Summary:Mrs. Mulder's thoughts as she sit with her injured son. Rating:PG Category:A, A, and more A. Did I say A? and implied MSR Spoiler:Most of the first five seasons Disclaimer:10-13 owns these characters. And they're making a mint off them. I don't and I'm not. Don't sue. EMXC disclaimer and rules apply Finished (yes, thank you, I finally finished one!) 3/18/1998 Author's note: This is another of my 'Ma Mulder' stories. Basically, I don't see good old 'Tina' as evil, or abusive. I see her as a pretty normal woman shoved into an impossible situation. The mothers reading this will understand, I hope. Archive:Please put this anywhere you would like, just keep my name and disclaimer attached. EMXC rules and regs apply. Thank yous to Susan Proto, Mac, Esther and Windsinger for their ever faithful comments. Comments:vmoseley@fgi.net Vigil (1/5) by Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net Greenwich, CT March 20, 1998 The phone didn't wake me. One might assume that it would, ringing at 3:05 in the morning. One would assume that a 59 year old single woman would have been deep in slumber for over 4 hours, probably 5 by that time of night. But then, they wouldn't know of the thousands of sleepless nights I've spent since a November long ago. They wouldn't know, nor would they likely care. So I was able to silence the infernal ringing within a moment of it's interruption into my otherwise quiet night. No television, no radio, just myself and my thoughts. Not even prayers--just thoughts. "Mrs. Mulder?" the voice on the line sounded tired and frantic. "Yes, who is this?" I replied. "Mrs. Mulder, this is Dana Scully--" My heart stopped beating. I knew her voice by that time, of course. I hadn't heard it in ages, probably close to a year, but I knew her voice, her face--her eyes. And I knew that if she was calling me, it was because my son was in trouble. "Fox. What's happened to Fox," I found my shaky voice strong enough to force out the words. My Fox. My baby. My thirty-six year old baby, of course. A grown man with far too many responsibilities to be bothered with calling his mother. Not to mention his impassioned, if not Quixotic desire to uncover events that are best left to the ashes of time. My son. My only son. "We're at Boston General. Mulder--um, I'm sorry, . . . `Fox' has been injured. I was wondering--" "I can leave now--I'll be there in 2 and a half hours," I told her. I didn't bother asking what had happened, what his condition was. If the young woman who is his partner was calling me, things were serious and there was no time to waste. I don't mind driving I-95, most of the time. It was fortunate that I've done it so often, because I don't really remember anything after I adjusted my seatbelt across my lap. I looked up and suddenly I was at the visitors parking lot to Boston General Medical Center. So much had changed in 24 years. So much had stayed the same. I pushed through the double doors to the Emergency Room, knowing that at this hour the main lobby would be closed. A nurse at the window looked up at me and gave me a standard 'may I help you'. I told her my mission, to find my son. After a few moments of clicking on a keyboard, she nodded to herself. "Your son has been taken to surgery. Seven west. Take this hall way to the end, turn left, follow that hall to the bank of elevators, take the middle or right elevator. The door opens in the back on Seven. Take a right off the elevator and go through the double doors. The nurses station is inside the door to the waiting room." Silently, I thank God for my annoyingly precise memory. I thanked her and moved on. I've often dreaded elevators. It's not the closed space, it's not even the fact that one is suspended in mid air by cables the size of a garden hose. It's the time involved. The time when nothing can distract one's thoughts. Nothing can keep one's mind from wandering. The elevator was white twenty four years ago. White with chrome handrails. The gurney fit easily inside the door, the small figure on it taking up barely half the space across and three quarter the length. There was enough room in the elevator car for me to stand by my baby's side, stroking his dark hair, willing against all hope that he would open his eyes and see me and call to me. The car stopped, the doors opened behind me and I startled. My fabulous memory forgot to remind me to turn around before the elevator stopped. I know I flushed, even though my mistake was known only to me. I hurried from the confinement and into the hall. She was standing in the hallway with her back to me, talking to a nurse. I've long admired my son's partner. She is a very striking young woman. Not in the classically beautiful sense, but in her poise and her bearing. I know she comes from what my mother termed 'common stock', but there is an aristocracy in her confidence that I find rather admirable. And her loyalty and devotion to my son is unequaled. Perhaps even by his mother. She turned as she heard my heels on the tile floor. She broke off her conversation and came to me, holding out her hand to take mine. "Mrs. Mulder, I'm so sorry to call you out like this," she said. She took my elbow and ushered me into the waiting lounge. We were alone save for the nurse who had now gone back to her desk. "How is he? I was told he's in surgery?" She pushed me gently into a chair and went to the nearby countertop to make me a coffee. I shook my head to her offer of creamer or sugar and she handed the cup over to me. "There was a shooting," she explained, taking the chair next to mine. "We were pursuing a man--Terrence Jeffrey Blake--we followed him to a warehouse by the docks. I called for backup, and then Mulder and I went in to find him. Blake found us first. I didn't see him, but he had me in his sights. Mulder was at a different angle, saw Blake raise his gun and aim--Mulder shouted at me, but I didn't have time to move." She stopped, clearing her throat, and I could tell how much it pained her to remember what had happened next. "Mulder--Fox, pushed me out of the way. The gun went off and the bullet struck him in the back as he fell." I was speechless, not daring to breath until she'd finished the account of the evening. "I was able to get my gun out from under me and fired before Blake could fire a second time. I hit Blake--" she stopped again and I could see tears just at the corner of her eyes. "He's dead." "Fox was shot in the back?" I repeated, suddenly hoping I would wake up and find that I'd fallen asleep with the lights on again. "Yes. The bullet went through his left lung. I called for the paramedics immediately and tried to stop the bleeding. Of course, with a wound like that, much of the bleeding is internal . . ." Her voice trailed off and she looked at me helplessly. "I'm so sorry. I should have been more careful--I should never have let the bastard get the drop on me--" I was working completely on automatic by this point. I don't remember consciously raising my hand to wipe the tears away from her cheeks, nor do I remember thinking as I enclosed her in my arms. My mouth murmured reassurances that my heart didn't dare believe. I told her it was not her fault. That it would be all right. That Fox was strong and healthy and the doctors were first rate. Or maybe I didn't say most of those things, but heard them from her lips as we sat there, holding each other. An eternity later, she pulled back and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Mulder. I didn't mean--" "It's all right, dear," I assured her. I looked around the room and found the obligatory box of facial tissues. I removed several, keeping half for myself and offering her the rest. "How long has he been in surgery?" "I called you as soon as we got here," she said, and I fought not to appear as disbelieving as I felt. She'd never called me before, and I had it on excellent authority that this was not the first mishap Fox has had during the last five years. She looked at the clock on the wall. "He's been in there about 2 and a half hours." We sat in silence for a while, each to their own thoughts. I couldn't help but wonder what was different this time. He's tried very hard to keep the dangerousness of his work from me, I know that. But I have friends in every level of government, and some of them are quite good at keeping me apprised of my son's little 'mishaps'. I knew of the shooting in North Carolina mere minutes after it happened. I sat next to the phone all night and waited for the call--whether it be to tell me that he was going to live or to tell me to start to make arrangements. That time was not the first, nor was it the last. But each time, I never got the call until later. In some instances, days later. Fox would call and casually tell me that he was taking a few days off work. Never why, never for how long. Just that he was taking a few days off and wanted me to know not to call the office. As if I ever had called the office in all the years he's worked there. A part of me would like to put the blame on this young woman sitting next to me. That would be unfair, of course. I know who the real culprit is, and I have no ability to blame him. My son didn't see me when I held together while police and FBI tore apart our home. He was too busy just attempting to continue his involuntary funtions like breathing and moving blood through his veins. He didn't see me scream down a horde of doctors intent on giving him enough drugs to constitute a death sentence, to keep him 'calm' after he awoke to the nightmare I had been living for weeks by that time. No, my son didn't see me when I was taking on the world on his and his sister's behalf. He saw me after they'd torn me down, destroyed my defenses and pillaged my resilence. He saw me after his father had finally confessed. The full truth of the betrayal that I would never forgive, even as I put the man in his grave. So I know what the orders are to his partner in crime. She is to act as his next of kin. She has talked to the doctors when the decisions are made. She sat in the waiting room praying for any word they might bring. She slept in a chair next to his bed, hoping that this time, once again, he'd wake up. Oh, God, I hope she has done those things. All those things I've never been given the priviledge to do since he woke up some 24 years ago. But the question still remains--why call me this time? I know Boston is a short distance from my home. Did she worry about the newspapers? That I might read of this shooting and be angry that I'd not been notified? She called me after that disasterous incident involving the summer house. I knew I should sell that hell hole, it had caused nothing but heartache. That time, I think she wanted to make sure I was all right, that I wasn't worried. Truth be told, I was too afraid of what he might remember to be worried about his health. And I hated myself for that. Maybe she was worried that this time is more serious. More serious than death? The last time she came to me, aside from the phone call from the emergency room in Providence, was when I'd been informed that my son was missing and presumed dead. I didn't want to believe it, but I was so confused. The fact of the matter was, until she came up to me at Willam's gravesite, I almost thought it might be for the best, that I would be left to carry the burden alone. I still ache each time I think back to those hours when I wished my son dead, just to save him from his existence. I would have liked to ask her then, what was the reason for the call. But just as I was working up the nerve, a nurse entered the waiting room and came toward us. "Mrs. Mulder?" she said and I turned toward her, but she put a hand on Dana's shoulder. "The doctor wanted me to tell you that your husband's surgery is going well. They hope to finish up repairing the damage to the lung in the next hour or so. Dr. Simons will be out to talk with you then." Dana looked a little perplexed, then a little annoyed, but finally settled on grateful. "Thank you," she told the nurse, who smiled and left us alone again. "I'm sorry," Dana said, obviously flustered by the nurse's mistake. "That, uh, that happens a lot. People see a woman waiting for a man and just naturally assume--" I waved off her embarrassment. "I understand," I told. "It's probably too confusing to them to explain your working relationship." "And with Mulder naming me his next of kin--" she stopped again, this time at her slip. I don't know what the poor girl thought I would do. She seemed to think this was some secret that she never should have revealed. "Fox told me that he had asked you to stand in for me in that capacity," I told her. It was a bold-as-brass lie, but it seemed to relieve her a little. "It's far more convenient. There have been times, like tonight, when time is of the essence. If we're in the field, we could be on the other side of the country," she explained and shrugged her shoulders. "It's made a difference a few times, having someone who could make medical decisions quickly." "And who better than a physician?" I asked with what I hoped was a smile. Why should it have bothered me? I'm sure he'd stopped thinking of me as his 'next of kin' years ago. I had been removed from that position by my inability to perform as expected. I was hardly his guardian when he needed me most, why should I have expected him to turn to me years later? But the first icy needles of jealousy pricked at my senses, none the less. We sat in the quiet again, I, trying to calm my fears and assuage my wounded pride, the young woman beside me, staring at some vision only her mind could invoke. I would hear her sigh occasionally, and I shuddered each time. I always thought this sort of heartache would be mine to bear alone. It felt too complex and encompassing to share it with another. I must have jumped when her cell phone rang. She winced at me in apology and then answered it. I didn't strain to hear her conversation, but in the small room, it was unavoidable. "Sir, you got my message. I'm sorry to call so late," she said, then listened for a moment. "Yes, that's basically what happened. The BPD took care of the clean up--I came with Mulder to the hospital." More silence and she stood up to pace the small room. "I understand that, sir. I'll make a full statement in the morning. Right now, Mulder is--" She must have been interrupted and it annoyed her. Then I could see she was forcing herself to remain calm. "Yes, sir. I know." More pacing as she blew out a breath and wiffed auburn strands from her forehead. "Yes, sir, I will." She was visibly biting her tongue. That part of me that I often wish I could exorcise couldn't help but feel some tiny measure of triumph at her annoyance. We all had our crosses to bear that night. "Sir, Agent Mulder is in critical condition. I understand the paperwork has to be done and I realize that I will be held accountable for my actions tonight, but if you don't mind, I have a partner to worry about right now and I'd appreciate it if you would give me that latitude." Her eyes flashed in a way that spoke to her heritage even more than the fiery color of her hair. "Yes, sir. I know you do. I'm sorry if you thought I was questioning your concern," she said, it was more to appease than to actually apologize. "I will do that, sir. The minute I know anything at all. Thank you." She closed down the phone and returned it to her pocket. "Bosses," she said with a smirk and a shrug of her shoulder. The young woman before me rose a few notches in my eyes at that moment. She would have stood up against all the bosses on earth, I do believe. All of her energies were focused on one person. The fact that the person was my son did weigh in the equation for me, but I do feel that I would have admired her just as much if I didn't know that. The next time that sting of jealousy tried to overtake me, I tamped it down quickly. I kept my eyes averted from the clock. I knew the minutes were ticking by, but I knew instinctively, internally, when the hour was up. As the moments marched on, agonizingly slow, I couldn't help the fear that grew inside me like weeds in a summer garden. I think Dana felt it also. "It's not an exact science," she said, completely out of the blue. "I mean, they think they'll be done at a certain time, and then something takes a little longer. It's perfectly normal. Nothing to worry about." I couldn't help but wonder who she was trying to convince, me or herself. Fifteen minutes later, the doctor entered. end of part one Vigil (2/5) by Vickie Moseley disclaimed in part one Boston General Medical Center March 26, 1998 6:30 am Dr. Simons was a tall man, dark skinned, a broad face. His eyes impressed me the most. He had the eyes of a person who cares. That was all I needed to know. He stepped toward us and introduced himself. "I'm David Simons, I'm the surgeon who operated on Agent Mulder. I understand that one of you ladies is his partner?" In another age, under other circumstances, I would have followed him anywhere. He had that dark, hit-you-in-the-heart handsomeness about him. The same kind of looks that got me into trouble a long time ago. I've learned not to trust my taste in men. But it was his message, not his looks that I was more concerned about right then. Dana was extending her hand. "I'm Agent Mulder's partner. My name is Dana Scully. And this is his mother, Mrs. Mulder." I was grateful to be acknowledged, but knew I had no place in this discussion. I hoped I could keep up. "Agent Mulder came through surgery but I'm afraid it wasn't without complications. The damage to the lung was extensive, the lower lobe was torn up pretty bad, but I think we patched him up sufficiently. What has me concerned right now is a build up on fluid in his lungs. It's not uncommon, but I'm concerned with the stress it's putting on his heart. We're keeping a close eye on it, of course. Now, it's up to him and his maker." "You're worried about congestive heart failure," I heard Dana saying. By this time, the room had taken on a tunnel effect, like I was standing at the end of an endless hallway. It was really happening, my son was not just hurt, he was in mortal danger. I could lose him, I could really lose him. Dr. Simons was still talking. "Yes, that and the amount of blood lost before he got here. He received two units of fresh frozen plasma during the operation, and I've ordered another to be administered now. I'm just concerned that the added stress from hypovolemia is not what he needs right now. He's in recovery at the moment, but we'll be moving him up to CCU within the hour." "Can we see him?" For some reason, her innocent question triggered the attack. The room suddenly spun out of control and I felt myself start to topple. Strong hands gripped my upper arms and steadied me, guided me to the nearest chair. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I could hear myself saying over and over again. My head was pushed down to my knees and a gentle hand held it there while a soft voice encouraged me to take deep breaths. After a few of them, my vision started to clear. "I'm sorry," I repeated and motioned that I wanted to sit up. Dana was staring at me, totally concerned. Dr. Simons looked equally concerned, but seemed to accept my condition as something normal. He took the glass of water that the nurse had retrieved and handed it to me, telling me to sip it slowly. "I'm not very good at this," I told them both. "That's why Fox is better off with you as his next of kin," I said, trying to smile. Dana murmured some words of comfort, but Dr. Simons seemed to know what I really needed. "Would you like to see your son?" Dr. Simons asked gently. I stared at him, wondering how on earth he could even ask that question. "Yes, of course," I immediately replied. Dr. Simons looked over at Dana and nodded. "I think I can sneak the two of you into the recovery room. He's got the place to himself right now. But up in CCU they're pretty strict. Visits are limited to one person and only ten minutes an hour. You can take turns or split the time, whichever you prefer. But for now, let's go have a peek." Dana wouldn't let go of my arm, and had a hand on my back as well. I should have been angered at the condescending attitude, but I think I knew I wouldn't have made it to the recovery room without her there beside me. Dr. Simons held the door open, letting us enter. The bed was against the far wall, surrounded by a myriad of machines. There was a machine registering his heart--I could recognize it. Another was attached to tube that was inserted in his mouth. There was a black balloon connected to the tube which inflated and deflated in time to the rise and fall of my son's chest. I could remember how I had awakened to a similar tube down my throat. How frightened I'd been and not been able to call out for help. I felt the room start to tunnel again. I don't know how she knew, but Dana encircled my waist with her arm. She was holding me up at that point. "Just keep taking deep breaths," she told me. Then she tried to give me something to hold on to--hope. "His heart rate is good and strong. He runs every day, you know. Four miles, sometimes five when we have the time. And he swims when he can't run. I know the tube down his throat is scary, but it's just helping his own breathing, not doing it all for him. In the case of a pneumothorax--a punctured lung--it's standard procedure to ventilate the patient in the first twenty four hours. That little mechanism on his finger is registering his oxygen levels. I remember you had one after your stroke. And the IV's giving him blood, saline, electrolytes and glucose to keep his blood sugar up, probably antibiotics, too. All in all, it's what I would expect. His blood pressure is good for this soon after surgery. The monitors all show strong vital signs. Believe me, Mrs. Mulder, he's doing very well right now. We have every reason to be optimistic." At that moment, all I wanted to do was take him in my arms, hold him, have him wake up and smile at me. I knew I couldn't. "May I touch him?" I asked. It was the closest I could come to what I really wanted. Dana nodded and gave me a sad smile. I reached down and touched his cheek. It felt cold to me, his skin felt dry. I could feel the stubble from a long forgotten shave, not the soft baby hair that I could remember. I felt my heart constrict in my chest and wondered if maybe I was having a heart attack--if I might just die right there with my hand on his cheek. "We have to be strong," she told me. I looked at her then, desperate to know where this strength was supposed to come from. I saw it, in her eyes. It was there. The strength he was going to need. The strength I needed now. Dana pulled apart from my side and reached over the railing to take his hand. "Hey, G-man. In and out of surgery in under five hours--some kind of record for you," she chuckled softly. "Your mom is here with me. We're going to see you again in an hour or so, but in the meantime, stay out of trouble, OK? If you're good, I can guarantee you some of Maggie Scully's famous meatloaf for dinner your first night home." Her chin was starting to tremble as she placed her hand on his cheek. "Sleep well, partner. We'll see you soon." I stood there, rooted to my spot. Dana tugged gently at my sleeve. "Mrs. Mulder, come on. He'll be fine. We'll see him in a bit. Let's get some coffee--it's going to be a long night." I laughed mirthlessly at that thought. The clock next to the door displayed the hour of 7:13 am. My strongest nightmare was becoming reality. Night really was refusing to turn into day. The waiting lounge was a little busier on the surgical ward. Families waiting for patients in elective surgery. Nose jobs, kidney stones, hip replacements. These families were nervous, too, but they didn't have the terror in their hearts that I had. They weren't staring into the face of death as I was. Dana helped me gather my things and led me down the hall to the elevators. She pushed the button and when it arrived, got in and chose the floor. "Where are we going?" I asked. My voice sounded to weak, even to my ears. "CCU is on the third floor," she explained. She turned a sheepish look my way. "But the cafeteria is on the lobby level. I was thinking we might grab a bite to eat--while we have a chance." The thought of food turned my stomach, but if this young woman was hungry, I certainly wasn't going to stand in her way. I could offer her that much support for all the support she'd given me in that recovery room. "I would like some tea," I offered. She gave me a smile, a tired smile and I could tell it was only a fraction of the magnitude it could have been, but it was enough for the moment. "Maybe some toast?" she pressed. My enlightenment was immediate. This little trip was not for _her_ stomach, but mine. She was making sure I got something to eat. I don't know why that should have offended me, but I wanted to lash out, tell her that I didn't need her sympathy. Fortunately, my upbringing forced me to gain some control over my raw and tattered nerves. When the red haze passed, I could see her, standing in front of me. This was not the confident young woman of the waiting room, talking medical jargon with the doctor and the nurses. This was a child, offering me a gift. She cared what was happening to me. I felt deeply ashamed at my earlier anger. "Toast, and maybe a poached egg?" I offered her in return. The smile, once just a shadow, broke through in full force. I was dazzled by it. "It's a deal," she replied happily. We ate in companionable silence. I did manage to choke down the toast and half the egg. I could tell she'd hoped for more from my appetite, but had the good manners not to force the issue. The tea went fathoms toward settling my nerves. With the conversation around us, I could see the day beginning and it brought me a small measure of hope. She glanced at her watch and gathered our empty dishes back on the tray. "We should be getting back upstairs," she told me. As she reached across the table for my tea cup, her jacket fell open and I saw it. I don't know how I'd missed it before, the stain covered almost her entire shirt front. But then, I remember her buttoning her jacket as I approached her from the elevator when I'd arrived. It was an unconscious movement, but one that now lay forever in my memory for what it represented. She was covering his blood that had stained her silk blouse. I must have paled because she followed my eyes and returned my look of horror. "Mrs. Mulder--I'm sorry. I didn't have time to change--" I wanted to comfort her, assure her that I was fine, that it didn't bother me to see my son's blood dyeing her shirt a dark and ugly shade of reddish brown. But I couldn't. I couldn't breathe. "Mrs. Mulder?" I forced my eyes up to her face and the worry almost broke my heart again. "It's all right. He's gotten this blood replaced and more, believe me. It's all right." I finally found my voice. I knew I was frightening her and that had never been my intent. "I know, dear. It was . . . it was just a shock," I stumbled. She nodded, but I could tell she'd be watching me closely. She'd already determined that I wasn't as strong as I could be under these conditions. I wanted to tell her 'welcome to my world', but fought the urge. It would have been impolite at that point. On the way up to the third floor, she touched my sleeve again. "Why don't I take the first shift. Then, I need to clean up a little while you can get some sleep." I almost laughed in her face at the idea that I could possibly find escape in dreams. But I had already pressed my luck with her, so I simply nodded. I would close my eyes, I would pretend to sleep. But I wouldn't let sleep ensnare me in its lair. I've learned my lessons well. At least I thought I'd learned my lessons. When I awoke, it was to a horrible sound. Shrill shrieking could be heard down the hallway. I could hear the murmur of voices and the intercom in the hall was announcing 'Code Blue'. I'd watched enough television dramas to know what that meant. The others in the waiting lounge, sitting in groups of two or three, went motionless at the sound that had awoken me. They, too, knew what it meant. Slowly, eyes searched the room, seeking some assurance that it wasn't _their_ loved one who was in trouble, whose life was slipping away. I searched the room, too, looking for Dana. When she came through the door she was trembling all over. I noted that she was wearing the scrubs normally issued to medical personnel, but at least the blood was gone. She'd thrown her jacket on over the blue green shirt. She looked like a coed, but not her face. Her eyes were ages old with pain. "It's Fox," she said breathlessly. I started to run for the door, but she stopped me and held me fast. "They're working on him now. He arrested a moment ago. They threw me out, they won't let you in. We just have to wait here . . . and pray," she finished in a whisper. end of part two Vigil (3/5) by Vickie Moseley disclaimed in part one Boston General Medical Center 9:35 am When the doctor came in, it wasn't Dr. Simons. I should have known that as the surgeon, he'd only be called in if there was something that required his expertise. A heart attack did not qualify. The new doctor introduced herself. Dr. Perring was a young woman. She stood a little taller than Dana, but was still petite by most standards. Her slightly almond eyes spoke to at least one grandparent from Asia, but her speech was definitely South Boston. The juxtaposition would have been humorous, at another time. At that moment, I just wanted her to tell me my son was all right. "Dr. Scully, Mrs. Mulder, why don't we find a seat?" I didn't like that. No good news is ever delivered sitting down. The fact that she knew that Dana was a doctor meant she'd probably spoken with Dr. Simons, also. Which meant she knew of my 'spell' in the lounge and again in the recovery room. She was trying to make sure the blow was given with safety nets firmly in place. We found a corner that was unoccupied and sat down. Dana sat next to me on a love seat type sofa and Dr. Perring sat across from us, but pulled the chair closer so that conversation would remain private. "Agent Mulder's heart stopped, as I think you already know. We were able to get it started again, but I'm afraid it speaks poorly of his condition. At this time he seems to have slipped into a coma. We are attempting to alleviate any stresses on his system, he's intubated, as you know and receiving medication to avoid any further heart problems. I'm battling the fluid in his lungs with everything I've got, but I can't stress his system any further, either. You should know that his condition is life threatening." "Are you telling us he's weakening?" Dana asked impassively. I turned toward her, amazed at her calm, but I felt her hand squeeze mine and knew that it was all an act--professional detachment. "I'm afraid that might be the case. As you know, Agent Scully, the fluid is restricting the amount of oxygen going to his body. Intubating is not sufficient unless we can get rid of the fluid. He will continue to weaken until his heart simply can't take the strain." She looked suitable contrite when she spoke the next words in an almost whisper. "I understand that he has a living will on file with the FBI. They faxed a copy to me." I didn't mean to gasp, but it was a topic I had never thought I'd be discussing. I never wanted to discuss it at all. "Yes," Dana said quietly. "But it's awfully early to be discussing it. He hasn't fallen below--" "At this time, he hasn't fallen below the criteria. But as you know, some of those criteria are based on time. If he continues in this condition, or if his condition worsens--Agent Mulder's wishes indicate that he doesn't want any procedures that might simply prolong the inevitable." "I know, I helped him write it," Dana said tensely. At the doctor's solid stare, she turned apologetic. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap," she muttered quickly. Dr. Perring looked at me. "Agent Scully is correct. It's too early to make any decisions, but if there are other family members who should be notified, it might do well to get them here as soon as possible," Dr. Perring said gently. "I think prayers are in order, too," she added with a squeeze of our entwined hands. She left us sitting there, not moving. Dana was the first to break through the ice that entombed us. "I need to call my mom," she said distantly. I nodded and sat back, dropping her hand so that she could find her cell phone in her pocket. There was no reception and the nurse advised her that they didn't allow cell phones to be used that close to the CCU, so she left me to search for a pay phone. In the meantime, the nurse announced that it was our time to visit. I was terrified of walking into that room. I had done it once already, but that was when I had some hope that he would survive this ordeal. The young doctor we had just spoken with had taken that hope with her when she left. I walked into the glass enclosed cubicle that held my son. The chair was next to the bed. It was fairly comfortable, not straight backed and wooden, but more of a recliner and padded. I sat on the edge of the seat so that I could lean in and reach through the bars of the side rail. He looked so young lying there. I gazed fondly at his eye lashes, remembering how I envied those lashes when he was a baby. People would stop me and tell me what a beautiful daughter I had because of those lashes. Of course, once he was more aware of his world, the mistakes over his gender soon ended. He was all boy. This time when I looked at him, I didn't really notice the tubes in his mouth and arms. I looked at him, my son, underneath all the machinery. How vulnerable he looked. I don't know what triggered the memory, but suddenly I was standing in my formal parlor. Just Fox and I. He was yelling at me, shouting about his father, who was his father. Blood was trickling down his forehead and I knew he was irrational, I knew he was sick. And what did I do? Did I help him? Did I try to calm him and get him to a hospital to tend to his injuries, tend to his shattered mind? No, I slapped him and ran from him. I refused to face what he was saying, I didn't want him to come any closer to a truth that would destroy us both. I ran to my room and didn't come out until I knew he was gone and his partner was gone after him. Sitting in that chair, watching my dying son, I knew that I'd been a stupid fool that day. There was nothing further to destroy. Telling him the truth at that point might have saved what little relationship we still had between us. But in my reaction, I nailed the coffin shut. There would be no resuscitation of our family. It was dead and gone. I sat there, for my ten minutes, and grieved for us. When I came back Dana was sitting in the waiting lounge, nervously toying with a coffee cup. She looked up as I entered the room. "How did he seem?" she asked anxiously and made room for me on the sofa. "Peaceful," I replied. It was the first word that came to mind. He had seemed at peace, as if the horrors of the existence I bore him into were far removed. "Peaceful," she repeated, as if it was a totally foreign concept. "I, uh, my mother," she stammered. "My mother is coming up. She wanted to be nearby--" I envied that kind of relationship. One where a mother would be there for her child. It was the sort of support I would have given my own children, had not events stolen my ability to move beyond leaden barriers of my own construction. "Dana, I know you would never leave, and I would never try to make you to leave, but dear, you need some sleep, too. Surely there must be a hotel near here--I'd be willing to get the room for you--" She started shaking her head before I could finish my sentence. "No, Mrs. Mulder. That's all right. This isn't my first all nighter--probably not my last, either. I'm fine. I might curl up here on the sofa in a few minutes, but I won't leave." I nodded. Over in the corner was a cabinet where I had seen others find pillows and blankets for those of us in waiting. I went over there and got linens and brought them back. "Then at least let's make you comfortable," I told her firmly, but with what I hoped was a smile. She smiled in return and accepted the items graciously. Finally, she settled down and within a very short time, I could tell she was asleep. When the nurse came again to allow one of us to visit, I hesitated just for a second. Dana was still sleeping and she needed her rest. But then I remembered the look on her face when we'd spoken to Dr. Perring. The look of total despair. I couldn't knowingly deny her a few moments with Fox when they might number among their last together. Dana came awake the moment my hand touched her shoulder. "Mulder?" she called out, instantly awake. She drew in a breath and took stock of her surroundings. "Mrs. Mulder--" "It's our time to visit again, Dana. It's your turn," I told her gently. "Oh, of course. Thank you," she said, wiping the sleep from her eyes. "Here, take my place, I'm going down to talk to the doctor again after my ten minutes are up," she offered. I didn't want to admit it, but the emotional roller coaster I'd been riding was starting to catch up with me. Gratefully, I settled in to the warmth of the cushions and before I knew it, I was asleep. I could feel someone's eyes upon me. I opened my own eyes to look into a pair of steel gray eyes. Dark hair framed a gentle face. "I'm sorry. I was just noticing the resemblance." Funny, I was thinking the same thing. "You must be Dana's mother," I said, sitting up and running my fingers through my hair. "I'm sorry, I must look a mess," I said self consciously. I finally remembered my upbringing and extended my hand. "I'm Christina Mulder," I said. "Maggie Scully," she returned and accepted my hand. "I feel like we've already met, Dana has mentioned you so often." I think she must have noticed my surprise. "After your illness," she said helpfully. My illness. My stroke. The nurses told me how Dana stayed with me at the hospital even when Fox was not present. I had completely forgotten to thank her. I needed to amend that as soon as possible. "I'm so glad you could come. I'm afraid I haven't been much help to Dana. Having her mother near will be good for her," I told the other woman. "Oh, I'm here for Fox, too," she assured me. "He's a very remarkable man, Mrs. Mulder. You have much to be proud of in him." The words were not uncommon, almost a cliche, but the look in her eyes told me there was more to it than that. She held a look of pride in her eyes, too. My son meant something to this woman, she cared for him. It struck me as odd at the time. I didn't have much time to reflect on it, because Dana came back. She hurried over and took her mother into an embrace. "Mom, thanks for coming. How was your flight?" "Not bad. The cab ride here was worse," she said lightly. "How is Fox?" Dana sighed and sat down on the chair, motioning that her mother should do likewise. "No change, I'm afraid." "But then, he's not getting worse," Maggie countered. I had to admire that kind of optimism. Even if I couldn't share in it. "Mom, his condition is such that no change is a deterioration," Dana told her mother softly. "Oh," Maggie said, and her face dropped. "He's still on life support?" Dana nodded. "He's congestive. He's not getting any oxygen to his cells. The damage increased over time." I have never seen such a heart-sick expression. "You wrote his living will, didn't you? It's the same as yours?" Maggie asked. Again, Dana nodded, this time closing her eyes as she did so. "How much time?" Maggie asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "If he has another incident, if they have to resusitate, we'll be asked to make a decision. Or if the fluid can't be brought under control," Dana said, her voice matching the level of her mothers. "Mom, I don't think I can--" Maggie moved swiftly to take her daughter's hands. "There is still time. We might be buying trouble, Dana. Give him a chance. You know once Fox makes up his mind, nothing can stop him." "And what if he's made up his mind to leave me?" Dana asked, her voice cracking with the tears that fell down her cheeks. Maggie's eyes were misting over as she reached out and hugged her daughter again. "He would never do that, Sweetheart. I know that man in there. He would never leave of his own accord." "I used to think so, Mom, but lately, I just don't know," Dana said through her tears. It suddenly hit me what was happening. How blind can one woman be? Dana wasn't just devoted to my son, wasn't just being loyal. She _loved_ him. Their bond transcended their working relationship, was probably deeper than any I've known in my life. I may have lost my son long ago, but his partner's loss was far greater than mine. end of part three Vigil (4/5) by Vickie Moseley disclaimed in part one Maggie settled Dana down, and I went back into sit with Fox. His condition had not changed in over four hours. He was in a coma, but from where I sat, he was sleeping tranquilly. I did something I hadn't done in years, more than 35 years. I held his hand and I sang to him. Lullabies, old rock and roll, anything that came to my head. I sang quietly, just for his ears. Love songs that I'd kissed his father to, snatches of folk songs that I'd rocked him to sleep by. Songs that I stopped singing the night Samantha left us. I hoped against hope that he would hear me, and if nothing else, want to find out why on earth I was singing. The nurse let me stay an extra five minutes. I was grateful, but at the same time suspicious. I could only assume that they were letting me prepare myself for the inevitable--giving me as much time with him as it took to say goodbye. When she finally told me my time was up, I leaned over the rails and kissed him on the forehead. Dana was sleeping when I came back to the waiting room. We had the place to ourselves again, the other patients had either recovered sufficiently to be moved to regular rooms or had face the worst and passed on. Maggie was sitting on the sofa, Dana's head on her lap. She was stroking the auburn hair, much as I had done just moments before when I kissed my son. "I want to thank you for coming," I said to her. "You already did," she reminded me with a sad smile. "Dana has been--she's always been so good to me," I told Maggie. "When Fox was missing, after William died, I was beside myself with worry. Dana came to William's funeral and told me that she was sure Fox was alive. She never told me how she knew. I don't know if he had contacted her or what. When I went by William's house that afternoon, Fox was there, waiting for me." "I remember how worried she was when she couldn't find him in New Mexico," Maggie said with a far away look. "She felt like she'd failed him, by not staying there and searching for him. She was so desolate that he might have--" Maggie stopped herself, and I'm not sure whether that was out of respect for me or because she couldn't bear the thought of Fox dying. "They have been very good for each other," I said, changing the subject. "Yes, they have," Maggie agreed. "And they will continue to be," she added confidently. "She loves him," I said calmly. It was a thought that had occurred to me earlier, but I still hadn't quite taken it to heart. Every woman worries that her children will be happy. With Fox, it had gone from worry to resignation. I had convinced myself that he would never find happiness. I had brought him into the world only to live in pain. And that was never my intention. So the thought that he could be loved, that some woman, any woman would see in him those qualities I knew to be there--his caring heart, his child-like wonder, his blazing passion for the truth--it was completely new and surprising. I was still grappling with it. "Yes. And he loves her," Maggie said with a tender smile down at her daughter's sleeping face. The words took a moment to come to my attention. And he loves her. And he loves her? Preposterous! My son barely had enough self love to survive--the idea that he could possibly love another was impossible to me. He'd given whatever love he had to this quest he'd been on. I had forgotten to teach him how to love. He loved me, I believed. On some level. A bond formed in infancy is not so easily discarded. We had time, before Sam came, to be mother and son. Even after Sam was born, the three of us still would go on quiet walks on the beach, I would tuck them in at night. I tucked them both in, every night. Until-- I shook my head to bring my thoughts back to the present. Maggie was giving me a quizzical look. She was Dana's mother. Of course she would hope that her daughter's love was returned. It wasn't my place to cast dispersions on that belief, especially now, when it might be all the girl was left to hold. "I'm sure he does, in his own way," I said finally. A look crossed Maggie's face, like she was ready to argue the point, but then a calmness came to her eyes and she nodded. I watched her continue to stroke Dana's hair. I could remember often the times I'd sat for hours in just such an activity. I remembered so vividly the time Fox had the measles. He was three. I had sent him out to play in the snow with a neighborhood boy and he'd come back in saying he was itchy. By the time the snowsuit was removed, I could see he was covered with the rash. Rubella was common in those days, but the more dangerous form called 'old fashioned' measles was still making the rounds. High fever, sensitivity to light, chills, nausea were the symptoms. If not properly treated, blindness, deafness, even death were the possible consequences. I was terrified when our pediatrician proclaimed that Fox had the more serious condition. William was in Washington, again--as usual. I was alone in the house with a very sick child. Our neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, a retired Air Force Colonel, brought me supplies. I was trapped in that house for 9 days, until the fever broke. I almost went mad. At times, I think I did. I couldn't do the housework, Fox needed all my attention. I would sit next to his bed for hours, watching his fitful sleep. When the fever spiked, and the chills were at their worst, I would climb into bed with him, hold his tiny body in my arms and stroke his hair, trying to calm him, give him warmth. When I grew too tired to continue, I would fall asleep that way, sitting up against the headboard to his little youth bed, holding my baby boy in my arms. I wish I could do that now. "It's hard," Maggie was saying softly, breaking into my memories. "Excuse me?" I asked. I had lost the fragments of our conversation. "It's hard to see them grown up," she said with a knowing smile. Tears stung at my eyes. "I was a good mother, once," I said, although I could see from the surprised look on her face that she didn't understand my sudden need to defend myself. "I rocked him, I sang to him. I took him on walks in his stroller and we would sit in the park and watch the birds swoop toward the shore. Even after Samantha was born, I still always made time for Fox. We would read together when she was taking her nap, or he would color at the table while I was making dinner." I could not stop crying. I couldn't stop the words pouring out of my mouth. I could see Maggie mouthing some words of comfort, something that would have sounded like 'I know you were'--if I could have heard anything more than my own voice in my ears. "William was so good with him. They were close when Fox was small. I would come into the living room and find them, playing checkers or dominos. Fox was fond of playing board games. Scrabble was his favorite for many years. Then he became attached to games of strategy--chess, Battleship, Stratego. William loved to watch Fox sit and work out strategies--his face was like an open book. William used to tell me he could see 'the gears moving' when Fox sat thinking." "I loved my children--I still love my children. Both of them. I can look back now and see all my mistakes, my weakness, my fear. It paralyzed me and tore my son from me just as surely as my daughter was torn from our family. Oh, Maggie, if I could go back, just for one day--" I hate crying in front of others. I hate the look of pity in their eyes. But when I looked through my tears at the woman in front of me, I saw not the pity I expected, but a camaraderie born of common experience. "I know, I know exactly what you mean," she said, through tears of her own. I am quite convinced that she did. Dana stirred and opened her eyes seeing that she was in her mother's lap. Self consciously she sat up, straightening her jacket in a move to mask her embarrassment. Maggie and I exchanged knowing glances. It is hard to watch them grow up. Even harder to let them go. "Mom, why are you crying," Dana asked, immediately attentive and anxious. "What's happened?" she demanded, her voice cold and flat. "Nothing, Sweetheart," Maggie assured her with a tender smile. "Nothing's happened." "You're both crying," Dana observed, suspicious of our intentions. So much like Fox . . . "We were just exchanging recipes," Maggie lied expertly. I glanced at the clock. "Dana, it's almost time for your turn with Fox," I said, hoping to divert her attention. She looked at the clock then, too. She ran her fingers through her hair--much like a young woman going to the door to meet her date. A smile tugged at me when I thought of that image. But Dana stopped and suddenly looked intently at her mother. "Mom, you take this turn," she said. As an afterthought she quickly looked my way. "If that's all right with you, Mrs. Mulder?" I was a bit surprised. But I covered well. "It's your time with him, dear. Whatever you wish." I hope I didn't sound as perplexed as I felt. Maggie was a little confused at this turn of events as well, if the look in her eyes told me anything. "Sweetheart, are you sure? Don't you want to spend this time with Fox?" "Mom, I'll see Mulder next time around. But you know how he is. Sometimes he doesn't always listen to me. He'll listen to you, I know he will." She was completely earnest in her convictions. The nurse at the desk was nodding our way and Maggie sat there, trying to decide what to do. Finally, she straightened her shoulders and rose to go to the door. In the doorway, she stopped and turned. "I'll give him your love," she told her daughter. Dana smiled and nodded and Maggie followed the nurse through the doors. Dana looked across at me, at the tears still drying on my cheeks. "He loves you very much," she said confidently. I nodded. I'm sure she thought he did. "No, I mean it," she said, as if she could tell what I was thinking, the doubts I had. "He doesn't show it often. He's such a guy that way. But he loves you. I know. I saw how upset he was when you had your stroke." Your 'Stroke'. I tended to think of my illness with quote marks around it. The physical manifestation of an earlier ailment. Samantha's leaving affected me emotionally much the same way the stroke affected me physically. I was weaker because of it, unsure of my continued existence. My world changed, shrank, enclosed around just myself and my illness. That's how I cut him off. Of course he would recognize the signs again. Fox had always been sensitive to the feelings of others, even if he often forgot to acknowledge them. "I know he loves me. It's not very masculine to shower your mother with attention. I'm sure he has much better things to do," I said with an indulgent smile. I didn't mean to offend her, and she knew it. She smiled at me. "He does try to reach out, sometimes. You didn't do a bad job raising him. There are times when he's the most caring, considerate person in the world. As a matter of fact, those times are really more frequent than the times when's he's lost in his own world." I smiled again. I knew it was pure arrogance on my part, but the thought that I hadn't been a complete failure as a mother pleased me enormously. Even if it was probably more chance then actual 'mothering' that caused him to be a caring individual. Even if the young woman before me was lying through her teeth. Sometimes I just craved the reassurance that I didn't destroy my once loving child. Dana was staring over my shoulder toward the door. I glanced back and saw the reason for her attention. Dr. Perring was back and her look was somber. She came over to us slowly, unconsciously dragging her feet. "We have some results back. His lungs apprear to be more congested and his heart is showing signs of weakening. I can increase the medication, but it will probably just prolong the situation, and could very possibly make matters worse. I came to tell you that it's time to invoke the will's provisions. I'm very sorry." My world went from gray to black. end of part four Vigil (5/5) by Vickie Moseley disclaimed in part one I didn't black out. I wanted to, dear God in heaven, I wanted to so very much. I wanted to be totally senseless, in a coma as deep as my son's. I didn't want to deal with anything that was happening, not have to sit there and discuss options and wishes and last requests. But as always, I didn't get my own hearts desire. I stayed very much conscious. Dana was giving me worried glances, so I nodded to her in an effort to convey my stability. I would never have insulted her by telling her I was all right. She knew better, so did I. But when she was reassured that I was not going to lose all composure, she turned back to the doctor, fire in her eyes. "I want to see the test results," she demanded. I bit my lip at the forcefulness of her voice. Dr. Perring seemed oblivious to Dana's sudden change in demeanor. She calmly handed over the chart, pointing to some section of the page. "I took every precaution. I ran every level twice. As you can see from the values--" Dana abruptly shoved the young woman's hand away from the chart. "I can see. What I don't understand is why you took the levels in the first place. He's only been on the diuretics a few hours, they take longer than that to work. He's just undergone extensive surgery for a critical injury. Coma is not uncommon in these cases. You have been assuming that this is a harbinger of death for the entire time you've been on his case," Dana accused angrily. I was shocked at the ferocity of her reaction. Gone was the worried young woman who'd sought her mother's arms for comfort. Before me was a force to be reckoned with, a 'hell cat' as William called women who got what they wanted out of life. I think, before, she'd been in shock over the shooting. But now, hours later, she was fighting for dear life--my son's life. Fox's doctor interpreted Dana's words a little differently than I did. "Dr. Scully," Dr. Perring said evenly, her own dark eyes flashing and her cheeks growing flush. "If you will remember, I was called in as a cardiac specialist after your partner experienced a cardiac arrest. I didn't come in here to pull the plug--if that's what you're accusing me of!" Maggie had entered the room and quickly came over to our little discussion. "What's the matter," she asked, looking first at Dana, then at myself. "The doctor feels it's time to discontinue life support," I said quietly. Maggie reached out and put her hand on my arm. "I don't think it's necessary at this time," Dana said firmly. "It's too early. Far too early," she said, biting out the words. "Dr. Scully, your partner's heart is weakening," Dr. Perring said slowly, as if talking to a child. "The next time he arrests, the damage will be too extensive to repair. Even if he were to wake up from the coma, he will be in a great deal of pain. You don't really want that, do you? He doesn't want it, obviously," she urged. "You don't know him!" Dana said, her voice sounding like a growl. "He was worse in Alaska. His blood was the consistency of hospital jello and he fought his way back. They wanted me to pull the plug then, too and I refused. I won't kill him. I won't let you kill him!" I sat there in shocked silence, but finally, the quiet was simply too oppressive. "Maybe, . . . maybe it would be for the best," I said in a voice so shaky that I wasn't sure if any one had understood me. Dana stared at me, betrayal obvious in her eyes. "Mrs. Mulder-- you can't--" "Dana, dear, hear me out," I said, my voice gaining strength with my own conviction. "I don't want to let him go. I know you don't want to let him go. But it's a decision that Fox has made for us. If he went through the trouble to draw up the provisions--" "It's standard procedure," Dana exclaimed, her expression beseeching me. "He asked me to do it because he didn't want to be bothered reading all the 'mumbo-jumbo', to use his exact words." "I realize that you are his next of kin, but Dana, you have to look at this objectively," I said with more reason than I felt at that moment. "I know Fox is counting on you to do as he would want." Dr. Perring took the opportunity to intercede. "Mrs. Mulder, Agent Scully, you obviously need some time to think this through," Dr. Perring said quietly. "I am still on my rounds. I'll be back in an hour. Until then, I've instructed the nursing staff to forego their time table. There is no one else in the CCU at the moment. You can all take as much time to be with Fox as you want. My prayers are with you," she said gently and left us. Dana was pacing angrily, muttering to herself. Snatches of her rantings came to me 'just like them', 'they would try this', 'just what they wanted all along'. My heart sank as I heard her barely spoken thoughts. I knew exactly who she was blaming and why. But the smell of cigarette smoke was no where near us. I could see the hate in her eyes as she turned to me. "This isn't about his last visit with you, is it?" she spat out. I took the blow, far better than I ever could have imagined. "No, dear," I said as kindly as I could. I knew I was killing this young woman, just as surely as putting a gun to her head. "No, it's not because of our last visit. If anything, I wish I could have the chance to make that time right with Fox." "Dana, you must understand," I continued, and even though she flinched at my touch, I took her hand in mine. "I don't know my son. I wish I did. I know who he was a long time ago. I know who I wanted him to be. I think, talking to you and your mother, that he's become that man I hoped for when he was tiny. But right now, all I have to go on is his own words--whether you wrote them down or not. He did ask you to do that for him and he did sign the paper." She wasn't going to listen, and at that point, I don't know if I could have continued to try and convince her. "Dana, it's your turn. Go sit with him," I said, with just a slight tremble to my voice. Or so I hoped. She looked up at me, such despair I've only seen when I've looked in the mirror at my own eyes. I choked back my tears and nodded her toward the door. She gave Maggie a pleading look and then left. "Would you like some water?" Maggie offered. I looked up at her and could see how much she was on the verge of tears herself. The thought that she was reaching out to me in my heartache-- Another revelation came to me. Maggie didn't view this as my heartache, but her's as well. Somehow, on some level, we were both losing a son. I did something I've almost never done. I stood up and took this other woman, this kindred soul, into my arms and together we wept for our children. Dana didn't return for some time, and I grew worried. The nurse told me that I could go on in, as long as I didn't disturb the tubes and the wires. The cubicle was small and more than one person in it caused the quarters to be cramped. Someone could accidentally jostle the equipment. I told her I would be careful. She was crying. Trembling sobs that shook her frame, but she wasn't letting out a sound. She was holding his hand, kissing it softly from time to time. I heard a imperceptible sigh come from her. It sounded like a word. A name. 'Oh Mulder.' That's what it was. I felt like a voyeur standing in the doorway, but I was captivated by my view. She loved him so deeply. She was so certain he would not leave her. How could I separate them? I finally broke my silent vigil and stepped over to the bed. I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Please, Mrs. Mulder. Please give him a chance. He's tired, God knows he's tired, but he's still got so much he wants to accomplish. He's been lost for a while, but I know he'll find his way back. Please, please, give him a chance. He never gave up on me, he's never given up, ever. Don't give up on him," she begged me, her words painfilled. "Let me talk with my son, Dana," I said. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she kissed his forehead and left us alone in the cubicle. I pulled the chair up as close to the bed as I could. I took my son's hand in my own two hands, and rubbed it gently between my fingers. "I don't know what I'm doing here, Fox, fighting for some paper you signed years ago, and I'm not entirely sure I want to keep fighting for it ," I told him. "I don't know you. Not really. You've grown into a man. I've caught glimpses of you, snapshots in time. I know that you are passionate. That you are obsessive. That you are devoted and committed." "You can be relentless. And reckless. But you have so much compassion--I can see it reflected in the eyes of the people who love you." "I'm not sure what you want me to do here, Baby Boy. I'm not sure if you're ready to go. Dana thinks you aren't ready to leave her. But I don't know if that's her wish or yours." "She loves you, Fox. I hope you know that. Maggie loves you, too. You found another family to take the place of the one you lost." "I'm not angry, Fox. Quite the contrary. I'm pleased. I want you to be happy, Fox. I want you to find love and be loved. You are a very special gift that I was given once. I let you slip from my grasp. I never meant for us to drift apart. Looking back, I think I should have done everything to prevent it. But hindsight is always clearer, isn't it?" "You have a power, Fox," I told him. "You don't have to let your life slip away, as I did, as your father did. You can grab hold of it and not let go." He was so still, and my heart was so heavy that I didn't think I could get the words out. This was my last chance. I knew that if I left that room, my decision would have to be letting him go. I needed him to give me some sign that it wasn't what he wanted. "Fox, I'm far too intelligent to think that you and I could have a second chance. Too much has been done, too much to forgive. But you still have so much to do. And Dana is so certain that you want to remain and finish those quests with her. You can have a second chance with her. I know now that you are happy. How could you be anything but happy when someone loves you that much. So don't think I'm asking for myself, Baby Boy. I'm asking for Dana, too. Please don't leave her. You need each other, so much." I waited. And for the first time in a long time, I silently uttered a prayer. But nothing happened. There was no change. The tears fell on the rail of the bed. I was blinded by them. I leaned forward and kissed his forehead, his cheek, his lips. My son. My baby boy who used to shower me with kisses when he woke up from his nap. My son who once asked me to marry him, at the age of 4. My son who cleaned up the messes I made when I was too lost in myself to even attend to my personal condition. My son who loved me, even after all the mistakes I'd made. I turned toward the door and saw Dana standing just inside the doorway. Her face was streaked with tears and more followed as I shook my head. She could tell what I was thinking just by looking at my face. She walked past me silently, and took hold of his hand. One last touch, one last caress. I couldn't watch. I couldn't bring myself to look at her saying goodbye to him. But at her strangled cry, I had no choice but to gaze in the direction of the bed. Instead of the anquish I fully expected, there was joy on the young face. The tears on her cheeks were suddenly tears of joy. "He squeezed my hand!" she cried out. "He just squeezed my hand!" She turned from me to speak to my son. Softly, like she was talking to a toddler just waking from a nap, she called his name. "Mulder. I know you're in there. Give me another sign. If you can hear me, squeeze my hand twice." By now I was standing at the edge of the bed next to Dana, staring at their hands entwined on the white sheet. I could see the muscles of his long fingers tighten around her tiny palm. Once. Twice. My heart jumped up to my throat. I reached over and replaced Dana's hand with my own. "Fox, Sweetheart," I called to him. "Fox, can you hear me? If you can hear me, squeeze your hand twice for mother?" I begged. One weak squeeze. Another. His hand relaxed against mine. I was still crying, but now I was laughing, too. "It's all right, Fox. I'm here. It's all right. You're going to be all right." Now that I was looking at him, I could see him swallow against the tube in his throat. I knew the feeling, he was struggling against the obstruction. "Sweetheart, be still. I'll go get the doctor. Dana is here with you. Just relax, don't fight the tube. I know how much you want to, but believe me, it only makes it worse when you constrict the muscles of your throat. Just relax, stay calm, Mother will get help." I found the nurse and yelled at the poor woman to get Dr. Perring immediately. Then I ran to the waiting lounge. My face must have mirrored my emotion. Maggie grinned at me, took me in a hug and the two of us laughed and cried for several minutes. "What happened?" Maggie begged, breathless and probably as exhausted as I felt. "He squeezed my hand," I told her plainly. "I was ready to give up and he squeezed my hand." Together, we went to join Dana in the room. Again, I stopped in the doorway, with Maggie at my side. Dana was holding a hand to his cheek, wiping tears away from his face. I suspect some of those tears were hers, but many were from Fox. "I know you hate the tube, Mulder. I'm sorry, but it's just for a little while longer. You've had us scared to death. I should pound you for being such a worry to your mother." He must have made some motion that only she could understand. She laughed, a soft gentle laugh. "Me--I'm used to it. You seem to think that's the best trick you can pull on me, scaring me shitless," she said coarsely. "Couldn't freak me out with sewer monsters and genetic mutants and vampires, so you like to stop my heart by stopping yours. Well, let me tell you something, Mister. You just make sure you always come back." Maggie gave me a shove and we moved into the room. His eyes were opened, but only half way. He darted his gaze over to me and Dana moved aside to give me room. I took his hand. He gave my hand two squeezes. "I love you, too, Sweetheart," I told him. He blinked, long and lazy. I recognized that blink. It was the one he'd have on his face just before he'd fall asleep in his mashed potatoes at the dinner table when he was two. I couldn't hide my delight, or my chuckle. "I don't know about you, but I am exhausted. I think it's time I found a bed and slept for a while. I think you should do the same. Maybe, by the time you wake up, Dana can figure out a way to lose that tube of yours," I said with a wink--my first in years. I detected a tiny smile that played around his eyes. His lids slid closed and his hand relaxed in mine. I had a momentary panic attack until Dana pointed to the various monitors. "He's sleeping. He needs that right now. His body needs to rest to heal." I knew that, I just needed to hear it from someone else. Maggie and I found suitable accommodations right across the street from the hospital. For the first day or two, we still couldn't convince Dana to come over and sleep in a 'real bed'--she preferred to cat nap in a chair next to Fox. Finally, once the tube was removed from his throat, he issued her a direct order to find a bed and use it. Under other circumstances, I might have feared again for my son's life, but Dana seemed to take it in stride. She did remind him that he'd been calling her soon enough when the nurses started 'torturing' him. I drove Maggie to the airport when it was all too apparent that we were 'excess baggage'. I had convinced Fox to come to my house when he was released, at least for a day or two before continuing on to Washington to recuperate fully at home. I extended the offer to Dana, as well, but she excused herself by explaining that one of them had to go back to work or they would both be out of jobs. It was with great reluctance that I watched her leave. Fox was in my home less than 48 hours before I overheard him calling Dana to come pick him up. I suppose I should have been offended, but I wasn't. I didn't expect a big reconciliation. What I got was a very good start at a second chance. Dana has been good about keeping me apprised of his progress. She called just a while ago to say that they were both going 'stir crazy' since Fox hadn't been cleared to return to field duty. She thought a drive up the coast might do them both some good. I told her I would have the guest room and the sofa bed ready for their arrival. He'll probably only stay a night, and more than likely will find a reason to leave early the next morning, but I'm satisfied, for now. I have to get the house ready. My kids are coming home to visit. the end. Vickie "Your ability to juggle many tasks will take you far." My fortune cookie, Feb. 28, 1998