Sideswiped - The Collector's Edition by Mudsprite Disclaimer: The X-Files, Skinner, Mulder, Scully and both their mamas all belong to Chris Carter, Fox Television, 1013 Productions, et cetera. The rest of the gang belong to me. No profit was made from this story, no infringement intended. Extended Disclaimer: Bear with me, folks. I don't want to be sued... "Walking On the Sun" is the property of Smashmouth and "Blue Christmas" was written by Billy Hayes & Jay Johnson."It's A Wonderful Life" is distributed by Republic Entertainment and "A Christmas Story" belongs to MGM. "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" is the creation of Dr. Seuss, "Iron John" is Robert Bly's, and "Once Upon A Potty" is Alona Frankel's. And lastly, "Do You Hear What I Hear?" belongs to Noel Ragney & Gloria Shayne. Sorry, but I don't know who owns "Captain Kangaroo" or "The Groovy Ghoulies", but it isn't me. Again, no profit made from these references. Inclusion herein implies admiration. Summary: When an accident robs Mulder of his memory, Scully, Skinner and - surprise! - Mrs. Mulder arrive to help him recover Spoilers: Demons and Redux II; Emily doesn't exist here Category: MulderAngst (mostly) Rating: NC17, for language and adult subject matter Distribute: Yes, please, thank you Posted 4/98 Author's Notes: I wanted to resolve a certain issue, since the powers that be haven't. This was originally meant to be a holiday story, and I plead guilty as charged to tardy posting. My intentions were good, but real-life came along... Thanks again to my editor, Terri, aka Ratty Dearest! This story assumes the Mulders are Christian, only because it suited my idea (and there was that tinsel in the basement). All those things that look like typos are my feeble attempt at dialect; use your imagination. And hopefully no offense is taken by anyone in the Middleburg, North Carolina region. I'm writing about someplace I've never been. This one's for my own mama. I hope you're still hovering over me, Mom, just in a different way than you used to. ********************************************************** Sideswiped December 11, 1997 12:31 p.m. Police Headquarters, Charlotte, NC The two Federal agents were virtually ignored as they compiled paperwork at a makeshift desk. "I can't wait to wrap this case up," Dana Scully sighed. "I haven't even begun to shop for Christmas. What about you, Mulder?" "My list is a short one these days, Scully. I think I can knock off all seven gifts in one afternoon." Scully smiled at her partner, curious as to who the seven people on his list were, but too polite to ask, "Where are you going to spend the holiday?" He shrugged, "My Aunt Kate invited me to her house - I think it's a plot to get my mother and I to talk to each other." "Are you going?" "I haven't decided yet. I don't know if I'm up for a confrontation on Christmas Day... or any other day, for that matter." "I can't believe the two of you haven't spoken in eight months, Mulder." "Well, getting slapped in the face can kinda put a guy off, you know." Not knowing how to respond to that, Scully said nothing. "Is your mom hosting another grand Scully affair?" Mulder asked brightly. His partner smelled the change of subject; had expected it. "No; she and I are going to Bill's in San Diego. Tara could have the baby any day, and we decided it was best if we went to them," she paused, then rolled her eyes. "Of course, Mom is still insisting on decorating a tree and putting up lights... the whole nine yards. I think she's overdoing it a bit, myself, but she's really in the spirit this year." "She has reason to be, Scully. She has a healthy daughter and a grandchild on the way. Don't spoil her fun; just be glad she's happy." Scully looked down, feeling guilty, and they organized photographs for several minutes before she spoke again, "You know, you're always welcome to join us, Mulder. Mom would love to see you, and the weather's bound to be better than in D.C." "I know... thanks. But I think the Scullys need to celebrate privately this year." "What makes you say that?" Mulder feigned strong interest in the folder he was holding. He hadn't told Scully how her brother had acted toward him while she'd been in the hospital. He didn't intend to. "Oh, with all you've been through, I just think you need time alone with your family, that's all," he lied. "Mulder, what're you going to do? I don't like to think of you spending the holiday by yourself." "I dunno, maybe I'll call Frohike and see what he's up for. Or maybe I'll order a pizza and watch It's A Wonderful Life'." Scully shot him her fiercest `I'm not kidding' look, "Just promise me you won't be alone." "Alright, alright. I promise, if nothing better comes along, I'll at least dial 1-800- ELF 4 HIRE. Now, stop worrying about me and just celebrate, will you?" "Mulder, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here to celebrate." An awkward but understood silence passed between them. It was broken by a ringing phone. "You or me?" Scully asked. Mulder checked his jacket pocket, "I think it's you." She pulled her cell phone from her coat,"Scully... Yes, sir... What?! Is she... I see... Thank you, sir. I'll give her a call right away... yes, sir." "What's wrong?" Mulder watched her closely as she dialed. "My mom. Broke her wrist hanging Christmas lights outside yesterday. They had to put... Mom? It's me. Are you okay?... Yes, he just called. What happened?... That damn ladder... You should've waited for me!... Two more days, tops... Aunt Marilyn took you to the hospital? Can she stay a little longer?... Oh, I'll bet!... Yes, he's right here... he's waving... Hold on a sec..." "Tell her you can be home tonight." "Mulder, we aren't finished yet! My aunt's staying with her - " "Scully, tell her you'll be home tonight!" "I can't - "she stopped short at the glare he gave her. "Mulder... are you sure?" He nodded, "It's just busy work from here, Scully, I can handle it. Go home." She sat pensively for a moment before making up her mind, "Mom? If I can get a flight, I'll be home tonight. I'll just come straight from the airport... Yes, I'm sure... No, Mom, he's the one insisting... I'll call you back after I talk to the airline... I love you, too... Bye." She hung up, "Thanks, Mulder. This means a lot to me." "No big deal, Scully. Your mom needs you more than I do," he grinned at the hurt face she pulled. "Call the airport. Then you can buy me lunch to show your gratitude." ********************************************************** December 13, 1997 5:46 p.m. I-85 N, Vance County, NC "So don't delay, act now, supplies are runnin' out, allow if you're still alive, six to eight years to arrive..." he sang, drumming on the steering wheel. He'd been driving since 3:30 and hoped he could stay alert long enough to make it all the way back to D.C. He wanted to sleep at home tonight. And to have Sunday free for nothing but watching football would be a real blessing. Then again, he was almost out of clean clothes... The reception faded in and out, interrupting the song. "Damn hills," he fiddled with the knobs, but it seemed he was heading too far out of range to get anything but static. Mulder cursed and flipped the radio off. He realized how much he missed Scully's company in the ensuing silence. The light was already dimming with the change of season, and he dreaded the long drive between him and his couch. He glanced around. Off in the distance, he could see someone's Christmas lights glowing merrily. He sighed, thinking again that he'd be glad for January 1st to arrive, when all this holiday anxiety would be behind him again for another 12 months. The thought of spending Christmas alone was terribly depressing, but he had absolutely no intention of crashing the Scully gathering. And regardless of what he'd told his partner, he sure as hell wasn't going to his aunt's. He'd just send a fruit basket with a card that read "Merry Christmas! Thanks, but I have other plans." Mulder knew his mother's sister meant well; she was his favorite aunt. But the fact remained that his mother had made no attempt to contact him since he'd stormed from her house back in April, and she was the parent, after all. Might as well save the air fare and be miserable at home. "I'll have a blue Christmas without you," he sang into the silent darkness, this time thinking of Scully as well as his family. On a whim, Mulder suddenly launched into Elvis' version of the holiday classic, and felt his spirits lift a little. He'd just gotten to the chorus when a southbound car veered across the expressway median and came straight toward him. Cursing, he slammed on the horn and attempted to steer out of the other driver's path. There wasn't another vehicle in sight, but the car seemed intent on hitting him. In the blinding glare of headlights, Mulder helplessly accepted that they were going to collide, and braced himself for the impact... 6:32 p.m. The cold seeping into his body finally woke him. Mulder sat up and realized immediately that he'd moved too fast. The jarring pain that stabbed through his brain threatened to overwhelm him, and he fought to remain conscious. He had sense enough to wait a few minutes before attempting movement again, and did so with slow caution. When he unbuckled his seat belt and tried the door, it wouldn't budge. He carefully inched across the front seat and was able to swing the passenger side open, into the chilly night. Mulder pushed the pain aside and stood. He dropped back onto the seat and stuck his head between his knees, the way Scully always nagged him to. Thankfully, it worked. The nausea subsided after a moment or two, but it was still some time before he felt safe enough to stand again. And that was only with the knowledge that the car he'd been driving wasn't going anywhere without a tow truck, yet he would freeze if he stayed put much longer. It was full dark now, with a bright moon that lit the frosty landscape around him. Mulder heard the highway somewhere above him and turned cautiously to his left. There was a slight embankment rising up to a gaping patch of mangled trees. He tried to remember what had happened, but the rising sickness and the throbbing in his head kept him from concentrating. He needed help, and he needed it soon. With that single-minded thought, he abandoned the car and started to climb. 7:39 p.m. I-85 N, Vance County, NC "Richie, how much longer's it gonna be? `m sick of hangin' out at that dump in th' woods - there's nothin' t' do!" Richie Langman belched and stared straight ahead, "Lonnie, how many times I gotta tell you, we ain't goin' nowheres til he calls. I dunno how long it's gonna take, but we jus' gotta wait im out. He said it'd be by Chris'mas. An' believe-you-me, l'il brother, it'll damn sure be worth th' wait!" He spat tobacco juice into the empty beer can held between his legs. "I'm jus' so damn bored out there in them woods, Richie.There ain't no cable, an' that frickin' tv don't get no kinda reception. `m bout t' go nuts." " m hearin' ya, l'il brother. I been stir crazy this las' week, m'self," Richie paused to spit again. "What say you we go inta town t'night an' pick us up a coupla them gals down at Th' Drinkin' Hole'?" He laughed, "Second thought, mebbe we git one o' them boys you had yer eye on las' time! Shit... girls roun' here're so damn homely, them boys're jus' as nice!" They both guffawed loudly and Lonnie began to feel better. He had the smartest damn brother in the whole world, and soon they'd finalize the biggest deal of their entire lives (Richie called it a business venture') and blow this godforsaken place. He turned up the heat and burrowed into his coat. Suddenly, the headlights locked onto something up ahead and Lonnie's hunter's eye was immediately alert, "Richie! Pull over!" "What th' hell for, you asshole?" "There's somepin' up there on th' side o' th' road - I saw it!" Richie snorted with exasperation, but pulled the '79 Chevy pickup over, "I don't see nothin', ya stupid prick!" "There! By th' guardrail!" Richie turned the wheel slightly to the right, aiming the headlights. A sudden movement caught his eye and he jumped at Lonnie's screech, "There! Right there! It's a... it's... goddamn, Richie, it's a hitcher!" They both focused on the figure before them. Seated on the ground and leaning against the guardrail, he was holding his thumb out with one hand and shielding his eyes from the blinding light with the other. "How th' hell you see him, Lonnie? I'da drove right past." "I thought it was a deer or somepin'. Damn, Richie - stupid fucker ain't wearin' no coat! I bet it ain't more'n thirty degrees out here." Lonnie rolled the window down and bellowed, "Hey! What're you doin', mister? You ain't gonna catch no ride sittin' down on th' job!" Using the guardrail for balance, the man on the ground rose slowly to his feet, "I... I could really use a ride to the next town... I had an accident... a... little way back..." his voice trailed off, as if he could think of nothing more to say. He wrapped one arm around himself and put the other across his eyes. In the truck, the two brothers looked at one another. "Well?" "Well, what?" "You reckon we oughta give im a ride? That's a purty nice suit e's got on, Rich. Mebbe e'll pay us if we drive im into town." "Yeah, an' mebbe he won't!" "Then we'll jus' help ourselves to is wallet an' leave th' ingrateful asshole on th' road! It'd pay fer our night out, brother!" "I dunno, Lonnie. `m dog tired. I jus' wanna get back an' sleep." "C'mon, Richie! No tellin' how much e's got on im. Besides, he don't look too steady on is feet - be like takin' candy from a kid!" Richie spat into his can again and tried to ignore his brother's eager expression, "Aw, fuck it! Move over an' let th' dumbass in!" "You wrecked yer car?" Lonnie asked. The stranger rubbed his eyes, "Yeah... it s at the bottom of an embankment... about a mile and a half before you picked me up." "How th' hell'd it get down there?" "I, ah, don't really remember... I got knocked out, I think," he touched his forehead gingerly, then stared at the blood on his fingertips. "I'll say! That's a damn big goose egg ya got there, mister!" "It hurts like hell..." he paused for a long moment, squinting his eyes against the lights from the oncoming traffic. "How far is it to town? I need to use a phone." "Only bout six more miles til Middleburg," Richie eyed the man, took in the expensive suit, the clean, well-manicured hands, the neatly-trimmed hair. "Where was you headed?" "I... um..." "You don't know where you was goin'?" "I... it's hard to think straight right this minute... to - to D.C." "You live there?" "Mhmm." "What was you doin' roun' here?" "Working." "Oh, yeah? What kinda work you do, Slick?" Evading the question, Mulder pressed the balls of his hands into his eye sockets and prayed he was dreaming. He suddenly felt an unmistakable lurch in his stomach and groped for the door handle. Hearing the strangled, gulping sound, Lonnie cried, "Shit! Pull over, Richie! I think e's gonna toss!" The second the pickup rolled to a stop, the man in the suit flung the door open and stumbled out. As he stood bent and heaving just beyond the tailgate, Lonnie turned to his older brother, "What do ya think's wrong with im?" "Hell if I know... reckon at crack on th' head coulda done it." "Mebbe we can jus' take is wallet now an' leave im here, Rich. He ain't right..." Richie narrowed his eyes and watched the stranger through the back window, "Ya know, l'il brother, he ain't right, but he ain't bad lookin,' neither..." "What're you talkin' bout, Richie?" " m thinkin' mebbe Slick there's an early Chris'mas present. Why waitil t'night? Might as well have ourselves a little fun afore we dump im." Lonnie's face lit up and he peered back at the man who had finished getting sick and was attempting to straighten, "At th' rate e's goin', he won't even remember what happen't." He slid back to the center of the seat to make room for their passenger, "Weekend's lookin' better all th' time, ain't it?" "Thanks for pulling over," Mulder said weakly as he climbed back into the truck. "Don' mention it, man," Richie replied. He drove in relative silence for several minutes before Lonnie noticed that the man had drifted off and was leaning against the door, " e's sleepin', Rich." "Looks more like passed out, l'il brother... Whyn't you check out is pockets?" Lonnie eyed the rider nervously. "Go on, Lonnie, he ain't gonna bite!" Lonnie pushed the suit jacket aside and reached slowly into the man's back pocket, painstakingly fingering for his wallet. His hand had just brushed leather when the hitchhiker abruptly sat up and shoved him away. Lonnie Langman didn't catch the wild fear on the stranger's face, but his brother did, "Hold on, there, Slick. Lonnie don' mean no harm. He's jus' tryin' t' find out where yer from so's we can get word t' somebody bout yer wreck." "I can take care of that myself as soon as we get to a phone," Mulder whispered harshly, holding his head with both hands. "Not if you ain't conscious, friend... An' you wasn't." Pressed against the passenger door, Mulder silently considered his options. They'd said they were only six miles from Middleburg, and that had been a while ago. They had to be close. Still, he felt worse than miserable. He doubted he could walk to town on his own, and he'd wandered off and left his damned coat in the car . But he didn't trust these two any more than he could've thrown them. The thought occurred to him that in the face of this too-human threat, the gun under his jacket had never been more reassuring. Mulder glanced over. He saw the driver clenching his jaw and sensed the building tension. "I... Thanks for trying to help, Lonnie. I was just dozing off and you - you startled me," he lied. The truth was, he had only closed his burning eyes against the oncoming headlights. He had no intention of falling asleep in the company of Tweedledum and Tweedledee. They rode quietly for a mile or so before Richie loudly cursed. When he slammed his fist against the dashboard, both Mulder and Lonnie jumped. He steered the truck onto the shoulder, and they came to a bone-jarring halt. Richie whirled on the man who was grasping the door handle as if it were his lifeline. "Who in th' hell you think you are? Huh? You frickin' asshole! We picked yer ass up, not th' other way aroun'! An' you jus' sit over there in yer fancy suit actin' all high an' mighty, like yer better'n us - well, you ain't! An' I'm gonna prove it to ya!" Richie reached across his brother, grabbed Mulder by the hair and stood. Hunched over by the low ceiling of the pickup, he hovered above them like a madman while Lonnie squirmed. Richie pinned the man against the seat and sat down hard, straddling his legs. He placed his hands on Mulder's face, and the agent gulped in air to keep from passing out. He had hoped to keep his gun hidden, hoped he wouldn't need it. But the fear pulsing through his veins as he stared Richie Langman in the face told him otherwise. This man was not accustomed to backing down... "Please... just let me out of the truck. You can have all my money and my credit cards and just drive away. Let me go and I won't say anything to anybody... please. If you let me out of the truck, Richie, nobody'll get hurt." The man sitting on his lap found that highly amusing. He snorted with crude laughter and slapped Mulder across the face, "Nobody gets hurt, huh? Now that's real funny, Slick, seein' as yer the only one's gonna get it... real good, too." Mulder tried to ignore the ringing in his ears as Lonnie screamed,"Let im go, Rich! It ain't no fun no more! What if e goes an' tells som'body what we look like an' what kinda car we was drivin', huh? Then ever'thin's gonna be ruin't!" Richie answered him without taking his eyes off his captive, "Quit yellin', l'il brother. There ain't nothin' this fancy boy's gonna tell nobody when I'm done with im." He flung the door open and jumped out, dragging Mulder with him, "C'mon, Slick, show me how you was plannin' on hurtin' me." Richie shoved the injured man against the truck. Mulder struggled to maintain his footing, "Leave me here and go, Richie..." "Or what? Or yer gonna get mean?" He grinned wickedly, "Lonnie! Come an' get Slick's wallet fer me. Let's fin' out what is real name is!" Mulder realized Richie would kill him when his profession was revealed. Of course, he probably intended to kill him regardless, but his identity might well speed up the process. He allowed Lonnie to approach and slip his wallet from his back pocket, hoped they wouldn't search further to find his badge or his weapon. Shivering from the cold, Lonnie tossed the billfold to his brother. Richie flipped the wallet open without taking his eyes off the man against the truck, "Check is other pockets too, l'il brother. `e's prob'ly got is money hid somewhere's else." So much for that. Lonnie reached inside to Mulder's right coat pocket first, and he tensed, preparing himself as best he could for the inevitable. As Lonnie groped for the left pocket he jumped back and cried, "Holy shit, Rich! He's wearin' a gun!" Mulder had the service revolver aimed before the two brothers could react. They both put up their hands in self-defense and Richie laughed maniacally, "Well I'll be! Looky here, Lonnie, Slick knows how'ta handle that thing, don't e? What are ya, boy, a cop?" Adrenaline pumping, Mulder felt in control for the first time since he'd climbed into the Chevy, "You might say that." He stepped away from the pickup, "I asked you nicely to just let me out, but you had to get nasty with me, Richie. Now, why don't you and your brother get back in your truck and we'll all just forget this little scene ever took place, hmmm?" His gaze didn't stray from the older one. "Now, Slick - I mean... Fox? Ain't that what yer driver's license said?" He snorted,"I gotta tell ya, boy, that there's a real strange name. Yer mama must not a liked you much." Richie eyed the man with the gun trained on his chest, watching for a reaction, "Anyways, Fox, there's been a li'l misunderstandin' here. Lonnie an' me don't want no trouble, we're jus' a little hard up on cash flow right now, ya know? We thought if we give ya a ride inta town, mebbe we'd get a little payback, see what m sayin'?" "I wasn't born yesterday, Richie. I offered you my money and my credit cards - that wasn't all you wanted. As for whatever else you had in mind, I'm afraid I'm not into that sort of thing. So unless you want the blood of a Federal agent on your hands, take your brother and get the hell out of here!" Mulder heard Lonnie gasp, and prayed they would cut their losses and go; he wasn't sure how much longer he could stay on his feet. His vision was growing fuzzy and his head was killing him... "Richie, he's a fuckin' Fed, fer cryin' out loud! I ain't havin' no part a this - let's jus' go!" "An' have 'im bring all is little Fed friends down on us tomorra? I don' think so, l'il brother," Richie hissed under his breath. "Look at im, Lonnie, he ain't gonna be standin' much longer." "Please, Rich!" Lonnie tucked his hands under his arms and started slowly for the truck, "We're goin', mister, so don't start nothin'... Richie, c'mon, m freezin'!" He had just reached the open door of the truck when he heard his brother's guttural cry behind him. He swung about to see Richie launch himself at the Fed. The two fell across the guardrail, then rolled to the ground, wrestling the pistol between them. Richie soon gained the upper hand over Mulder's weakened form. As he struggled to maintain his hold on the gun, Richie jumped to his feet and planted several solid kicks into his midsection. Before the agent could regain his breath, Richie again drew back his boot and, with furious force, brought the sole down against Mulder's head. The FBI agent gasped in agony, but fought to stay conscious, knowing his life depended on it. He clung to his weapon with shaking fingers, brought it around and aimed. The deafening crack, mingled with Lonnie's shriek, was the last thing he heard. 10:03 p.m. I-85 N, Vance County, NC The gravel beneath his cheek made a lousy pillow. He groaned, rolled onto his back, and clamped his eyes shut. He felt the icy cold of the tarmac beneath his fingertips, yet not within his body. That struck him as odd. In the dark comfort of his own mind, he wondered where he was and why. Something nagged at him, told him not to linger here despite the peaceful silence that cradled his being. He blinked, testing his vision against the light. A dull, throbbing pain suffused his head and muffled the night sounds around him. It was hard to breathe, and his side ached like fire. He sat up with considerable difficulty; his body felt thick, like it was moving through syrup. He looked around, took in the highway on one side of him and the forest on the other. Stiffly turning over onto his hands and knees, he rose to his feet, using the frozen metal guardrail to assist him. He sat down on it to contemplate his next move. The sudden dizziness took him by surprise, as did the accompanying sickness. He vomited violently between his legs, narrowly missing his black dress shoes. He held his pounding head with both hands and distractedly watched the steam rise up before him. He didn't want to deal with this. He only wanted to lie back down on the cold ground and sleep. "Shut up!" he said aloud, then winced at the stab of agony that followed. There was no answering call, just a cold gust of wind that ruffled his hair, his tie and jacket. He noticed for the first time the cars travelling intermittently on the other side of the highway. None had passed by on his side of the median yet. "Alright... I'm going," he swiped his sleeve across his mouth. Uncertain, he stood and began to walk, following the highway by the light of the moon. 11:38 p.m. I-85 N, Vance County, NC It had been an eternity since he'd seen a car. There weren't even any on the opposite side of the road now, so he assumed it was getting late. He had no idea where he was or in what direction he was headed. He felt like the last person on the planet; abandoned and alone. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep moving. At this point, movement defied every fiber of his being. Each nerve and muscle screamed for rest, but the voice in his head pushed him forward still. Yet he was vaguely aware that it was only a matter of time before his body overpowered the voice. Another stretch of time without meaning passed, and as he wandered along in the dark, he sensed the queasiness rising. He stopped and grasped the guardrail again, retched into the frosted grass. Nothing came up but a minuscule amount of frothy liquid and saliva; his stomach had long since emptied itself. Aching and exhausted, he sank to his bruised knees to rest his head on his folded arms. The night was silent and cold, his own ragged breathing the only sound in his ears. It would be so good to just lie down and let sleep come... He raised his head slightly to whisper to the blackness, "There is... no help. I c-can't go any further... let me sleep." He scooted down to curl up on the ground when his eyes caught a twinkling light through the trees. A red light. And a green one... yellow, then blue. He sat up. He squinted into the dark, unwilling to believe that it wasn't that damned voice trying to keep him from resting. But no, the lights were there; all different colors. He rose on unsteady feet and clambered over the rail to investigate. It was not an easy trek; the ground was uneven and slick. He stumbled and fell more than once before reaching level terrain, tearing his palms and the knees of his trousers. From there he could see the lights more clearly, as well as the undefined outline of a house. Pushing down the now-familiar nausea, he drew on his last supply of strength to plunge into the thicket of trees. Grasping his side, he emerged to find himself bathed in the warm glow of merrily blinking Christmas lights. The house was small; not much more than a cabin, really, with a large front window and a wrap-around porch. He could see movement inside, movement that promised aid and companionship. A sudden self-consciousness washed over him, and he stepped onto the wooden planks with hesitant feet. He stood before the door for several moments before the weariness overcame him and forced his hand upward to cautiously knock. ********************************************************** December 14, 1997 12:33 a.m. I-85 N, Vance County, NC Maggie Dunblane had just checked the back door and turned off the kitchen light. She snugged her bathrobe around her and headed for the television, "Seamus, are ye finished watchin' th' telly, dear?" "Oy, luv, I'm ready ta turn in. Comin'?" a deep voice answered from the back of the house. Maggie smiled and called to her husband in a thick Scottish burr, "Be right in. Just need ta put oot th' Christmas tree and -" she stopped short at a sound from the porch. Uncertain she'd actually heard anything, she flipped off the TV and listened. Nothing. "Hearin' things," she chuckled to herself and reached for the front porch switch. The gentle knock was unexpected. Startled, she cried out. "Mags! Luv, are ye alright?" A towering, grey-headed man rounded the corner from the bedroom in record time to find her rooted to the floor, shaking. He put his arms around her, "Wot is it? Wot's given ye such a fright?" "There's someone on th' porch, Seamus. I heard a knock." "Maggie, it's after midnight. Ye're probably hearin' th' tree blowin' against th' house -" The second knock took them both by surprise. "Well, call me an auld fool! Ye heard right, luv," the old man stepped forward and peered out the front door window. At first he saw nothing, then a movement near the porch floor drew his eyes down. He saw something there, but just what it was, he couldn't tell. "Maggie, stay back, luv. I'm openin' the door." "Seamus, be careful! Shall I get yer gun?" "No, it'll be alright. Just stay back," he opened the door with great care, searching through the crack for the mysterious form on his porch. His eyes came to rest on a man, huddled against the front of the house. He wore a suit, and sat on the porch floor with his torn knees drawn up and his hands in his lap. His head rested on the outer wall, and his mouth was open slightly. Seamus took in the pale, exhausted face, and turned to his wife. "Mags, it's a young mon. E's well-dressed, but e looks as if e's run inta trouble. I'm goin' oot to have a look. I want ye ta call Sheriff MacBrayer and get im here right away." Maggie wrung her hands and looked cautiously around her husband to the strange figure, "I'm no' doin' any such thing, Seamus, until I know ye're alright. Now just go oot and see to im." Seamus sighed, knowing argument was futile. He swung the door wide and stepped outside into the chilling air. The man on the ground made no move; he didn't even seem to hear him. That made the old Scot even more nervous, and he bent down with great caution to look the visitor over. He couldn't be much over thirty; the battered face was unlined and the wind-tossed hair still dark. His suit was well-made, as were his shoes, though both were mud-stained and showed signs of recent distress. Seamus noticed that the silk tie was still tightly knotted, but ruined. Their midnight caller appeared to have been quite ill. "Wot's appened to im?" Maggie's concerned voice was very near, and Seamus turned to find her standing right behind him. "I'm no' sure, luv. E's been in an accident or somethin'; is head is badly injured. And from th' looks o' that tie, e's been ill as well. We'll be needin' th' ambulance as well as th' sheriff." Seamus squatted down and reached out to tentatively touch the man's shoulder. He was unprepared when the closed eyes flew open and gazed back at him. "Well, ye're among the livin' after all! Wot's appened, lad? Are ye alright?" He waited, but no answer was forthcoming. "Wot's yer name, boy?" The young man looked thoughtful for a moment, then confused. He shrugged weakly and dropped his head. "Are ye able ta speak?" Still nothing. Seamus laid his hand against the drawn face, " is skin's cold as stone, but he's no' even shiverin'. I think e's in shock, Maggie. Let's go call th' authorities. I'm bringin' im inside. E must'a been freezin' oot here with no coat." He stood, then turned back to the injured man on the floor, "I'm goin' ta take ye in th' house, lad. It's no' a fit night ta be oot wanderin' in th' woods." The eyes that looked up at him chilled the old man through. He'd seen that same look once before; in the face of a wounded deer he'd come across back home in Scotland. Fatally injured by a hunter's poor shot, the animal had apparently escaped, only to fall exhausted in the forest. Out cutting grapevine for Maggie, Seamus had practically stumbled over it. Unable to run any further, the deer had looked up at him with resignation and acceptance. He sensed that it was beyond fear; it was simply waiting to die. He had held the animal's head in his lap for several moments, comforting it, before plunging his knife into its throat and ending it's suffering. He swallowed, "Ye're a lucky mon, laddie. Ye've crossed our path soon eno', I think." He knelt down and slid strong arms beneath the weary figure, shifted his dead weight and stood. As Maggie held the door, he carried him into the cabin. They settled him on the couch. When he clamped his eyes shut and laid his arm across them, the old man turned the lights down low. Maggie went after a blanket while her husband searched for some form of identification. His low whistle brought her hurrying back, "Wot is it, Seamus? Did ye find is wallet?" "No, but I did find a badge. Our guest ere appears ta be an FBI agent, Maggie May." "Oh Lord, Seamus!" The little Scottish woman looked fretful, "Do ye think e's in some kind of trouble? What're we ta do?" He chuckled, "Well, e's definitely in trouble, but I think we can elp im. Th' first thing we're goin' ta do is warm im up, luv. Give us that blankie and pull is shoes off." He tugged off the torn suit jacket, then unknotted the spattered tie, "Let's put these in a bag fer now, shall we?" He handed them to her and snugged the thick blanket around the man. "Wot's is name, dear?" Maggie placed the muddy shoes carefully under the coffee table and pulled the blanket over his damp socks. "Fox. Fox Mulder. Special Agent Fox Mulder." "Fox? That's an unusual name, ain't it? These Americans... e's a sight, puir thing. Tuckered oot, ain't e?" "Ye're right there. But I think we ought ta keep im awake until someone's ad a look at im, Mags. A head injury like this could be real trouble." Seamus stood and went to the phone, "Talk to im, luv. Tell im e needs to keep is eyes open. I'm callin' Sheriff MacBrayer." While he waited for his call to be patched through to the sheriff's home, Seamus watched his wife cluck and fuss over their visitor. She brought in a cup of hot tea and helped him sip it, making little noises of distress over his bruises and scrapes. The sleepy voice on the other end sounded concerned, "Seamus, what's the matter? Are you and Maggie alright?" "We're fine, Tate, just fine, thanks. But we've got someone ere who's been better. I think ye'll be needin' ta come oot, and ye'll be needin' ta bring th' medics." Seamus brought a damp washcloth to his wife, and she painstakingly began to wipe dirt and dried blood from Mulder's face. She looked down at him, "Ah-ah, boy, dontcha be closin' them eyes, now!" Her husband smiled when the young man forced his eyes open and finally spoke, "I... I'm awake. I am... I'm so... tired, though. Why can't I s-sleep?" "Ye've injured yer head, Fox, and they'll need ta be certain ye don't have a concussion before ye sleep. Soon eno', though. The sheriff and the life squad should be here any time, and as soon as they say it's alright, off ye go." "What did... you j-just call me?" "Fox. Dontcha ye remember yer name?" He pondered it for a moment, then shook his head carefully, "I... I d-don't remember any...thing... How did... did you know that was my n-name?" "It's on yer badge, son, " Seamus passed the black card case to him. "Ye've got quite th' job, it seems!" Confused, he handed it back to the old Scot, "Fox... M-mulder... I don't know. That doesn't... seem f-familiar..." "Ye've ad quite a knock on th' head, boy. I'm sure it'll all come back soon eno'." Fox Mulder sighed and allowed his aching eyes to close, then opened them suddenly, "I think I'm g-gonna be sick..." Seamus jumped up, hurried into the kitchen, and returned with a bucket in hand. He held it while Fox leaned forward and heaved up what little tea he'd managed to swallow. Whimpering softly, he clutched his stomach and side in agony. Maggie gently wiped his mouth when the spasms ceased, "Alright now, luv?" She checked his forehead for fever, "Seamus, is skin's still cold as ice. Fetch another blanket." Maternally, she nagged him to lie back down and tucked him in, "I'm makin' ye another cup o' tea. I'm sure ye're dehydrated by now." She touched his hair, then headed into the kitchen. >From his nest on the couch, Fox gave the old man a long perusal. Seamus Dunblane was probably over seventy, but his posture was still straight and confident. His white hair had a wild, devil-may-care life of it's own. Standing more than six feet tall and stocky, he bore a striking resemblance to an ancient tree; gnarled but strong. Maggie, on the other hand, was short and round. She wore the air of a beloved grandmother; stern but adoring. Between them, the pair obviously shared a bond of many years. And from the sound of it, at least two continents. Seamus noticed he was being watched, "Wot're ye thinkin' so hard aboot, boy?" "How long... how long have the t-two of you..." he paused, seemed to have lost his train of thought, "...um, lived here... in the States?" His voice was weak. "Almost sixteen years, now. Hard ta believe we ain't learned th' language yet, ain't it?" he laughed out loud: a deep, rich sound. His face suddenly clouded, and he was thoughtful for a moment before continuing, "We came over after we lost our son, Cullen. E drowned in a fishin' accident in 1981, off th' coast o' Arbroath." "S-sorry..." the word came out stilted and breathless. Waving off the apology, Seamus continued, "Our Cullen was about th' same age as ye when e died. E had a lovely little girlfriend, and they were savin' up ta be married th' followin' summer when th' accident -" "Are ye talkin' aboot Cullen?" Maggie entered with two cups of tea and handed one to her husband as he nodded. " E'll be borin' ye ta sleep if ye let im," she settled herself on the couch beside the injured agent. "Careful, it's still a wee bit ot." With her help, he sipped the tea cautiously. "Fox, do you ave a family? Can ye remember?" He considered the question. Unable to answer, he dropped his head back against the couch pillow and winced at the pain, "I d-don't know! W-what's... the matter with me? How... the hell will I... find out? I... I can't... even r-remember my own damned n-name!" The frustration was etched across his face. Seamus approached, knelt beside the couch and placed a calming hand on the young man's shoulder, "Dinna fret, laddie. The sheriff's on is way, and he's a guid friend. I told im about yer badge and I gave im th' number on it. E's already called it in ta th' FBI offices in Raleigh, I'm sure. If ye've got family, they'll be notified. Ever'thin's goin' ta end up right as rain, ye'll see." Fox kicked at the blankets and turned away, pressing his face against the back of the couch. Seamus rose to his feet and straightened the covers, "I'll keep watch, Mags. Why dontcha go on ta bed?" His voice was somber. She collected the tea cups and motioned him to follow her into the kitchen, "I'd rather stay up with ye and wait on th' sheriff, luv. I won't be sleepin' til I know what's goin' ta happen ta that boy." He hugged her from behind, "I figured as much, but it was worth a try." They shook their charge awake and were quietly settling back into the living room when flashing blue and red lights spilled into the front window. Seamus went to the door to meet his old friend. Tate MacBrayer stepped from his cruiser, a stocky, muscular man of fifty-six. Like a medal of honor, he wore the role as Vance County Sheriff with confidence. He considered the people he protected his people, and had ties as deep as the roots of a North Carolina oak with many of them. Seamus Dunblane was among that group. Tate had stopped by to welcome the Scottish couple when they'd settled into the secluded cabin 16 years before, and they'd been friends ever since. This was, however, the first time he'd ever come out on official business, and he was highly curious about their mysterious arrival. Seamus was at the door, already stepping aside to let the EMTs pass. Along with MacBrayer's deputy, Maggie led them to Fox while the two men greeted each other. "Well, Seamus, if you and Maggie wanted company, you could've just invited Carol and me over for dinner," Tate kidded. He watched the medics carefully unwrap the agent from his cocoon, "How is he?" "No' good. E's frozen through, been throwin' up. There's memory loss - from th' head wound, I guess. E didn't even recognize is name when I showed im th' badge, an' e's havin' a hard time concentratin'. Ave ye found oot anythin' yet?" "Raleigh put me straight through to D.C. when I called. I spoke with a man named Walter Skinner. He's Assistant Director, and your friend here is apparently one of his agents. He and his partner were investigating a case in Charlotte all week. She had to leave unexpectedly for a family emergency, and Agent Mulder closed the case by himself. Skinner spoke to him Friday evening, and he was close to wrapping up the last of it. He was planning to drive back to D.C. yesterday afternoon. They didn't know he was in any kind of trouble," MacBrayer approached the couch to look the man over. The two EMTs hovered over him. They were assessing his vitals and asking him lots of questions about what hurt, how badly and for how long. When he admitted he was having difficulty breathing, one of them unbuttoned the agent's shirt. Maggie Dunblane cried out at the massive bruises he revealed. She hurried to her huband's side, "Seamus, we dinna even know e'd been hurt there! How could e keep quiet aboot somethin' like that?" Tate put a comforting arm around her shoulders, "Maggie, he's in shock; he's probably not even aware of how badly hurt he is." "I... I hope no'... Who could've done this to im? Why?" "We'll find out, you can be sure of that. The FBI are sending their own people down to investigate." "Wot aboot this Mr. Skinner, or is partner. Will she be able ta come back down?" Seamus queried. MacBrayer pulled his eyes away from the couch and nodded, "Yes, she and the Assistant Director are both coming. Her family situation wasn't too serious, apparently." Maggie scrutinized the medics as they prodded and poked at Fox. Each time he cried out, she flinched, "Did they call is family?" "Skinner told me Mulder's only family is his mother, but he implied they weren't on speaking terms. He said she'd be notified, but he also told me not to expect her. He said Agent Scully - that's Mulder's partner - would make any medical decisions if the need arose. He was going to have her fax her consent to the station, just in case of an emergency." Maggie scoffed, " ow could a woman ignore her own child under these circumstances? She'd have'ta be heartless! If e were mine, wild horses couldn't keep me awa'..." Seamus hugged her as Fox moaned and pulled away from the light they shone into his eyes, " E'll be alright, Mags, dinna get yerself in a tiff. Is partner and is boss're on their way." Maggie laid her head against her husband's flannel shirt, "That's all well and guid, Seamus, but the lad needs is mother right now." Tate's deputy rejoined them, "I don't think he's in any shape to give a statement, sir. From what I heard, he can't remember anything before he got here but walking along the highway and getting sick. The wounds on his ribs are definitely the result of an attack, though. You can see the assailant's bootmarks on his ribs." The four watched quietly while the medical team finished examining him and called in the results to the hospital. One of the pair approached them, "We need to get him to the hospital as soon as possible, Sheriff. They suggested we take him on to Oxford Northern rather than Middleburg Community. They're better prepared to deal with his head injury if it gets complicated. Without a CT scan, I can't say if it will or not." MacBrayer nodded gravely, "What can you tell at this point?" "Severe head trauma, a Grade 3 concussion, we believe, judging from the amnesia and the sickness. He's suffering from exposure and hypothermia, as well. His temp's 94.2 degrees; it needs to be higher before he's out of the woods. And he's severely dehydrated from all the vomiting. Shawn's starting an IV to get some fluids into him, but the minute he's finished, we need to get moving. The sooner they assess the head trauma, the better." "Any good news?" MacBrayer knew the Dunblanes were troubled. "He found help," he went back to help his partner lift the agent onto the gurney. Tate MacBrayer looked to his deputy, "Kevin, I want you to stay here with Maggie and Seamus. Take a full report on everything, from the minute Agent Mulder knocked on the door up until we leave with him. Until we sort this out, I want someone posted here around the clock. Someone intentionally attacked this man, and we have no way of knowing why or if they followed him here. I want to be sure the Dunblanes are safe, and it's too secluded here for my liking." He turned to his friends, "Are you two okay with that? If not, you're welcome to stay with Carol and me, or we'll put you up at a hotel." Maggie shared a look with her husband and shook her head, "We'll be stayin' right here, Tate, but thanks. I ave ta admit, tho', that avin' someone stay on ere will elp me sleep a bit better." "Sheriff MacBrayer, we're ready to go," the EMTs raised the gurney up and locked it into position. Tate hugged the couple briefly and shoved his hat onto his head. He sensed Maggie's concern; in little more than an hour, she'd already grown attached to the young man. He understood. "Don't worry, Maggie," he smiled, "I'll call as soon as I know anything. And I'll get him there in a jiffy." He followed the EMTs to the door. They were about to step outside when Fox made a clumsy attempt to raise his arm from the gurney. When he realized he was strapped down, he called out, "Sir..." MacBrayer knew he meant Seamus, and motioned him over. He leaned down and loosened the strap to grasp the agent's hand. Gruffly, he asked, "Wot now, boy? They ave ta be gettin' ye ta th' hospital as quickly as possible, ye know. No time fer long g'byes." "I wanted... w-will you come... to the h-hospital... with me?"" "Wot? Now?" The Scot's face went gentle, as did his touch, "We ave ta stay here and file th' sheriff's report fer im, laddie. Besides, ye won't be havin' no time fer visitors when ye get there. But I promise ye, as soon as we can, Maggie an' I'll be right up ta see ye, won't we, luv?" >From her husband's side, the old woman's voice shook,"Wild horses couldn't keep us awa'," she bent over and kissed Fox softly on the cheek. Seamus waved the crew out the door, "Off ye go, then." December 14, 1997 3:19 a.m. Emergency Room, Oxford Northern Hospital, Oxford, NC The Oxford staff was waiting for them. A distinguished, grey-haired man appeared at the head of the gurney as soon as the medics wheeled it in. He nodded to the sheriff, then addressed the patient in a resonant voice, "Mr. Mulder, I'm Doctor Collingwood. I'm a brain trauma specialist, and you'll be under my care until you're ready to go home. How're you feeling?" He helped the staff lift Fox from the gurney onto an examination table. The younger man yelped in pain at the unexpected movement, "Lousy... I-I'm tired. No one'll let me s-sleep..." "I know. We're all sadists, aren't we? As soon we have a quick look at you, we'll go upstairs and do a CT scan and an MRI, and if everything goes well, you'll be able to sleep after that." The EMTs conferred with Collingwood while the nurses stripped off Fox' clothes. He felt like a bystander in his own life, forced to lie there while they humiliated him. But he was simply too disoriented and weak to care. "Fox, Cara's starting an IV in your other hand," Collingwood squeezed his shoulder when he flinched at the needle prick. "With that first one, we'll keep pumping fluids into you. The blood they just took will tell me how you're doing there. The second IV is for antibiotics and anything else you may need; then we won't have to keep sticking you. You'll be fed through that for now, as well. I don't think you'll feel up to eating for a while, do you?" The agent made a face, "I don't... think so... My stomach's killing m-me." "All that vomiting is due to the concussion; the disorientation and memory-lapse as well. There are some other side effects we'll keep an eye out for, but I don't expect anything too drastic. I believe they would've shown up by now," Collingwood looked to the head nurse, "All set?" She nodded, putting the last piece of tape onto Fox' hand, "They're waiting for you in Radiology. Just let Catherine get the warming blanket, and you can take him up." She moved away, and an older nurse with a kind smile stepped forward, "Fox, this blanket's heated. It's meant to help raise your body temperature back up to where it should be. We'll leave it on until you're warm enough, okay?" He closed his eyes and gave her a barely discernable nod. MacBrayer had stood quietly out of the way the entire time. As they wheeled past him, the sheriff smiled and gave the young man a thumbs-up. Sam Collingwood sent the gurney on and stopped, "Sheriff, I'll need to speak with you as soon as we've got him stabilized. Is there a number where you can be reached?" MacBrayer shook his head, "Just look for me, Doctor. That kid's a federal agent, and until some of his own arrive to take over, I'm not letting him out of my sight." "Well, in that case, we'd best get upstairs," Collingwood led him onto the elevator. "I don't know yet if this is the result of a premeditated attack. I'd like to post a guard outside his room as soon as he's settled in, if that's alright with you." Collingwood ushered MacBrayer into the Radiology Department, "I don't have a problem with that, Sheriff. You do whatever you have to, as long as it doesn't interfere with his or any other patient's care. Now, let's go find him." 9:37 a.m. Oxford Northern Hospital, Oxford, NC Assistant Director Walter Skinner held the door for his agent. The two approached the front desk, which was manned by two smiling, white-haired ladies in pink smocks. "Excuse me. We're here to see Fox Mulder, M-U-L-D-E-R. He was admitted to the ER very early this morning. Where can we find him?" The cheerful volunteer peered up at him through inch-thick glasses, "Just let me take a look, sir." She punched at the computer keyboard and waited until the screen came up, then flashed a raised eyebrow at her co-worker. They both straightened visibly, "If you'll wait just a moment, sir, someone will be right down to help you." A minute or two passed before a stone-faced man in a North Carolina State Police uniform appeared, "Are you expected, sir?" Unruffled, Skinner motioned to Scully, "Yes, we both are." "I'll need to see some ID then, please." "I'm Assistant Director Walter Skinner, and this is Special Agent Dana Scully," they both produced their badges, "Where is my agent?" Satisfied, the officer motioned for them to follow, "If you'll come with me, sir, he's in the ICU." Upstairs, the officer pushed the button on the wall, and the doors swung wide. A dark-haired nurse came toward them, "Hi. If you wouldn't mind taking a seat in the waiting room for just a minute, Dr. Collingwood is on his way. He's taking care of Agent Mulder, and he wanted to speak with you before you went in to see him." Skinner introduced himself and Scully again, and the nurse asked, "Can I get either of you some coffee?" "Actually, that sounds good," Scully smiled tiredly as the woman hurried off. She went to stand next to Skinner at the unit doors and peered through the window with him. She was relieved to see a policeman posted outside one of the cubicles closest to the nurses' station. At least the North Carolina boys were taking this seriously. The nurse returned with two steaming cups, and they stepped into the lounge to await the doctor. "I hate waiting, knowing he's only a few yards away," Scully wrapped her hands around the styrofoam cup, absorbing the warmth. Feeling like he should respond, Skinner nodded, "It's hard, isn't it? After worrying all night, I think I've imagined far more damage than is probably the case." "Don't be so sure... it's Mulder." Skinner noticed that Scully's eyes never strayed from the doors as she spoke. The young woman had been up all night, tense and sick with concern, yet she was wide awake and wound like a spring. He had been emphatic when he'd called her at her mother's house, had tried to convince her that none of this was her fault, but he was certain she was blaming herself for not driving home with Mulder. He also knew that she wouldn't find relief until she'd seen her partner, and been assured of a full recovery. He took a drink and stared at the floor. The door opened suddenly, catching them both off guard. They looked up to see a tall man in scrubs coming toward them. Skinner eyed the other man. He was about his own age, possibly a little older; his hair was mostly grey. He wore a determined expression and exuded an air of confidence which Skinner found reassuring. "Hello. Sorry to keep you folks waiting," his voice was full, but calming, "I'm Sam Collingwood. I'm the doctor who admitted Fox this morning." Skinner took the proffered hand, "Good to meet you, Doctor. I'm Assistant Director Walter Skinner, with the FBI, and this is Special Agent Dana Scully. She's Agent Mulder's partner... she's also a doctor." Sam Collingwood raised his eyebrows, "Ah, an over-achiever! What field is your specialty?" "Pathology." "Very impressive... and very useful in the investigative business, I would imagine." They shared an awkward smile as Skinner asked, "How is Agent Mulder? We're anxious to see him." Collingwood motioned them back to their chairs and seated himself on the coffee table across from them, "Agent Mulder is doing very well, I believe, considering the trauma he's experienced in the last 12 to 15 hours. I can't say how he managed it, but in my opinion, Fox sustained two separate head injuries, which probably occurred at different times. The bruising pattern and the wounds suggest it. Regardless of how it happened, though, he's sporting a Grade 3 concussion," he watched Dana Scully for a reaction. She blanched slightly, but remained silent. "We took him into surgery immediately after we saw the CT scan and made several tiny openings in his skull to relieve the temporal pressure. It's a very common procedure with this type of head injury." Skinner regarded him gravely as he continued, "He's also suffering from hypothermia and exposure, two broken ribs, and a severe case of dehydration." "The sheriff who called us said he turned up at someone's door, already injured and without his coat. Do you have any idea how long he was outside, unprotected, in these temperatures?" Scully knew the stages of hypothermia, and how serious it could be. "No, he wasn't able to tell us how long he'd wandered before he found help. His temperature was 94.2 when the EMTs first took it. It was up to 95.1 by the time he arrived here, and I think it's presently around 96.9. We're monitoring it very closely, and he's been under a warming blanket for about six hours now. The dehydration resulted from continual vomiting, which, of course, is symptomatic of a serious concussion. We're very lucky that he hasn't shown any sign of seizures; I must say, I'm surprised." Scully nodded in understanding as Collingwood continued to fill them in on everything from Mulder's blood work to his memory loss. She turned to her boss whenever he asked her to clarify or simplify something. After a ten-minute consultation, the doctor stood up, "Well, now that we've covered all the business, let's take you in to see him. He's right through here." He led them through the heavy unit doors and past the nurses' station to the glass-walled room where the police officer sat at watch. He stood when they approached and smiled warmly. "This is Tate MacBrayer," Collingwood said softly, "He's the Vance County Sheriff and the first officer to see Fox. He's been here all night keeping an eye on him." He made brief introductions. "I'll let you go on in," MacBrayer whispered, "but as soon as you have time, I'd like to speak with both of you. The FBI team from Raleigh is already out combing the highway, so I hope to hear from them soon." Skinner firmly grasped the man's hand and thanked him, then followed Scully into the small room. Dr. Collingwood waited by the door as they approached the bed. Mulder was lying very still. There were IV needles in both hands, which were taped to immobilizing boards. His skin had a deathly white pallor that made the bruises and cuts on his face and forehead stand out like blood on snow. A small gauze bandage covering a patch of shaved hair revealed where they had operated. The A.D. took in all the monitors and tubes attached to his agent. They made him look decidedly fragile. There was a heavy heated blanket covering Mulder to his chin. Scully studied his face for a moment before she drew the blanket back to his waist and gently pulled up his gown. The tightly-wrapped bandages around his ribs hid from her view the ugly wounds which had so upset Maggie Dunblane hours earlier. She could still see, however, the various wounds that scattered his torso, face and hands. "Oh, Mulder, I am so sorry," her voice was just a whisper, but Skinner heard it. He came around the bed and wrapped an awkward arm around her shoulders, "Agent Scully, this is not your fault. If you hadn't gone home when you did, I might be visiting both of you here instead of just him. This was an unfortunate accident, but Mulder's strong; you know that. How many times has he had us fooled before?" She shrugged listlessly as he continued, "More than either of us care to count. And he always pulls through... just like he will this time. We're here to help him do that, and to find out what happened and make it right. You won't do him any good carrying this guilt around your neck, and I know Mulder wouldn't want you to," he paused. She looked up into his eyes and the corners of her mouth lifted slightly, sadly. She nodded, "You're probably right about that." "And the rest of it, too. Mulder's a fighter... just like his partner. C'mon, let's cover him up before he loses all the warmth he's managed to gain," he adjusted Mulder's gown and pulled the warming blanket back up, tucking it around him. Scully covered her partner's hand with her own as Skinner addressed Collingwood, "How long will he sleep?" "It's hard to say. Technically, the anesthetic has worn off. But he was extremely exhausted when he got here; he begged us to let him sleep. Each person's got his own alarm clock. It really depends on when his body is rested enough." The doctor came toward the bed, "Sheriff MacBrayer said he has no family." Skinner shifted his feet and glanced at Scully, "His father's dead, and his younger sister's been missing since he was 12. His mother is his only immediate family, but they are... how should I say... not on good terms. I spoke with Mrs. Mulder before we left D.C., but she didn't sound as if she'd be making the trip." "That's a shame," Collingwood sighed, "I think it would be good for him to have a family member here while he's trying to recover his memory." "We're all the family he needs," Dana Scully snapped from the bedside. The look on the man's face told her she had overreacted, "I apologize, Doctor. That came out harsher than I meant it to. It's just that... I've spent countless times by this man's side in the hospital, and he hasn't once had a visitor from home. Not even before his father died. He's always made a full recovery without them. And he'll do it again, with or without his mother. I probably know him better than she does at this point, anyway." "No apology needed, Agent Scully," Collingwood made a mental note not to get on this one's bad side, "It's obvious you care a lot for him." "He's my partner." The doctor made no reply, just nodded to her and walked to the door, "Mr. Skinner, I need to get back on the floor. I'm pulling a double, so I'll be here until 7:00 tonight, but the staff has orders to call me at home if need be. I'll check in on Fox periodically before I leave. Don't hesitate to ask for me, for any reason. " "Hopefully that won't be necessary, but thank you, Doctor." They shook hands again, and the A.D. followed the doctor into the hall, "Sheriff MacBrayer, it looks like we may have a long wait ahead of us. Would you like to come in and talk with Agent Scully and I?" The three of them spent the next two hours going over what they knew. MacBrayer covered everything from the Dunblanes' house until their arrival, and gave them the Dunblanes' statement. They were chatting softly about the old couple when a nurse put her head in the door, "Mr. Skinner, you have a call. Would you like me to put any calls for the two of you through to this phone?" Unable to use his cell phone in the hospital, he nodded. "Skinner... Oh, yes, good to speak with you again as well, Evanston... He's holding his own, I guess... No, he's still unconscious..." the A.D. continued to speak as Scully stood and stretched, then moved to her partner's bed. She'd performed the same ritual several times while they'd talked, whenever a nurse came in to check on him and once or twice more just to be sure he was still breathing. She looked up quickly when she heard her boss' voice change. "You found it where?... On the shoulder of I-85 North... Were any... three shots discharged... Yes, that seems plausible, I agree, but his car.... Yes, that's highly likely, with Mulder... No, he just seems to happen upon that kind of thing, remember?... Yes, we're staying at the Oxford Sheraton... Before too long, I would imagine. We'll need to change into something more comfortable if we're going to be here all night... Yes, I'd appreciate that, Cal. I'd rather not leave him unattended, and the sheriff has been here all night... Thanks very much." "He'd fired his weapon?" Scully and MacBrayer both spoke at once as Skinner hung up. "Yes. Three times. That was Cal Evanston, he's in charge of things down here from Raleigh. Do you remember him, Scully? From the protocol seminar at Quantico two years ago? He sat with us at lunch a few times." She nodded, "Vaguely. If I'm remembering him correctly, he seemed very efficient, very capable. That would appear to be the case, if they've already found his gun. And if Evanston's the same one I'm thinking of, he was appalled at Mulder's disdain of protocol." Skinner and MacBrayer both chuckled, "Yes, he's the one. I'm sure he's thinking that's what landed him here, even though he didn't say it... His gun was by the guardrail on the highway shoulder, less than two miles from the Dunblanes' house. There were some considerable drops of blood on the asphalt a few yards away. Since Mulder wasn't shot, they've alerted all hospitals within a 200-mile radius regarding gunshot wounds. They sent the blood sample to the lab to match it against Mulder's." "Does he have a theory on what happened?" Tate MacBrayer asked. "He thinks Mulder may've wrecked his car first, then hitched a ride with the wrong person. They haven't found the rental car yet, but that would fit with Collingwood's opinion that there are two separate head injuries." "One from the wreck, and a second one from whoever picked him up." "Yes... I agree with him, it seems logical. If we can find the car, it should tell us more. In the meantime, he's got a guard coming to post at the door. He said they'd have someone here 24/7, until we've figured this mess out and we know he's safe." MacBrayer stood and handed Skinner his card, "Well, folks, I'm glad to have met both of you. I'm just sorry it had to be under these circumstances. Now that your people have the investigation under way and you're both here to keep an eye out, I'm heading home for some shut eye. I'll check back with you this evening to see how your boy's doing. If there's anything you need, give me a call. The phone number for your Raleigh office is on that card as well, on the back." "Thank you so much, Sheriff. It means a lot to us that you stayed with him all night," Scully held her hand out. She grinned when he lifted it to his lips, "Around here, we try to treat people the same as we treat our own, Miss Scully. I wouldn't want a son or a partner of mine left alone all night after what he'd been through. Besides, Maggie Dunblane would shoot me if she found out I'd gone on home. I'd be very surprised if the two of them didn't make the drive up to visit Fox. They promised him they would." "I'd love to meet them; they sound like wonderful people." "That they are, Agent Scully," he turned to the Assistant Director, "Mr. Skinner." He tipped his hat and left. Scully sighed, looking down on her sleeping partner, "Mulder, I'm glad that you at least found someone decent to help you after you were attacked." "I'm surprised he trusted anyone after that." "You and me both. Maybe he didn't remember what happened... You said Evanston's sending someone to post here?" "I told him we'd need to head back to the hotel at some point. What would you like to do?" She said nothing, just looked up at him, torn. "Myself, I think we should stay here until he wakes up," he said. Scully smiled, relieved, "Thank you, sir. You, ah, you read my mind." Skinner rolled his eyes, "None of that from you, Agent Scully. That's Mulder's territory." 6:04 p.m. They had both dozed off several hours earlier in chairs the nurses brought in, oblivious in their exhaustion to the occasional bleeps and whirs made by Mulder's monitors. They slept right through all of the nurses' checks, as well. As evening faded into night, Skinner was the first to stir. He sat up straight and looked over at Scully. Burrowed under a blanket, she was curled into a tiny ball with her feet tucked under and her head resting on the chair arm. He stood to stretch and his own blanket dropped to the floor. He gathered it up and tossed it onto the chair, then stepped quietly over to his agent's bedside. Mulder's expression hadn't changed. He still wore a mask of exhaustion, with his head rolled to one side and his parched lips slightly open. Skinner gently straightened Mulder's neck and adjusted the pillows to support his head. He'd just flipped on the dim light above the bed when one of the nurses came in, "Hi. Is everything okay?" He didn't recognize her; the night shift must've arrived. "Yes, I was just trying to make him more comfortable. I don't know how much it matters, but he looked awkward and..." he floundered for words. "It matters. I'm sure he's aware you're here." "Do you think so?" "Oh, yes, the human brain is an amazing organ. Talk to him; he hears you." "This is all very frustrating. I feel like shaking him awake." Here was a man used to having things on his own terms, she thought to herself, "He'll come around when he's ready." "That's what I'm afraid of... This one has a belligerent streak." She laughed, "Well, in that case, maybe you should pull rank and try ordering him to wake up." "Believe me, if I thought it would help-" The bedside phone rang, cutting him off, and he strode get it before it woke Scully. The nurse picked up Mulder's chart and began making notes. "Skinner... You're kidding! Is it badly damaged?... Where?... I see... Mmhmm... Yes, I understand, Cal, it's not a problem... No, we're going to stay until he comes around... Well, we hope that won't be the case... We didn't want him to wake up with only strangers standing over him... You sent someone already?... I don't know, I fell asleep. Hold on..." He went to the door and smiled in embarrassment at the armed guard sitting outside the door, "Yes, he's here, thank you... Yes, I'll call you when we're moving in the morning... Thanks, again." "Did they find the car?" Scully's voice was sleep-laden, but eager. "Yes, about eight miles south of where they found his weapon. It appears he went off the road, down an embankment. There's green paint all along the driver's side. He was sideswiped." Scully sat up and slipped her shoes back on, "But was it intentional?" "That's what they're starting on first thing in the morning. They're ending the investigation for the night as soon as they get the car towed." Skinner watched as she went to Mulder's bedside, all thoughts of the investigation forgotten. Scully turned to Skinner when the nurse left, "His temperature's almost up to 97 degrees. That's a good sign. They're hoping he'll wake soon." She gently pulled Mulder's hair free from the bandage, "I heard you tell Cal that we didn't want him to wake up with strangers standing over him. What if he thinks that's all we are?" "Then we'll have to convince him otherwise. You heard Doctor Collingwood; he said post-traumatic amnesia is usually temporary, and generally short-lived." "I know, but what if it's not? Mulder never does anything by the book." "Tell me something I don't already know, Scully." They smiled at each other across the subject of their conversation. "Would you like to go downstairs and get some dinner, sir? I'll stay here and go myself when you get back." "That sounds good, if you don't mind. I hate to admit it, but I need to stretch my legs. Do you need anything before I go?" "Just a quick visit to the ladies' room." "I'm afraid I can't help you there," Skinner chuckled as she hurried out. Scully pulled her chair up next to Mulder's head and reached through the bedrail to hold his hand. With Skinner gone, the silence was almost suffocating, and suddenly she was acutely aware of the sounds made by the monitors and the oxygen cannula. "Mulder? Look partner, I can't take too much of this quiet, it's not like you. I miss your stupid jokes and your feeble attempts at sexual innuendo. You'd better not forget all of that, or I'll think that fairies replaced you with a changeling while you were wandering in the forest," she squeezed his hand. "C'mon, Mulder. I know you're not looking forward to Christmas, but this is one helluva way to avoid it. Please wake up and smile for me, Mulder. I swear I won't gripe at you for getting yourself into this mess." She endured a long bout of silence before it occurred to her to call her mother. Margaret Scully always knew what to say to cheer her daughter up. She reached for the phone. "Hello?" "Mom, it's me. How are you?" "I'm just fine, honey. How's Fox?" "He hasn't woken up yet, Mom." "Oh, Dana, I'm sorry... What have his doctors got to say about that?" "They said he's exhausted, and that it isn't unusual for him to do this. His body's just resting." "What has Dr. Scully got to say about that?" "They could be right, I suppose." "Sweetheart, are you alright?" "Yes... no... I think so, Mom. I just hate this waiting, not knowing what kind of shape he's in or how much damage was done. He has a very serious concussion; they had to make holes in his skull to relieve the pressure. And he's got amnesia. He may not even know who I am when he wakes up." "I find that hard to believe." "It isn't a matter of choice, Mom," she tried to keep the exasperation from her voice, "He didn't know his own name when they brought him in last night." Margaret paused on the end of the line, "Would you like me to come down there, Dana?" "No, Mom, but thanks for asking. I'll be alright. So will Mulder. " "Are you sure? I can be there by morning." "No! I want you safely at home. All this started with me making the same promise to you, for Heaven's sake," she regretted her words, and quickly changed her tone, "Hey, how's the wrist?" "Better. I'm getting pretty good with my left hand, and Marilyn's a big help. We're having fun, doing chick stuff,' as you call it. How's traveling with the boss?" "Better than I expected, actually. He's being uncharacteristically gentle. With both Mulder and me... it's weird." "Maybe it's the season. I'm sure he's worried." "Maybe... I don't know, but I kind of like it. He's actually pretty nice with his guard down a bit. He's even made a few jokes and smiled a time or two." Margaret laughed, "I hope the good humor sticks around long enough for Fox to experience it." "Maybe having Mulder speechless and immobile is what has him in such a fine mood." "Dana! That was uncalled for." "I'm kidding, Mom, calm down... What're you two doing?" she stood up and touched Mulder's arm, picturing her mother at home. "Marilyn's cooking dinner. We rented A Christmas Story' for later. Isn't that the one you're always nagging me to watch?" "Yeah, you're going to love it, trust me," Scully sighed, "I wish I were there to watch it with you." "Me too, hon, but I think it's more important that you're with Fox." "I meant I wish Mulder were okay so I could be there to watch it with you. For that matter, I wish he could watch it with us." "Maybe when he wakes up you can rent a copy and watch it with him." "And Skinner? That would be funny," Scully actually brightened at the thought. "Have you had dinner, Dana?" "No, I told him to go eat first. I'm not even hungry, really." "Promise me you'll eat," Margaret entreated. "Yes, Mother, I promise I'll eat." "Don't Yes, Mother' me, kiddo. Speaking of which, have you heard anything from Fox' mother?" "Are you kidding? And waste the airfare to come down here and be with her son when he needs her? When pigs fly, Mom," she went to the window and looked down at the glimmering Christmas lights. "Dana, we have no idea what happened between them. When they lost that little girl, I'm sure it had to've destroyed whatever family was left and- " "Mom, you lost a daughter, too, as well as Dad," Scully seethed. "You didn't just shut yourself off from the boys and me after Melissa died!" "You're right, honey, but Melissa died and I put her to rest. That doesn't mean my heart will ever be whole again, but at least I had some sense of closure. Fox' mother was never allowed that dignity. And when your dad died, I mourned the loss of a true love and the father of my kids. She lost his father three times; once through Samantha's disappearance, once through divorce, and once again to death. With Dad, I knew he died loving me, loving you guys. I had all the answers I needed. All Bill Mulder's death brought were more questions. To heap so much on one woman's shoulders is bound to make her bitter and withdrawn." "But why would she shut out her only remaining child, Mom? If anything, it should've brought her closer to him." "I think she's pushed him away, Dana," Margaret paused, "because losing him would be a fatal blow. If she doesn't know about all the times he's injured or sick, all the times he's put himself in danger's path, then she can't be hurt again. Her separation from him, in my opinion, is only a survival tactic." Dana Scully sighed, knew there was no point in arguing. Her mother had obviously given the subject considerable thought. And though she was loathe to admit it, some of it actually sounded reasonable. Still, she would give no quarter to Fox Mulder's mother. The woman hadn't earned the title. She looked from the window back to where he slumbered amidst tubes, bandages and blankets, "I guess I should let you go. Aunt Marilyn's going to be in an uproar if I keep you on here any longer." "I've stalled long enough, dinner ought to be ready by now." Scully laughed when she heard her aunt call `I heard that!' from her mother's kitchen. She reached down to slip her hand between Mulder's fingers and the immobilizing board. At least he felt warmer. "I love you, Dana. Call me as soon as you know anything more." "I will, Mom, promise," she sensed rather than felt the slight twitch, and held her breath. "I'll have Fox in my prayers, hon. We lit a candle for him at the church when we were up there decorating, and I added his name to the prayer list again." Scully barely heard her mother's voice through the phone. She was concentrating all of her attention on her partner's face. The twitch had traveled from his hand to his eyes, which were most definitely fluttering, "What, Mom?" "I said we put his name on the prayer list again. I think Father McHugh knows it by heart now... Are you alright?" "Mom," she whispered, "I think he's starting to come around. He's moving his hand a little, and his eyelashes are fluttering." "Let's hang up then, so you can get the doctor. Call me. I love you." "I love you, too, Mom. Keep saying those prayers, will you? I think they're working." "I never doubted they would, baby. Bye." Scully hung up the phone and stared down at her partner, squeezing his hand, "C'mon, Mulder, I'm here. You can go right back to sleep. Five minutes is all I'm asking for." "Is there a reason for that intense expression on your face, Dr. Scully?" She jumped, and looked up to see Dr. Collingwood standing there, "His-his eyelids were moving. And his hand." The doctor came quickly to the bed and began to look over his patient, "I was hoping he'd get around to it before I left." He caught the redhead's disgruntled scowl and smiled, "Back off, Doctor. If your partner chooses to stay sleeping, I'll get out of bed in the dead of night and drive straight back the minute you call. But it would be nice if he made an appearance right now, don't you agree?" It was her turn to smile, "I'm sorry. I'm tired and a little edgy, I guess. And yes, I hope he gets it out of the way now, too. For your sake, if nothing else... Come on, Mulder! Dr. Collingwood has better things to do this evening than wait on you!" she teased. "I'm sure he'd have some colorful way of affirming that if he were awake," the A.D. said from the door. "Is he showing signs of coming around?" "His hand was moving, and his eyelids fluttered a little," Scully repeated. "He's trying; his respiration and heart rate have increased," Collingwood confirmed. "Let's give him just a little longer," he picked up Mulder's chart, "I'll be right back. Talk to him." He strode from the room. "How was your dinner?" "The usual hospital fare, but not bad, really. I suppose it was no worse than the hotel room service would've been." Skinner squeezed Mulder's arm, "Agent Mulder, we're counting on you to tell us who did this. Try to open your eyes." "It's hard not to shake him, or just smack his face a little. He usually responds to that." "You two really don't tell me enough, Agent Scully... I find it disconcerting that you have a regular routine for bringing your partner back from unconsciousness." "Most of the time he isn't unconscious, sir, just a little dazed."In spite of the situation, she grinned, "Mulder, wake up and get me out of this." They spoke to him and of him, touched him gently for almost an hour. There had been no other movement beyond what Scully had witnessed, though all the monitors indicated an increasing sense of awareness. Dr. Collingwood remained hopeful, but finally left for home, and Scully reluctantly retired to the cafeteria. She returned to find the A.D. in the I.C.U. lounge, watching a news program. Surprised, she asked,"Is anything wrong, sir?" "Mulder has a couple of visitors, and the nurses insisted that one of us leave. I didn't want to ask them to." She sat down across from him, "The Dunblanes?" He nodded, "You should've seen their faces when they saw him. I think they're as discouraged as we are that he isn't awake yet." "MacBrayer said they're Scottish?" Skinner turned the volume down on the television, "Yes, very. I had a tough time with the introduction. They said they wanted to meet you before they left." "I'm anxious to hear how he was acting when he was with them." "I wouldn't expect them to be much longer. They arrived right after you left, and since he's still unconscious - " He looked up when one of the nurses swung the door open, "You might want to come back in... he's awake." They both jumped up. "We... ah, could you let us know when they're finished?" Skinner asked, unsure what else to say. "I think we can bend the rules this time. Just keep the noise down and try not to tire him," she smiled. They entered the room eagerly, but uncertainly. As glad as she was to meet the Dunblanes, Scully found herself wishing they were alone with Mulder. She wasn't accustomed to sharing her partner at times like this. After all, she was usually the only one there. "Look who's come ta see ye, lad," Maggie beamed at them, "Oh, ye've got a lovely little partner, ye have." The two women smiled shyly at each other and Maggie stepped back to let Scully move closer. She reached out to touch his hair, "Hey, partner. How're you feeling?" He stared at her and said nothing. "She's asked ye a simple eno' question, boy," Seamus laughed. Fox squinted at the old man, "I don't think... should I know her?" His voice was scratchy from disuse. "This is yer partner, Dana. And yer boss, Mr. Skinner," he urged the A.D. to come to the head of the bed. "Agent Mulder, it's good to see you awake. You gave us quite a scare." When his agent gazed up at him with no recognition whatsoever, Skinner felt an overwhelming awkwardness he was sure only Scully understood. "I'm sorry, I don't..." Mulder's voice trailed off softly. "It's alright, Mulder, you've been through a lot. It may take a little time. Just rest for now, okay?" Skinner tried to sound encouraging. Mulder nodded cautiously and looked to Seamus. "Go on, lad, we'll stay for a wee bit longer." When Fox closed his eyes, the old man motioned for Maggie to walk out with him. They both seem surprised when Scully and Skinner followed. "What did he say when he woke up?" Scully asked as she sat down in the lounge. "Apparently, e heard us talkin' with Mr. Skinner here, but e didn't open his eyes or say anythin' until after e'd left the room. Then e asked who we'd been talkin' to. We were hopin' e'd remember when e saw ye," Maggie looked embarrassed. "He must've recognized your voices, but not ours. That doesn't make any sense, Scully." "Amnesia is a strange condition, sir. It depends a lot on the exact nature of the injury. He seems to be retaining some of what happened after his accident, but nothing before. I don't understand it enough to make a fair judgement. We'll have to wait for the doctor." Seamus smiled kindly, "The nurses called him right away. He ought ta be here soon. We're glad ta meet the two of ye. That's a sweet lad ye've got there. We've been right worried aboot im, haven't we, Mags?" "I barely slept last night after they took im off in th' lorry." Despite how discouraged she felt, Scully couldn't keep from grinning at the old couple. No matter he'd been badly hurt; Mulder had managed to make quite an impression. Skinner stood up and began to pace, "Thank you for taking such good care of him. Whoever got to him first wasn't nearly as kind." "He dinna remember anythin' when we found im," Seamus remarked, "No' even is own name. I'm feelin' right awful that e knows us, but no' th' two o' ye." "You shouldn't feel that way, Mr. Dunblane. It's just the amnesia. He saw you after the injury. He needs a little recovery time, and a few reminders, and hopefully he'll be back to himself. I'm just happy he recognized someone. We didn't want him to feel completely alone when he woke up." "He was frustrated by no' rememberin' anythin', like is family an' all," Maggie sighed, "but Tate MacBrayer said is mum wouldn't be comin' ta see im." Scully recognized the disapproving crease in the woman's forehead, and liked her even more, "That's probably true, Mrs. Dunblane, but I think we'll manage without her." "Yes, dear, I'm thinkin' ye will." They exchanged knowing glances. "Seamus, we'd best say our good-byes so Fox can rest... We'd like ta come back in a few days ta see im, if that's alright." "Of course it's alright. He seems attached to the two of you. Hopefully they'll move him to a regular room soon, and we won't have to take turns visiting," Skinner chuckled. He was still awake and watching the door when they got back, picking at the tape on his right hand. Automatically, Scully blurted out, "Mulder, stop messing with that! It'll bleed all over if you pull it loose - " She felt terrible when his eyes registered genuine shock and hurt at her tone. This wasn't the Mulder who was immune to her exasperated hovering, who always responded with some twisted comment that was sure to shut her up. No, this was a Mulder whose feelings she'd just wounded, and it was written all over his face. "I - I'm sorry, Mulder. I didn't mean to bite your head off," she approached him with a gentle, reassuring voice, "I just don't want the needle to come loose. They'd have to stick you again. You don't want that, do you?" His eyes dropped briefly before he raised them to her face and shook his head. "I didn't think so. Do you need anything? Are you warm enough?" He shrugged, "My head hurts... I'm... a little thirsty, I guess." "I'll be right back," Scully turned for the door and Skinner followed her to the nurses' station. "You handled that admirably, Agent Scully." "I put my foot in my mouth, sir. It's going to be difficult not to treat him the way I usually do." "I don't think you should treat him any differently than you normally would, Scully." "You saw his face - I scared the hell out of him!" she lowered her voice, "Excuse me, can Agent Mulder have something to drink?" Skinner waited until the nurse walked away, "How will he remember what's normal if you don't act normally?" "But how will we earn his trust if our acting normally seems foreign to him?" The head nurse approached them, "Dr. Collingwood is on his way in. He doesn't want Agent Mulder to have anything but ice chips for the time being," she handed Scully a styrofoam cup. "Be sure you stay with him while he's eating them." "I think Mulder will trust us if we treat him the way we always do, Scully. If we don't behave like ourselves, he's sure to pick up on it, and that definitely will feel foreign to him. He's bound to take comfort from people who know how he acts, and what he likes to eat and what his life is like, and so forth." "But he doesn't know any of that himself right now, sir," she stood in the hallway, watching her partner converse comfortably, if disjointedly, with the Dunblanes. "Then at least we can be there to take some of the pressure off of him, while he draws his own conclusions. But I don't intend to coddle him; I expect more from him than that." Scully drew herself up to re-enter his room, "So do I, sir." The Dunblanes beamed at them, and Scully found her resentment melting away. If not for these two, Mulder would probably be lying dead in the woods somewhere. She smiled back and took her partner the ice. "Maggie an' I'd best be headin' oot. It's a bit of a drive fer us ta get home. We'd ave come sooner, but last night was a late one fer all o' us." The old woman leaned down and kissed Mulder's cheek, "We'll be back soon, lad. Do wot they tell ye, an' maybe ye'll still get home fer Christmas." "What is there to go home to?" he sulked. "Quit lookin' long in the face, boy. Ye've got friends here ta help ye back," Seamus chided. "We'll see ye in a few days." They exchanged numbers with Skinner and Scully and left. An awkward silence followed their departure. Scully helped Mulder swallow a few mouthfuls of ice, but he gave up quickly and closed his eyes. The two other occupants of the room sat down beside the window and spoke in low voices, "Would you feel alright about going to the hotel tonight?" "If the doctor gets here and gives a good report, that would be fine with me," Scully said. "I need a shower." "I need a bed. That chair did a number on my back. I'm not compact-sized, like you." Scully started to laugh softly, picturing her statuesque boss trying to get comfortable in a chair. She'd been too exhausted earlier to pay any attention. They'd just begun making plans for the night when Dr. Collingwood arrived. "Well, well, Agent Mulder, nice of you to join us!" he nodded to Scully and Skinner, approached the bed and immediately began examining his startled patient. He asked Mulder a barrage of questions as he looked him over, turning to his co-workers when Mulder failed to answer to his satisfaction. Mulder cried out more than once, leaving both Scully and Skinner edgy. The five-minute exam ended as abruptly as it had begun when Collingwood pulled the bed rail back up and told his patient, "I expect you to say a helluva lot more than that before I'll even consider letting you go home." Scully flinched at his gruffness and hoped Mulder was too exhausted to pick up the same vibes she was getting. But as soon as the doctor stepped away, she saw his expression: resentful. Regardless of his condition, Mulder was quite aware of what was going on around him. Feeling protective, Scully went to stand beside him while Skinner and Collingwood spoke. She fussed with his blankets and adjusted the tubes that tethered him to the various accoutrements, only catching bits of the conversation behind her. Mulder looked absently toward the window, avoiding her eyes. He finally acknowledged her presence when she squeezed his arm. "You don't have to stay here." "We know that. We wanted to be here when you woke up, but we're going back to the hotel for the night if you're doing okay. There's a guard outside your door to make sure you're safe," she leaned down and whispered conspiratorially, "Skinner's feeling the effects of sleeping in a chair, I think." It disappointed her when he didn't seem to appreciate the humor in her comment. She straightened when the doctor called, "Good night, Agent Scully. Fox, I'll see you in the morning. No parties in here tonight," he wagged his finger. Mulder plainly ignored the man as he strode from the room. "Agent Mulder, the doctor seems relatively pleased with your condition. He upgraded you from critical to serious," Skinner watched him closely as he squirmed in the bed, "Are you tired? Or do you need anything?" Mulder kept his eyes turned toward the window, "I... um..." "What is it, Mulder? Are you still thirsty?" Scully tried in vain to get his attention. "No! I... I have to..." he glanced over at Skinner and then looked quickly back to the darkened window. Years of watching people's eyes tipped the A.D. off, and he came to the opposite side of the bed and leaned down. "Mulder, is there something I can help you with?" he asked quietly. "Yeah... I need to... ah, use the bathroom," he was doing his level best to keep Scully from overhearing him. Skinner valiantly tried not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. The week before, Mulder would've boldly announced his intentions to his partner with something charming like, Hey, Scully, be right back. I have to drain the lizard.' Now he was acting like a bashful teenager. "Go ahead and go, Mulder." "What?" his head jerked up. "I said Go ahead and go'. It feels like you have to go because you're catheterized. It's so they can monitor your fluid intake." "And output," Scully added. Mulder went crimson and slumped a little further under the sheets. "Don't be embarrassed, Agent Mulder. Trust me, that's far less humiliating than bedpans and urinals. Especially with very few male nurses in sight," Skinner smiled at Scully across the bed. Mulder didn't seem amused, just closed his eyes and attempted to regain his dignity. It was only a matter of minutes before he drifted off to sleep. "Should we go, Scully?" "I guess it's okay. I told him we were probably going back to the hotel tonight. I'll leave him a note," she retrieved her purse, dug around for a pen and scribbled out a message. Skinner let the nurses know they were leaving and gave them the hotel number. Scully was pouring out the cup of ice chips and gathering their coats when he got back. On their way out the door, she stopped one last time to touch him, "Sweet dreams, Mulder." ********************************************************** December 15, 1997 8:24 a.m. Oxford Northern Hospital, Oxford, NC The morning had dawned frigid and snowy. Scully and Skinner entered the hospital shaking wet snow from their coats and briefcases. "The investigation team isn't going to like this," Scully groaned. Skinner stamped his feet, "After we see how Mulder's doing, I may try to catch up with them. I need to give Evanston a call and see what the car had to offer." They exited the elevator, buzzed into the unit, and nodded to the nurses. "I hope there's some tangible evidence there. I'd like to have it settled so we can put this behind us... I don't know where to start with him today, sir. What should I tell him?" "Anything he asks you. Leave it up to him to choose the subject matter. Just keep in mind what we talked about yesterday. Be yourself." "And no coddling," she smiled as they passed the guard at the door. Skinner laughed, "That's right, no coddling. I don't think that's his style... Agent Mulder, good morning." He slowly turned from the window and looked at them, "It's snowing." "Yes, it is. We got stuck in it coming in. The roads are a mess. Not enough for a fort yet, but maybe a snow angel," Scully tossed her coat aside and went over to him. "How are you today?" she reached for his chart. He shrugged. Skinner remembered Collingwood nagging him the night before, "We thought maybe we'd talk with you a little this morning, Mulder, to try to jog your memory. Would you like to work on that?" Another shrug. Scully tried a different approach, "It says on your chart that you didn't sleep well. Is there a reason why?" "My head hurts." "That's to be expected. You have a severe concussion." "Does it say in there that they came in every hour to take my temperature and my pulse?" She chuckled, "No, they failed to include that, Mulder. I suppose it may account for your lack of rest. I'll make sure they go easy on you today." He actually smiled at that. Scully drank it up, wished there were some biting comment to go along with it. Then she'd actually believe he was on the road to recovery. "Uh, Agent Scully?" Mulder looked sheepish, "Can I ask you something?" "What would you like to know, Mulder?" "Why do you and Mr. Skinner always call me Mulder'? Everyone else around here calls me Fox'." "That's because they don't know you, Mulder. We call you Mulder' because you hate being called Fox'. You've never liked it, apparently. You told me that our first week together." "It is sort of a strange name, isn't it?" Skinner laughed out loud, "It's a perfectly good name, but Mulder' does seem to fit you better." He checked his watch, "Scully, I'm going to put a call through to Cal Evanston." She listened to the phone conversation while she fed Mulder ice chips. She could see that he hated the helplessness of it, but with his hands immobilized by IVs, he had little choice in the matter. The A.D. hung up the phone, "Cal said they just got to the body shop because of the weather. I'm going to call him back around lunch, after they've had some time." He came to stand beside Mulder, "How's breakfast?" "Okay. My throat's really sore." "Do your ribs hurt at all?" "Only when I move," his mouth turned up slightly on one side, and his boss thought it might be a good day, after all. He pulled up a chair, "Agent Mulder, do you remember anything that happened to you? How your car got wrecked or when you got hurt?" He shook his head slowly from left to right, wrinkling his eyes at the discomfort it caused, "I only remember being at Maggie's house... her and Seamus. And Dr. What's-His-Name when I got here... He was nicer the first night." "Are you saying rude things about me, Agent Mulder?" the voice came from the hall. "The Bureau needs to teach you some manners. Good morning, Mr. Skinner, Agent Scully," Sam Collingwood breezed in and smiled at the auburn-haired agent. For Mulder's sake, Scully tried to ignore him. Collingwood perused Mulder's chart for several moments before addressing him bluntly, "Why didn't you sleep?" Scully's eyes flew to Skinner, her irritation obvious. "My head hurts," Mulder repeated. "Hhmmm..." he helped him sit up. Mulder winced. His breathing turned fast and shallow. "Ribs?" He nodded weakly. "You're sweating," Collingwood listened to his chest and back, then called the nurse. "Get a temp, please, and a refill on his cannula. It's almost empty," he laid Mulder back against the pillows and lifted his gown to push softly on his midsection. "Owwh... that h-hurts!" Mulder gasped. Scully stood up, only to be gently tugged back by her boss. "Your stomach or your ribs, Fox?" Collingwood asked seriously. "I d-don't know... it just hurts... My stomach, I think. I c-can't breathe," he kicked at the sheets. "Your intercostal and abdominal muscles are badly strained from vomiting. I'll order an analgesic for the pain, but I don't want to give you anything too strong. We can't run the risk of masking any side effects from your head injury," he pulled Mulder's gown back down and made a cursory exam of his abraded knees and hands. "Brace yourself, this may hurt a bit," Collingwood took Mulder's head between his hands and rotated it slightly from right to left, then back and forth. Mulder's face went white, and he pulled away. The doctor allowed him that, but shone a light into his eyes as soon as his head touched the pillow. Despite his efforts to hold it in, a whimper escaped Mulder's lips. "I'm sorry, Fox. I know this hurts, but I need to see your pupils, son," the doctor was as gentle as possible, and Skinner found himself appreciating the man's style. He was, at times, abrupt and seemingly callous, but here and now he was exercising great care with his patient. He leaned over to Scully, "This guy pissed me off at first, but I think he's only being tough on Mulder so he'll fight harder." Scully's eyebrows lifted, "Who would employ a misguided tactic like that, sir? And on a psychologist, no less." Skinner regarded her for a moment before he noticed the impish twinkle in her eyes. He straightened and turned his attention back to the bed where the nurse was slipping a thermometer under Mulder's tongue. Collingwood attached a new moisturizing bottle to the oxygen supply and approached them. He squatted down to speak. "He's doing better than it sounded; I know you thought I was killing him. I did some things I avoided last night because I didn't want to put him through it then, just after waking up. How does he seem to you?" "Distant," Skinner sighed, "and fragile." "He definitely isn't himself," Scully agreed, "He's usually begging to be discharged by now." "That's understandable, after all he's been through. He's not going to be himself just yet; he needs time. And patience. Don't expect too much from him, and don't get discouraged if he seems far away or irritable. Just work with him," he looked over his shoulder. Mulder appeared positively exhausted. "But not too much right away. I think I wore him out." "How long until he can drink and eat?" "I'll let him have water now. But I don't think he'll be ready for solid food for a couple of days. I'm afraid his stomach couldn't handle it now, and I don't want him throwing up." He stood and took the thermometer from the nurse, "98.1... The sweating must be from exertion or pain. At least his temperature's almost back to normal. If he keeps doing well, I'll move him to regular room in a day or two," he raised his voice, "Fox, I apologize for tormenting you so much. I try not to abuse my patients unnecessarily. You're coming along, my friend. Get some rest, and I'll be back later on to visit." He smiled and left. They let him doze off and on for several hours; he seemed to need it. When he was awake, he was brooding and quiet, pushing them both into paperwork they'd brought along. It was just before lunch when Mulder finally broke the silence. "Sir, why isn't my mother here?" his voice cracked, and he swallowed. Caught off guard, Skinner's head came up and he blinked, "I'm sorry, Mulder. What did you say?" "I asked you Why isn't my mother here?' I have a mother, don't I? I heard someone say so... they said she's my only family... so why isn't she here?" Scully and the Assistant Director turned to each other, each wondering who'd been overheard discussing Christina Mulder. Scully suddenly cringed, remembering the phone call to her mother. Now it was her responsibility to repair the damage. She put her papers aside. "Mulder, you and your mom had a... a..." she fumbled for words, unsure of how much to tell him. "Your mom hasn't been well recently, Mulder. She had a stroke not long ago and-" she stopped, sensing Skinner at her side and recalling his words earlier that day. <"Tell him anything he asks you. And no coddling." Shit.> "Mulder," she sighed, "the truth is that you and your mother had a very unpleasant argument last April. I was there, but I was in the other room, so I don't know what you argued about. I only know you stormed out, got in the car, and left me behind." Scully tried to ignore Skinner's incredulous expression, knowing that was the first he'd heard of any details. They had, after all, given him the most superficial of reports regarding their trip to Rhode Island. "How long has it been since I've seen her?" "Since April," Scully felt like crawling under the bed, and wished she'd stuck to her original glossing-over of the truth. "Does she know I'm here?" his voice sounded small. "Yes, I called and told her what happened, and that you were in the hospital," Skinner confirmed softly. "When?" "Before we left D.C." Mulder lay against the pillows, wordlessly staring out the window. "Mulder, are you alright?" Scully was alarmed at his silence, "Your mom usually doesn't come when you're in the hospital. She'd probably be here if she realized what a difficult injury this was. We'll call her again, if you want," she shut her mouth, feeling as though the hole beneath her were growing deeper. She looked to Skinner for support. "Mulder, Agent Scully and I need to get some lunch. Is there anything we can get you before we go downstairs?" He didn't respond. "We'll be back shortly. Buzz the nurses if you need to, okay?" Walter Skinner put his hand on Mulder's shoulder in reassurance, then hustled Scully out the door, "I think he needs to be alone for a while." "I hope he's alright. I shouldn't have told him." "He's a grown man, Scully. He needs to hear the truth. You can't protect him from his own past," he punched the elevator button. "And we decided to be straight with him whenever he asked us something. He did ask." He glanced at her, "You didn't tell me they'd argued." "I didn't feel it was my place to discuss the Mulders' grievances, sir. I was little more than a chauffeur that day. And not a very good one, at that," she stepped into the elevator and slumped against the wall. 1:08 p.m. There was an unnatural commotion taking place when they returned. The usual tranquility of the ICU was broken by muffled shouts and the sounds of a struggle. Skinner turned to Scully and raised his eyebrows in dismay when he realized which room the disruption was originating from. They hurriedly passed the nurses' station where several of the RNs stood in a cluster, whispering. "Fox, you need to relax," Collingwood's steady voice reached them first. They stopped short when they entered the small room; it looked like a tornado had blown through. The bedding was in a tangled heap under the window, the call button was torn from the wall, and various articles from the tray table were strewn about. Several monitors had been overturned and were blinking in vain on the floor. And there, in the midst of it all, was Mulder. Sam Collingwood and a hulking male nurse grabbed his flailing arms and legs, then hoisted him from the floor and onto the bed. He jerked and landed on his knees, his face twisted as he fought to free himself. Mulder's hands and forearms were smeared with blood where he had yanked the IV needles out. One of the immobilizing boards was on the floor; the other dangled uselessly from his elbow. "Let go of me!" he pulled backwards. Collingwood remained composed, "We aren't going to let go until you calm down." "I'll calm down when you take your damn hands off!" Mulder bellowed. "Lower your voice. You're not the only patient in this unit, Fox." "Don't call me Fox'," he huffed. "What?" Collingwood sounded genuinely perplexed, "Why not?" "Because I hate it!" he hissed. "Oh... Well, what should I call you, then?" The doctor's tone was condescending. "Mulder... just Mulder," more struggling. "Alright, just Mulder it is... You're causing quite a scene in front of your supervisor and your partner, JustMulder," he nodded toward the two of them. The intent of the remark only enraged Mulder more. He swung his right foot out from under him and caught the nurse in the stomach. The big man momentarily lost his grip, allowing Mulder to throw his weight against the doctor's chest. Collingwood, however, maintained his balance. He reached out and wrapped his arms around the frenzied agent, pinning him to his own chest. "Stop! Stop fighting me... you're only exhausting yourself," the doctor shook his head at the Assistant Director when he started forward. The nurse hastily resumed his position and the two men pinned Mulder face down by all fours. His chest heaved as he attempted to rise, and his eyes reflected his frustration. "Let me up," he growled. "Are you ready to play nicely?" Collingwood asked. He made a face, "You're hurting me." "Answer the question, JustMulder." >From her vantage point by the door, Scully watched her partner closely. A familiarity born of countless hours in his presence told her that he wasn't far from the edge. She shifted her feet and looked apprehensively at Skinner. "Tell me why you did this," Collingwood demanded. Mulder strained against the hands on his limbs and stared blankly at the wall. "Mulder, I want to know why you did this, to be sure it doesn't happen again." Collingwood's voice was gentle, "You could've hurt yourself very badly. I must say, you did some damage, pulling all these tubes and needles out." "Good," he spat, "I'm sick of them." "Well, you weren't ready to be free from all of it yet. We're going to have to hook everything back up... most of it, anyway," the doctor braced himself for the fight he felt was imminent, and Mulder didn't disappoint. "Don't bother! I'm not staying here!" he fought with renewed fervor. "Where do you plan to go, JustMulder?" Driven by rage, he managed to pull himself up to a kneeling position, gasping in pain. He glared at the older man with contempt and shouted, "I don't know! And I don't care, just as long as I..." his eyes clouded. "Yes?" Scully tensed. He was very near the breaking point. "As long as it's... I j-just..." Mulder's words caught in his throat and he gulped air. His body began to tremble, and he looked past Skinner and Scully. His eyes were wide and bright, "I just w-want..." "Tell me, Mulder. What do you want?" the doctor spoke softly and loosened his grip. "I w-want everything to be l-like..." his voice broke through clenched teeth, then trailed off into an anguished whine. Mulder clutched the side rails, inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. He tried in vain to check the sob that simultaneously erupted from his eyes, nose and throat. As the tears started, he lowered his head, ashamed, then wrapped his arms around himself and began to rock. "Mulder, it's going to be alright." He jerked away when Dr. Collingwood attempted to comfort him. Scully stepped forward, tentatively placed her hand on his back, and rubbed rhythmically. Mulder didn't acknowledge the gesture, but he allowed it. The nurse backed cautiously away and began putting the room to rights, standing up the monitors and collecting debris from the floor. Skinner silently gathered the bedsheets and draped them over the foot of the bed before motioning to the doctor. Collingwood approached him without taking his eyes off his patient. "What can you do for him?" "I'm going to sedate him. I don't want to, but he hasn't left me much choice." "I don't mean to second-guess you, Doctor, but are you sure that's the best thing for him right now?" Collingwood spoke lowly, "Yes sir, I am. Emotionally, he's out of control. He needs some down-time to recover," he sighed, "No one even realized he was awake until he started tossing the equipment around, and by then he was a bloody mess. You saw us pick him up off the floor. He yanked everything out, pushed the monitors over, then got out of bed and promptly fell. He's damned lucky he didn't hit his head again; it might've killed him... I have no idea what the hell got into him." "I'm afraid I may know." Skinner related their conversation about Mrs. Mulder, admitted his regret that they had been so frank. Collingwood shook his head, "Irritability is a by-product of the head injury, and the frustration of amnesia can be overwhelming. Your conversation may have sparked the fit, but he might've snapped regardless. I'd planned on having the staff psychologist visit him when he was stronger; I'll get her here as soon as possible," he watched Scully comfort her partner. Mulder's crying jag was still in full swing, though now internalized and all but noiseless. He sighed, "I need to get back to him. Everything has to be run again, but I want to put him out first." Collingwood disappeared into the hall for a moment and returned with a syringe in his hand, "Agent Mulder, I'm going to give you a shot to help you sleep this off, okay? Just a little prick. Lie back for me." "No! I don't want it," he stopped rocking and stiffened under Scully's hand. "Why not? You don't seem particularly happy right this minute. This will relax you. Maybe you'll feel better when you wake up." "I don't feel like sleeping... I need to leave," his agitation began to build again, and his eyes darted to the door. Skinner addressed him authoritatively, "Mulder, you need fluids and you need medication, not to mention rest. You're neither able nor prepared to be out of the hospital and on your own yet." "I'd be fine, if everyone would just leave me alone and stop telling me what I can and can't do." "No one's telling you what to do, Mulder. We're only trying to take care of you," Scully put her arm across his shoulders, "You've been through a terrible experience. Let us help you." Mulder pulled away, "I don't want any help." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and slid to the floor. "Agent Mulder, don't be foolish." He ignored Collingwood and fingered the mattress for balance, then took hesitant steps toward the closet. The doctor motioned to the Assistant Director with his eyes, and Skinner moved slowly toward his subordinate, "Mulder, do you need assistance?" He shook his head, "I'm fine. Get away from me." Skinner swiftly caught Mulder around the waist as Collingwood grabbed his wrist and jabbed the needle into his arm. Mulder howled and spun about, tried to shove Skinner backwards, but the A.D. held him fast. Mulder swayed for a few precarious seconds before pitching forward into his boss' arms. Gasping for breath, Skinner reached down and lifted him behind limp knees, then placed him on the bed. He shook his head at Scully and sat down. Several nurses came in to change the bedclothes and wash Mulder's blood from his limbs. As they dressed him in a fresh gown, Collingwood monitored his vitals and had the IVs re-started. "Let's run the Foley again, but I think he can do without the oxygen line. Marcus, put restraints on his wrists and ankles when they're finished, please," the doctor came over to the two Federal agents resting wearily in their chairs, "So, I take from what you've told me that this is the Mulder you're both familiar with?" Skinner choked back a snort of nervous laughter, "Yes, as a matter of fact, he is starting to act more like himself." "You're a patient man, Mr. Skinner," he leaned against the wall, "I don't like to use restraints unless absolutely necessary, but until I'm more confident in his emotional state, I don't dare leave him alone without them." They both nodded solemnly. "How long will he be out?" Skinner queried. "Several hours. It might be a good time for the two of you to get some rest, as well. I'll call you if there's any change, or if he starts to stir, but my guess is, not until sometime after dinner." He rose to check on the now-peaceful young man in the bed, then left. Skinner turned to Scully, "Since it's still rather early, I think I'll try to catch up with Cal and the team. Would you care to come along, Agent Scully? I don't expect it." He'd noticed the dark circles under her eyes, "You look exhausted, so if you'd rather go back to the hotel, that's fine, too. I just thought you might want to join us." She straightened, thinking to herself that she'd gotten awfully lax in her boss' presence. Then she opened her mouth and admitted, "If you're sure you don't mind, sir, I could use some rest. I may catch a cab back here in a while." Skinner had been keeping a close eye on Scully since her cancer had gone into remission, watching for any sign that her health was faltering. If he allowed her to run herself into the ground, he'd have two agents in the hospital. He smiled, "I'll drop you off on the way. Let me call Cal and get a location, then we can leave." 5:47 p.m. Sheraton Hotel, Oxford, NC It was getting dark outside already. Scully rolled over and stretched. She flipped on the lamp and checked her watch. Almost six. With any luck, Mulder would be rousing soon from the sedative, and she wanted to see him. She climbed out of bed and stumbled groggily into the bathroom. 6:43 p.m. Oxford Northern Hospital, Oxford, NC They buzzed her in. She stopped at the nurses' station when she saw one of the women she'd grown to like, "How is he, Susan?" "Still out. He's got a visitor, Agent Scully, an older woman. Says she's his mother. She's only been here a minute. The guard checked her i.d. and let her in. I hope it's okay." Scully wondered if she looked as shocked as she felt, "Yes, of course. That's - that's fine." She thanked the nurse and went to see for herself. The woman's back was to her when Scully silently entered the room. Still wearing a long black coat, she spoke softly to Mulder's unresponsive form. Scully stood for a moment and listened. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner, Fox, but I..." She took a deep breath, then leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead, "Everything's going to be alright, baby. Mom's here now." "Mrs. Mulder?" Scully circled the bed and smiled at her, attempting to tamp down the ugly thoughts she was having, "It's good to see you again; I'm just sorry it's under these circumstances." "Miss Scully," she returned the greeting, "How are you? You look tired." "I've had a rough couple of days, but actually I'm doing quite well, thank you." Scully noticed that the woman held her son's hand in her own, that she stroked his still fingers absently. "Why is he restrained?" Christina Mulder was visibly unnerved by the fact. "He... he became very hostile this afternoon. He got out of bed and pulled all of the equipment loose and... they want to be sure he doesn't injure himself." Scully touched his hair, "It's only temporary." "His hands are like ice," Mrs. Mulder examined the hand she held before rubbing it between both her own. "Did he ever tell you... no, I don't suppose he did," her little grin was sad. "What? Did he ever tell me what?" Scully picked up the other hand; it was freezing. "Fox was a thumb sucker... he and Samantha both," she chuckled softly, "It drove Bill crazy. He was sure we'd have to spend a fortune in braces. He especially worried about Fox; that he'd be made fun of if anyone caught him, I guess," she looked up at Scully, "But Fox was a smart boy; he never sucked his thumb at school, in public or at friends' houses. Not even at his grandmother's. Only at home. He told me once it was safe at home." "How old was he when he quit?" Scully smiled, picturing Mulder in front of the TV with his those lips locked around the opposable digit. "Twelve. He quit after Samantha disappeared. I never saw him suck his thumb again." Mrs. Mulder looked distant for a moment, "I don't think he felt safe at home anymore." Scully gazed at her partner's wan face and her heart ached for the boy he'd been. She squeezed his cold fingers and raised her eyes to his mother's, "He misses you. Even though his memory is sketchy right now, I know he misses you." Tina Mulder looked pained, "I -I can't tell you what that means to me. I've been afraid to call him after what I..." She looked away, unable to face the young woman across the bed, "I wasn't going to come." "What changed your mind?" "Kate, my sister. She said The boy needs you, Tina, and if you don't go to him, then I will.' And she would've; she's always had a soft spot for Fox. I should've been here sooner, but once I'd made up my mind, the snow delayed my flight," her eyes drifted to her son's still face, held there, and her voice grew quiet, "I never should've hit him. But when he said those things to me..." Uncertain, she straightened his blankets and adjusted the light above the bed. Then she took a decided breath and looked Scully in the eye, "The last time I slapped my son he was seventeen years old. I was a divorced mother, struggling alone to raise a sullen teenager who resented his life and everything about it. We'd been growing further apart the older he got... he just kept pushing me away. I believe he treated Bill the same on the rare occasions they visited." She walked to a chair and draped her coat over the back, "Fox kept breaking curfew, staying out until late at night, and his grades started to suffer. One evening I decided to confront him and put my foot down. When I met him at the door, I asked him where he'd been, and did he realize what time it was?" She paused, swallowed, "Miss Scully, my son, my Fox, stood there and... and told me to go to hell. My hand shot out like it was detached from my body. I hadn't even formed the thought when my palm made contact with his cheek. His head jerked back, and we both froze for a minute. But the look he gave me then..." She raised her eyes to the ceiling and sighed, "He bolted out the door and went to Bill's for three days, and even after he came home, he didn't speak to me for almost two weeks." "I hate to admit this, Mrs. Mulder, but under those circumstances, my mother would've done the same thing. It sounds like he probably had it coming." "I'm relieved to hear you say that. She and I come from the same generation, I suppose... Anyway, that day the two of you came to see me, Fox was acting so strangely. When he said those things, what he insinuated - " she stopped herself abruptly, "Well, Miss Scully, that afternoon, all I saw was that same sulky, disrespectful boy mouthing off to his mother again, and I... I couldn't help myself. It just happened, just like before. And I've regretted it daily ever since." She looked ready to cry, "Please believe me when I tell you that I love my son, Miss Scully. I love him with my heart and my soul, with all of my being. He's all I have left, and I would never hurt him; not intentionally." "I believe that, Mrs, Mulder, I do," Scully wanted to believe, at least. The anguish in the woman's eyes seemed genuine. "He came to you that day for answers. That's all he wanted. I don't think he meant to hurt you or insult you. He wasn't himself then. I don't think he would've confronted you that way if he had been." "No, probably not. It's hard to tell with him these days, though. Whenever I see him, he's so intense, so driven, always searching for things that... that might be better off left alone," she drifted off, wandered to the window and left Scully briefly hanging. "I know he wants answers, Miss Scully. I know he's consumed with finding them, that it's what gets him out of bed each day... the knowledge pains me. I'd love nothing more than to see him pursue a social life, to have friends, to be passionate about something besides his work." She turned back to the copper-haired young woman standing at his bedside, waiting, "I abhor having to act so naive, so ignorant, every time Fox comes to me for help... Don't you think I'd tell him if I could? Don't you think I'd spare him this desperate searching, give him his life back? Doesn't he realize I'd give him anything, everything, if I could?. But I can't, Miss Scully. I can't. His father died trying to tell him the truth. Believe me, if I thought it would make the difference for Fox, I would sacrifice myself just to be done with the whole, sordid mess. But the truth, here and now, is that I'm worth more to him alive than dead. As long as there's breath left in me, I can at least try to protect him, to bargain in his favor. I still have a few cards of my own up my sleeve." Tina Mulder went back to stand beside the younger woman and reached out to lay her hand along her son's face, "It may surprise you to know, Miss Scully, that I'm aware of every move Fox makes, at least where his work is concerned. And despite what you probably believe, I'm also aware each time he's sick or hospitalized. I only stay away to insure his safety... since Bill's death they get skittish whenever we're together... And I have no intention of sacrificing my only child, not even to satisfy this burning inside of him." It was said with passion, with purpose. And to Dana Scully's surprise, it rang true. She said nothing, could think of nothing to say. It suddenly dawned on her that her own mother had been right; Tina Mulder's distance from her son was, indeed, a survival tactic. Only it was apparently her son's survival that concerned her, not her own. "Mrs. Mulder, I... I don't know how to say this, but... If what you're telling me is true, and you're privy to knowledge that you won't divulge-" "Can't divulge," the woman asserted. "If you're privy to knowledge that you can't divulge, and haven't divulged in all these years, only to protect your son, then I think I owe you an apology," Scully's eyes dropped. Mrs. Mulder's face was kind, "I believe you care a great deal for Fox. I've felt it from the first time we met. And I suspected my apparent lack of maternal interest had probably been construed as neglect." "Of the worst kind," Scully admitted. "I die a little more each time I hear he's in trouble - his last stunt almost killed me.It's horrible having to stay away from him when he's injured or ill. I only took the chance this time because I realized my presence might be necessary to help him recall his past." "But how do you know? How do you find out when he's in trouble? Who tells you?" It bothered Scully that she and Mulder might've been watched, though she felt certain that someone kept track of their every action. She sat down anxiously. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Miss Scully-" "Please, call me Dana." "Alright, Dana. But believe that the people who advise me of my son's pursuits, of his, ah... ordeals, have his best interests at heart. And yours." "Mine?" "You're a very valuable piece of the puzzle, Dana, an unexpected jewel. Not just to Fox, but to the whole picture. And there are a few good guys' left... you just don't see them." Scully shifted in the chair and nodded at her partner, "Why don't you just tell Mulder everything you've told me? It would certainly put some of his suspicions to rest." "Do you really believe that, Dana? I know my son; I helped make him who he is. And after the things I saw, the things I survived, I taught him to question authority... albeit with a bit more respect than he does," she laughed lightly. "If he knew I had some of the answers, any of them, he would only question more deeply. And on top of that, he'd feel I'd betrayed him." "I don't know about that, but you're right about the rest. His eagerness for proof is insatiable. I don't think he'd be too concerned about the dangers of knowing more than he already does, either. Not if it meant getting what he's after." "Which is exactly why you must promise me that this conversation stays between us, Dana. I told you because I trust you; I know you have Fox' trust. And I believe you'll use this knowledge to shield him further. He would use it to put himself at greater risk, however harmless it might seem to him." Scully took in what she'd heard, weighed it against her loyalty to Mulder. She knew that his mother was right; he'd consider this knowledge, however obscure it might be, a betrayal of sorts if it was kept from him. But she also knew without a doubt that hearing of his mother's deeper involvement in the past would only plunge Fox Mulder further forward in his quest. And recklessly so, more than likely... No, this knowledge would best be utilized in silent agreement with the woman who stood before her, tucking a second blanket around her son's chilled body. Scully stood and went to help her, "Alright, I'll keep all of this to myself. I'm not comfortable with it, Mrs. Mulder, but neither are you, I would imagine. But I suppose he's worth it."It was almost absurd; a few hours before, she'd been cursing the woman's name. Now she had just entered into a quirky partnership with her. Things were certainly never dull where the Mulders were concerned. "Thank you, Dana. I'm glad we had a chance to talk. It's bothered me, knowing that you believed I didn't care about him. I probably shouldn't fret over such things at my age, but I know how much you mean to Fox, and I don't want there to be any hostility between us." "I'm glad you told me. I feel much better knowing he's got someone besides me looking out for him. I've always worried that he was so alone." "He's never been alone, Dana. I know he often feels that way, but it simply isn't true. My son had the misfortune of being born into a family with obligations it couldn't afford to keep, and he's been paying for it all his life." She turned out the light above his bed and flashed Scully a sad, tired smile, "Would you care to join me for a cup of tea? I'm afraid he's in no hurry to see me, the insolent brat." Scully laughed as they strolled from the room, "So, tell me some more stories I can hold over his head when he's well." 7:39 p.m. "Evening, Agent Mulder. How do you feel?" Skinner turned on several lights when he realized the occupant of the bed was awake and watching him. "Like a pincushion." "Hospitals have a tendency to do that to you." "Why am I strapped down?" There was a surprising lack of animosity in his voice. Just need. "They... I should say, we, were worried about you, Mulder. After you flew off the handle earlier, we were afraid you might try getting out of bed again and hurt yourself... or leave. Are you over that now?" He shrugged, "Where is Agent Scully?" "The guard said she went down to the cafeteria a while ago. He, uh, said you had another visitor, and that they went together," Skinner braced himself for the inevitable question. "Someone else came to see me?" "Your mother, apparently." The A.D. wondered what sort of trial this bit of news would bring on. He'd been amazed to hear she'd arrived; even more amazed that Scully had gone with her for coffee. "My mother? But, I thought that..." "I'm not sure, Mulder. You'll just have to ask her yourself when they come back," he shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away. "How long have I worked with Agent Scully?" "I believe it's been five years." On safer ground, Skinner turned back to the younger man. "Don't you know?" "Well, I've been in charge of the two of you for four years. You were under someone else before. But I'm reasonably certain that five years is correct." "I ought to be able to remember her if that's true. But she doesn't seem familiar to me." "I hope that will correct itself after you've had a little more time to recover, Mulder. The doctor seems to think so." "I don't like him much, he's kind of a jerk. I like Agent Scully, though. She's..." he searched for a word, "gentle. And she smells nice." Skinner laughed, "That she does, Mulder. And yes, she's very gentle. You mean a lot to her. She's been really worried about you." "Are we close?" He couldn't hide the hope in his voice. "In what sense do you mean, Agent Mulder?" Skinner tried not to grin. He didn't want Mulder to think he wasn't taking him seriously. "You know... just... close." "To the best of my knowledge, Mulder, she's your best friend, and you're hers. But I don't believe it's gone any further than that." "Oh." The younger man's disappointment was obvious. Skinner smiled, "Honestly, Mulder, I think you're closer than that. I think you respect each other too much to let that happen. It would compromise your relationship." A pause, then, "Do either of - do I have a girlfriend?" "I don't believe you're attached to anyone in particular, no. And neither is she, for the record." It was Mulder's turn to grin, "Good." A companionable silence passed between them for a moment before Mulder began to fidget, "Do you think you could undo these things? I'd like to lie on my side." "Alright, but if we leave you by yourself, I'll have to put them back on. Dr. Collingwood'd have my head if you did anything rash." "I'm not going to." "I certainly hope not. You do tend to play by your own rules, though, Mulder." "I - I just felt... well, angry... I don't... I wanted to smash something... What do you mean, I play by my own rules?" He shook his hands as Skinner released his ankles. "Let's just say you can be difficult to manage, Mulder." The A.D. straightened the blankets over his feet. "I'm a pain in the ass?" "Yes, sometimes. But you do good work, Mulder. You're my pain in the ass, and I'm rather used to you." "Does Scully think that?" "At times, yes. But she's used to you, too. I think we'd both be awfully bored at work without you. You have a knack for making things interesting," Skinner leaned on the bed rail. "All of this, for instance. Only you, Mulder, could turn a routine drive home into a case." "Sorry, sir." "Don't apologize, Mulder, this isn't your fault. I just meant that this sort of thing seems to find you. Only you usually take Scully along for the ride." "I'm glad she wasn't with me," he looked out the blackened window. "You and me both, Mulder... You know, we think we may know what happened to you. In the beginning, at least." "Yeah?" "They had a drunk driver in custody who'd been arrested the night you showed up at the Dunblanes. The paint on his car seems to match the paint on your rental, as well as the collision pattern. They need to run the lab tests to prove it, but it looks very prom-" "A drunk driver ran him off the road?" Scully asked from the doorway. "Yes, we believe so. I told Mulder, they just need to run the match test. And the damned airbag apparently didn't deploy properly..." He watched Mulder's face as the older woman entered behind Scully. Nothing seemed to register, but the agent looked her over carefully. "Hi, Mulder. How're you feeling tonight?" Scully tried to sound cheerful as she looked to her boss for some indication of her partner's mood. Skinner lifted the corners of his mouth slightly. "Better, I guess..." He raised his arms, "Mr. Skinner took these stupid things off." "With the understanding that when we leave, they go back on. Hopefully, you'll be asleep by then." "Mulder?" Scully smiled gently and took his hand in hers, "I've got someone here to see you... This is your mom, Tina." She stepped back and urged the woman to approach the head of the bed. "Fox-" Her voice caught, "Honey, I - I've been so worried about you." She started to kiss him on the cheek, then stopped. He was eyeing her suspiciously, without recognition. "Fox, dear, it's Mom. Do you remember me?" Mulder's eyes never left her face as he slowly shook his head. He turned a questioning gaze to Scully, then Skinner, "No, I'm sorry, I - I... I didn't think we were getting along... I didn't expect to see you..." She touched his arm and swallowed hard, "It's okay now, son. We're going to put all of that behind us. I came as quickly as I could," she eyed Skinner and waited for his contradiction. Though it didn't quite reach his eyes, she met with only a reassuring smile. She continued, "The snow delayed my flight, sweetheart. Your Aunt Kate sends her love, and so do your cousins. Everyone is asking about you. They're all hoping you'll be home in time for Christmas." He pulled his eyes away and focused on the darkened window, "I'll have to see, I guess... I don't know... I feel sort of awkward..." "I brought a few picture albums to show you, Fox. There are photos of your Dad and your sister, Samantha; your cousins and your grandparents. And a lot of you when you were little! I thought maybe they'd help jog your memory." She pulled out a leather-bound book, "Would you like to look at one?" Scully waited for Mulder to take it. He seemed to want to, but in the end, he rolled onto his side and mumbled, "I think I'd just like to sleep right now, if you don't mind." Tina Mulder brought the album up to her chest, "No, not at all, dear. That's quite alright. I'm sure you must be exhausted." "I wouldn't mind seeing some photos of little Mulder' tomorrow, if it's okay," Scully offered, empathizing with the woman. She knew full well how it felt to have one so close seem so distant. The gesture comforted the older woman, "I'd love that, Dana... You'll probably be sorry you asked!" "Oh, I don't think so," Scully smiled. She noticed the tired expression on her boss' face for the first time, "I'm sorry, sir, you've had a long day, and I'm off chatting. Would you like to leave?" Skinner shrugged, "Whenever you're ready, Agent Scully. Mrs. Mulder, do you need a lift to your hotel?" "No, but thank you. I'll just call a cab. I'd like to stay here with Fox for a bit longer," she tucked the photo album back into her bag and withdrew a magazine. Her son was obviously not in a talking mood; he appeared to be asleep. She didn't seem to mind. She just pulled her chair up to the bed and settled into it. Skinner silently reminded her about the restraints as he and Scully slipped from the room. ********************************************************** December 16, 1997 10:17 a.m. Oxford Northern Hospital, Oxford, NC Scully was amazed at the change in her partner from the day before. Mulder appeared happy and reasonably well for the first time since they'd parted in Charlotte. He and his mother were laughing over a baby picture of Samantha, and his pale face almost glowed. "Morning, Mulder. You look like you're feeling much better." He looked up from the album, "I am. They're going to move me to a regular room in a little while. And I had real food for breakfast." "No kidding! Now I can smuggle some good stuff in here to you. Skinner says to tell you both Hello'. He followed the investigation team today. They think they have a lead on the person who attacked you." "Oh? That's good, I guess... Hey, Agent Scully, did you know I graduated from Oxford? In England?" "Yes, Mulder, I did," she laughed and winked at Mrs. Mulder. "I know more about you than you do, at the moment!" "Don't be so sure... some of this is looking sort of familiar to me," he indicated the photos. "Wasn't I cute?" Scully leaned over for a better look, "Adorable. And rotten, too, I'll bet." Not unlike his adult counterpart, the little boy in the picture had a decidedly mischievous appearance. She picked up one of the other albums and sat down. Scully spent the next forty minutes smiling to herself and asking Tina Mulder questions. "Miss Scully, have you had anything to eat yet?" She handed the book back, "No. Skinner needed an early start, so he just dropped me off. I'd hoped to get a bite downstairs. What about you?" "No, and I'm starving. Fox' fruit and toast looked wonderful." Scully realized his mother was wearing the same outfit from the day before, "Did you stay all night, Mrs. Mulder?" She looked down, "Yes... I was just reading while Fox slept and... well, it got so late, there was really no point in going back to the hotel." "You don't have to explain yourself," Scully smiled. "But if you'd like to take a break today, I plan to stay." "I might have to take you up on that... Fox, honey, we're going downstairs for a short while. Is there anything you'd like us to bring back?" "A couple of nurses in tight uniforms?" he raised his eyebrows. "Oh, Fox!" "Preferably ones who haven't taken care of you yet, I presume. The ones who have are all scared off." Scully slipped her purse over her shoulder, "Mrs. Mulder, I believe your son is improving." "I'm afraid you're right, Dana." Scully grabbed a bran muffin as the two women moved through the cafeteria line, "Mulder's attitude has certainly made a drastic improvement since yesterday." His mother chuckled, "He pretended to sleep after you left, but he watched me like a hawk from underneath his eyelashes. I decided to stay until he fell asleep, and by then it was almost twelve." She poured a cup of coffee, "I knew if I stayed, I wouldn't have to put those damned restraints back on. He seemed shocked to wake up in the middle of the night and find me still there, but I think it pleased him. He didn't say anything, just sort of smiled at me and went back to sleep. But I sensed a change." They slid into a booth. "I'm glad. I think he was disturbed by the fact he had no family there with him at first. Skinner and I were strangers to him." "He's acting very comfortable with you both." "Yes, I think so, too. But he's blossomed overnight since you've arrived. That maternal bond must be innate." Scully took a swig of juice, "Has the doctor been in yet?" "Yes, early. He was very positive. He wants Fox moved to a regular floor today, and he said he could possibly try walking tomorrow. They're going to do another CT scan as well, to be certain the head injury is healing." "Did he really recognize things in those pictures?" "Yes. He asked me a few questions and made several comments that lead me to believe he's remembering a little. Things like, Wasn't that house painted blue?' and `I had a treehouse then, didn't I?' So far, he's been right on every point." "Maybe I should have some of our cases from work express-mailed to me. That might jar his memory." Scully wondered again how long she would be without her partner. "Dr. Collingwood said this morning that he expects him to make a full recovery, but it could be a few weeks before his memory's 100%. There's very little of his life that Fox can't remember, so I certainly hope so." "You and me both..." Scully bit into her muffin. 2:21 p.m. "Sir! I didn't expect you back so early," she stood up from the chair she'd been dozing in and her book dropped from her lap to the floor. "I'm glad to see Agent Mulder's doing well enough to be moved to a regular room," Skinner looked over at the sleeping man in the bed, then back to the petite redhead smoothing her hair before him. It appeared to be a blessedly uneventful afternoon. "Agent Scully, do you remember Cal Evanston?" "Yes, I do. Good to see you again, sir," Scully put her book on the chair and shook the man's hand, embarrassed at having been found half-asleep. "Likewise, Agent Scully. I must say, your partner's more subdued than the last time we met," the tall black man nodded in Mulder's direction. "I think I preferred him the other way, though." Scully smiled, "Thank you for heading the investigation. It sounds like you're making some good headway." "Yes, as a matter of fact we have some photos we were hoping to show Agent Mulder." "He's been asleep for a couple of hours. I could wake him for - " "No, that won't be necessary," Skinner cut in. "He needs the rest or he'd be awake. I'll be back later to pick you up. We can have him take a look then." "Do you think you've got the right one?" Scully whispered anxiously. "Actually, we think there were two of them; brothers. They picked him up hitch-hiking after his car went off the road. And yes, it looks like a sure thing." Evanston slid his hands into his trenchcoat pockets, "We need Mulder's i.d. to clinch it, but the younger one had Mulder's wallet when we brought them in for questioning. I think the older one did most of the damage, though." "He's the one with the bullet in his leg," Skinner said bluntly. "Good. I want this finished, and I want him held responsible for what he did to Mulder. Did ballistics match up?" Scully guided her partner's stray foot through the bed rail and back under the blankets. "The test isn't conclusive yet, but it's the right type. They're being held without bond until we have a definite answer," Evanston watched the young woman hover protectively by her partner. He was reminded of the eerie bond he'd witnessed at the protocol seminar two years before. Though Skinner assured him there was nothing happening beyond a mutual respect and genuine concern for one another, Mulder didn't seem Scully's type. Yet in spite of his eccentric, impetuous nature, she stuck to him like glue. Evanston shrugged mentally. Some guys had all the luck. "Is Agent Mulder's mother gone?" Skinner asked softly. "Yes. She stayed with him all night, so I talked her into going to her hotel for a rest. She'll be back up later. Her presence seems to be making a difference, sir. A positive one." "I'm glad to hear it, after - ," he cut himself off, not wanting to give Cal Evanston fuel for his already shaky opinion of Mulder. "We'd best be getting back to the team, Cal... I'll be by about six with those photos, Agent Scully, if that's alright. Do you need anything?" "Six is fine. I don't need anything, sir, but maybe you could bring Mulder a milkshake or something. He started eating today," she grinned at her boss' expression of mock indignation. He shook his head, "What flavor would you recommend, Agent Scully?" 6:32 p.m. After two days of near-silence in the ICU, the boisterous atmosphere of a regular room caught Skinner off guard. The Dunblanes had returned, bringing Tate MacBrayer and his wife, Carol, with them. Scully sat against the wall with Mrs. Mulder and Carol MacBrayer, discussing North Carolina hospitality and grown children who never called home. Skinner stood in the doorway and watched Mulder for a moment. Though the agent appeared to be enjoying himself, he also looked exhausted. The fatigue on his face was more apparent to the A.D. than the slight grin as the two older men and Maggie Dunblane ribbed him about his adventure in the woods. Skinner braced himself and stepped into the fray. "If I'd known there was a party going on, I would've brought more milkshakes," he handed the sweaty cup to his agent, along with a straw. "Chocolate, with extra syrup. If you don't like it, blame Agent Scully. She insisted that was your favorite." Mulder's eyes registered genuine surprise and gratitude, "Sir, I - I... Thank you." He tore the straw open and plunged it into the cup. "No problem. It's going to cost you, though." Skinner reached into his pocket and withdrew the photos, "I need you to look at these very carefully, Agent Mulder. Just study them for a few minutes and let me know if any of the faces seem familiar to you." Mulder took a long drag on the straw and spread the photos on his tray table. To the A.D.'s relief, the noise level dropped significantly. The MacBrayers put on their coats and quietly said goodbye to Scully and Mrs. Mulder, then went to stand by the door. The Dunblanes took the cue and prepared to leave as well, coming over to the two women. "We need ta be gettin' back soon, since Tate's still a workin' mon," Seamus whispered. "It was awful good ta meet ye, Mrs. Mulder." Tina Mulder rose to her feet. "I can't tell you both how much I appreciate all you did for Fox. I'm so thankful it was your porch he stumbled onto. I hate to think what might've happened if you hadn't been - "her voice caught. Maggie Dunblane stood beside Mrs. Mulder and slipped her arm around her trembling shoulders, "Heaven's got a way of bringin' the right people together at the right time. Believe me, yer boy helped us as much as we helped him." Maggie had been shocked to learn that Fox' mother had shown up, and had been alarmed at the animosity she'd felt toward the woman. After all, she'd known the young man for such a brief time; she had no claim to him. Yet she couldn't deny her immediate fondness for him, nor the anger she'd harbored for the faceless woman who dared to call herself his mother. But then she'd entered the room and seen the expression in Tina Mulder's eyes each time they landed on her son. She knew there was more to the story than she was ever likely to learn. It didn't matter, though. All that mattered was that the woman obviously loved her son. Deeply. And the knowledge of that love would make it much easier for Maggie Dunblane to tell him goodbye. She hugged Tina warmly and looked into the woman's eyes, "That's a fine son ye've got there, Mrs. Mulder. Keep im close ta ye. Because one day, e might not come ome again." The expression that passed between them was one of understanding; of shared experience and shared pain. Tina Mulder nodded silently and returned the squeeze. Seamus approached them, "Mags, we'd best be on the road, luv. The lad needs his rest, and MacBrayer's got ta work in th' mornin'. Come tell im goodbye," he drew her to the bedside. "We probably won't be makin' it back up before ye go home, son, what with the holiday almost here. Promise ye'll ring us up an' let us know how ye're farin'." Mulder nodded, accepting the paper the old man had penciled the number on, "Thank you for everything, both of you. I'd probably be out there dead somewhere if it weren't for your help." Unsure of what to say, he tried for a moment to ignore Maggie's crying. Finally, he reached over, circled his long arms around her little body, and teased, "Don't cry, Maggie. You ought to be glad you're rid of me. From what I'm told, Id've driven you crazy if you'd had to put up with me any longer." She grinned through her tears, "Oh, bother! Id've boxed yer ears!" They all laughed as Seamus nudged her to the door where the MacBrayers waited. The four of them waved as they left, and the room was suddenly silent. "Well," the A.D. said softly, "I hate to ask, but did you get a chance to look at those photos, Agent Mulder?" He took another slurp from the milkshake, indifferently shuffling the photographs about. But his expression suddenly grew troubled and he motioned to his boss, "This one... and this one." Skinner took the pictures, pleased to note that he'd chosen the two men already in custody, "Are you certain?" He nodded. "They were brothers, I think. This one was nicer," he pointed at Lonnie Langman's face. "But this one -" his hand shook, and he hurriedly placed his cup back on the tray table. "What is it, Mulder? What did he do?" Scully took his hand, but he pulled away. "It's okay, you can tell us. We need to know." "He was going to... he wanted... We fought..." His eyes suddenly grew wide and he looked up at Skinner, "I shot him, didn't I, sir?" "Yes, you did. But he lived. He lost quite a lot of blood, so his brother took him to a hospital. That's how we apprehended them." Mulder swallowed hard, "I remember some of it. He - he made me nervous as soon as I got in the truck." He fell back against the pillows, his face pale, "My head hurts." "I think Fox should rest for a while," his mother looked pleadingly at the A.D. "I think that's a good idea, myself," he smiled. "He's done enough detective work for one day. Agent Scully, I'm beat. Are you ready to head back?" ********************************************************** December 17, 1997 9:11 a.m. Oxford Northern Hospital, Oxford, NC Scully was surprised to find Mrs. Mulder sitting in the hallway. "Good morning! How's Mulder?" She sat down beside her and balanced a tiny evergreen tree on her lap. The older woman rolled her eyes, "You name it, he's complaining about it." "He must be getting better," Scully grinned. "They finally took out the IV and the catheter, but now he's mad because they aren't letting him out of bed to use the bathroom. He's allowed to eat, but he's turned his nose up at everything they've put in front of him. He wants to bathe, but only if he can take a shower on his own, and the doctor won't allow that. You should've seen the fuss he kicked up over being bathed! And icing on the cake, the staff psychologist is in there with him now. Dr. Collingwood apparently asked her to see him after yesterday. He seems quite put out about it." She closed her book abruptly, "I'd forgotten what terrible patients men are, Dana." "Oh, he's definitely getting better. Has he remembered any more since we left last night?" "A bit. We talked a lot about Bill and Samantha. Hard to believe, but he's having trouble remembering her." She sighed, "And he asked why we hadn't seen each other in so long. He wanted to know what happened the last time we saw each other, and what we argued about." "What did you tell him?" "I hate to admit it, but I changed the subject. I'm just not ready to explain all of that yet. He didn't seem to notice, but he doesn't always act like he's able to concentrate -" She stopped when a stately middle-aged woman exited the room, "We're finished, Mrs. Mulder. I'd like to speak with you privately for a few moments, if I might?" "Of course, thank you, Dr. Welsch... Oh, this is Fox' partner, Dana Scully." "Ah, the famous Dr. Scully." At Scully's raised brows, the woman laughed richly, "You are one of the few things Fox was willing to discuss, Agent Scully. Your partner's got evasion down to a science." "You do know he's got his degree in psychology, don't you?" "Oh, yes. He insists that's why he doesn't require my services." "Don't buy it. He's tried that on every shrink he's been ordered to see." "I take it this isn't a new experience for him, then?" "Unfortunately, no. Our line of work all but necessitates it from time to time... I realize you're not at liberty to openly discuss what went on between you, Doctor, but how does he seem?" "All things considered, not bad. Sam's made me aware of all he's been through this week, and of the incident on Monday. I can't say for certain what caused him to erupt like that, but amnesia is tricky. Each patient reacts differently... How does he seem to the two of you?" "Better... a little, anyway. He seems to remember quite a bit from his childhood, as well as more recent events, but there are some obvious gaps I'm concerned about," admitted his mother. "That's what I was hoping to speak with you about. Perhaps we can slip into the lounge?" The woman put her hand lightly on Scully's arm, "Agent Scully, I'd like to speak with you as well, if that's okay. This afternoon, maybe? And with Mr... uh..." she glanced at her clipboard, "Skinner? The two of you can come together, if you like." Scully juggled the tree and the bag she carried in her other hand. "I'll let him know when he calls; he's attending an arraignment at the moment. This afternoon is fine with me, though. How about one o'clock, in the lounge?" Dr. Welsch nodded, and Scully stepped toward the door, "I'll see you both in a bit, then." "Don't say I didn't warn you," Mrs. Mulder laughed as she gathered up her things and followed the psychologist down the hall. Mulder was scowling darkly when Scully went in, flipping channels with the TV remote like a madman. He glanced at her through damp bangs, and noticed the bag in her hand, "What've you got there?" He tried not to seem overly interested; he didn't want to let on how insufferably bored he was. "A Christmas tree. Skinner and I got it on the way back to the hotel last night. I brought some stuff to decorate it with, if you feel up to it. And a movie. It's called A Christmas Story,' and it's a scream. Have you seen it before?" She handed him the box. "I don't know... it's supposed to be funny?" She set the tree on the windowsill, "No, Mulder, not supposed to be funny'; it is funny. We'll watch it later if you want. I thought you could use a good laugh." "You can say that again," he slouched further down in the bed. "Did you meet the shrink on her way out?" "Yeah," she heard the air of disdain and tried to act nonchalant. "She seems nice enough." "I suppose she's grilling my mother about my toilet training?" he groused. "Stop pouting, Mulder. She said you're doing pretty well. And now you've even got the tubes out. They'll have you up and walking the hall anytime, and soon you can start doing things for yourself again." "I'm sick to death of being poked and prodded and analyzed, Scully. I can't stand being in this bed another day." "That means you're recovering. But don't push it, partner." She put the video aside, "Skinner's coming by a little later. They're arraigning your assailants today and he wanted to be there." He ignored the comment, "It was nice of him to bring me that milkshake last night. It was the best thing I've had since I woke up here." "He surprises me sometimes... he surprises me a lot, lately," Scully pulled a chair to the bed and stared up at the flashing television. "Give me that blasted remote, will you, Mulder?" 12:07 p.m. Scully blinked her eyes and stretched. Mulder's lunch sat untouched on the tray in front of him. Glassy-eyed, he still watched TV - a brawl on some trashy talk show. Scully sighed, "Mulder, you're going to kill off brain cells watching that crap." "I seem to be doing that a lot lately," his gaze never left the screen. Scully sat up, "I can see your mood hasn't improved since I fell asleep. Where's your mom?" "Went for coffee, I think... I can't remember what she said." "Has Dr. Collingwood been in to see you?" "Not since he woke me up with a flashlight in my eyes," his voice was flat, and matched his expression. "You look worn out, Mulder. Why don't you give the TV a break and eat your lunch." He glared, "Leave me alone, Scully. You sound more like my mother than my partner." "Let me remind you, Mulder, I am a doctor, and I - Oh, hello, sir." The A.D. pushed through the door and nodded at her, "Agent Scully. And how are you this morning, Agent Mulder?" "He's cranky," Tina Mulder came in right behind him and set her coffee down. Mulder threw his hands up, "For the love of God, Mom - " She pointed a finger at him, "Don't start with me. I didn't say anything that wasn't true." "But why did you have to say..." he ranted. His mother walked toward him and shook her head. Skinner raised his eyebrows at Scully, then motioned to the door. Out in the hall, he laughed, "That sounds like something we don't need to be in the middle of." She rolled her eyes, "No kidding! She's right, though; he is cranky. He's been sulking all morning." "Sounds to me like he's ready to get out of here." "I think so... especially since Collingwood sicced the hospital shrink on him this morning. And she wants to speak with both of us, by the way, at one o'clock. Is that alright?" He nodded. They sank into the chairs vacated by the guard and tried to ignore the raised voices in Mulder's room. "How did it go this morning?" "It went well. I don't think it could be any more cut and dry. The younger brother - " his explanation was cut short by a clattering crash. Tina Mulder's frantic voice reached them an instant later, "Fox, please!" They both charged into the room. Mrs. Mulder stood beside the bed, trying vainly to keep her son there. In spite of his weakened condition, she wasn't much of a match for him. He was very close to overpowering her when Skinner gently nudged her aside and wrapped himself around Mulder. He brought his left arm under the agent's, and his right under Mulder's chin. Skinner's hands locked, binding the younger man tightly against his chest. "Enough!" the A.D. growled. Since his outburst two days earlier, Mulder had grown somewhat stronger. Skinner sensed it, and maintained his grip, "Mulder, I'm glad to see you're feeling better, but you've upset your mother." He chanced a brief glance to the wall where she stood trembling. She shook her head at him and raised her hands helplessly. Scully had placed the remains of Mulder's lunch on the tray, then gone to the nurses' station for backup. Skinner had little doubt that Dr. Collingwood was right behind her. And he wouldn't be pleased when he got there. "Mrs. Mulder, why don't you go find Agent Scully. I've got things under control for now," though he still had a firm hold on her son, he attempted to sound gentle. "Mom! Wait... I - " Mulder attempted to extricate himself, but his boss only gripped him more tightly and shook his head at her. She hesitated once before turning away and hurrying into the corridor. The wind suddenly went out of Mulder's sails, and Skinner noticed for the first time how hot his agent felt beneath his grip. "Mulder," he sighed, "Say you're not going to do anything stupid if I let go of you." "I'm not going to do anything stupid if you let go of me." "Don't make me sorry," the A.D. released him slowly, then put his hand to Mulder's forehead. "You're hotter than hell. No wonder you're so touchy. You should've - " The door flung open and Sam Collingwood strode in, "This is becoming tiresome, JustMulder." He faced Skinner, "What set him off this time?" "I couldn't say, but he's burning up," Skinner flashed Mulder a look of warning. The doctor took in the young man's flushed complexion and fever-bright eyes, "You're sick? You could've just said so and avoided the histrionics." He snatched up the thermometer from the table and re-set it, "Open up." Hazel eyes looked away, "Leave me alone... I'm fine." Skinner watched Collingwood's foul mood escalate, "No. You're not fine. You're running a fever. And I need to know how high it is before I decide what to do about it." No response. He took a deep breath, "The beauty of a hospital gown, Mr. Mulder, is that it makes everything so accessible. If you're not up to cooperating, I could easily make use of the open end of it, if you know what I mean. Now, which is it going to be?" Mulder's eyes flew to Collingwood's face, and his mouth worked for an instant without emitting any sound. Finally, his shoulders fell and he lifted his tongue. The doctor inserted the instrument and huffed, "I don't have the time or the wherewithal for your antics today, Mulder... Dr. Welsch is on her way up here; I suggest you improve your disposition." He grabbed the chart from the foot of the bed and began writing. Skinner's flaring temper finally snapped, "May I have a word with you, Doctor?" He pointed toward the far corner of the room. His anger must've shown; Collingwood raised an eyebrow at him. He did, however, follow. "Mr. Skinner, I don't -" "Would you do me the favor of cutting him a little slack?" the A.D. fumed. "As I started to say, sir, I don't have enough hours in a day to properly attend to all of my patients as it is. And I certainly don't have the time to continually ride herd on this ill-mannered whelp you call an agent. I fail to see -" Skinner tried to keep his voice from rising above an angry whisper, "I'll have you know, that ill-mannered whelp' has put his life on the line more times than I care to count for his partner and his country. He's risked himself over and over in the pursuit of justice, all for the good of the public. I'd rather have him at my back over most agents, because I know he wouldn't think twice about putting himself in harm's way if the situation necessitated it." He pointed at the bed, "If it weren't for him, there would still be a number of brutal, vicious killers out there, Doctor, committing horrible crimes..." He shook his head in disgust, "And now he's injured, injured and sick, not even sure of who he is or where he's supposed to be, and the best you have to offer is a lecture on his poor behavior. And after you told me yourself that irritability is a side effect of his head injury! Well guess what, Doctor? I'd appreciate it if you'd leave the lectures to me, I'm his boss, for chrissake. You just see what you can do about getting him the hell out of here," he turned abruptly on his heel and went back to Mulder's side. Sam Collingwood looked at the man in the bed, and at the older man now standing beside him. The arm across Mulder's eyes and the intermittent hitches in his breathing told him he'd probably gone too far this time. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to ease his splitting headache. Then he took a breath, squared his shoulders and approached them, reaching to take the thermometer from Mulder's mouth, "101.2... I'm starting to think you like the abuse here, Agent Mulder." He paused, "Mr. Skinner and I just had a discussion of sorts, and he's of the impression that I'm being too tough on you... I, uh, I hate to admit it, but I'm inclined to agree. I hope you can forgive me my temper. Things have been overly stressful around here lately and I've taken it out on you... I'm willing to try again, if you'll allow me a second chance." Mulder pulled his arm away from his face, revealing a deeper band of red over his eyes. He ignored Collingwood and squinted up at Skinner, "I feel sick..." He struggled to raise himself, and had barely got upright when an unpleasant sound came from the back of his throat. As Mulder's hands flew to his mouth, Skinner grabbed for the emesis pan, but to no avail. What little Mulder had bothered to eat for breakfast came back up with a vengeance. It sprayed between his fingers, down the front of his gown and across the sheets. Gasping, Mulder clutched his taped ribs, then gave a small whimper and raised miserable eyes to his boss. " 'm sorry," he groaned. Skinner accepted the towel Collingwood had fetched from the bathroom, and spoke softly to his charge, "There's no need to apologize, Agent Mulder. You're sick; it couldn't be helped. Do you think you're finished?" The agent nodded weakly. While the doctor called for assistance, Skinner wiped Mulder's dripping hands and face, then reached back to untie his gown, "Let's get rid of this, then I'll get you some water." He pulled the soiled garment off and balled it up at the foot of the bed. He was alarmed at how thin Mulder had gotten in just one week. His spine was painfully obvious. "I - I'm so c-cold," Mulder's voice was small and shaky. "It's the fever," Skinner pushed the spattered sheets away and wrapped a clean blanket around Mulder's bare, shivering body. Two nurses came in with a wash basin and clean linens. "As soon as they've got you cleaned up, we'll draw some blood and see what's causing it. Just a little sip of that, mind you," Collingwood cautioned. Mulder tried to take the cup of water from Skinner, but the A.D. had seen the trembling fingers and held it to his mouth. "Rinse first... here, spit...just a sip... better?" he ran his hand across Mulder's hair and stepped out of the nurses' way. Collingwood sat down with Skinner in the hallway, "You handled that well. Most people head for the door as soon as someone throws up." "I served in Vietnam; I've handled much worse. And I'm an uncle on top of that. I've been through it a time or two with my nieces and nephews. I just breathe through my mouth." "You've got the hard part figured out," the doctor laughed, "I think it would best to start him on an IV again. This fever could set him back quite a bit." "What do you think is the cause?" "I've no idea. It could be almost anything. He might've picked up a bug from a visitor, or his system could be reacting to something he's eaten. It's doubtful it's anything he came in with, since we dosed him pretty heavily with antibiotics when he got here."He stared at the floor a moment, "Thank you for speaking up earlier. You were right, I'd been awfully short with him. We're understaffed right now, and things have been very stressful. His outbursts just set me off on days I was already in a foul temper." "Mulder has a way of doing that," Skinner acquiesced. "I've just had more experience dealing with him. Please understand, I'm only trying to look out for him because it's my job... and because I'm not sure he's up to looking out for himself right now." "No, apparently not. I feel like shit now, knowing how sick he is. I overreacted; I don't suppose we really need Dr. Welsch," he punched his pager to cancel the call. Hearing the name, Skinner glanced at his watch and sighed, "Mulder's not one to hold a grudge, Doctor. I've called him on the carpet enough times to know that." "Good. I'd hate to think I might be impeding his recovery." "No, if anything, you've made him more determined to get well," the A.D. chuckled as the nurses came through the door, "Doctor Collingwood, we're finished. Did you want a blood specimen?" "Yes, please. Tell the lab we need it stat. And start another IV, Susan. I don't want him dehydrated again... You can go back in with him, Mr. Skinner. I'll have them give him a shot for the nausea as well. It'll probably make him drowsy, which might do him some good at this point. I'll let you know as soon as we get the blood test back." The doctor shook Skinner's hand, "Thanks again." Mulder looked peaked lying against the pillows, and his eyes were lifeless. "Feeling better?" Skinner asked as he helped him take another sip of water. "No, but at least I feel cleaner... except for my mouth. I need to brush my teeth." "I think we can arrange that," Skinner fetched Mulder's toothbrush and paste from the restroom. "Here you go," he waited patiently while his agent brushed with weak fingers. Mulder spat into the basin, "Thanks." He shivered, "Even my skin hurts." Skinner returned from the bathroom and awkwardly tucked the blankets up under Mulder's chin, "He's going to prescribe something for the fever as soon as the blood test is back." Mulder gave a small groan when a nurse reappeared with the IV supplies, "Oh, not again." "Sorry. I'll try to be gentle," she apologized. Thankfully, she got the IV started on the first try, then, "Roll onto your side for me." "I guess I really pissed Collingwood off this time," he sighed. Skinner cleared his throat, "No, it isn't that. The shot's so you'll stop throwing up, and the IV's so you won't get dehydrated again. He said the fever could really set you back." "Yeah, and then he'd be stuck with me longer," Mulder sucked in his breath as the needle sank into his hip. "He's quite apologetic, actually. I don't think he realized what an ass he was being until I told him so." The nurse flashed them both a knowing smile, "All finished." "Thank you..." Skinner waited until the door swung shut behind her, "Mulder, are you okay now? Can I let your mom and Scully know you're alright?" "Yeah..." He burrowed under the covers, "I guess I owe her an apology." "I think that would be appropriate. She seemed quite upset," he paused, "What happened?" "Oh, you know..." "If I knew, Agent Mulder, I wouldn't be asking." "She was being so..." "Motherly?" Skinner recalled the way Mulder had reacted to being called cranky'. "Yes! She told me I needed a nap, for God's sake... Sometimes she talks to me like I'm five or something..." "Mothers do that, Mulder. All the good ones, anyway," he laughed. "Once, when I was home on leave, I gave my mom some grief for fussing over me. I told her she was acting like I couldn't take care of myself," he leaned on the bed rail. "She said to me Walter, the difference in our ages is the same today as it was the day you were born. What makes you think I've stopped considering you my child?' You know what? I couldn't argue with her." Mulder considered the comment for a few seconds, then grinned, "I guess you're right. It just makes me uncomfortable when she treats me like that." "Well, that never changes. But trust me, you'll miss it when it's not there any more," the A.D. noticed Mulder's drooping eyelids. "Tell you what. I'll wait until you're asleep to go find them. Then you can put off the apology until you're feeling better." "Sounds like a plan to me..." Mulder's voice faded as he drifted to sleep. 2:19 p.m. Skinner entered the lounge with a reassuring smile, "The crisis has passed, ladies. It's safe to come out now." He dropped change into the coffee machine. "Is Mulder alright?" Scully stood and faced him. "Yes, he's going to be fine. He's asleep, as a matter of fact," he took a swig of the hot liquid. "I told him he needed a nap," Mulder's mother asserted. Skinner tried not to choke on his coffee, "Yes, he told me you'd said that. I'm afraid that's what set his temper off." "Oh, I'm an old fool," she sighed. "I shouldn't have said anything, but he could barely keep his eyes open. I'm his mother, for Heaven's sake! I know him well enough to know when he's exhausted. But he just kept fighting it, like a child, denying it all the while." She went to the window and looked down on the city. "If it makes you feel any better, you were right," Skinner sat down on the table and motioned her back to the couch where Scully sat before him. "Mulder's ill. He threw up after you left, and he's running one helluva fever. They drew blood to try and find out what's causing it." "Is he still vomiting?" Scully asked. "No, they gave him an injection for the nausea. That's what finally knocked him out." He nodded to Tina Mulder, "We had a little talk about being mothered before he fell asleep. I told him to enjoy it while he could; that he'd miss it someday." She lowered her head, and when she raised it again, her eyes were glistening, "Thank you... I don't get many chances to act like his mother, and when I do, I tend to overdo it." "You're not alone, believe me," Scully laughed gently. "After all these years, my mother still thinks I'm incapable of taking proper care of myself." "And like a good daughter, you let her think that, don't you?" "Well, I've tried to convince her otherwise..." Scully's voice grew quiet and distant. "But there're still times when only Mom can make it better." "Maybe one day my son will feel that way." Skinner looked pensive, "Frankly, I think he does feel that way. He's just not admitting to it." Scully nodded in agreement. "I hope you're right," Mrs. Mulder blinked. Skinner waited for the moment to pass, then asked, "Did Dr. Welsch meet with you, Agent Scully? I apologize, but obviously, I was occupied at one o'clock. Although she almost came to Mulder's room; Collingwood backed off after he got sick." "Yes, she told us he'd called her, then canceled, sir. I did speak with her, though. And she talked with Mrs. Mulder and I together. She believes his memory should be fully restored within the next two weeks. There are only a few things he's struggling with and-" she stopped. "It's alright, Dana, he would've heard it if my son hadn't kept him so busy." "Dr. Welsch seems to think that the things Mulder is having trouble remembering are because they're guilt-based." "Excuse me?" the A.D. peered at them over his wire-rims. "He has strong feelings of guilt associated with those incidents he doesn't seem to recall, sir. When I tried to catch him up on work the other day, he couldn't recall my disappearance, but he remembers the names of the other agents assigned to every case we've worked. He can't remember arguing with his mother last April, but he remembers her stroke. He didn't know about my cancer when I brought up being in the hospital myself. And believe it or not, sir, he can't remember his sister's abduction." Skinner stood up, indignant, "But that's absurd! The only possible exception being the argument with Mrs. Mulder, none of that could be helped. He can't be held responsible for any of it!" "Dr. Welsch isn't saying he was responsible, sir, only that he feels that way. Those are all events which had a great impact on Mulder. I agree with her; I think he carries a burden of guilt for all of them, however misplaced or ridiculous it may seem. With due respect, I think you're aware of that, sir. It's come up in his psych evaluations before." He rubbed his temples, "Yes, I know, Agent Scully. I just don't like it. Though I admit I've always thought some of that is probably behind his commitment to his work..." The two women looked at each other. "Well, what does she recommend? Is there anything we can do for him? I thought he'd dealt with all of this before." "Much of it he has, sir. Dr. Welsch told us any previous counseling Mulder's had will still be of benefit when he's able to acknowledge the events themselves. She suggested we discuss those issues freely with him, but on his terms. She also said he should have a period of mandatory counseling once he's back to work. I gave her your number at the office, sir," her lips drew into a thin line of resignation. The A.D. sighed, wanting a change of subject, "Would either of you care to join me for a real dinner this evening? My treat. I've had my fill of hotel and hospital food, and I think Mulder's out for the evening." Scully stood and stretched, "I may just take you up on that sir, but only if I get to shower first." "Yes, I could use one myself. Actually, it's early enough for a catnap if you'd like..."at her expression, he realized he wasn't fooling anyone about who really wanted to rest. He laughed, "Mrs. Mulder?" "No, but thank you. I think I'd like to stay with Fox, since he's not feeling well." "If you change your mind, my offer still stands," Skinner tossed his cup in the trash. "Shall we go back and wait out the test results?" Skinner placed a call to Evanston when they got back to Mulder's room. The two women spoke softly between themselves while he talked. "Are you sure you won't come with us?" "No, Dana, thank you. I want to be here when Fox wakes up. I'll just read or work on my needlepoint." She peered into her bag, then suddenly brightened, "Oh, I've been meaning to show this to you!" She reached down and drew a bubble-wrapped object from the bottom of the canvas tote. She unwrapped it carefully, then handed it to Scully. "Oh!" She held in her hands a heavy crystal snow globe. It was about six inches high and sat on a brass base. The back half of the globe itself was glazed in midnight blue, making the inside look like a night sky. There was a single bright star at the top, shining down on a small shepherd and the lone lamb he held in his arms. And instead of snow, hundreds of sparkling little stars tumbled about when she shook it. It was beautiful; a small work of art. "Have you been carrying this in your bag all along? It's seemed awfully heavy the few times I've picked it up for you, now that I think of it." Tina Mulder grinned, "Yes. I want to give it to Fox, but I've been waiting for the right time. Wind it up, Dana." Scully carefully twisted the small key on the bottom and held her breath. Her face lit up when it began to play. "It's Do You Hear What I Hear?' That's my favorite Christmas carol!" "Really? It was Samantha's favorite, too. Fox picked this out for her, you know," she listened to the melody for a moment. "He gave it to her the last Christmas she was with us." Placing it on the tray table, Scully remarked, "He had good taste for an eleven-year-old." "He started a collection for her about three years before she disappeared," Mrs. Mulder smiled at Walter Skinner, who had finished his phone call and come to stand beside them. "My babysitter canceled on me at the last minute one Saturday, and I had no choice but to take Fox and Samantha to my bridge game with me. I was a nervous wreck, because the woman who was hosting the game that week was an avid collector. Her house was filled with antiques and fine collectibles, and I was so afraid that one of the children would knock something over that I threatened them with bodily harm if they so much as sneezed!" She laughed lightly, "We arrived at Carolyn's with an arsenal of books, crayons and paper. I'd been so stern with them that the poor things were afraid to set foot in the place once we got there. But they were both so well-behaved; Fox kept Samantha occupied the entire time. They were so quiet, we scarcely knew they were there." She shifted in the chair, "After the game, we had dessert and tea and they both charmed everyone in the room. Carolyn took a real liking to them, and took them into her parlor to show them her curio collection. And that's where they saw her snow globe. It had a little sleigh with reindeer flying over a village, and Samantha was absolutely captivated. She wouldn't leave the room; just stood there gazing at it until I packed them up and took them home. That night when I tucked Fox in, he said `I know what to get Samantha for Christmas, Mom.' " "I doubt my brothers ever thought of anything that nice for me," Scully snorted. "You see, every December, Bill and I would take Fox one Saturday and Samantha the next. We'd go into the city and have lunch, just the three of us, then take them shopping to pick out a Christmas gift for the other. They both loved that; it made them feel special. So that Christmas, Fox remembered, and he knew he wanted to give Samantha a snow globe. He picked out one with animals playing in the forest. She was speechless when she opened it, and he was so proud of himself. After that, he insisted on getting her one every Christmas, and once for her birthday as well." She peered at the snow globe Skinner was winding, "He gave her this one that last Christmas. She cried when she got it. Do You Hear What I Hear?' always made her cry." She sighed, "Fox never understood that, but I did." "Must be a girl thing," Skinner grinned. "That could be... Well, after she was taken from us, Fox wanted to go and pick out another globe for her at Christmas. It broke our hearts, but he was adamant. He'd cry and say, What if she comes home on Christmas Eve and we don't have anything for her?' At first we tried reasoning with him, but eventually Bill flew into a rage when the subject came up. After that, Fox kept it to himself. When he was about nineteen, he commented on how many she'd have by then if he'd bought one every year, so I know he never forgot." The last strains of the old carol played to a stop, and the three of them sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The moment was broken when the head nurse entered the room, "Dr. Collingwood wanted me to give you the results of Agent Mulder's blood work, Dr. Scully. They just came back. He wants us to start a new round of antibiotics." She handed the paper to Scully, fed a syringe into Mulder's IV, and left. "What's wrong? Why is he so sick?" "It looks like a common bacterial infection, Mrs. Mulder. There's no telling how he got it, but they're taking the best measures. With what she just gave him, he should start feeling better within the next few hours," Scully tucked Mulder's blankets around him more closely and detangled his IV line. "Sir, are you ready to leave?" "I suppose so. If I don't sleep too long, we might actually have dinner by six o'clock," he rose and pulled on his coat. "Last chance for real food, Mrs. Mulder." "You're persistent, aren't you?" she laughed. "No thank you, really... Honestly, I'm feeling badly about upsetting him earlier. I need to be here in case he wakes up." "I understand. Do you have Scully's cell phone number in case you need to call us?" She nodded. "Then we'll get out of your hair and let you have some peace. We'll stop by on our way back to the hotel tonight and see how he's doing. Agent Scully?" 6:03 p.m. Tina Mulder adjusted her sweater and took in the solitude. Night had fallen and the room was dark, save what little light spilled in from the parking lot outside. It was almost too quiet for so early in the evening. The only sound came from Fox as he tossed and murmured in his sleep. His fever had finally peaked at 102.6, but had yet to drop, and he'd been fighting it all the while. She felt helpless, wanting to do something for him, but not sure what. A moment passed before he quieted again, and she allowed her eyes to close... < "I wanna see Mr. Mooooose!!!" She stamped her tiny slippered foot and tossed the stuffed turtle across the family room. "Geez, Samantha, you see him every day all week while I'm at school! Why can't we watch Groovy Ghoulies on Saturday? You like them, remember?" Fox soon realized his feeble attempt at manipulating his little sister was useless; she was much better at it than he. She scrunched her face into a twisted pout and began to wail. He clenched his hands into fists. Growling in frustration, he stomped into the kitchen, "Mom, she's doing it again! She sees Captain Kangaroo every day! Tell her I get to pick on Saturdays!" She peered at him from behind her morning paper. Her daughter's dramatic shrieks from the other room had quieted somewhat, and she strongly suspected Samantha was listening for the verdict to be handed down. "Fox, you're going to have to settle this between yourselves; I refuse to spend every Saturday morning playing television referee. Tell your sister you each get a turn at choosing. If you can't be considerate, then the TV goes off and nobody watches anything." She picked up her cup of tea and smiled softly at the scowl he gave her. He was trying so hard to act grown-up. If only he knew how young he appeared, standing there in Spiderman pajamas and ratting on his sister. Fox' bare feet shuffled back to the family room in resignation, and she cocked her head to listen. "Alright, Samantha, we'll watch your dumb show, but only halfway. The other half we watch the Groovy Ghoulies. Deal?" He almost felt guilty when her face lit up and she yelled, "Yaaay, Bunny Rabbit!" It soon passed though, as he doubted seriously she would realize that fifteen minutes of Captain Kangaroo did not add up to forty-five minutes of Groovy Ghoulies. Besides, if he told her it was half and half, she'd buy it. She trusted him. He curled up next to her on the couch and tried for the gazillionth time to figure out whether that was a really big nose or a gaping mouth on Dancing Bear.> ..."M-M-Mom! She's g-gone! I t-tried to h-help her... Mommmm!!" The cry fit so precisely into her dream that it was a moment before she realized where it was coming from. Comprehension took hold, and she jumped up, her sweater falling to the floor. As she crossed to her son, the door flew open, "Mrs. Mulder? Do you need help? We heard Fox yelling; what's wrong?" the nurse reached for the light. "No! Don't turn the lights on!" Tina realized how sharply it had come out, "Please... I'm sorry... it's a nightmare... He'll do much better without the lights..." Then gently, "Fox, honey, it's okay, Mom's here. I'm right here. It's alright." She grasped his shoulder and pushed his hair back from his face. "Tell me, baby. Tell Mom all about it," she crooned. His eyes were too bright, glazed over and staring. He looked at her without seeing, but her voice reached him. "M-Mom?" "Yes, sweetheart, Mom's here." "He's still dreaming?" the young nurse asked softly. "Yes," Mrs. Mulder whispered, "He's been having this nightmare since he was a child. If I can talk him through it, he'll fall back to sleep. It's much better than waking him up abruptly. He'll be out of sorts for hours if we just wake him up." The nurse watched the older woman in action and sensed that she was the more capable party in this case. "Will you be okay by yourself?" she asked. Tina nodded. "Then just buzz us if you need anything." She nodded again and the door softly closed. "Mom, where are we?" his voice was lost and frightened, and Tina wondered which Fox she was speaking with. It was sometimes difficult to tell, "We're at the hospital, baby. You're sick." His brow furrowed, "Me?" "Yes, honey. You have a very high fever,"she lowered the automatic bed ever so slowly. His wide eyes scanned the room, "Mom, w-where's Dad?" She winced, not wanting to lie to him, "Dad couldn't be here, Fox. But he sent his love." "He did?" A long pause. "He's mad at me, isn't he?" His face fell, "He's m-mad... I tried, Mom! I t-tried to help her, b-but they wouldn't let m-me!" His voice broke, and he scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Definitely the gesture of an anguished twelve-year-old. Tina dropped the safety rail and sat down beside him, bracing herself with one foot on the floor. She gathered her trembling son into her arms, felt his pounding heart as he wept, "No, sweetheart, he's not mad at you. Dad's just very sad... We all are." "I t-tried, Mom!" he wailed. "I know you did, baby, I know how hard you tried. And I'm so proud of you; you're the best big brother ever," her dream flooded back to her, and she felt the old familiar burn behind her own eyes. He shook his head vigorously, "N-not any-m-more! I l-let em t-take her!" He twisted in her embrace to bury his wet face against her shoulder, "I miss h-her, Mom! I m-miss her s-so bad. What're w-we gonna do w-without her?" He sobbed as his mother clutched him against her chest. Resting her cheek on his feverish head, she began to rock back and forth. The heat emanating from his body alarmed her. Something would have to be done as soon as he was calm. She spoke soothing words to him, stroked his back and his hair as he cried forlornly. "It's going to be okay, Fox, I promise," she assured him. He hiccoughed, "B-but-" "No buts', Fox William. Mom knows best, right?" she teased, lifting his face to look into his eyes. He gazed back through wet lashes; there but not quite all the way, "Yeah..." He sniffed and shifted in her arms again, "Mom?" She adjusted her own weight to accommodate his squirming body, "Yes, honey?" " 'm hot... really hot," his chin dropped against his chest, "I can't sleep." "I know, baby. We'll make it better. Will you be okay if I go out in the hall for just a minute?" He shivered, "Yeah... you'll be right back?" She stood up and raised the safety rail, "Right back, I promise." She sensed his apprehension as she started to leave; then a thought struck her. She went to the window and flipped the switch on the strand of red and green chile-pepper lights Dana had strung up. She'd said they were from some of Fox' oddball friends in D.C., but Tina couldn't recall their names. Not that it mattered just now; they'd offer comfort without waking him fully. "How's that?" She turned back and found him smiling weakly, taking in their glow through half-closed eyes. "Good." "Be right back," she kissed his forehead and hurried out. Several minutes passed before she returned with Andrea, one of the evening nurses who'd taken a liking to Mulder. She'd explained the situation as best she could. "If we're lucky, he may already be asleep," she whispered as they entered the room. "M-mom! I'm fr-freezin'..." his teeth were chattering. Tina looked to Andrea and sighed, but the younger woman flashed her a reassuring smile and asked, "Fox? Do you know why you feel so cold?" He closed his eyes sleepily, "No." "It's because you're running a really high temperature. Your mom and I are going to try to bring it down, but it's going to be uncomfortable for a few minutes. Can you handle that?" He looked at her anxiously, "I guess." "I figured you could," she laughed. "First, let's take this off," she gently tugged the sheets to his waist and removed his twisted gown. "Boy, you are burning up. I don't understand why the damned meds aren't kicking in." She raised worried eyes to his mother and hit the call button, "Julie, bring a thermometer, will you? He's on fire... Okay, Mrs, Mulder, let's get this guy cooled down." They spent twenty minutes sponging him with cold water. He looked downright miserable the entire time, fighting exhaustion and bone-rattling chills, but he bore it all without complaint. His lips were all but blue before his body gave any indication that their efforts were helping. "What is it now?" Andrea asked. Julie put the thermometer aside, "100.4... still dropping. Keep it up, ladies, it seems to be working." The three women smiled at each other and Andrea laughed, "When science fails, count on mother's instinct." 7:12 p.m. Mulder's hair was plastered to his head, but his gown was clean and dry, as were his sheets. The fever had broken thirty minutes into the sponge bath, and he'd suffered through another ten while they washed the sweat away. He'd all but cried with relief when they'd tucked fresh blankets around him and left him alone to rest. His mother stepped into the still-dim room, "Feel better, Fox?" He nodded weakly and smiled at her. The knot of worry in her stomach had eased considerably just minutes earlier when he'd looked up at her and asked, "What's the matter, Mom? You look scared." Another crisis had been overcome and he was himself once more - his grown self. She found it saddened her just a bit. Her grown son seldom needed her. "Um, Mom?" "Yes, Fox?" "I... I wanted to tell you I'm sorry for being such a jerk earlier," he played with the IV tubing and glanced at her from under his lashes. She waved her hand at him, "Oh, it's alright, son. I keep forgetting you're all grown up now, that you don't really need your old mom. I guess I must get pretty annoying sometimes." She pulled a chair over, but not too close. He dropped his eyes, "No, you're wrong... I... I was wrong..." He raised his face to her, "I do still need you, Mom." An awkward silence followed; with neither sure what to say. There was a vague memory nagging at him, of shouting at her, demanding things of her... of her face, shocked and hurt as she looked up at him... He flinched... But there was also a second memory, a stronger one, of comforting arms and loving touches... of soothing words that held bad thoughts at bay... "Mom?" "Yes, Fox?" "What happened in April? Why did we argue?" He saw the uncertainty in her eyes, "Please, Mom, don't change the subject. I need to know. Please tell me." She heard Dr. Welsch's advice her head, "If I tell you what we argued about, will you let it go? Will you leave it in the past where it belongs?" He nodded slowly. She sighed and pulled her chair closer, "I was almost glad you'd forgotten some things, son..." So she told him, down to the last uncomfortable detail. She cried over telling him she'd slapped his face, over the way she'd abruptly walked out on him, ignoring the fact that he was bleeding. But she saw recognition take hold at one point, saw that he struggled with his own actions that day. Saw that after a time she was only reinforcing what he already knew himself. And finally, she saw his own tears. "I'm s-sorry, Mom. I had no right to c-confront you like that. I j-just-" he averted his eyes, unable to face her. "Fox," she took his quivering chin in her hand and made him look at her, "We both did and said some terrible things to each other that afternoon. And we both have things to be sorry for. I'm apologizing to you now, son, for the way I treated you. I've regretted it every day since. You're all I have left, and I love you more than anything else in this world... anything, young man. Now, dry your face and let's put this behind us." He swiped at his cheeks with the tissues she handed him and took a shaky breath, "Mom... I had dream about Samantha while I was sick. I couldn't have stopped it, could I?" She took his chin in her hand and kissed his wet eyelashes, "No, Fox. You couldn't have stopped it. None of us could've stopped it, baby, least of all, you." She waited. "Mom?" "Yes, Fox?" "I'm so tired, but I can't go to sleep." She eased him back against the pillows and pulled the blankets up under his chin, "I have something that might help," she went to her bag and brought out the snow-globe, "Close your eyes, son." She drew the tray table up beside him, then put the bubble-wrap aside and gently wound the key. He listened for a moment before his eyes flew open, "Mom!" She laughed, "Do you remember this, Fox?" The soft glow from the chile-pepper lights shone across his pale, yet smiling face, "I do now... I haven't thought of it in a long, long time." The little melody played for several moments, and Tina re-wound it. His eyelids finally dropped, and she smiled to herself, believing he'd fallen asleep. "Mom?" "Yes, honey?" "I think I know now why she always cried." She laughed and stroked his hair, "I knew you'd figure it out one day." ********************************************************** December 18, 1997 9:27 a.m. Oxford Northern Hospital, Oxford, NC "You were out like a light, Mulder." "Was not. You didn't come to see me, and you're covering for yourself." "Mulder, we stopped by after dinner. It was almost eight-thirty, and you were already asleep. Ask your Mom; we took her back to her hotel. She was exhausted - like someone else I know. Now, quit grouching. I brought you a chocolate long-john," she held out the bakery bag. He scowled, but peered inside, "Does it have custard in the middle?" "Of course not. Fox Mulder despises custard." "I thought so," he grinned broadly and bit into the donut, "Wanna watch that movie you brought me, Scully?" She flipped on the VCR and pushed tape in, "I thought you'd never ask." 10:22 a.m. Walter Skinner entered the room. He smiled at the two agents, then glanced up at the TV, "Did the kid lick the flagpole yet?" Scully pulled up another chair, "Sorry, sir, you missed it." "You've seen this movie before?" Mulder's face gave him away. "Believe it or not, Agent Mulder, I'm not the stick in the mud you seem to think I am," he chuckled as Ralphie appeared in the bunny suit. "I actually enjoy a good laugh now and then." Mulder flushed slightly, "Sorry. I never get to see that side of you, sir." "That's because you spend your days testing my authority and breaking the rules. If you'd behave yourself once in awhile, Mulder, I might have more reason to smile." Mulder briefly dropped his eyes, but grinned when he realized his boss was kidding him, "Hey, Scully, pause it, will you? I need to take a leak." He swung his legs over and slid toward the floor, "Sir, could you give me a hand?" Skinner stepped forward to assist him. The loud clearing of Scully's throat brought both their heads around. "I don't recall you being given the O.K. to get out of bed, partner." Skinner raised his eyebrows, "Well?" "Collingwood said I could get up today." "No, what he said was, you could possibly go down the hall today - in a wheelchair." "Nice try, Agent Mulder," Skinner admonished. "You were awfully sick just a few hours ago; don't push it." He helped him climb back into the bed, "Do you need a nurse?" Mulder eyed the loathsome bedpan with a sigh, "If you don't mind, sir, I'd rather have your help. I don't think this shift is too fond of me." "That's because all of your tantrums have been on their watch," his partner interjected. "Gee, Scully, you're the picture of support, here. Go away, will you?" She winked at him and headed for the door, "Don't you watch any of that movie without me, Mulder, or I'll take back your Christmas present." "What'd you get me?" "That best-seller... Once Upon A Potty'-" she yanked the door closed to avoid the flying pillow. 2:47 p.m. "How's your mom doing, Scully?" Mulder gazed out the lounge windows to the snow-dusted city below. She snugged the blanket around his shoulders, ignoring his exasperated look, "Really well, Mulder. They just took another x-ray, and her wrist is mending perfectly." Mulder watched his partner settle into the chair across from him, and reminded himself once more how lucky he was, "So she'll be able to hold that new baby, huh?" "Is the Pope Catholic?" They grinned at one another. "Mulder, did you and your mom ever... you know... Have you worked things out?" "Yeah," he nodded slowly, "we did... So you can stop worrying about my holiday plans, Scully. She's agreed to put up with me for another week or two." "I'm not under the impression she's putting up with you', Mulder. She seems to be enjoying you." "She's enjoying driving me crazy," he muttered. "Can you believe she still wants to put up a tree when we get back to Greenwich?" Scully began to chuckle. "What's so funny?" "Mulder, does this conversation seem at all familiar to you?" He drew his brows together in thought, then his eyes suddenly grew wide, "I should shut up and let her have her fun, shouldn't I?" Scully leaned forward, "Mulder, this is the best Christmas present you could've gotten, so don't blow it. Just let her be your mom for a little while. It won't kill you." His eyes focused on his lap, "I - it's hard, Scully. It's been a long time since she acted like my mom." "I know," she reached over and squeezed his hand, "but I think she's trying to make it up to you." A brief silence passed, and Mulder looked back at her, "It feels good, doesn't it?" She thought of her own mother and smiled, "Yeah, it does." ********************************************************** December 19, 1997 9:08 a.m. Oxford Northern Hospital, Oxford, NC Skinner guided Mulder back to the bed. The agent's steps were slow, but steady. He hoisted himself onto the mattress and pulled his bare feet up, "Thank you, sir." "No problem, Mulder," Skinner shoved his hands into his pockets. "So you're all set to go home with your mother?" "Yeah... uh, yes, sir. If all goes according to plan, the good doctor is releasing me into her custody tomorrow. Wish me luck." "Is that for getting released or for surviving a recuperation under your mother's thumb?" Mulder raised one brow, "I'll plead the Fifth, sir." "Maybe you are as smart as they say," the A.D. Laughed. "Mulder, I'll be expecting to hear from you after the holidays. Take as much time as you need, but call and let me know how you're doing. And as soon as you're ready, Scully and I will take care of the paperwork to bring you back on board." Mulder groaned, "You're going to make me see the staff shrink again, aren't you?" "I don't have any say in the matter, Agent Mulder. It's policy. Besides, Dr. Welsch recommended it, and she's certainly more qualified than I." He ignored the disgruntled snort and continued, "By the way, we'll be able to proceed with the case against the Langmans once you're back to work. Did I tell you they were part of a radical group, Mulder?" The younger man shook his head. "They were holding contraband weapons for a well known right wing anarchist based in Montana. They found an arsenal in the cellar of some shack not far from where you turned up. It looks like the younger brother will be cutting a deal in return for all the details," he watched Mulder's face blanche slightly. "I'm sorry, but it seemed like the best solution, since he wasn't directly responsible for your injuries. This way, we can nail the other one to the wall... You helped solve a case without lifting a finger, Mulder." "I'd rather be otherwise involved next time... What time are you and Scully leaving?" Skinner let him change the subject, "Our flight's at 11:10. We need to leave here by ten at the latest." Mulder attempted to mask his disappointment, "Any plans for Christmas, sir?" "I'm going to my sister's. The whole clan'll be there." "That sounds like fun." "If a houseful of shrieking kids appeals to you, I suppose it will be." Mulder grinned, hearing the affection behind the sarcasm, "We'll only have one kid at my aunt's house; my cousin's baby. And he's apparently too young to do much but eat and sleep at this point." "That's okay, that's probably all you'll be doing," Skinner laughed at Mulder's disgruntled expression. "Take it easy, Mulder. You need to work your way back slowly. I know that isn't your style, but for once - " "Sir, are you about ready to head for the airport?" Scully came in with Mrs. Mulder. "Yes, I suppose we'd best get moving," Skinner turned to the older woman. "Mrs. Mulder, you have my number at the Bureau. Give me a call if this son of yours doesn't toe the line," he peered at his agent over the rim of his glasses. She laughed easily, "Oh, I think I can still handle him. His tactics haven't changed much." Mulder blushed against the white pillowcase, "...Mom." "Fox," she imitated. "I'll be right back." She smiled at Skinner and Scully and slipped through the door, giving them a moment alone with him. "Agent Mulder, I get the feeling your mother packs a mean right hook. I wouldn't push my luck if I were you," Skinner wondered at the glance that passed between Scully and her partner. "Speaking from experience, sir, let me assure you, I'll be on my best behavior." Scully couldn't help but snort. "Anything wrong, Scully?" Mulder flashed her an angelic smile. "Let's just say I've never heard the words best behavior' and Fox Mulder' uttered in the same sentence before." She placed a brightly-wrapped package at the foot of his bed, "Don't open this until Christmas, Mulder. If you try, it'll self-destruct." "Hey, Scully, that envelope on the windowsill has a few notes and some cash inside. Would you mind taking care of a couple of things for me before you leave for San Diego?" She slipped the manila packet into her briefcase, "Sure, Mulder. What's up?" "Nothing much, just some Christmas shopping I never had the chance to do. I wanted to send Frohike and the guys a couple of pizzas and some beer. There's a thank-you in there for the chile-pepper lights, and for feeding my fish. And pick out a little something for your mom - I suggested a couple of things I thought she might like." "No football tapes, I hope. Is that it?" Mulder glanced at Skinner, who was looking at his watch, "Yeah, for the most part... Yours isn't on the list, Scully - you have to wait til I get back. I need to pick that one out myself." "Agent Scully, we need to go." The A.D. held out his hand, "Agent Mulder, I, uh, I'm looking forward to having you back on the job." Mulder straightened in the bed and accepted the handshake from the older man, "Thank you, sir. For everything." Skinner opened his mouth to reply, then decidedly shrugged off the banal words and leaned forward. He embraced Mulder in a clumsy hug, "Merry Christmas, Mulder." Scully grinned at the shocked expression on her partner's face as Skinner thumped him gently on the back. She was genuinely touched by the gesture, and by the fortitude it must've taken for their boss to reach out in such a way. When Skinner pulled back, he looked slightly embarrassed. He straightened his coat collar and looked at his watch again, "I'll be waiting in the hall, Agent Scully." With that, he nodded at Mulder and left. The two of them stared at one another, dumbstruck. "I must've been sicker than I thought," Mulder said. "He acted the same way when I went into remission, Mulder." Scully slid her arms into her coat, "Don't question it. Be thankful we've got someone decent behind us." "I need you to buy him a Christmas present, Scully. I was thinking a really nice bottle of wine, or maybe a copy of Iron John'. I think we bonded this week." He reveled in Scully's laughter as it washed over him, then his voice turned somber, "I wish you could stay until I get discharged." She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him up against her, "I do too, partner. But one of us has to get back to the office and wrap things up before the holiday. I'll be in touch until you're released. And you have Bill and Tara's number; call me if you need to talk or anything." She kissed him on the cheek, "I'll miss you." He kept hold of her hand as she straightened, "Me too, Scully... Merry Christmas." She stopped by the door and looked back at him, a sad smile on her face, "Take care of yourself, Mulder." And then she was gone. Feeling suddenly lost, Fox Mulder stared out at the snow-heavy sky and sighed. ********************************************************** December 25, 1997 10:38 p.m. Christina Mulder's home, Greenwich, CT "...just as long as we have we. Welcome Christmas, while we stand, heart to heart and hand in hand." Tina switched off the TV as the Whos sang through the credits. She looked over at her sleeping son. He was burrowed into his new pullover and the blanket she'd draped over him. The firelight danced across his still-pale face, but he appeared peaceful and content. He had donned the green fleece pullover from Dana the minute he'd opened it, and worn it to Kate's for dinner. They'd only been home for an hour; it had been a tiring day for him. Considering his health, they'd stayed at her sister's far longer than Tina thought wise. But Fox had been enjoying himself so much that he wouldn't allow her to take him home any earlier. He had insisted on calling his partner in California as soon as they'd walked in the door ("This pullover rocks... And thanks for the video, too, Scully. How'd you know I liked the Grinch?"), then he'd collapsed onto the couch in front of the fire. Tina had made hot chocolate, then settled down beside him to watch the Dr. Seuss classic. He had only lasted ten minutes or so before dropping off to sleep. She went upstairs to flip on the lamp and turn down his bed. Returning, she set his barely-touched mug of cocoa on the end table, "Fox? Honey, wake up. You need to go to bed." He stirred slightly, then rolled away from her. "Fox. Wake up, sweetheart. It's late," she gently shook his shoulder. "Wh... what? Where's... I thought the Grinch was on," he rubbed his eyes and squinted at the television. "He was," she laughed. "You fell asleep while he and Max were riding down Mt. Crumpit. C'mon, get up." Ignoring his protests, Tina pulled the blanket off and used a firmer tone, "Now, Fox. You need to be in bed." "Damn," he moaned and sat up, then wearily allowed her to pull him to his feet. He swayed slightly as he stood. "Easy, son," she guided him up the stairs and into his room. Exhausted, Mulder sank onto the bed. He felt seven again, lying there in a drowsy haze while his mother tugged his pullover and turtleneck past his face. She pulled off his socks, then unfastened his too-loose jeans and gave him a nudge, "I need a little help here, baby. Lift up." As she dropped his clothes over the chair, Fox curled up on his side. Tina resisted the urge to swat the seat of his briefs, and pulled the covers up. She sat down on the edge of the bed and smoothed his tugged-up hair, "Do you need anything, hon?" He blinked at her through half-closed eyes, "Unh-uh." "Did you have a good Christmas?" He smiled sleepily, "Yeah. That Knicks cap is the coolest, Mom." "I thought you might like that... I hope Aunt Kate's wasn't too much for you. You've worn yourself out." He yawned, "I had a great time, Mom. Besides, I can sleep all day tomorrow." He raised his arm from under the blankets and touched her hand, "I'm sorry I didn't have time to get you a present, Mom. I feel bad." "Well, you little ingrate, you could've checked yourself out of the hospital early!" she teased, then, "Don't be silly, Fox. I'm looking at the best Christmas present I could've asked for." He said nothing for a moment before he asked, "Mom, Wouldn't getting Samantha back be the best?" Tina swallowed the lump in her throat and shifted on the mattress. Leaning against the headboard of the antique poster bed, she lifted her son's head into her lap, "Fox... If Samantha turned up on my doorstep tonight, she would be a stranger to me. Don't misunderstand, I would give almost anything to have her back, even just to see her again and know she's alright. But you're my son, Fox, the son I raised from a child into an adult. We've lived through some terrible times and we've had a hell of a lot of fun, too. You and I have a history together. And that's something I could never have with Samantha. Not now." "But you miss her, don't you?" he raised his face to hers. Smiling fondly, she stroked his forehead, "Of course I miss her. I've missed her every day since she left, and I'll go on missing her. But it's a dull pain now, sweetheart. The pain of not speaking to you all these months, of... of thinking you despised me - that cut like a knife, Fox. And I would've bled to death if it had gone on." He suddenly wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed as hard as he could, repeating a childhood ritual. "Oh! Honey, not so hard. You'll break your old Mom!" She tickled him under the arms, and he pulled away, hugging the pillow for protection, "You're not that old, Mom." "Wanna bet? I've got a kid who's nearing forty." "Then I must not be a kid anymore." She stood up and switched off the lamp. Bending down, she took his face between her palms and kissed him, "Fox Mulder, in case you haven't figured it out yet, you will always be my kid... now go to sleep." She quietly pulled the door closed and went back downstairs. After pouring a fresh cup of cocoa, she returned to the family room to fold up the blanket. A glint of light caught her eye and she approached the window. It was Samantha's snow-globe, reflecting the light from the fire. She put her mug down and dropped into the wing-back to wind the key. The lilting carol began to play, and in the soft glow of the Christmas tree, Tina Mulder rested her head against the chair and cried. End Thanks for reading... Please send feedback - the nectar of all fanfic writers!