying the antennae?" Mulder suggested. "Oh, of course! Silly me!" Maggie scolded herself. She pulled up the rabbit ears and waved them around for a few minutes. A picture magically appeared on the screen. "There you go," she said triumpantly. Mulder watched for a minute and then grew very dejected. "Do you think we could try for something other than reruns of 'Gilligan's Island'?" he asked hesitantly. "Sure, just let me change the channel," Maggie said with a nod. A few switches, and some more dancing with the rabbit ears and another picture appeared. A basketball game. "How's that?" Maggie asked. "Perfect!" Mulder declared happily and leaned back into his pillows. "The only way this could get better is if I had some sunflower seeds and a beer," he added. Maggie laughed. "Not tonight. I can get you some more juice, if you like. Then I have some things to do in the other room, so just call out if you need me." Mulder begged off the juice, even though Maggie looked like she was going to press him to drink more. Finally, she just left him to the game. It was pretty good, until the visiting team's Center was taken out of the game for pulled hamstring. Mulder winced in sympathy. Without their key man, the visitors were unable to put up a good offense and their defense fell apart. The score quickly showed their dilemma. The home team just kept racking up the points--totally one sided. Mulder grew bored, he really hated it when one team used the other's misfortune to create a blow out. Before long, the Gilligan's Island rerun was looking better and better. But there was no way he could reach the knob to change the channel. He had always considered that the worst part about being laid up, the inability to do things for himself. Mulder had been on his own for almost all of his life. After Sam had been taken, he basically raised himself in the absense of his parents attention. It made him feel helpless when he couldn't attend to his own needs. Helplessness was not a happy place for Fox Mulder. He'd been helpless too many times and he hated it. The frustration he felt usually resulted in his taking action. Frequently, that in turn resulted in his running off into danger, leaving his partner behind and coming back on his sheild, but Mulder always ignored that fact. Now, all he wanted to do was change the channel on the damned TV. He'd already checked out his 'resources' when he'd been trying to conceal his uneaten dinner. But he'd been looking for a container. Now he was looking for something he could use to reach the TV. There wasn't much to work with. He didn't think a pillow thrown at the dial would be sufficient to move it. He couldn't reach the curtain rods or if he could, he'd have been able to reach the stupid dial. It was going to require creative thinking. He wiggled his toes under the covers. His toes. It came to him suddenly. The TV was on a small dresser just about two feet feet from the end of the bed. If he kicked free the blankets from under the corners of the mattress-- Damned military corners, he mused as he used his good leg to kick at the covers. After a great deal of effort, he managed to poke his good foot from under the linens. He grinned happily. Now, to reach the dial. With some scooting and scooching he inched down farther and farther in the bed. Pillows were shoved aside as they got in his way. At one point, his injured leg hit the footboard and he saw stars. The pain shot up his foot, searing white and hot up through his leg and coming to rest at the base of his spine. He almost cried out in agony. He panted for a few minutes, praying the pain would ease. Now that he'd begun his little adventure, he was not about to give it up just because he'd banged his foot. Being more careful the next time, he lifted his leg as high as he could in order to clear the footboard. His good leg soon followed. He pushed himself up on his one good elbow and with his tongue stuck firmly out the left side of his mouth, he guided his foot toward the knob-- "Fox Mulder, what on earth are you doing?!" Maggie Scully cried out from the doorway. Mulder lunged forward at the sudden noise and his foot caught on the side of the television, pushing it to the side and almost off the dresser. Mulder soon learned where his partner got her speed. Maggie was there in a flash, grabbing at the television just before it plunged to the floor. In her haste, she bumped Mulder's cast, sending him straight into paroxyms of torture. He grabbed at the pillows and prayed he would pass out. It wasn't so much the actual bump, as much as it was the position his leg was in when she'd hit it. Suspended as the leg was in mid-air, the bone within the cast was just unstable enough to grind against itself at the sudden change in pressure. Maggie knew instantly that she'd just thrown her patient into unspeakable pain and let lose of the television to grab Mulder's cast and keep it level. That left the television completely without support and it promptly crashed to the floor. No one moved for several long minutes. The blackness faded around Mulder's eyes and he gradually was able to take stock of the situation. Maggie stood there, transfixed by the wreakage that was once a television, but still dutifully holding Mulder's leg at an angle parallel to the floor. Both of them were too afraid to move. Maggie finally broke her gaze at the floor and looked up at Mulder. "Fox--" Maggie started to scold him but then got a look at his eyes. They were filled with remorse, all because of a stupid 'garage sale' TV that didn't even get decent reception. What could she do? Chastising him would have been redundant at that point, she could see in his eyes that he was beating himself up already. And if she was honest with herself, Maggie had to admit that the situation was not without it's humorous aspects. If she'd just watched where she was going, she would have avoided bumping the leg in the first place and probably would have saved the TV. As it was, it was her fault as much as it was his. "Well, I finally have a good excuse to get that TV/VCR combo I've been wanting for this room," she said with a slight grin and a wink. "I'll pay for it," Mulder hurried to reply. "You'll do no such thing," Maggie chided. "I paid fifteen dollars for that stupid set over 8 years ago. If I remember my accounting from high school correctly, I'd have to say it's depreciated out by now," she chuckled. "I should have thrown it out when the knob for the volume fell off and the man at the repair shop said he couldn't get parts for this model anymore." "But it was my fault," Mulder insisted. "If I hadn't decided I could change the channel--" Maggie helped him scoot back up in the bed and onto his pillows. "Fox, you should have just called me. I would have changed the channel for you," she said gently. "But it was so stupid. I mean, you're having to do too much for me already," Mulder continued. "I just hate this," he said with a dejected sigh. Maggie put her hand on his cheek and forced his eyes toward her. "Fox, you saved my daughter's life a little over a week ago." Mulder didn't bother to answer. It was his job, to back up his partner. He hadn't done anything Scully wouldn't have done for him. Besides, he did it gladly. "Do you think that taking care of you for a few days could possibly repay what you've done for me?" "I put her in danger all the time," he reminded Maggie in a low whisper, pulling his eyes away from her face to avoid the anger he expected to find. Maggie patted his cheek to force him to look at her. "She puts herself in danger. You're there to make sure she gets out of it," Maggie corrected and was happy with the faint nod he gave her. She couldn't resist fussing with the hair that had fallen in his eyes. As her hand brushed his forehead, she frowned. "Fox, do you have a fever?" Mulder shrugged. "I don't know, I might. Scully thinks I have a urinary tract infection. I was running a low grade fever at the hospital," he told her. "I think it's a little more than 'low grade' now," Maggie said with concern. "I'm going to check it." In a second, she returned with an aural thermometer. Mulder conveniently turned his head so that she could insert the probe in his ear. He loved the new fangled thermometers. So much better then sucking on a glass tube for four minutes, or worse yet, sticking it somewhere less visible-- "One hundred two point four," Maggie read from the display. "That's too high. Do you feel bad?" Mulder just looked at her and slowly raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, dumb question," she returned. "I don't like this," she muttered. "Dana says that fevers go up during the night. Something about biorhythms," Mulder offered helpfully. Maggie huffed. "Well, surprise, surprise. I guess my lectures really did get through all that medical school mumbo jumbo." Mulder stifled a laugh. He'd thought the same thing on a number of occasions. But Maggie was still concerned. "Fox, I think we need to call Dana." "I don't think we need to do that," Mulder said hastily. "I mean, she's busy with the case--" "Nonsense. Dana told me to call her if we needed her. I don't think that antibiotic you're on is strong enough. If you get a serious infection, Fox, you're just going to end up back in the hospital," she reasoned. "If we can find one that will take me," Mulder muttered under his breath. But he still didn't want Maggie to make that call. In some warped part of his brain, he wasn't sure what Scully would do to him after the mishap with the TV. "Mrs. Scully, really, I'll be fine. Can't we try some tylenol first?" Maggie looked unconvinced but didn't move toward the phone in the other room. "OK, but if it goes up any more, I'm calling her whether you like it or not, Fox," she finally relented. "I can agree with that," Mulder said, trying to sound conciliatory. In a moment, two white capsules landed on his stomach, his rather empty stomach, and jiggled around with the other medication already swimming down there. Maggie gave her patient a long look. "I think you should try to get some more sleep, Fox." He hadn't thought he was sleepy, but all the excitement over the television had worn him out. He nodded groggily. "You might be right," he admitted. He snuggled down into the pillows. Maggie leaned over and tucked the blankets closer to his chin. "Warm enough?" she asked. At that moment, he caught the look of love and concern in her eyes and it almost brought him to tears. "Yeah, great," he said, averting his eyes to cover his emotions. "Well then, sleep tight." For a second, he was afraid she was going to kiss him on the forehead. It would have been too much for him and would have pushed him right off the emotional cliff he was on. She must have sensed that. Instead, she put her hand to his cheek and held it there just for a moment. The simple gesture tugged at his heart. "Good night, Mrs. Scully," he managed to say as she turned off the overhead light. "Good night, Fox. If you need me, just call. Please?" He nodded slowly, and watched her close the door behind her, leaving it open just a crack. Sleep found him quickly. He'd only been asleep a little while when his dreams became uncomfortable. Not the usual nighttime reliving of Samantha's abduction or Scully's battle with cancer--this dreamscape had a new and disturbing twist. He dreamed he was on a boat, in very rough seas. The boat was tossed and turned by waves that crashed over it's deck. Just like the sailors on all the old pirate movies, he hung on to the mast to keep from being swept overboard. At the very moment he thought he could make it to the hatch and the safety of the cabin below deck, another wave threatened to capsize the boat. His stomach was rolling in time to the waves. The waves, in turn, were becoming larger and soon threatened to crush the small boat under their weight. Mulder was growing more anxious by the minute. When the next big wave hit the boat, his stomach could take no more-- He woke himself up retching. He hadn't had time to even attempt to reach the waste basket sitting near the bed on the floor. His stomach didn't have much other than cranberry juice and bile, but there was more than enough of that to soak the bedding and Mulder with it. If he hadn't already been so miserably sick, he would have cried in embarrassment. Maggie heard his distress. She was in the room before he could croak out a call for help. Quickly, she put a curved bowl like the ones in the hospital under his chin and supported his neck as he continued to be sick. When he finished, he dropped to the pillow, his eyes clenched shut, exhausted and uncomfortably wet. >From somewhere, a cool cloth found it's way to his face. It stroked his forehead and around the back of his head. Gently it cleaned his mouth and his neck and chest. If he'd had the strength to open his eyes, he would have seen Maggie tugging the blankets off the bed and rolling them up to set near the door. Instead he just felt the chill as the blankets left him exposed to the room's cooler air. "Fox, Sweetheart, we have to get you out of the bed. I have to change the sheets and get you cleaned up," Maggie said gently. "Come on, Fox, you're going to have to help me a little," she encouraged. With the little energy he had left, he tried to move, all the while apologizing. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't wake up. I couldn't stop--" "Shhh, shhh," Maggie crooned. She wiped tears that he didn't know had fallen from his eyes with the cloth. "It's all right. You didn't do anything wrong, Fox. You're sick, it happens. That's why God made extra sheets and washers and dryers," she rationalized. With tender strength, she helped him into the wheelchair. He slumped there, spent, while she changed the bottom sheets and made up the bed in fresh linens. When she was finished with that task, she turned to the patient. "I'm an idiot," she said with a shake of her head. "You're going to catch pneumonia, sitting there all this time, wet and cold. I'm sorry, Fox. I should have thought." "S-S-S'OK," Mulder said through chattering teeth. "Th-Th-The cool air is s-s-s-settling my stomach." She gave him a disapproving look. "Fox, I know better. Now, let's get you cleaned up and warm again." Much to his surprise, he wasn't all that embarrassed to have his partner's mother change him out of his wet and smelly pajamas, wash him down with the warm wash cloth and then help him into clean pajamas. In fact, it felt so nice to be clean and warm that he didn't give much thought to the process after all. The bed was cold when he shifted back into it and he shivered under the covers trying to warm it up. "Chills?" Maggie asked sympathetically. He nodded, closing his eyes against the cramping in his muscles that accompanied the shakes. Maggie reached down the side of the bed and brought up a small control. "I'm setting the blanket on low. If that's not enough, you can set it a little higher, but I'd advise against high. That gets too hot." He was too grateful to express it properly. He just looked up at her through half closed eyes and hoped she could tell how deeply he appreciated what she was doing for him. Slowly, the current flowed through the blanket, bringing heat to his body and comfort to his soul. He was soon asleep. Maggie decided she shouldn't leave him again. His fever had her worried, but as long as she had the situation under control, she wouldn't betray his wishes and call Dana. That didn't mean she couldn't stay put and keep a close eye on him. She pulled the old rocker from her own bedroom over to the guest room. She had to move the wheelchair all the way into the hall to make space for it. She removed the afghan from the back and wrapped it around her. Rocking in time to Mulder's shallow breathing, she soon drifted off herself. The Scully residence 2:03 am The house was silent when Dana opened the door. Of course it is, she chided herself, it's two o'clock in the morning! Her mother had left the kitchen light on and it's glow illuminated the living room enough so that Dana could hang up her coat and remove her shoes. It felt like heaven to be home. The autopsy had gone well, the after-autopsy briefing had been a disaster. Every single suggestion she had made about how to continue the case had been shot down and with increasing ferocity. When she suggested that they had the suspect in custody--a former policeman recent arrested for domestic abuse, they had howled with laughter. It had taken her by surprise at first, until she noticed that a couple of the agents kept refering to an absent agent by his first name. Tom. After doing some checking, she'd finally figured out that she'd been called in on this case by none other than Tom Colton. Colton was still cooling his heels in Baltimore, no longer one of the 'up and comers' of the Bureau after the X Files department had rolled over him on the Tooms case. It didn't take a genius to see that Colton was using the Strangler case to enact his revenge upon her for siding with Mulder against him. Knowing they wouldn't listen to her, Scully gave them a final report and left the office shaking with anger. As she drove home, she wished she had done what she wanted to do--hunt Colton down like the dog he was, take out her gun and shoot the bastard. The fact that he didn't even have the guts to face her while sending his lackeys to torpedo her work just fueled her anger. But as she got closer to home, she brushed it all aside. She didn't have time for such petty nonsense, and she was still worried to death about Mulder. She had almost expected a call during the evening. Once or twice, she thought about calling them. But she was in a horrible position. This wasn't some impersonal hospital she was dealing with now, whom she could yell at and boss around when she thought her partner wasn't getting the attention he deserved. This was her mother. Her very proud, Irish mother who would more than a little peeved if Dana kept calling to check up on the patient and his attendant. She couldn't risk making her mom mad at her. She had finished up as quickly as possible and hurried home to check for herself. Scully could hear the quiet snoring down the hallway. She she would just peek in on him, she didn't want to wake him if he was resting. Mulder was bad enough when he was sick, but wake him up when he was sick and he was a bear. The light from the kitchen didn't reach down the hallway. In fact, the hallway was so dark, since all the doors were closed blocking out any residual outside light, that it reminded her of more than one cave she'd been in. But this was her house, she'd lived her through college and medical school. She knew the hallway like the back of her hand. She was just outside the guest room door, reaching for the doorknob when her sleeve caught on something about waist height. She tugged, took a step forward and tripped over the wheelchair, which was blocking her path. The resulting crash, not to mention the low, angry cursing, were more than enough to wake Maggie. Certain they were being attacked, Maggie looked frantically around herself for anything to use as a weapon. Her eyes stopped their search when they landed on the plant. Grabbing it off the nightstand, Maggie hefted it in her hands and just as Dana untangled herself from the wheelchair, brought it over her head to drop on the wouldbe assailant. Dana opened the door, bumping into her mother, who in turn lost her grip on the plant and the contents of the pot landed all over both of them in a gooey, dirty mess. "Mom! What the hell are you doing?!" Dana demanded, wiping strange smelling potting soil off her face and shoulders. "What the hell were _you_ doing, young lady, coming in here so late and scaring me to death!?" Maggie shot back. A hand from under the covers reached over and turned on the lamp on the other side of the bed. Mulder couldn't help himself, at the sight before him he started to laugh. Both his partner and her mother were dripping in vegetable bisque soaked plant dirt. The poor plant, obviously near death already for it's ordeal, was lying roots up on the nightstand. By the time he surveyed the whole scene, Mulder was laughing so hard that he thought he would rip his tender stomach muscles. "Mulder, quit that before you hurt yourself. That's my job," his partner hissed at his hysterical laughter. "And what the hell is this orange stuff?" "Dana, watch your language," Maggie scolded. "And it's vegetable soup," she said, casting a threatening look over to the patient on the bed. The effect was immediate. Mulder shut up so fast it was like someone pulled a plug. He swallowed quickly and tried to reach for an alibi. "The plant looked like it needed water?" he made a lame attempt. "And the water from the pitcher I left was too cold?" Maggie returned, arms folded across her chest and eyebrow upraised. He knew he'd been caught. It's genetic! Mulder thought. That look of Scully's is genetic! But that didn't seem to be the response that would get him out of the hot water he was currenting drowning in. "I'm sorry," he said simply and tried to reach over to help wipe off some of the dirt. Moving over and reaching resulted in a horrible tearing down the side of his stomach and he curled up around the pain. "Fox!" Maggie cried out and forgot all about the dirt, the soup and the now deceased plant. She reached for him, trying to comfort him. "Mulder, where's the pain?" Dana interjected, gently moving her mother away from her partner and running her hands over his torso. "Stomach. Here," he gasped out, placing his good hand over the left side of his abdoman. "Hurts like hel--a lot," he amended, deciding not to insight Maggie's wrath again. Scully helped him straighten out enough to lie on his back and probed his stomach gently, watching for signs of discomfort. The only area that seemed to be affected ran the length of a particularly tense muscle. "You sprained a muscle," she announced calmly. "Pulled it laughing, no doubt," she added with a glare. "No, I bet you strained it when you were throwing up," Maggie reasoned with a shake of her head. "The laughing just finished the job." She placed her hand on his cheek, just as she'd done earlier. "I'm sorry, Fox," she said sincerely. "Mom? What about the plant? The soup? The mess? And why was the wheelchair blocking the hallway?" Dana demanded and then caught herself, forcing a calm, rational voice. "What is going on?". "Dana, apparently Fox didn't feel up to eating what I made him for dinner. But he didn't want to offend me by not eating it. So he dumped it in the plant. Taking his pills on an empty stomach made him nauseous. He got sick not long after I broke the television set and probably strained his stomach muscle when he was throwing up in bed. I might have injured it further getting him in the wheelchair so I could clean him up and change the sheets and blankets. After I got him settled, he got the chills and I noticed he seemed too warm. His fever was up, so I decided not to leave him alone tonight and I pushed the wheelchair into the hall to make room for the rocker. When you came home and made so much noise, I thought you might be a burgler and picked up the plant to defend myself. Now, are you satisfied?" Maggie hissed, glaring at her daughter. Dana was taken back by her mother's anger, directed as it was at her. She turned an equal glare upon the person she thought deserved the anger--her partner. "And what do you have to say for yourself?" she growled. Then something that had been said caught her attention. "You broke the TV?" she asked her mother. "Long story," Maggie assured her tersely. Dana shrugged and returned her glare to her partner. Mulder tried hard to look like he felt--a rabbit under the barrel of a shotgun. He decided to tell the truth and take the consequences. "I'm guilty. I confess. I don't feel good," he concluded with a pitful expression. "And Skinner had the audacity once to ask me why I shot you!" Dana hissed. Maggie, however, was more sympathetic. "Oh, Dana, stop that. Fox, it's all right, dear. Nothing that bad happened. Nothing that can't be solved with a little soap and water. You just try and relax while I find the heating pad to put on your stomach. Or should I look for the ice bag, Dana?" "No ice!" Mulder protested. "I'm freezing here as it is!" Dana laid a hand on his forehead. "Mom, get the thermometer," she sighed. His fever was just over one hundred and three. "I knew amoxicillin wouldn't put a dent in that infection," Dana muttered. She left the room and came back with a pharmacy bag. She pulled out a small ampule and a packaged syringe, filling it with medication. "I figured we might need this, knowing you as well as I do," she grinned wickedly as she tore into a little alcohol wipe packet and motioned for him to removed the covers. "Is this gonna hurt?" he whined. "What do you think?" she leered. "Mom! Help!" he called out, and Maggie, laughing, held his hand while Dana administered the shot. He winced, but noticed his partner had refrained from being too brutal. A half hour later, Dana was coming out of the shower, feeling much better then she had when she entered the bathroom. She walked down the hall toward her old bedroom and overheard her mother and partner talking. "Are you feeling a little warmer, Fox?" Maggie said softly. "Ummm, yeah, thanks," Mulder's sleepy voice replied. "Um, Mom, ah, I mean, Mrs. Scully--I really am sorry for all the trouble I've been." "I know you are dear. And I think I know why you get into all this trouble," Maggie said tenderly. "What do you mean?" Mulder asked, a slight tremor in his voice. "Fox, we love you. Both Dana and I. We want to help you. You have to trust us to help you. We would never hurt you, or leave you all alone, don't you know that?" "I know that," said a very timid twelve year old's voice. "We only want what's best for you. We only want you to get well. We want to help you get well," a mother's voice answered. "I know that, I do. Sometimes it's just so hard. I'm not used to--" the small boy voice trailed off. "Not used to being loved," the mother's voice continued the sentence. "Oh, Fox, I think it's time you got used to it," she added with a sigh. "Me, too, Mrs. Scully," the voice of her partner had returned. He was feeling better. "Fox, while you're here, you can call me 'mom' all you want," Maggie told him tenderly. "Thanks, . . . mom," was the groggy reply. "Good night, dear. Sleep tight." Hurrying before her mother came out of the room and caught her eavesdropping, Dana tiptoed to her room, smiling to herself. Somehow, she figured, her patient was finally on the road to recovery. It might take some time, but they would get there. the end. Vickie "Your ability to juggle many tasks will take you far." My fortune cookie, Feb. 28, 1998