Title: By Her Side Author: Vickie Moseley Summary: Bill Scully gets a call from his mother to go to his sister's side. But not for a reason he approves of. Rating: R for rough language (he's a sailor for Pete's sake!) Category: V, MSR (implied) Scully (Bill and Dana) angst, Mulder torture Spoilers: Tons. Mostly up to the movie, so all of seasons 1 - 5. Disclaimer: The characters depicted within belong wholy and completely to somebody else (namely 10-13 Productions). This falls somewhere under 'coveting thy neighbor's fictional persona' but I lust after them with my mind, not my pocketbook. No copyright infringement intended. Author's note: I fully intend to hear from some 'differing opinions' on this one, but I had to see if I could paint Bill Scully as something other than the embodiment of evil. In short, I tried to walk in his shoes for a day. This is the result. There may be another one or two like it. Comments to me: vmoseley@fgi.net By Her Side by Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net "Bill, it's Mom." I'm 38 years old and she still feels the need to identify herself to me over the phone. She's been doing it since I left for college. Like I could ever forget the sound of my mother's voice. But some things never change. "Yeah, Mom, how are you? Isn't our turn to call?" Tara and Mom worked out an arrangement not long after the wedding. We'd call every two weeks, but Mom knew how much money comes into a sailor's household, so she quickly insisted that we take turns. Every two weeks, like clock work on Sunday night we'd call or we'd be home to take her call. But then it hit me, it's Wednesday. Something's wrong. "Mom, what's the matter?" "Oh, Billy." OK, now I'm getting worried. Mom only calls me Billy when she's really upset and by the sound of her voice, she's definitely upset. I think she might even be crying. "Mom, what's wrong? You're scaring me here. Is it Dana? Charlie? You? What's going on?" I don't want to play the bully, but there's this cold fist of dread in my stomach that I can't shake. She's sounds almost like she did when she called me to tell me about Missy. And before that when she told me about Dad. And with Dana's line of work - "It's about Dana, yes, but not what you think. I just got off the phone with her. She and Fox have been out in San Diego for a few days on a case. Apparently there was shooting. Fox . . ." Mom is crying. I can hear it in her voice. She's stopping to catch her breath. My God, what the hell is going on? "Mom?" "Fox s-s-s-stepped in front of the gunman. He was going to shoot D-D-Dana. Fox was hit. Oh, Billy, she was so upset. She was crying so hard I could barely make out the words." Dana crying? Over the phone and crying? Impossible! Never! It could not, would not ever happen! I can't remember the last time I saw my sister cry. Not at Dad's funeral, not at Missy's. Oh sure, damp eyes, a touch of the tissue. But crying so hard that she couldn't be understood? No, it didn't happen like that, Mom is just exaggerating. "Mom, what do you want me to do?" At that moment, I knew what was coming. Mom was calling me to go over to sit with her. But it hit me, suddenly. Dana has been in San Diego, possibly for a 'few days', and she's not called _once_? She was here, with that son of a bitch . . . and she didn't think to call me? For that matter, she calls Mom all the way across country instead of me here in the same city when something bad happens. When the hell did I become the pariah of the family? "Do you want me to go to her? Where is she?" "Now, Billy. Listen to me. I know what you think of Fox. I know you blame him for all sorts of things that he never had anything to do with. But there is a reason Dana didn't call you and that is it. She's scared, but she doesn't want to deal with your anger right now, especially if it's directed at him. She's at Mission Hospital, I know you can find her. But if you go over, I want you to keep your opinions _to yourself_! If you can't respect Fox Mulder as another human being, at least respect him for what he means to your sister. I will not have you going over there -" "Mom," I finally cut into her tirade. "Mom, give me some credit, please! I won't put my foot in my mouth. I'll be there for her, I don't give a shit about this Mulder character. But I don't want my baby sister sitting in some cold and impersonal hospital all by herself." "I know you don't care about Fox, William, but do all of us a favor and keep that to yourself. And keep your mouth shut, if you can't think of anything else good to offer." I recognize that tone. It's Mom's 'I'll kick your butt from here to next Wednesday if you don't do as I'm telling you' tone of voice. It always sent shivers down my spine and still does. "I'll be good, Mom. I promise. Now, I better get over there." "Just give her all my love, please, Billy. And Fox, too, if you can deliver the message. Oh, and a kiss for Tara and Matty." I have to sit through the entire litany before she finally lets me go. "I will, Mom, I will. I'll call later, if there's any news." "I'm trusting you, Billy. I love you." Shit, now I'm going to start crying on the phone. "I love you, too, Mom." I hang up and turn to find Tara giving me a perplexed look. "Was that Mom? Why didn't you let me say hello? And Matty could have said a few words to her, or at least babbled in her ear." Before she's through, Tara is staring at me. "Bill, what's the matter?" I'm already looking for my keys and my jacket. "I have to get over to Mission Hospital. Mulder got himself shot and Dana's over there with him. Mom doesn't want her to be alone." "Oh, God, it's not bad, is it?" Tara's handing me the keys and my jacket and my wallet, too. I'm heading for the door. "How good could it be if Mom's sending me over there?" I throw over my shoulder and before she can answer, I'm in the car and pulling out of the driveway. For the record, I'm not a bad guy. I'm a likable guy, as a matter of fact. I have the respect of the men below me and the officers I serve under. Tara was not the first woman to fall in love with me, but she is by far the best. And I have plenty of guys I can call up on a moment's notice for a game of golf or a Sunday afternoon of football or for a quick poker game. So I'm not known for my animosity. Then came Mulder. Hell, why can't the asshole just let people call him by his first name? I mean, what's this 'Mulder' shit? I took a little psych in college. I recognize an attempt to distance oneself from others. He's pushing people away with that shit. Well, I don't have time for that bullshit. I didn't set out to hate Fox Mulder. No, that came with time. Like the time Dad died. I turned around at the luncheon after the funeral, and Dana had disappeared. I looked for her among the mourners, mostly brass and friends that Mom and Dad had picked up over time, but I couldn't find my little sister. So, I found my wife and asked her. "She had to go to work." I about flipped out! Work! Her father had just died, for Christ's sakes, and she had to go to work?! I'm in the service, I _know_ how much leave time you're allowed for funerals, and it's longer than four fucking hours! I lost it. I found Charlie and we were going to fly down to North Carolina or South Carolina or where ever the hell he'd dragged her off to, and kick his sorry ass all the way back to DC! Mom didn't need that shit. Mom needed us there, all of us. Missy had already blown it off, couldn't get a flight, bunch of shit. Now, Dana, the 'reasonable one' takes a powder right after the services. Because of him. Because of Mulder. We were almost out the door when Tara knocked some sense into us. Well, a couple of days later and the case was over, they caught the guy, or rather, Dana caught the guy, and she _still_ didn't come home. "Mulder got shot." Like that was supposed to explain why she wasn't home, comforting her grieving mother. Like that was some sort of absolution for leaving her father's graveside. I was still on leave when she finally got home. I went over to her apartment, I was going to give her a piece of my mind. It was after midnight, and I knew her flight had arrived much earlier. She'd been at 'his' apartment, 'settling him in'. We had a fight. Our first over that sorry son of a bitch. I told her what I thought about her running out at the funeral, she told me to mind my own business. I told her she _was_ my business and she let me have it with both barrels. Lit into me like Hell's Fury Scorned. And then, in the middle of our fight, or so I thought, she informed me that she was just there to 'pick up a few things' because she was spending the night at her partner's. I've only 'seen red' a couple of times in my life, but that night was one of them. I slammed the door, grabbed the 'few things' out of her hand and refused to let her out of the apartment. My baby sister slapped me. I will never forget it. I was standing there, I outweighed her by 100 lbs, I _towered_ over her, and in a second, this tiny little woman was a ball of self-righteous fury who whipped her right hand back and slapped me for all I was worth. It hurt my pride more than it hurt my face, but I couldn't believe she could pack that much whallop. And while I was rubbing my cheek, she got her things and walked out the door. I tried calling her, at his place, but no one picked up the phone. I didn't bother to leave a message. I had to leave the next day. It was the first time I ever left town without telling her goodbye. I started to hate Fox Mulder that day. And the hatred grew. I couldn't stand the sight of him at Missy's funeral. He stood there, God help me, and actually held my mother as she cried. Son of a _bitch_! Like he was a member of the family. Like he wasn't the reason Missy was lying cold in that grave! Like he belonged. And like I didn't. Dana sort of half-assed forgave me for the fight way back when. But when I mentioned that I thought the time after the graveside service should be 'just family', she got all huffy with me. "Mulder needs to be there, otherwise he'll think we blame him." I was about to tell her that I _did_ blame him, but Mom stepped up, dragging Mr. FBI behind her and told us that she was riding to the house with Fox and Dana and would I stop by the caretaker's office and tell them they could close the grave. Sure, that was what I was there for. Making sure my little sister was covered with six feet of mud while the man who put her there was sitting in our house and eating our food. I really hated him that day. I didn't get over it, I just got away from it. I went back to Great Lakes and then to Newport News. I was really happy that I could get home a little more often, but then I was sent out on a cruise and I was gone for six months. When I got back, I found out what he'd done to us lately. Dana had cancer. She was dying. I still can't talk about it. I can see her, standing in that hospital room telling me how she could tell her partner about her illness, but not her brother. I can see her lying in that bed, _dying_, and holding that bastard's fucking hand like it was a teether to the earth. I can see her announcing that she was going to put that goddam chip in her neck, in so many words that she trusted _him_ over her doctor, our priest . . . even me. I hope the fucker dies tonight. I'll finally be done with him. But if that happens, I'll still have to deal with Dana. That's OK, I know I can make her see that it's for the best. I'm never too sure how to handle these hospital things. When Dana was out here last Christmas, and she found . . . that kid and she was talking all crazy and then the kid got sick . . . I mean, how the hell was I supposed to find her at the hospital. "Excuse me, have you seen a seemingly intelligent woman who is acting totally nuts and keeps saying she's the mother of a three year old she's never seen before in her life?" I didn't even know the damn kid's name at the time. Emily. Her name was Emily. At least this time, I know who I'm looking for. I walk up to the first nurse I see and ask for directions to admissions. A nice, white haired lady at a desk tells me that Fox Mulder has been taken up to the surgical ward, and that family members can be found in the waiting room up there. When did she become his 'family'? I get directions and find the elevators and get to the right floor and then to the right wing and there she is. God, I've never seen her look this bad. Lost. And so damned tiny. Fragile. Covered in blood. God help me, if a speck of that is hers . . . But I can tell she's not hurt. Not physically, at least. At least the fucker did something right. He protected her. She's safe. This time. I walk down the hallway toward her. She isn't looking my way, her eyes are glued to a set of double doors with the words 'surgical suite' stenciled on them. I call out her name as I get closer and she still doesn't move, doesn't react at all. Finally, I'm right next to her and I put my hand on her shoulder. "Dana?" She looks up at me and for a moment, there's no recognition. She doesn't _know_ me! And then a light comes on in her head. "Billy?" She's up on her feet and she grabs me hangs on with everything in her. She's not crying, not yet at least. She's taking in deep gulps of air, and it scares me how much she's trembling in my arms. "Here, let's sit down." I lower us both to the couch she was sitting on and pull her closer to me, so that her head is now resting on my shoulder. "It's OK, Danie, it's OK." I haven't called her that since, . . . gee, since we were kids. Since before I got all tough and couldn't be bothered with my kid sister and her stupid tagging along all the time. Not for a long time have I called her that. "It's going to be OK, Danie, I promise." Finally, she sits back, and wipes her face on her sleeve. She leaves a streak of dried blood mixed with tears across her cheek and I itch to wipe it off, but I figure I'll just let her be for now. "How did you know?" That hurts. She's all but admitting that she wouldn't have told me. "Mom called. She said . . . that you were here. And you were upset." She snorts beside me. "Mom, the great understatesman." I want to crack a smile at that, but it's not really that funny. "How is he, uh, how's he doing?" I really don't give two shits how that little twerpy bastard is doing, but I promised Mom and I'll keep that promise. She stares off at those shitty double doors again. Finally, she clears her throat. "He was shot in the chest. Close range. _Very_ close range. The exit wound . . ." She stops and swallows, hard and it hurts me to watch her struggle with this. I start to tell her that I don't need the play by play, but she's talking again and I realize she's not talking to me, she's talking to him. "The exit wound was so big. He lost so much blood at the scene. For a minute, I was afraid it hit the aorta, but I could still find a pulse. It took forever for the ambulance to get there. He was just pumping blood out, he was bleeding to death in my arms. . ." She takes a deep breath. "I threatened him. I told him that if he died on me, I'd curse his name till the day I died. I told him I'd spit on his grave, I'd never look for Samantha, I'd destroy his apartment and poison his fish. I told him I'd find Ed Jerse again and let him fuck my eyes out this time and the tattoo would read 'fuck you, Fox Mulder' and I told him I'd quit the Bureau and I'd become a prostitute and die of AIDS or a drug overdose. I told him I'd do all of that if he left me." God, I don't want to hear this. God in Heaven, I don't want to hear this. But she won't stop talking. And now she's laughing, but not in a happy way. She's laughing like a mad woman. Like some who has lost their mind. Laughing and talking through it all, but still staring at the door, still more to him than to me. "I think he must have heard me. His pressure dropped and the EMS guys had to defib in the van, but he hung on. I think the Jerse thing was what turned the trick. Have to remember that one." "How long have you been here?" I have to get her to connect to _me_, to quit looking at the damned doors and see that she's not alone, that I'm here, too. "I don't know. Three, four hours? Who the fuck knows?" That took my breath away. I've never heard Dana curse like that before and the way she's doing it now it seems like second nature. "It wasn't supposed to go bad. We were staking out the _least_ likely spot. Neely wasn't supposed to be there, it was just a possiblity. A remote possiblity. But he was there, and we didn't have proper back up. We never have proper back up, do we, Mulder?" She's letting go of my hand and standing, pacing in front of those doors. She won't quit staring at them and she's wringing her hands and I wonder if it's hurting her to do that as much as it's hurting me to watch. And I hate that fucker even more for putting her through this. God, I hope, I really hope he dies on that table. But I have to take care of her, now. No time for wishful thinking. "Have you had anything to eat?" I glance at my watch and it's already almost ten o'clock. If she's been here four hours, she probably didn't get dinner. I can find something, a vending machine or something. "I'm not hungry." Her voice sounds hollow as she says it, like she doesn't even know what the question was, much less what she answered. "How about some coffee?" I try again. This time she doesn't even bother to answer and I take that as a good sign. I go off to find some coffee. Coffee is a lot easier to find when you know where the hell you're going. I got lost, not bad lost, but turned around. When I figure out where I am and where I'm supposed to be, there's some woman in hospital scrubs talking to Dana on the couch. Dana is nodding and her face is this . . . mask. She looks so impersonal, so cold. She's holding it all back in front of this woman. I know how much it took for her to let me see that earlier display. And I'm her brother. I come up to them, quietly, not wanting to disturb them. " . . .damage was extensive. But he made it through the surgery. He did flatline on us, but it wasn't for very long. The hypovolemia is the greatest concern. The lung capacity will be diminished, but with therapy, he should be able to recover. Right now, we just have to wait. And pray." "May I see him?" Her face is strong, but her voice is betraying her. I can hear the tremor in her voice all the way from where I'm standing. The scrubs woman is shaking her head. "Let us get him settled in ICU. I have you listed as next of kin, you'll have full priviledges to visit. I think it would be best to notify any other family members at this time." She reached out when she started talking and now she squeezes Dana's shoulder. Like you would a wife you'd just given bad news. And the look on Dana's face. She's losing her whole world. That skinny, limp-wrist, pansy faced asshole is everything to my baby sister. Everything. And nothing or no one will ever replace him in her heart. I can't breathe too well. My stomach is a knot and I think back to how many times tonight that I've wished that sorry son of a bitch dead. I didn't mean it, God. Really, I didn't. I just . . . _hate_ him sometimes and it's so much easier to just wish he was gone . . . The woman leaves and Dana's just sitting there, staring into space. I walk up to her and offer her the coffee. She takes it on autopilot, swallows and frowns. "I don't take sugar," she says to me. I almost laugh. No, that's right. Tara takes sugar. Dana takes . . . I realize I don't know how my baby sister takes her coffee. That really bothers me right now. What really eats me is that the asshole who's dying probably knows how she takes it. "I'll get you another cup," I offer. "No, that's OK, I'm not really thirsty, either. I just want . . ." I know what she wants. "I wish you'd try to get to know him, Billy," she says, her voice all low and raspy as she continues to stare at the doors and the walls and everywhere except my face. "He's not a bad guy, you know." "I know," I say, automatically. So what if I don't mean it, she needs to hear it. She impales me with her eyes. "Liar." The way she says it, I feel cursed for all eternity. It makes me hurt. I feel ripped apart by her accusation. I want to hurt back a little. Damn me. "OK, if he's so great, why the hell did he let you get in a position where you were getting shot at to begin with?" She turns on me, pale. Ghostly white. And for a minute I'm afraid I've killed her with my words. But then I realize, she's just building up a head of steam. "Fuck you," she seethes, quiet, through those perfect white teeth that once sported big shiney braces. She's walking down the hall almost before I can breath. I can't let her run off this time. Not this time. I take two steps and reach out and grab her arm. "Dana, stop. Please." She pulls her arm out of my grasp. "Go home, Bill. You're not wanted here. You're not needed here. Just go the hell home." She stomps off toward the hallway again, leaving me there, staring open mouthed after her. "Why? Why do you love him more than me?" When I hear the words echoing off the white walls of the waiting room, I don't recognize my own voice. I know those were my thoughts, but I didn't think I had the guts . . . or the stupidity, to say them out loud. She stops. She doesn't turn around right away. Her shoulders heave with the effort just to keep standing. When she finally turns toward me, there's a single tear sliding down her left cheek. I made her cry. Mom, Mom, Billy made Dana cry. I can hear Charlie chanting all the way from the park to our house. Billy made Dana cry. "I don't . . . love him . . . more," she chokes out and I'm afraid to listen, afraid of what she's going to do to me now that she knows what is scaring me. I don't want to lose her to him. Not the last sister I have. Not to him. Not to that loser. "I don't love him _more_ than you, Billy," she says, through clenched teeth. She stops and draws in enough breath for both of us. "I love him _different_ than I love you." I want to follow her. I want to go after her and catch up to her and pull her in my arms and tell her that I'm sorry, that I'm a bigger ass than Mulder could ever be, but all I can do is stand there. When I can't see her because she's turned the corner, I walk over to the couch, sit down, and cry like a baby. I can't believe I fell asleep. A nurse comes over and shakes me awake and I don't remember where I am or what I'm doing here. I blink a few times, and then remember. Dana. Mulder. ICU. It's not hard to find the Intensive Care Unit. It's marked on all the elevators. ICU, 6th floor. I'm now on the sixth floor. It's a little past one in the morning. I've never been in an Intensive Care Unit. I've heard about them, but I've never seen one close up. It's odd. Quiet. Everyone looks so intense. Life and death all in about eight rooms. I start looking in the glass windows trying to find Dana. A nurse walks up to me and taps me on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, sir, but only members of the immediate family are allowed here." "I'm looking for Fox Mulder. Well, really, I'm looking for my sister, Dana Scully. She's with him. She's his, uh, next of kin." "Mr. Mulder is in room 5. His wife is in there right now." I blink at that. Wife? Nah, Mom would have said something. Wouldn't she? "Ah, that's probably my sister." "Wait here." The nurse gives me a look as she makes a note on a pad of paper before going off to what I assume is room 5. She's in there a minute and then back at the desk. "I'm sorry. Mr. Mulder can only have one visitor at a time and your sister," she looks doubtful as she says it, "says she's going to stay the night. She said you're free to go home." I don't want to go home. No, that's not true. I do want to go home, I want to run to Tara and have her make it all better. I want to rock Matty to sleep and fall asleep with him and have Tara kiss me awake and take me to bed with her. But I've hurt my baby sister and I can't go home. Not till I make it right. I start to head off to the elevators, but I'm watching the nurse as she goes back to her charts. When I'm sure she's not looking, I make a dash for room number 5. I feel like an idiot as I burst into the room. I shut the door behind me and wish it had a lock or something. Instead, I just lean against it. I look at Mulder. He _is_ the center of attention here, after all. But God, I wish I hadn't looked. He's almost transparent. So pale that the sheets have more color than his face. His eyes are sunken in his cheeks and there's a tube coiling out of his mouth. I see a little black balloon and it fills and collapses in time to the rise and the fall of his chest. From what I can see under the covers, his entire left side is covered in gauze. There are wires. So many wires. All over his chest, some around his head, too. More tubes than I could ever count. A bag of red stuff and two bags of clear stuff and tubes poked into his chest. A bag of yellow stuff hanging off the bed rail. I don't want to know where that tube leads. A bunch of machines encircle him, surround him. Beepings and bleepings and infinity signs on digital displays. I didn't know I'd been holding my breath until I start to feel dizzy. "Go home, Bill. You're not -" "Dana, shut up. I'm not leaving until I have my say." She stops, now it's her turn to open her mouth and gap at me. I wish I had some idea of what the hell I'm going to say to her. I look down and see her tiny hand, the hand that used to clutch mine so tightly, the hand that used to bring me cookies when I was sick, the hand that used to slap me high fives when she made a basket. It's entwined in the hand of the man in the bed, lying so still and so very, very quiet. In the depth of my soul, I see her for the first time in a very long time. See her sitting beside this man. I see their clasped hands, and I know this is where she belongs. My heart breaks a little. I don't want to let go. I don't want to admit that any man could have a place in her heart, might even deserve to be there. But I know the truth now. I didn't stand a chance. If I don't change my ways fast, I'll never have a chance with her again. "I promised Mom I would be here for you," I say, slowly, trying to find the words. "And on the way over, I'll admit, I didn't really give a shit if he . . . lived or died." She purses her lips and I know I better speak fast because my chances are getting awful slim. "But Dana, I know that was my own selfish pride. I hated Mulder, I used to hate Mulder, because I thought he was taking you from me. I thought he would only get you killed. And that scared me. God, Dana, I was so scared that my baby sister would die." I'm having a hard time standing up and so I lean on the bed rail a minute. "I know this is the path you've chosen. You choose it every day, I guess. Just like with Tara and me. Every day, I wake up, and I just want to be with her. I can understand that. I can see that. I can see how you'd feel that way." Her eyes are softening up a bit. She's not looking at me as if she's looking at a monster anymore. "He saved your life. I guess that really just sunk in to me. Back when you had the cancer, back when you lost . . . Emily, today, all those times in between . . . he's saved your life. He hasn't taken you away from me. He's kept you safe for me. As safe as you'd let him, anyway." I get a smile for that one. "Look, I'm going to go down to the chapel. I'm going to light a candle for him, say a few prayers. Then I'll be right in the waiting room. If you get tired, or need a break, I'll . . . sit with him for you. I'll make sure he's safe for you." I'm not sure what I expect her to do, but as always, my baby sister does the unexpected. She gets up, not letting go of Mulder's hand and reaches out to me. She pulls me toward her, one handed, and wraps her free arm around my waist. "I love you, Billy," she sighs into my shirt. "I always have and I always will." "I love you, too, Danie," I tell her. I look over at the man who means more than the world to my sister. Maybe there is something there that's more than I've seen before. "Who knows? With time, I might even love him," I say, and in some strange way, I really mean that. "I've begun to believe in some extreme possibilities," she says and smiles at me. I'm beginning to know what she means. To be continued: By Her Side 2: The Awakening I've been in this elevator so much in these last three days that I know the grooves on the buttons and the graffiti scratched in the paint by heart. It's been hell, no doubt about it. But I'm not complaining. I get up in the morning, go to work at the base all day, then drive straight to the hospital. I take up watch, Dana runs back to our house to grab a bite with Tara, play with Matty, take a shower and lay down, if Tara can bully her into it. And then by 11 she's back here, looking a little better than when she left. I give her a kiss and I'm off to find my way home again. While Dana's joining the living, I sit here communing with the comatose. Mulder and I have had a lot to talk about. So far, it's been the kind of conversation I've always wanted to have with Fox Mulder - one sided and me doing all the talking. Just what my heart needed. But I've been good. Well, maybe not 'good' but at least I haven't called him a 'sorry son of a bitch' in the last three days. I've done my best to give him a piece of my mind for worrying Dana like he is. The docs all said he would wake up as the blood volume was improved. That was two days ago. Then they said it was the pain factor. They've had him on some really good shit, from what the nurses tell me. So that shouldn't be a problem now. To tell the truth, I don't think they know their asses from a hole in the ground, but there's no way I'm saying that while Dana is around. I say it plenty to my bud, Mulder. The doctors are hopeful. Sure they are. We avoided a lot of complications, apparently. He hasn't developed an infection or pneumonia. The respirator has been turned down a couple of times and I wouldn't be surprised if they've removed it by now. He's breathing on his own. But he 'died' twice. His heart stopped pumping. I didn't go to medical school, but I know that when the heart stops pumping, the blood stops carrying oxygen to the cells in the body. Skin cells, bone cells, . . . brain cells. And he'd lost so much blood by the time they got to him, that sort of starved the cells a little, too. No body's saying it out loud, but I know why they're all tiptoeing around Dana. The fact that he's in a coma right now is as good as shouting from the rooftops. Brain damage. There is a chance he might never wake up and it's getting stronger every day. Dana told me the other night that she wanted me to get to know him better. Well, I'm getting to know Mulder more than I bet either of us ever wanted. Like his current 'best' blood pressure is 115 over 90. And his heart rate stays at a steady 61 beats a minute, which, with the right tone on the machine, is just perfect to drive a person stark raving crazy, when listened to for four solid hours. His 'resps', in nurses short hand, seem to be holding at 12 a minute, which is pretty much where they were when the tube was doing the work for him. I could go into his 'output' volume, but there are some things even _guys_ don't discuss in public. Catch me in the locker room sometime, why don't ya. He's a pretty quiet guy in a coma. He doesn't move, he doesn't skip a breath, he doesn't even sigh. He leaves that up to Dana. Sometimes, like tonight, I get up here and just stand in the doorway a minute, watching her watching him. Six breaths, then a sigh. Light caress down the left hand, around the IV needle. Another sigh. If the light is right I can see the tear tracks running along her right cheekbone. "Hey, sunshine." I have to break the morbid feeling in this room, it's bad enough with the silence. She looks up and for a moment, the old Danie, my baby sister, is smiling up at me. "Hey, Billy? How was your day?" "Boring. I need a ship," I answer back, tossing my jacket over the tray table. Another sigh. "How's the man here?" Silence. She's cataloging. Trying to decide what would be significant enough to tell me. Knowing that I probably won't understand all the medicalese and really don't care for in depth explanations. "A little better. They extubated him this afternoon. I'm glad, that way he won't wake up fighting the tube. And I think he's getting some color back." Sure, sis. Whatever keeps you going. "Yeah, I think I see that too. Not that I'm that much of an expert on the 'before' model." I'm trying to agree, really I am. And I am glad about that damned respirator tube. It was giving _me_ a sore throat just thinking about it. "Hey, Tara put a lasagna in the oven. You get first dibs, but there better be some left when I get home or I'm coming after you tomorrow." She gets up, but not without a quick kiss to the silent man's forehead. "There'll be plenty. Unless Matty goes through it like he did the tuna casserole last night. That child is going to eat you out of house and home, Billy." Thank you, God. She's taking an interest in something outside of these four walls! It makes me giddy. I chuckle. "Then I _really_ need a boat." "Or get yourself a farm." She's smiling again, but not at me. She leans over and whispers something in his ear. I can't hear and right now, I don't know that I want to. I can tell it's just between the two of them. I just hope he's going to listen to her. Another quick kiss to his temple and then she's standing and reaches up to give me a quick peck on the cheek. "I appreciate this a lot, you know. But make sure you call me as soon as there's any change. I mean, if he wakes up while you're here . . ." She's trying to be diplomatic, but I catch on. "He'll think he's gone straight to hell, right?" She gives me a smirk, straight out of her teen age years. "Something like that, yeah." "I could sit here in a red cape and horns. See what reaction that might get me," I fire back. It's fun to joke with her again like this. It's been too long. "No, please, he's had too many cardiac episodes already," she grins back. "I'll be back at 9." "You'll be back at 11, and no arguments. Us 'guys' have things to talk about." She's reluctant to leave, like always. I know she's afraid that he'll wake up when she's not here. But she more afraid that she'll go and come back and he'll still not be awake. A rock and a hard place. I wish I could do more. I wait until her footsteps are receding down the hall before I sit down. This is her chair. It's where she's slept the last three nights, it's where she eats all of her meals save the one Tara can force down her, it's where she _exists_ for the 20 hours a day that she's by his side. I would really like to punch his lights out for doing this to her. Oh, I know. It's not his fault. Intellectually, I know that. Emotionally, I just see the hell he's putting her through. But then, when it's just the two of us, I can see the hell he's going through and I feel like a number one asshole. "Hey, Mulder. It's me. Bill. Tara says 'Hi'. Boy, I tell you, I heard a good one today." I ramble. I know he's not really listening, so I tell him the latest jokes from the commissary, what the top brass are doing to screw the rest of us, the latest on the pennant races. Oh, and where we are in the home run derby. During our first night here, Dana told me he was a sports fan, has been watching the McGwire/Sosa race, has been rooting for Sosa even though he's a Red Sox fan. Guess she knows as much about him as Tara knows about me. I've been thinking about that, too. I've had time to think of it plenty. During the day, sometimes it's all I can think about. I always knew my baby sister would find somebody someday. I never cared for the creeps she dated in high school. They were all too immature for her, anyway. And in medical school, boy, for a while there, I was scared she might be 'swinging the other way.' She _never_ dated. At least, not that any of us knew of. Then she ran off to the FBI. She wasn't even out of the Academy when she moved in with that Willis jerk. I met him once, hated him on sight. She got rid of him, finally. Took up with that lobbyist, Minette, for a while. That almost looked serious. And he was an OK guy. Had a good job, treated her like a queen. And she dropped him like a rock the day she got paired with her 'new' partner. Minette called me one night. We'd gone out for beers a couple of times, not like we were best buds, but we talked about Dana and what she needed in her life. Anyway, he calls and wanted to go out, grab some beers. I hadn't heard about the break up, and he didn't volunteer the information on the phone, so I said yes. He wasn't there to beg for my intervention. He asked me out to warn me. Seems he had some friends in the State Department and then knew all about Fox Mulder, FBI. He was a nut case, according to Minette. Couldn't work with a partner, they all ended up getting transferred or . . . something. Slept his way through the clerical staff pretty quickly. And then, he went off the deep end. Well, I learned early on that the best way to get a black eye in my family was to try and tell my sisters who they should and shouldn't date. So if Dana broke up with Minette, well, that was her business. But this Mulder character . . . But, as I said before, I didn't go into this thing hating him. Now, I've seen them together. Oh, this isn't the first time. He came charging out like a knight on a crusade when she found that kid. Emily. Her name was Emily. Gotta remember that. Anyway, out of nowhere, he's on our doorstep. Tara, big hearted, very pregnant Tara, makes up the couch for him. Like a member of the family. Pissed me off royally, but when your wife is two weeks overdue, you don't pick fights. I was a little too mad to give them much consideration at the time. I remember bits and pieces. Seeing them on the couch, watching the Christmas tree. His arm around her shoulders, and I'm pretty sure she was crying, but probably not. And at the funeral. I knew he wanted to stay right by her side, but he left her, went to 'get the car' he said. At the time I thought he was being a jerk, but now that I've had the luxury of time to pick that moment apart, I can see that he was giving her a gift. He was giving her space to grieve. Pretty sensitive thing to do for a guy who's a consummate asshole. Speaking of which, I guess I've redeemed myself after that scene with Dana the other night. Mom called me at work today. She said Dana's been calling every day with updates, but she wanted to thank me personally. Dana told her that I was really helping, that both of us, Tara and I were Godsends right now. A Godsend? A little dramatic for my no nonsense little sister, but hey, I'm not complaining. It's one of the nicer things she's ever called me. Maybe the nicest. I admit it, I was a jerk as a kid. But then, who wants a little sister tagging along all the time. Missy used to for a while, then we made her cry one time and she decided she didn't want anything to do with us. But not Dana. We'd make Dana cry and she run under the porch or behind the garage and cry it out, then come right back for more. And after a while, she stopped crying. No matter what we did. That's why I was so scared the other night when she cried in front of me. I hadn't seen her do that since she was 7 or 8. But to this day, it wasn't me who made her cry the other night. Mulder made her cry, Mom. Mulder made Dana cry. This circular logic is starting to get me dizzy. One minute, I'm thinking he ain't such a bad guy and the next minute I want strangle the asshole myself! If he'd just wake up, I think it would be all right. But until he does, I'm here for the evening. Even brought some work to catch up on. Paperwork. You get some stripes on your sleeve and suddenly, they drown you in paperwork. I once thought learning to tie and untie knots was just as waste of time. We're the Nuclear Navy! If it doesn't have a computer chip somewhere in it, we _don't_ use it! But now I know what they were preparing us for. We were learning to untangle paperwork. I've been sitting here, trying to catch up on this shit while Sleepy, the sixth dwarf, takes up space on that hospital bed. Somehow, I get the feeling that he's hiding under all those machines. Dana says they have paperwork, out the yahay, it would seem. And he's always ducking out of it, making her do it. OK, I can't really fault the guy for that. Women are better suited for sitting in front piles of forms and computer screens. It's their center of gravity, the reason they can pick up chairs from a bent over position and we can't. Or something like that. I glance over at Mulder from my little 'tower' of bureaucracy and stop. He moved. Nah, it has to be my imagination. The guy has been laying in whatever position the nurses put him in and I've gotten lazy. I didn't notice the nurse come in and move him. That's all. It would be great, but it's not time to call out the troops . . . Shit! Damn! He moved again! No, I swear to God, he moved this time. I was looking right at him and he sort of turned his head and I know I saw him swallow. Plus, his face looks animated, not still. Not dead, like it did look. I hit the nurse's button, and a voice come over the intercom. "Yes, Mr. Scully. Can I help you?" It's Patsy. I really like her, she's very gentle. Tammy is younger and tends to be more rough with him. It amazes me that stuff like that is bothering me, considering who we're dealing with here. But I brush all that aside. "Mulder's . . . ah, geez . . . he moved! Get the doctor, I'll call Dana, he moved! He's waking up!" Boy, that was a real 'command' voice there. My voice hasn't cracked like that since high school. But I look down and shit, I'm looking at eyes looking back at me. And he moans. It sounds almost like a word. I lean forward a little and listen harder. He says it again. "Hell?" I can't help it. I burst out laughing. Just like Dana thought, he thinks he's died and gone to hell when he sees me in the room with him. When I finally get hold of myself, I can see that he's still giving me this look, like he's waiting to be told if this is eternity or not. I can't do it to the guy. I have to fess up. "No, Mulder, but I bet this could be a new definition of hell for you, huh? You're in the hospital. Mission Hospital in San Diego." He swallows and looks relieved. Then he jerks his head to look around the room. "Scully?" At first I assume he's asking me a question. "What?" He clears his throat. All sounds are coming out a whisper and I can tell it's hurting him a lot to talk. "Dana?" There's fear in his eyes. Then it dawns on me. Doh! He doesn't know that she's all right. He's wondering where she is. He doesn't know that he took the bullet and kept her safe. "She's all right, Mulder. She's fine. She's at home with Tara and Matty. I'm going to call her now. She'll be here in ten, twenty minutes, tops. If you're good, she might even sneak you up some of Tara's lasagna." He relaxes back into the pillows, tries to swallow again, and grimaces. "No . . . tomatoes. Not . . . right now." The door flies open and Patsy comes in with Dr. Nelson quick on her heels. I met Nelson two nights ago, when he stopped by for late rounds. He did the surgery on Mulder and has been keeping tabs on him since then. A nice guy, a bit young, but he's doing a good job. "Hi, Bill, isn't? Now, what have we here? Well, well, well, hello Agent Mulder. Welcome back to the land of the living!" Mulder gives the guy a look that I can well relate to. He'd love to jam his fist down the asshole's throat at this moment. That much perky, nobody needs when they just woke up thinking they're in hell, and their throat feels like some body used a sand blaster on it. The rest of him probably hurts, too, but the throat seems to be getting the best of him. "His throat seems to be hurting him a lot. Is there something you can do for that?" Three pairs of eyes turn to me, and one pair of hazel eyes looks totally amazed. Nelson nods to Patsy, Patsy goes out the door and Mulder is still looking at me like I've grown a second head. Which would probably be easier for him to believe than that I've just done something nice for him. It embarrasses the hell out of me and I grab for the phone. "I almost forgot to call Danie. She's gonna kill me for waiting this long." The phone rings three times before Tara picks up. "Hello?" "Baby cakes, get Danie, quick. There's somebody here who wants to hear from her." I didn't think I could get breathless just standing and talking on the phone. "Oh, God! Oh, please! Billy, is he awake? Ohmigod, I'll get Dana. She's up giving Matty a bath." I hear a muffled scream for Dana. Thank God, Tara put her hand to the receiver. Her voice gets kinda shrill sometimes. Not that I mind it, most of the time. Sometimes I have to work for that scream. But over the phone, well, it would have deafened me. Tromping down the steps, I can hear every footfall. "Bill! What is it?" "He's awake, Danie. He's awake and he sure seems OK to me. Nelson's here, but Mulder wanted to make sure you're all right. Hang on, I'll put him on." I hold the phone over to his ear and Mulder's eyes get really bright and a smile replaces all the pain lines I've seen on his face. "Scully?" I can't really hear what she's saying, but I take it that it's all good stuff from the look on his face. He nods once or twice. Then he closes his eyes. He looks wiped out. Nelson touches my hand and I take the receiver back. "Danie, I think we just wore him out. He's asleep again. Why don't you take your time, don't kill yourself getting here. Here, talk to the Doc for a minute." I hand phone to Nelson. "Dr. Scully? Yes, I just examined him. Neuros look great, considering the pain factor." I would have listened in better, but Patsy came back with a good sized needle and I was watching her real close until she stuck it in the IV instead of his backside. I mean, the guy just got to sleep, for Pete's sakes. Patsy looks up at me and winks. "Dr. Scully was right. He does have 'to die for eyes'." "I never really noticed." Well, it's the truth. I never noticed that she seemed to think like that, either. Nelson hands the phone back to me. "Billy, I'm going to change real quick and be right back up there. He should sleep for a while, they just gave him a dose of Demerol. But I can take it from here." "Did you get a chance to sleep? Danie, you don't need to rush back, he's not going anywhere. Stay there, rest up. I'll watch him." There was a long silence on the phone. "Well, he is more of a handful when he's awake," she admits with a chuckle. "OK, here's the deal. I'll lay down for a few minutes on the couch, but I doubt I'll be able to sleep. Then I'll come up. You need some time with Tara, you know. We can't go neglecting the ones we love." I smile at that. "No, you're absolutely right, Danie. We can't go on doing that. I'll see you in a few hours, then?" "Yeah, about nine or so. And Bill, thank you. You don't know how much this has meant to me." "Hey, what are big brothers for?" I hang up on her goodbye. I don't really trust my voice at this moment. I look over at the guy in the bed. He's just sleeping now. I can tell because I see his eyes shift under his lids. His face looks more alive, too, even though the medicine seems to be keeping the pain at bay. He's a sorry son of a bitch, that's still true. But if he can give me my little sister back, can he really be all that bad? the end. Next up: Mulder gets released from the hospital and he and Bill finally get to have 'that talk'. By Her Side 3: Talk of Changes by Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net It all came up so sudden. After all the running back and forth to the hospital, and then when Mulder woke up, all that stopped. Our lives, well, Tara, mine and Matty's, all went back to normal. Dana stayed at the hospital, then gradually, started working out of the San Diego Bureau office. She's been coming to our place to sleep, and since she's up and gone at daybreak, we really haven't seen her that much. Until last night. She came home early last night, all a flush. Dr. Nelson had decided that Mulder can be released. I think it's sort of nuts, I mean, the guy was in a coma three days ago. Managed care, my ass. Anyway, Dana came in and was starting to pack, trying to call the airlines and get a flight. She hoped to get something direct to DC, and they'd have to go first class, since Mulder was still pretty bad off and would need the extra seat room. I watched her for a minute and then felt my wife's danty size seven and a half shoe come down firmly on my instep. "Tell her they can stay here a day or two." Tara doesn't 'hiss' very often, but it was as close to a 'hiss' as I'd ever heard. OK, confession time. Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I actually believed that Mulder and my sister would go straight to the airport from the hospital and I wouldn't have to face him again. I don't hate him any more. I want that in the record. But that doesn't mean I _like_ him. And it sure doesn't mean I want to have to wait on him hand and foot. Or worse yet, have my _wife_ waiting on him hand a foot. I let him have my sister, I'll be damned if he's getting his hands on Tara, or my house! Pretty stupid feelings, I know, but they're mine and I'm sticking with them. Tara had other plans. "Tara, where will we put him?" Good question, and even a practical one since the bedrooms in this house are all upstairs, and that's probably not on his 'to do' list yet. "The bathroom is up there, too. We get him up the steps once and we're set. He can eat his meals up there, and we can move the TV from our bedroom into the guest room." Guest room. Or, my study, as I more commonly refer to it. "Then where is Dana gonna sleep?" "In Matty's room. Or I could set the cot up in the guest room for her." Matty's room. Definitely Matty's room. I'm only allowing this new found approval go so far. "She probably wants to go home, Tara. They've been here almost two weeks as it is." And at that exact moment, God looked down at our happy little home . . . and spit in my eye. "DAMN IT!" The slam of the receiver almost sent the phone to the floor. Tara ran in to see what the matter was, I sat with Matty on the sofa and tried not to look like we were cowering. "Of all the times for a damned airlines to go on STRIKE!" Oh yeah. The airlines strike. We'd been joking about it in the commissary. Can you say 'Gotcha'? So here I am, sitting in our minivan at the hospital entrance, waiting patiently while Dana and Tara bring Mulder down in a wheelchair. Matty is gurgling, chewing one of those teething cracker things that cover everything with goo that hardens immediately into concrete. The air is on full blast because it's about 9,000 degrees outside. And I've had to cancel out on a meeting with BuPers about an assignment on a ship. My life sucks and it's getting worse by the minute. Finally, they are here. Dana is pushing the wheelchair and she's shaking her head. Even though she's trying to look 'tough', she's glowing. She's just happy to be bringing him home in one piece, I can tell. She points to the minivan and Mulder nods, then sighs. I know how you feel, pal. He's not looking that much different than when we last saw each other. He's still pale, still way too thin. He has to have help getting up out of the wheelchair and I can tell it's hurting him to move that little bit. Getting into the car will be torture. I can't stand it anymore, and put on the parking brake, then get out of the car. "Let me give you a hand." I move in front of him, get my arms around him and hear him moan into my shirt. "Sorry," I remember too late not to touch the left side of his body more than necessary. After some unique dance steps, I ease him into the middle seat in the car. Dana shoots me a wink, Tara is looking at me like I might get _very_ lucky tonight and I run around to get this show on the road. Getting Mulder out of the car is a little more tricky than getting him in there. For one thing, Matty has managed to pretty much encase his left arm with teething mortar, but Mulder doesn't seem to mind. He looks relieved just to be away from people with sharp objects. I take point, again, and together, we ease him out on to the curb. I can tell he wants to get to the front door by himself, but after a step, he's more pale than he was a minute ago, and Dana makes a grab for him. Surprisingly enough, that's all the support he needs to get the rest of the way in the door. I get Matty out, only getting a smudge of the cookie goop on my sleeve and Tara takes him while I get the bags out of the back. Mulder didn't have that much of his own luggage at the hospital. Dana brought him his shaving kit and a change of clothes. The suit he'd been wearing at the time of the shooting was either evidence or garbage, so it no longer belonged to him. The rest of the stuff is medicine and all that crap that they send you home with, even if you just end up staying over night. As I enter the front door, I see my sister, desparately clinging to a very tall person who is about to go over my staircase railing, head first. "Let me up there, Danie," I yell before the railing breaks and they both die from the fall. I grab Mulder, this time careful of his left side, and all but carry him the rest of the way up. "You should have waited," I tell her when she makes it to the top after us. "I thought I could make it," Mulder tells me with an embarrassed shrug. "I think I need to lie down, now." He's almost a dead weight in my arms. "Sure thing. We made up the guest room for you." Tara in control, with Matty on her hip, pushes past us and opens the guest room door. I get him to the bed, Tara has the sheets pulled back and I help him lie back. He's rigid until he settles, then he sort of collapses against the pillows. Tara fusses with the covers a little, then straightens. "I'll have lunch ready in about half an hour. Mulder, would you like something to drink, anything?" He looks like he needs to go back to the hospital, if you ask me. But he shakes his head. "I'm fine, Tara. Thank you. I think I'll just rest until lunch." I take that as our cue to leave. I put my arm around Tara and Matty and guide them out into the hallway. I say nothing as I pull the door shut behind us. Tara is a whiz at cooking. She loves being in the kitchen, and I love just watching her work. Today, since we have 'company', she's knocked herself out. She started minestrone before I left for work, but that's for tonight's dinner. For lunch, she's made chicken salad sandwiches and I make sure she doesn't notice when I sneak a chunk for myself and a little for Matty in his high chair. Matty is a good baby. Especially when in a 'covert operation', like stealing a popscicle when we know 'Mom' isn't looking. Tara has this thing about food and one year olds. It comes from reading too many baby magazines. Mom, my Mom, used to let us eat anything. I've watched Charlie finish off a bag of barbeque potato chips at the ripe old age of 2. So Matty and I have become quite the operatives in the kitchen. Today, however, in all the excitement, Matty slipped up. While I was reaching for another forkful of the bowl of chicken, he figured he'd help me along by grabbing the napkin it was sitting on and pulling it toward us. Chicken salad a la lap. My clean blue uniform lap. I'm not happy running up the stairs to get a clean suit. I have meetings this afternoon, and I don't need this shit. As I pass the 'guest room' door, I can't help but over hear them talking. "I hate imposing, Scully. You know how Bill feels about me. I don't know why we couldn't just go to the motel." Ungrateful little shit. "I know, Mulder, I know. But Bill has been trying so hard this last week. He was with me all night the first night. And he was there everynight you were in the coma." That's my Danie, sticking up for me. "Besides, it serves him right to have to put up with us. He _has_ been a shit to you in the past, and it's time to rub his nose in it a little." _Two_ ungrateful little shits. I'm about to knock on the door and let them both have a piece of my mind when I hear Tara calling us down for lunch. I beat it into our bedroom and change before Dana comes out into the hall. Maybe they're right. Maybe I have been shitty to Mulder. I've gone over my reasons. Mom was always telling me I was too hard on the guy. It was pretty unreasonable to assume that he was personally to blame for _all_ the tragedy that has befallen our family in the last five years. But I have to point out that if Dana had never joined the FBI in the first place, none of this would have happened. And if she'd joined, but hadn't stayed partnered with Mulder, maybe a lot of the horrible things could have been avoided, too. Why am I such a creep for wanting to protect my family? When I get back down to the kitchen, our little munch mouth is chomping down on his chicken salad. Dana is right about one thing, this kid can eat! Dana looks at the iced tea in front of her like she's wishing it was a vodka martini, and she's yapping it up with Tara over Mulder's stubbornness. "He's like a little kid, sometimes, Tara. I mean, he needs to eat and he absolutely needs to rest. But the minute my back is turned, he'll be sneaking down those stairs, trying to figure out a way to get back home so he can go to work three weeks early. There have been times I've just wanted to . . ." "Shoot him?" my gentle wife teases. Dana gets a funny look on her face. "Nah, been there, done that. I just want him to do what he's told for change. I just don't want to have to worry about him having a relapse or injuring himself until he's well enough to handle it." I grab a sandwich and hit the door. I'm late for the office, and he last thing I want to hear is how my baby sister intends to keep Mulder in bed for the next three weeks. The afternoon drags by, mostly because I'm writing reports, kissing ass, and trying to get that ship assignment out of BuPers. By 5:30, I'm ready to call it quits. I pull into the driveway, and I'm met at the door by my wife. A nice little homecoming, except she's carrying the baby in one arm and the diaper bag in the other. "Dana needs to get out a while. She's absolutely obsessing and I think Mulder is ready to duct tape her and throw her in the closet. Mind if you guys have the house to yourselves while we take ShortStuff to Mickey D's?" She doesn't even wait for an answer, just reaches up and kisses my cheek. "I owe you big time, Billy. And if you're real good, you can collect tonight." That is thrown over her shoulder in a decidedly 'Mae West-Lana Turner-Lauren Bacall' sort of smoky voice. Geez, she would use sex to get her way. It always works. "What are _we_ having for dinner?" I really don't whine, but Tara is always accusing me of it. I think she's probably going to do it again. "The minestrone is in the crock pot, there's Italian bread sticks in the oven. And I made a salad, it's in the frig. Beers in the garage, Mulder does _not_ get one, he's still on painkillers. Dana made him some iced tea, it's next to the salad. We'll be home in a couple of hours. I love you." Another kiss, this time blown at me through the air, and she's piling Matty in the car. The screen door slams and Dana is beside me. "Tara just needs a little time out. I volunteered to take her and Matty to McDonald's and the mall for a little bit. Now, Mulder needs to take his antibiotic one hour before he eats, so make sure he does before you feed him anything. And absolutely _no_ alcohol for him. For that matter, don't even drink it in front of him, he'll only try to talk you out of a beer if he sees you with one. And he'll need to take his painkiller an hour after he eats. I've written it all out, it's on the frig. And I left my cell phone number. Mulder knows it, but in case he can't speak or is in too much pain . . ." She's getting this look and turning to stare at the door a little too long. I grab her arm. "Hey, I think it's really great that you girls are getting out for a while. Tara needs to get a dress for a Halloween party we're invited to, why don't you see if you can find one." That drags her attention back for a moment, but she's still wavering. "Danie, he'll be fine. I will make sure he's fine. Believe me, if anything goes wrong, I will call you first and 911 second. It will be all right. Go. Have a good time and relax for Cripes sakes." "Is that an order, Commander?" She has a smart-aleck grin plastered on her face and she always was a mouthy kid. "Yes, that's an order. Now, get going. You know how much trouble you can get into standing between Matty and a meal." I give her a swat on the backside for good measure. And they are gone. I'm still standing on my front porch, wondering how in the hell I just ended up alone with my sister's partner for the evening. Not that daunting a challenge, I've done it a couple of times just recently. Trouble is, this time the son of a bitch is conscious. I open the door and go upstairs, changing into shorts and a tee shirt. I think about going down to get a beer, but decide to check on my charge first. I walk down the hall and knock on the partially closed door. "Is she gone?" Interesting greeting. I push the rest of the way into the room. "Yeah, they're gone. I think I got rid of them for a couple of hours. Told 'em to find Tara a dress." "Remind me to pay you, generously." It's a relieved smile that he gives me. "So, my sister's driving you crazy?" I didn't mean it to sound so much like an accusation, but I guess it came out that way. "Bill, please understand. She's only trying to look out for me. I know that. It's just that she gets a little . . . forceful, when she's in 'doctor mode' and I just get to the point where I can't handle it anymore. Usually, by this time, I'm home and I can call your mom. This time, I had to ask Tara. Scully means well, I know she does, but . . ." He looks sort of pathetic, sitting on a bunch of pillows. He's not wearing a hospital gown anymore, just jeans and a loose shirt. He doesn't look at death's door any longer, but he doesn't look up to playing a quick game of 21, either. I'm sure if it was me in that bed, I'd be climbing the walls, too. "She always was too bossy for her own good," I tell him. "And if you think you've got it bad, you should have seen her when she was a kid. If you tried to hide something from Mom or Dad -" "She'd nark you out, right? I knew it from the first time I met her. But she's not that bad anymore. Sometimes, she even . . ." He stops and just stares at the blankets on the bed. I take that as an opportunity to break for the kitchen. I'm at the door when I remember. "Um, did you take your antibiotic?" He sighs, not a happy camper. "Yes, I took my antibiotic. Exactly 47 minutes ago, according to my watch. That means I can offically eat in 13 minutes." Sheez, what a pain. "Well, it's gonna take me at least that long to find the salad dressing," I tell him and the poor sap grins at me. I take my time in the kitchen, just in case Mulder will burst into flame if he eats two minutes before the hour is up. I take the time to down a beer, find both bottles of salad dressing - white and red, and fill two glasses with iced tea. Then I dig in the cabinet above the stove for the fancy wooden bed tray that Tara's sister got us for a wedding present and we've yet to use. It's been getting a work out these days, thanks to our houseguest. There is barely enough room for the two soup bowls, the bread from the oven, the two salad bowls and the iced tea. I stick the salad dressings and table ware in my pants pockets and head back up the stairs. He's got the tv on, watching sports. Cubs and Braves. And I thought it would be the end of the world before the Cubs would make it to post season play. Mulder looks up and then checks his watch. "I can start chewing, but I have to wait 45 seconds before I can swallow," he informs me, reaching for the tray. "Not much to chew, it's soup. So swallow real slow," I warn him with a smile. God, I'd really hate to be laid up like he is. It has to be a monumental pain in the ass. We eat in silence, both watching the game. He's wincing and I would get concerned, but then I notice it's just the runs being racked up by Atlanta. "God, I hate seeing Ted Turner win," he tells me, chugging down half the iced tea. He holds the glass out and gives it a hard look. "And I'd kill for a beer." "Dana would kill me if I gave you one. And Tara would help." He sighs again, but nods his head in agreement. The soup goes down pretty well, I clear the dishes and put them on the tray to take down later. The game has become such a blow out that it's gotten painful to watch. And I just gotta ask. "So, Mulder, you humpin' my sister?" Poor guy, I'm sure it's not good for him to cough like that. How am I supposed to know that questions like that make him choke, and on iced tea for God's sakes! I know better than to pound on his back, he's got a shit load of stitches there and plenty more inside and on his chest. So I just sort of stand there and hope he recovers because Dana will have my balls on a platter if I killed him asking him a simple question. "Jesus H. Christ, Bill!" he finally chokes out. "You trying to kill me here?" "It's a valid question, Mulder." At least, I sure think it is. "Well, the answer to your valid question is NO!" He leans back on his little pile of pillows and I think he may be needing the pain pill sooner than one hour after dinner. "Why not? Are you gay?" That gets me a look that could cook my liver. "No, Bill, I'm not gay," Mulder says through clenched teeth. Same look Dana gave me that first night. Like I just crawled out from under a rock. "Is she gay?" "Christ, Bill, if you have questions about your sister's fucking sexuality, you fucking need to direct them to _her_!" "So neither of you are gay?" He's staring holes in me. Too bad you don't have 'x-ray- eyes, Mr. FBI, or I would be dead. Cooked liver, cooked goose. "No, Bill. To the best of my knowledge, and where it concerns your sister, that is limited, neither of us are gay." "Then how the hell did you have a kid?" He closes his eyes and sighs again. I would almost feel sorry for the bastard, but I've been dying to know this for months. "Emily wasn't . . . she wasn't 'ours'. She was Scully's child." He chews on his lip for a moment and then swallows again. "And if you want any more information, you need to ask your sister." "So who is the bastard? Or have you already taken care of him." This last I say with no malice. I've seen them together now, I have no doubt that if some fucker raped my sister and she had a baby because of religion or something, Mulder would put a bullet right between the guy's eyes. The only real problem with that scenario is that she didn't remember any of it, if it happened. And when she was gone, she was only gone for a month. I might not know a lot of obstestrics, but Matty taught me, babies take forever to come out. It's not something you forget and somebody would have noticed. "They didn't . . . Bill, it's more complicated than that." But from the look in his eyes, he'd do anything he could to 'take care of' the bastard. "More complicated than rape?" Yeah, Mulder, tell me how it can get more complicated than rape. Then it dawns on me. Maybe she loved the guy once. Oh shit. That would explain why Mulder hasn't killed him. But why can't she remember? Or is that a lie to protect the son of a bitch? "She didn't love the bastard, did she? This isn't some weird ass 'repression memory' shit that is going to come back in ten years and she'll end up in some nut house?" "It's not something I want to talk about, Bill. And please, respect your sister and don't go asking her. It's . . . it's still a very sore subject. But believe me, I'm working on it. And when I get the opportunity, regardless of what it costs me personally, I will 'take care' of it." I believe him. I look at his eyes and boy, I'd sure hate to be the asshole who did that to Dana. His days are numbered. That's a relief. I turn my attention back to the game. Seven to nothing, Braves. Shit. "So, back to my original question. Why aren't you humpin' my sister?" "Bill, go get me a beer." end of part one By Her Side 3: Talk of changes, 2/2 by Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net "Bill, go get me a beer," he repeats. I must look a little nervous because Mulder's sighing sort of impatiently at me. "I haven't taken my after dinner medicine. And if I'm gonna have to sit through this kind of interrogation, I need _something_ to insulate me from the discomfort." How can you argue with that kind of logic? "Better bring back a six pack," he tosses out to me as I head for the door. "And grab a couple for yourself, too." OK, I gotta say it. I'm starting to like the guy. I decide to limit our consumption to one six pack _between_ the two of us, and in a jiffy, I'm back with six Miller Genuine Drafts. I hand him one out of the ring, he pops the top and chugs down a good mouthful. "To the patron saint of brewers," he says, looking at me and holding his can aloft. "Salute!" I respond and join him in another good belt. Ahhh, that's nice. "So, back to the question, why aren't you two doin' it like rabbits? Isn't my baby sister good enough for you?" He blows a breath out through his mouth. "It isn't like that. She's too good for me, if you want to know the truth." "She loves you. I can see that everytime she even mentions your name. You should have seen her the other night, man. She was losing it big time when you were in surgery." I see a guilty look cross his face and if it were anyone else, I'd probably regret bringing up the subject. "I know that. I feel the same about her. We're . . . we're beyond close." "But no sex?" "No sex." He chugs again to drive home his point. "So what do you do? Cat around on her?" "NO!" He swigs at the beer again, and I realize he's beaten me to the bottom. He reaches out a hand and I give him the rest of the ring. Popping another one, he stares glumly at the rugby game he found to replace the sad performance of Chicago. "No, I do _not_ cat around on her. I don't do anything. Period. Besides, Bill, truth be told, our line of work doesn't give us much time for that sort of thing." I ponder that for a moment. I've been at sea, I know what being faithful is like. But six years? And I knew that when the cruise ended, Tara and I would be under the covers for a couple of days without food or water. It just doesn't seem healthy at all to keep that much 'tension' going for that long. Then, a name pops into my head. "So who is Ed Jerse?" I can tell I'm hitting all the right buttons, now. He turns purple and I'm sure I'm gonna be calling 911 in about three seconds. "Where in the hell did you hear that name?!" I have a feeling that if he could, he'd reach out and grab for my neck to wring the answer out of me. "Dana mentioned it. The other night. When you were . . . when they had you in surgery. She said she threatened you by telling you that if you died on her, she'd find this Jerse asshole and, quote, let him fuck my eyes out this time, end quote and that this time her tattoo would read 'fuck you, Fox Mulder'. She scared the shit out of me telling me fucking shit like that." "She _was_ losing it," he mutters and chews on his lower lip. "I thought all that was a dream." "So, who is this bastard?" "Nobody," he says a little too quickly. "I'm not buying that. She's my sister, I deserve to know." He's getting red in the face now and I don't really give a shit. It's the truth. She is my sister, and I _do_ deserve to know what she's been getting herself into. Maybe this 'beyond love' thing is making her do stupid stuff, like run off and jump into bed with every two bit asshole who looks twice at her. I remember when Missy went through a period like that right after high school. I don't want Dana going through that. It's too fucking dangerous. "She's a grown woman, Bill." Shit, can this guy read minds? "Ed Jerse . . . Jerse was a nobody. A mistake. We don't talk about it. And for Christ's sake, don't say a word to Maggie! It's was before . . . before we knew about the cancer. It was a shitty time, and neither one of us want to remember it. I'm surprised she mentioned it to you. She hasn't brought the subject up since it happened. She must have been really at the end of her rope to let it slip like that." "It's not like she meant for me to hear, really. She was just talking, she was scared to death. I don't think she even knew she was saying it out loud." Mulder stops talking, just looks at the screen. I never could understand the rules to this stupid ass game. "It was over a desk." I sputter my beer across the room. "No, not like that," he says kinda disgusted. "Not _on_ a desk, 'about' a desk." I'm NOT saying a word. "She'd never had a desk. In my office. I mean, she had a desk, a nice desk, in an office upstairs. And a filing cabinet. She used to keep my birthday present and her medical journals up there. But most of the time, we're down in my office, our office, really. And I just sort of figured if she didn't like something, she'd do something about it. I mean, for Christ's sakes, she orders the pencils, she orders the printer paper, she orders the file folder tabs. She could damn well have ordered a desk if she wanted one. You'd think that would be obvious, right?" I grab for another beer. This is certainly turning out to be more than I'd bargained for. "And I really didn't want to go on that fucking vacation. I just wanted to work. How the hell was I to know that she had cancer? _She_ didn't even know she had it yet. She goes out, stays the night at the guy's apartment, gets a fucking snake on her ass, and then tells me it's not about _me_! It's not about the desk at all. What the hell is a guy supposed to think?" I am _real_ confused now, but I'm still not saying a word. "A week later, I'm called to the hospital and she tells me she has cancer. It felt like somebody had shot me in the gut. I couldn't breath, I couldn't think. I didn't want to believe it. She told me before she called her mom. And she was trying to be so brave, I saw that. She's the strongest person I know, but she was working so hard to put up this stone front. She was gonna work. She wasn't going to give up. She was gonna beat it." He stops again, and grabs for another beer, his third to my second. "Those fucking bastards. I will see them dead. Someday, we're gonna dance on their graves." "That's what that chip was all about? How did you get it? Did they give it to you?" I've been wondering about _that_ for almost a year. "I stole it out of the Pentagon," he says, like it's something he does every day. "But if you want to know what I really think, I think they let me steal it. I think it was part of their plan. They didn't want her to die, they just wanted me to know that they can take her at any time. Which is why we aren't fucking like bunnies, Bill," he sort of slurs with a smile. "It would be expected. And it would just give them one more thing to use against us." "Wait a minute, there, Mulder. The Pentagon? _The_ Pentagon? Are you telling me . . ." "I'm not telling you anything, Billy Boy," he grins. "Just forget you heard that. It's the MGD talkin', that's all." Now, I'm really confused. "I don't see how caring about each other, giving each other some comfort, could possibly be used against you." Mulder shakes his head with a smart assed smile. "You don't know what we're up against. And you know what?" I look over at him. "I'm gonna _keep_ it that way." He belches a good one and downs the third beer. "If she's in danger, if the military or the government is involved, I _want_ to know, goddammit!" He's shaking his head again. "Leave it alone, Billy. Leave it to the professionals." He finds that comment extremely funny but not for long. "Christ, that hurts worse than choking," he winces and grabs for his chest. "You all right?" "Nothing another beer won't fix." He reaches for a fourth and I hold on to the can for a second. "Scully, I might not look it, but I can whip your ass," he glares at me. "HAH! You and what army?" I belt right back. "I'll get your sister to hold you while I beat the shit out of you, swabbie." I'd respond to that, but I figure he's probably right. I let go of the beer. "Are you sure you should be drinking that many, Mulder? I mean, you just got out of the hospital today." "So?" "So, I don't want you getting hurt. I don't want to mess up your medicine." "Like you give a shit what happens to me," he huffs and drains half the can in one gulp. "Dana does. So I do." He stares at me. But by now, I figure he ain't seeing that good. I'm probably the guy in the middle. "You mean that?" "Why wouldn't I?" "Cos, if my sister were around and she got mixed up with a pathetic loser like me, I'd want the guy dead. I'd figure I could help her over the grief, but she'd be better off in the long run." Well, that feels like a kick in the stomach to me. Nothing like having your own thoughts recited back to you to really humilate the hell out of a guy. "Yeah, well, I'm just a more 'sensitive' kind of guy," I tell him with a smirk. "Yeah. I could tell that about you when you were telling me not to 'bring work' into Scully's hospital room. Something about letting her die with dignity. That was _real_ sensitive of you." Ouch. OK, maybe I deserved that. "I didn't know you then. I thought you were there to . . . Hell, Mulder, I was scared shitless that I was losing my only living sister. You can't hold me responsible for that and you know it!" "I'd never hurt her, Bill. You gotta believe me, I'd never hurt her." His voice has gotten so damned tight it makes my throat hurt listening to him. I think the son of a bitch is gonna start crying. But I believe him. I fucking believe him. "I know you wouldn't, Mulder. Not if you could help it. But damn it, why did you step in front of that goddam bullet the other day? Couldn't you just shove her out of range? You both could have walked away!" "I didn't think of myself. I just was not going to let her get hurt. It just happened." He winces and rubs his left side. I can see the bandages under the tee shirt he's wearing. "Pain and I are old buddies. I don't mind it. As long as she's all right." "You know, I was right. You are a sorry son of a bitch!" He stares at me, surprised by my outburst, but damn it, he's making me mad! "Look, you fucking idiot, my sister loves you. That is a gift, goddam it. Do you honestly think she'd waste her life tagging after you if she didn't love you with her whole heart? I may not like it, I might not want to watch it, but it's her life and she deserves better than a black dress and a grave to visit! If I hear that you've put yourself in the line like this again, I'll fucking walk all the way to DC and yank you out of that grave and fucking kick your dead ass all the way across the country and back!" He's silent. His face doesn't show any emotion at all. Then, he tips back the beer, drains it and belches once more. "Shit, Bill. I didn't know you cared that much." "Bastard," I say with a grin. "Asshole," he replies. We're even. I reach for another, but Mulder drank the last one. He's looking pretty bleary eyed. "Give sex a chance, Mulder. Women need to be held, too." "Voice of experience talking?" "You've seen Tara. You think she's smilin' because of all the laundry she has to do?" "You are a fucking prick, Bill Scully. You are telling me to fuck your sister." "No. I'm telling you to _love_ my sister. And you already do that. I'm just telling you, if you keep her satisfied, she won't go looking for any fucking 'Ed Jerses' anymore." "I might take that under advisement," he says, and sort of slumps against the pillows. "I'm gonna really hate myself in the morning," he says, and he's out like a light. I sit back and watch the last of the rugby game, then the soccer game after that. Mulder is quietly sawing the rainforests next to me. I hear Tara when she hits the door. I realize with a start that I've missed her. This house just seems empty when I can't hear her voice. Even when she's mad. Like now. "Where in the hell did all these beer cans come from" Tara is tapping her foot, but with Matty trying to shove his teething cracker down her blouse, it really loses the impact. Dana, on the other hand, is in rare form. "You better come up with something very fast, William Dennis Scully." She can't be too mad. She forgot to use my Confirmation name. "William Dennis _Andrew_ Scully, did you drink all six of those beers?" Dana demands as she stands up with the evidence in her fists. "Uhhhhh." Rock and a hard place. Yup, that's right where I am. Between a rock and a hard place. "Bill Scully, you answer your sister, or you will be spending the night _alone_." Shit, there goes my evening. Sorry, Mulder, I'm narking you out. "Mulder had four of them." "FOUR of them! My god, he could have lapsed into a coma with that much alcohol in his system!" Dana has pried open an eyelid and is shining a little flashlight into his eye. That would really hurt, if the poor bastard could feel anything. "Go 'WAY," he moans and swats at the flashlight. Well, at least he's not in a coma. "He's drunk!" Dana declares, like it's some Supreme Court decision and spins on her heel toward me. "I told you specifically _no alcohol_!" "Look, Danie, he didn't take his after dinner pain killer. So he had a couple of beers! Give the guy a fucking break!" Matty takes the opportunity to shout "Bucking Break!" and grin like a cheshire cat. "Good work, Bill! I can't wait till he tells that to your mother next time she calls!" Mulder puts his finger up to his lips. "SHHHHHHHHhhhhh," he hisses, finally running out of breath. "Can't you see when a guy needs to rest?" Dana is ready to blow a gasket. She glares at me, and I'm suddenly aware that although Mulder and I are getting along fine now, I'm back on my sister's very short shit list. "Tara, I'm going to have to sleep in here tonight. With all that alcohol, he might have an adverse reaction. I need to be close." She's looking at me like I might have some objection to that. "I'll go get you another pillow." I catch their shocked faces as I head to the hall closet. It probably won't happen tonight. Mulder is in _no_ condition to perform up to standards. But that doesn't mean that down the line. . . Danie was right. He probably isn't that bad a guy. For a loser. By Her Side: Tara's Tale by Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net I'm not a light sleeper, usually. There have been times when I've slept through thunderstorms and hurricanes and once I slept through a car wreak right out side my window. But since Matty was born, I just sleep with my ears open, I guess. Which isn't all that easy when you have a buzz saw like Bill Scully sleeping next you. He wasn't this bad before we got married. On the nights when he'd come to my apartment, when my roommate was visiting her boyfriend, he slept like an angel. He'd curl up and snuggle and looked like a little boy. Like Matty does now. Marriage changes a lot of things. Now, Bill hogs the bed, hogs the covers, and snores to wake the dead. More so when he's been drinking. Like tonight. Oh, I can't fault him two beers. I mean, geez, the guy works hard and he deserves to relax when he gets home. Poisoning his sister's partner. That I can fault him for! And believe me, he got an ear full before I finally let him fall asleep. He knows he screwed up, royally. But it sounds like trouble might still be coming. See, while Bill Scully, Lt. Commander USN, sleeps the sleep of the dead, poor Mulder is in the bathroom, throwing up his insteps. Poor Mulder. Poor Dana! She's the one down there, holding his sides and rubbing his back. Pressing a wet cloth to the back of his neck in the hopes of easing the rolling in his stomach. She put a call into the doctor a few minutes ago, but from what I overheard, it's damned hard to find a good medicine to use for a hangover. Especially when the guy wasn't supposed to be drinking to begin with. Mulder is not a quiet drunk. At least not when he's retching. And I'm grateful that Matty sleeps like me or he'd be up squaling his eyes out from the noises coming out of the bathroom down the hall. I have to do something. Since Attila the Lug here isn't going to give me back my half of the mattress anytime soon, I might as well be helpful. I go downstairs and consider my options. After scrounging around my cabinets, I finally come up with the chamomile tea. It used to help me when I was having morning sickness and didn't want to take any drugs. It might help Mulder. I make up a pot and take it back upstairs. Dana must have gotten him back to bed. I notice the bathroom is now empty and the door to their room is closed. I almost think twice about this little plan, and then I hear a low moan. A masculine moan. It sounds a lot like the wounded elephant they showed on the Discovery channel a few nights back. That's all I need to push forward. "Dana, I've got some tea, maybe that will help." Dana comes to the door, looking a little like death warmed over herself. She's wearing her blue pajama's but the sleeve is wet and looks like she wrung it out. He must have missed the bucket somewhere along the line. I try not to think about it while she lets me in. "How're you doing?" I direct the question at Mulder, but Dana answers. "He's miserable. But then, part of me is having a real hard time working up any sympathy." That's a bald faced lie, but I'm not going to cross her on it. "It's chamomile. I drank tons of it when I was in my first trimester. It's great for settling the stomach." I hand the cup to Mulder and get a chance to look at him. He's positively green. And he's clutching his stomach with one hand and his head with the other. If he had a third hand, he'd be holding his chest, too, I suspect. I can't imagine that much pain. Dana takes the cup from my hand and sits on the edge of the bed. She holds it before him and puts her hand behind his head, bringing it forward. "Just sip it, it's hot." "What, think a burned tongue would really make a difference?" he rasps. But he does as he's told. Slowly, he drinks about half the cup. She helps him settle back against the pillows. "Better?" she asks him. He thinks about it for a minute. "Yeah. A little. Wish you had something for my head." "Tylenol. The normal stuff, not the good stuff you should be on," she tells him. Her voice is almost harsh, but her eyes are tearing up. "I'll take it," he answered and closed his eyes. She reached over and took a small pill bottle out of the bag on the nightstand and shook out two capsules. "You want water or can you take a sip of the tea?" she asked, handing him the pills. He opens his eyes, looks down and then nods toward the tea cup. He swallows back the pills and closes his eyes again. "Great house you got here, Tara, but could you get it to stop spinning?" I pat his leg and smile. "Just try to sleep, Mulder. Hopefully, it will be stationary in the morning." In a couple of minutes, he's breathing more evenly and even letting out a gentle snore or two. Geez, and they aren't even married yet! Or maybe you just don't notice it when you aren't married. Dana stands up and stretches. "I think he'll sleep for a while." She starts to hand me back the tea cup. "Mmmm, that smells wonderful. Is there any left?" I smile and nod. "Plenty more in the kitchen. C'mon, I'll make you a whole pot." "Oh, Tara, you don't have to. I'll go get it myself. No sense both of us losing sleep." "Hey, I'm up, and I'm kinda thirsty, too. I drank so much of this stuff for a while, I haven't been able to stomach it since then. But it does smell pretty good right now. . . . Unless you want to be alone?" She shook her head. Since Missy died, I kind of get the feeling that I've stepped into the role of 'big sister'. Missy and I were the same age, and I've got four brothers so I have some experience with siblings. But even at that, it's often like pulling teeth to get Dana to open up. Getting the chance to talk to her twice in one night is almost unheard of. We'd had a good time at McDonalds. Matty can easily down the chicken McNuggets and fries in his little Happy Meal, and helped Dana clean up her fries as well. Then he was off playing with the 'ball pit' and we were left to ourselves. We talked about a lot of things. How quickly Matty is growing, when Bill might be going out to sea again. The next time we'll be able to get home and see Mom. And then the topic came around to Mulder. "He's still so weak. I hope he feels up to going home by the end of the week," Dana told me. "He just looked happy to be out of the hospital," I'd told her. Truth of the matter, he looked about ready to climb the walls when we got there to pick him up this morning. But the look on his face when he saw Dana . . . I've seen that look before. I've seen that look on my very own Billy when he's walking off the gangplank after a six month cruise. But there was no way I could say that to Dana. Oh, I know how they look at each other. I wasn't so occupied with my labor and delivery to miss the silent conversations they kept having when he came out to be with her last Christmas. She'd told me over the phone that she was glad to be getting away for a few days. Then, the minute the trouble started, he was the first person she called. I'm not a matchmaker. I believe everyone should come to those realizations by themselves. But it does drive me to distraction to see two healthy, strong individuals so perfectly suited for each other and they don't have a clue about it. Makes me want to tear my hair out. But right now, I'm busy making a fresh pot of tea. "I can't believe he can be so monumentally stupid! I mean, the man has a degree from Oxford, for God's sakes," she was muttering, half to me and half to the walls. "Obviously not in biology," I murmur to myself, but flash her a smile as I pour her a cup of the hot tea. The fragrance is bringing back lots of memories. Finding out that I didn't have the flu after all. That the years of waiting, of wanting a child had finally come to an end. The joy of telling Billy. Oh, and the frequent trips to the john to flush down my latest meal. But all in all, they were good memories. "I love this tea," Dana says with a soft smile as she takes another sip. "I remember Mom used to make it for us when we'd get the flu." I smile. That sounds like Mom. Mom, the tea maker. Mom, the blanket tucker. I wish my own Mom was still around, but since she died, I have Maggie. "It's a mother thing. I bet Mulder's mom made it for him, too." Dana gets a funny look on her face. Not quite angry, but more than wistful. "I don't know. Maybe, when he was little. When he was older . . . I kind of doubt it." "Well, then you can make it for him," I quickly point out. She smiles. "I do. I end up being quite proficient at 'tea and sympathy'. When we're stuck in quarantine, it's often all I can get down him. He hates being confined, makes him claustrophobic. Then he won't eat and that just makes the doctors crazy because they're looking for abberant behavior and here he is, not eating, pacing the floor, not sleeping like a normal person. I end up almost force feeding him just to keep the doctor's happy and then he gets mad at me for fussing after him." "Oh, I don't think he minds it as much as he lets on," I tell her. At least, not from what I've seen. "But take tonight for example. I know he didn't plan it, but how does it look? The minute I'm out of the house, the minute my back is turned, he's shooting a six pack with my brother! And that alone is enough to make a person suspicious. You and I both know the two of them are hardly 'best friend' material." Personally, I was happy to find them both alive and relatively intact. I was certain that Billy was ready to kill Mulder last Christmas. Getting him drunk seems sort of tame by comparison. "I've never understood what Bill sees in Mulder that makes him hate him," Dana says, sipping her tea. Ah, the dilemma. To keep the secret or show her the light. Decisions, decisions. But sometimes, the opportunity to reveal is greater than the need to conceal. "Dana, hating boyfriends is the number one job of a big brother," I finally let slip. "He's not my 'boyfriend', Tara. He's my _partner_. We work together." Yeah, right. "Dana, face it. You two are joined at the hip. When I talk to Mom and I ask her what you're up to, the conversation never fails to include the name 'Fox' at least three or four times. Bill sees that, too. It's a guy thing." "So why did Billy get him drunk? To poison him?" I shake my head. I might be pissed at Billy, but I know he'd never intentionally hurt Mulder when he was under our care. No, something else was going on between the two of them, and it was deeper than a six pack of beer. Billy wouldn't tell me what they talked about, just said they were watching the game, but his whole attitude toward Mulder has changed over the last week. I think he's finally seeing Mulder as a person, and not just a threat to his sister's safety. That's a small miracle, in itself. "I just think they were, you know, bonding." "Well, they can jolly well wait until Mulder is healed before they do any more 'bonding'," Dana declared and reached for the tea pot again. We both jump out of our seats when we hear the shout. "Dana, get the hell up here! QUICK!" Dana runs a lot, I can tell. She broke a few speed records, taking those steps two at a time to get to the bathroom door ahead of me. Once I'm in view, I can see why my husband's voice was so panicked. Mulder is lying in Billy's lap, eyes closed, a spattering of blood across his lips. Then he's wracked with coughs and more blood sprays out of his mouth. "oh my god!" I've never seen so much blood. I've never seen someone who's bleeding internally like that. I never wanted to see it and especially not in my bathroom. "I'll call the ambulance," I tell them, but Dana grabs my hand. "There's not enough time. We're only a few blocks from the base hospital, we'll take him there. Tara, get the car started. Bill, help me get him downstairs." I look at her in amazement. I would be hysterical if it was me. Hell, I've been hysterical, when Matty started to choke on a hot dog when he was 10 months old. I went beserk. I ran outside with Matty in my arms going blue and probably because I was shaking so hard, the hot dog popped out of his mouth and he started to cry. But I am not the person to be around in emergencies. Dana _is_ that person. She's talking to Mulder softly, pulling him into a standing position. I realize that he's awake, he's just in a lot of pain. With that thought in mind, I race down the stairs, stumble at the bottom, turn my ankle, right myself after knocking into the phone table with my hip. I'm outside before I remember that my purse and car keys are in the hall closet. I run back in, grab my purse and I'm out the door, but as I look up I see Bill and Dana almost carrying Mulder down the steps. He looks awfully pale, and I hope it's just the horrible lighting on the stairs. I want to pull the car up on the grass, anything to get closer to the door so that they don't have as far to go, but Dana lets go of Mulder's right arm and is yanking open the back door before I have a chance to move. Billy helps him into the backseat, and Dana runs around and gets in the other side. Bill starts to get in the front seat, but then I remember one small detail. Matty is asleep upstairs in his crib. "Billy, you can't go. Someone has to stay with Matty!" "Shit, I completely forgot," he answers. He looks torn, but I'm already in the driver's seat. "Call me the minute you get there." "I will," I promise. "Hang in there, Mulder," he says and swallows. I don't remember him looking that scared before. He's still standing in the driveway as we pull out onto the street and I speed off down the road. "What happened?" I finally have the courage to ask. Dana is positioning Mulder on her lap, keeping him elevated. "I think it was the vomiting. Bill heard him in the bathroom, he must have gotten there himself. When Bill got to him, he was coughing up blood. That's when he called us." "Is that normal? I mean, he's going to be OK, right. He's not going to . . ." I'm too scared to think of the word, much less say it. "He's not going to die, Tara. He's going to be fine." She's staring at me in the rear view mirror and I can tell that she's convincing herself of that fact as much as she means to convince me. "Not going anywhere," Mulder says, with a half smile, then coughs a little more. He grimaces and clenches his eyes shut. "Hurts, Scully." God, he sounds so weak. I press on the gas. "I know, Mulder. I know it does. We'll get you to the hospital and they'll see what's going on. I imagine you popped some stitches inside, and that's where the blood is coming from. Maybe next time you'll listen when I tell you not to drink and take pain killers." Mulder moans a little, but I get the feeling it's not from the pain he's in. "Scully, I'm not in the mood to have you bust my chops right now." This was said around a number of impressive hacks and coughs. "Shhh! Quiet now. Just relax, take it easy. I can see the hospital, we're almost there. And I'm saving up this 'chop busting' for when you feel better and it's more effective." I can almost hear the grin in her voice. It puts me at ease, but I still pull up to the emergency entrance. The guard starts out to tell me that I can't park here. I resist the urge to flip him off and instead jerk my thumb toward the backseat. "I have an emergency. FBI agent, staying at my home. He's just out of the hospital today and now he's coughing up blood." He looks in the back and his eyes get wide. "I'll get the orderlies," he says, running for the double sliding doors. In seconds, he's back with a whole contingent of orderlies and nurses and they're pushing a gurney. Mulder is loaded and through the doors in a split second. I start to go after him when the guard grabs my sleeve. "Sorry, ma'am, but you still can't _park_ here. Visitors parking is in the front lot. Sorry, but I'll have to ask you to move the car." "But Mulder . . . I have to go with my sister-in-law," I try to tell him, but he's shaking his head. "We have to have room for the ambulances, ma'am. I'm sorry. It'll only take a minute and you can stop at the desk and tell them that your brother's in the ER." For a second, I'm ready to tell him that my brothers aren't here, and then I figure out he means Mulder. And I also realize that unless I move the car and get my ass in the hospital, I'm not going to find either Mulder or Dana for a very long time. I put the car in reverse, pull out and try not to ride on two wheels around the corner to park in the visitor's lot. It takes forever to get through the lobby and into the ER. I've never understood why they insist on building hospitals like perverted bee hives. I can get to the ER from the back, but not the front and the only floor I'm really sure of is maternity. I'm sure we aren't going there tonight. Ten minutes after we arrived, I'm find Dana. "Where's Mulder?" I'm trying not to be frantic, but I couldn't help but notice how the medical staff rushed around him, moving like ants over him. You don't do that unless there is a big problem. "He's getting an x ray. He'll be back soon. They started him on oxygen." She's staring out the curtained area and toward a door at the far end of the busy ER. There's only one chair, and I'm not going to sit in it if Dana's not sitting in it. I look her over. She's exhausted. She's been running back and forth from our house to the hospital. Even after Mulder was out of ICU, she still would stay at his room until he'd fallen asleep and then come back to our place only to be gone before we were even up in the morning. If she's gotten 7 hours of sleep a night, it's a miracle. The worry is wearing her down, too. I could absolutely kick the crap out of my idiot husband for bringing the six pack of beer up to the guest room. I know how he is with ball games on TV. A beer is a requisite. But this time, his little idiosyncracy might have caused us more trouble than it was worth. For a moment, I think that it's just because I'm thinking of him that I see Billy walking into the ER. Then, I realize that he's really here, and coming toward us. I can't be angry when I see him. He's almost as pale as Mulder was when we first got here. He's sweating a little, and he's pulled at the collar of the tee shirt he threw on when he got out of bed. I bet if I looked at his hand, I'd see the telltale dots of blood on his cuticles. If he didn't bite his nails all the way over here in the car, I'll eat my hat. He tries to smile when he sees me and I smile back and go to him. He really is a good man. I wouldn't love a complete loser. Sure, he makes me mad sometimes, but he has a heart as good as gold. I know he didn't mean for any of this to happen to Mulder. It's not in him. He talks a good line, but he's not a vengeful man, really. Right now, he's scared and feeling more than a little guilty. I reach my arms around him and hug that heart for all it's worth. "How's Mulder doing?" "Where's Matty?" We both mutter apologies and he answers me first. "Gloria saw the lights and then watched us get Mulder in the car. She came over right after you drove off and offered to stay with Matty while I came up here." Gloria Tanner is the wife of a Chief Petty Officer and our next door neighbor. They have two children, 14 and 11. I'm always teasing her that I wish I had even one that old. "That was sweet of her. Mulder's been taken to x ray. We should know more in a minute." Bill nods and looks over at Dana. So far, she hasn't said a word of acknowledgement. He frowns a little. "Danie? How's he . . ." "Don't ask how he is, Bill. We all know your feelings on this," Dana snaps. Ouch! I can see Bill's face fall. I know Dana's hurting, she's scared right now. After being scared for most of the week, and thinking that things were finally going to be ok. But this is uncalled for. "Dana, Bill didn't mean any -" "I'm going to see what's taking them so long," she announces, ignoring me completely. She doesn't even look at Bill as she takes off down the hall. I look over at Bill and his eyes are closed. He's shaking a little, but I'm probably the only person who would notice. I put my hand on his arm and reach up to give him a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "She's upset, Billy. She didn't mean to go off on you. She's just scared and you were the easiest target," I reason with him. He shakes his head slowly, eyes still closed. "No, she's right. She left me in charge, left him in my care. This is my fault." OK, this has gone on long enough. "Sweetheart, we don't know that this has _anything_ to do with the beer he drank." He's still shaking his head. "I was there, Tara. I saw him throwing up. It was . . . bad, ugly. I'm sure something tore. He wouldn't have been throwing up at all if I hadn't gotten him drunk." Bill has always had an overgrown sense of responsibility. I suppose it goes with the territory when you're the oldest boy in a Navy family. For our part, my dad was never farther from us than the back forty. He was a farmer, and he was always home. I know it was hard on Bill when his dad would leave for sea. He was just a little boy, but so much was expected of him. Even so, he's way off the mark this time. I push him, eyes still clenched shut, over and make him sit down in the chair. The man is entirely _too_ tall some times. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I like it when he can reach the top cabinet. But right now, I want to be face to face. I have to settle for face to chest, since there's only one chair and I'm still standing. "William Dennis Scully. Look at me," I say in my best 'yes, I am a mother' voice. He looks up and a ghost of a smile forms on his lips. He knows this voice. He's the one who made me a mother. Now that I have his attention, I can talk to him. "Billy, this is _not_ your fault. You gave Mulder a couple of beers -" "Four," he corrects me. "OK, _four_," I agree. "But I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that Mulder probably has had _four_ beers before in his life. I mean, that just stands to reason! But Billy, look at this for a minute. He's just out of the hospital. They gave him all kinds of medicine that he'd been getting through his IV but now it's in pill form. Isn't it just possible that one of those caused the trouble?" He's not buying it. But he loves me for trying. He reaches out and wraps his arms around me, burying his head in my chest. I wish more than anything to be home, in bed, holding him instead of here in the middle of an emergency room. I look up and see Dana coming back. She doesn't look happy. On instinct, I pull away from Billy. I can see his shoulders tense as he stands. "What's wrong?" we both ask. She glares over at Bill and directs the answer to me. "They found the source of the bleeding. There was a tear in one of the arteries that they'd stitched up. He's being taken to surgery right now. I need to get my purse and go up to the surgical ward lounge to wait for word." She looks over at Bill for just a second, and I can see she wants to say something, but she doesn't. Finally, she looks back at me. "You two don't have to stay here. Mulder's here for the night. I'll stay with him." She gives me a hug. "Thanks for getting us here so fast and in one piece." She doesn't even say goodbye to Billy, just walks right past him. Billy looks like someone just knifed him in the stomach. I reach out for him, but he shrugs out of my arms. "I gotta get back home. Gloria will need to get the kids up for school. She said she'd watch Matty tomorrow if we needed her." He turns away from me, and I know it's because there are tears on his cheeks. "Stay with her for me, please, sweetheart. I don't want her to be alone up here. Call me if you hear anything." He starts walking down the hall. "Billy," I call after him and he turns, wiping at his face. "I love you." He nods slowly, sadly, and turns and walks away. I love Dana Scully with all my heart. Growing up with four brothers, I would have killed for a sister. I loved Missy, too, but she was pretty much of a flake, God rest her soul. With Dana, well, we could always talk. But at this moment, standing here watching my crestfallen husband, I'd calmly wring her neck, if I could. She's looking for someone to blame. I know that. I can understand that. When Missy was killed, I spent hours with Billy as he looked for someone to blame. Of course, most of the blame fell on Mulder. At the time, I didn't know the man, I'd just heard about him from Mom and Dana. I didn't know if they were sleeping together, or just knew each other from work, but his name popped up in conversations quite a bit. It was actually pretty easy to blame him for whatever came up and Missy's death was just as good a reason as any. But it didn't take me long to figure out that blaming Mulder wouldn't bring Missy back. I think it's time to let Dana know that blaming Billy isn't going to help Mulder get any better, either. the end of part one Vickie ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ By Her Side: Tara's Tale (2/2) by Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net She's in the surgical waiting room when I find her. I really hate hospitals. They smell funny, the lighting is awful and the chairs feel like they were packed with cement instead of batting. How anyone would want to work in one is beyond me. Dana is sitting close to the double doors. I can see the tear tracks that form two faint white lines down her face. For a moment, I'm afraid she's heard something about Mulder. Then I realize that this pain is all too familiar. I just saw it in my husband. She's feeling guilty, too. "You were pretty hard on Billy, don't you think?" I ask, taking the chair next to hers. "You married a prick, Tara. It's about time you figured that out," she growls, but the tiger has lost her bite. She's just barely keeping those tears back from her lashes now. "Does it run in the family?" OK, so that was below the belt. But damn it, she's making me mad. She looks at me, and I'd hoped she'd at least be offended. Instead, she nods her head. "I guess I'd have to say it does." That hurt. It hurts because I love them both so much and I hate seeing them hurt each other. It hurts because it's not even about the stupid beers anymore, it's about growing up and still hanging on to the preconcieved notions of childhood. It's about a big brother who just wants the best for his baby sister, and a woman who just wants to be allowed to live her own life. When did it all get this complicated? "Dana, Billy did not poison Mulder, and you know it." I feel it's necessary to say the words, even if I'm speaking to the walls. She sighs heavily. "I know that. I wouldn't be surprised if Mulder would have gone down to the kitchen and got the damned beer himself. If he's in a mood, there's no stopping him." She sniffed and went back to staring the door. "But Billy didn't have to help him." "Point taken. But you still didn't have to be so hard on him," I circle back to my original point. I wasn't star of the O'Fallon High School debating team for nothing. "I'll buy him a bundt cake," she says and a faint smile forms on her lips. I can tell an inside joke when I hear one. "Want to let me in on that one?" She shrugs and shakes her head. "Just something another prick told me one time." "Ah, a Mulder quote," I reply. She shoots me a grin. "Hey, at least I've made an honest man out of my prick," I tell her. "Mine was an honest man when I found him," she volleys back. "Yeah, well, mine was a diamond in the rough," I can't resist. We fall silent. I reach out to place a hand on her knee. "Why haven't you told him?" She looks at me in total shock. "I don't know what you're talking about," she tells me, but she's lying and she knows I can see that. "Mulder. Why haven't you told him that you love him?" Dana stands abruptly and starts pacing by the doors. "What the hell is taking so long? It's a simple stitch up job!" I check my watch. It's about an hour and half since we got here. "They're probably taking their time, doing it right." She shoots me a look of pure disbelief. Hey, I let these people bring my baby into the world. Denial is all I have. "We don't talk about it," she says to the doors. "Talk about what?" "Us. Our . . . relationship. It's as if talking about it would make it disappear. You know, when you're little and you make a wish on your birthday candles and you don't tell anyone because if you tell your wish, it won't come true?" Yeah, I know that. But when did we start talking about wishes? Finally, the dawn comes. Wishes. "So if you tell him that you love him, your wish won't come true?" "Pretty stupid, huh? But I tell him in other ways. I mean, I try to. I stand up for him, I've lied for him. I go after him when no sane person would follow. And he does things for me, too. Everyday, in the way he respects me, asks for my opinion. In the way he looks at me." She stops talking and I realize she's crying for real now. I can't sit here and watch her hurting like this. I get up and wrap her in my arms, her back against my chest. "Then I'm sure he knows. He'd be blind not to see it." "I need to apologize to Billy," she sobs. "Later. There'll be plenty of time. I'll remind you, OK?" "Tara, I'm so scared," she sobs into my shoulder. I could have guess, she'd like a piece of cold steel in my arms. Her shoulders are tight and tense and they've got to hurt. She wound tighter than a two dollar watch, as my dad used to say. "I know, I know you are. But it's all going to be all right. I promise, it will all be all right." I truly believe that. I have my reasons, but I can never tell Dana. Mom, . . . Maggie, and I talk a lot. She talks to Billy and says hi to Matty and then it's our time. And she tells me things. Last year, when there was so much craziness over that bombing in Dallas and Dana and Mulder were somehow involved, she called me one day when Billy was still at work. She'd had a dream. It had started out scary, with Dana in some dark place, surrounded with ice. But then, Mulder showed up and he broke through the ice and got her out and carried her to safety. But that wasn't the end of the dream. The dreamscape changed and they were together. Standing together, but they were much older. Mom said they were standing in a cemetery and she was watching over them from somewhere above. Mulder, or Fox as Mom always calls him, leaned over and put flowers on a grave. She described him exactly. He had grey hair at his temples and laugh lines near his eyes. There were tears in his eyes, but he was smiling. And Dana's hair had gray in it, too. It was longer and pulled back. Mom pointed out that she wasn't as 'stick thin' any more, and only a mother would think that a good thing. But Mom said she looked softer, not chiseled in stone like she tries to make us think she is. And off in the distance, Mom heard kids playing and shouting. One of them called out 'Daddy' and Mulder looked up and Dana smiled and that was the end of her dream. Mom had a few ideas as to what the dream meant. I'm more likely to believe her theories than to make up any of my own. But one thing is certain: there is no way I can tell the dream or any hint of it to Dana. She gets nuts about dreams, especially Maggie's. So, here I am with all this good information, and I can't tell her any of it, except to keep saying 'it'll be all right'. Which just makes me feel more helpless. "It will be all right." She pushes back and walks over to the chairs to sit down. "He won't leave me," she says defiantly. "Not after everything. I wouldn't leave him, he won't leave me." Then, in a whisper, I hear her add, "I'm his one in five billion." How do I possibly answer that. I know she's right, I can see it in his eyes every time she walks into the room. But she never meant me to hear in in the first place. Now, I'm staring at the stupid doors. When the hell are they going to tell us something? "Mom thinks I'm crazy." "No she doesn't," I respond automatically. That's more lie than truth. Maggie and I have had _this_ discussion, too and yes, she does think Dana is a little 'around the bend' for her lifestyle, her job, the friends she keeps. Oh, Maggie adores Fox, but she'd adore him a lot more if Dana had a normal job, didn't end up in the hospital quite so often and would settle down and marry the guy. Dana knows all this, too, apparently. She gives me a raised eyebrow look. "Yes, she does and you know it, Tara." Caught. Time for the truth. "She wants you to be happy." "I am happy." "The first time I've seen you smile in the last two times you've been here was when we went to pick Mulder up yesterday morning." She blushes hard. God, I'm glad I'm not a red head. "It's not like that, Tara. You're making too much out of it." Dropping the subject has never been my strong point. If it had, I'd still be single. "For that matter, it's probably the first real smile I've ever seen on Mulder." Dana sighs. I know that sigh. It's her 'just drop it, all right' sigh and I'm not letting her get by with it. "Of course, like you say, I'm sure he knows how you feel." She flinches. Not just a little sigh, like before, she actually recoils at my words. And turns her head to wipe at her face. "No, he doesn't." I watch her as she gets up and starts to pace, still staring at the door. "He has no clue as to how I really feel." "Dana, I didn't mean to pry . . ." She turns a cold smile at me. "Yes, you did, Tara, and you know it. Face it, the whole family is dying to hear what the hell is wrong with us. We act like we're two halves of a walnut and yet we've never said the words, never really told each other how we really feel. We act more married than most people I know and yet, we've never even . . ." She stops herself just short of giving me too much information and stands, staring at the door. "Sometimes, you need to hear the words, Tara. Sometimes, actions don't speak loud enough." "Do you need to hear the words, Dana?" I'm not asking that to upset her, I'm just getting a little confused here. She shakes her head and the sound that comes out of her throat is almost a laugh, but more of a sob. "No, I've heard the words. More times than I could count. 'You are my one in five billion.' 'You make me a whole person.' 'You are the _only_ one I trust.' And the list goes on and on." "But never just a simple 'I love you'?" She turns a sad smile at me. "I think he's afraid of that one. I did shoot him once, you know." I can't help but grin at that. But the look in her eyes tells me there's a lot more to that story that I'm not likely to ever hear. "And you're telling me you've never told him those same sentiments?" The sad smile disappears and her whole face grows angry. I realize after a second that the anger is directly inward, not at me. "He asked me to marry him once. I knew it was a joke, he was trying to distract me. But my response, it was so typical of our entire life together. Mulder opens up to me all the time and I take every opportunity to shove him away. Do you know what I told him when he 'proposed'?" She doesn't even wait for an answer. "I told him 'I was hoping for something a little more useful.' Just like that. So what if it was a joke? With Mulder, that's how he deals with the most painful parts of his life. He makes them a joke. It's his defense mechanism. I know that. And I use it. All the time. To make sure I never have to move. That it's always him, moving closer to me, never the other way around." She sits down. I don't blame her. Her little tirade left me tired just watching. "So move. Move closer to him. You can do it. You can do anything." It's what I've always believed of her. She looks at me like I've just grown a second set of eyes. "I can't. Don't think it hasn't been on my mind, but I can't. I can't tell him. All I can do . . . I tried to tell him once. I ended up kissing his forehead. And then he was going to kiss me back, and . . . that damned bee . . ." She's pacing again. I'm trying to follow her train of logic, but I got lost a while back. "Why bees? Why a stupid insect?" She glares at me, like the least I could do is give her the answer to that one. I shrug. She shakes her head and goes back to pacing. "Aw, hell. If it wasn't a bee, it would be some other damned thing. The water, fried chicken batter, hell, the air we breathe!" She's working herself up again and we've strayed pretty far off course. "Dana. Stop a minute." I get up and stand in front of her so she can't pace past me. She tries to move past me and I reach out and grab her arms. "Dana. Stop." Her lip trembles and she refuses to look at me, but she doesn't try to break my grasp. "Dana. You still have a chance to make it right. You still have a chance to tell him." She's shaking her head and the look on her face is more painful than any I've ever seen. I'm watching her heart break right before my eyes. "I can't." I squeeze her arms, drawing her attention back to me and away from that stupid door. "The Dana Scully I know isn't afraid of anything. Least of all is she afraid of the man she loves." "I'm not afraid of him," she tells me and I believe her. "I'm afraid of me." Before I have a chance to ask her what she's talking about the double doors open. "Agent Scully. The surgery is over. You're partner is going to be fine." the end. By Her Side: Mulder Speaks by Vickie Moseley There's a noise. It's not my alarm clock. It's too slow. It's steady and sort of loud right by my ear and I remember that I distinctly despise that sound and what it represents. Skinner's voice on the phone? No, that's not it. My head feels really fuzzy. Like I've finished off that bottle of Old Overholt that's been collecting dust in the back of my kitchen cupboard. No, that's not right, either. Like . . . like when I wake up after . . . Shit. Now I remember that sound. It's a heart monitor. Goddammit all to hell. I thought I got _out_ of the hospital! Shit. I wish I could think. I wish I could remember how I managed to get back in the hospital. I remember being here before. I remember waking up and seeing none other than Bill Scully, Jr. standing over me with this really shit eating grin on his face. I remember thinking hell was supposed to be a _lot_ hotter. And not so many bright lights. But that was a long time ago. I got better. I remember that, too. I even got so I could walk a few steps without keeling over and I made the doctors mad enough that they agreed to send me home. Oh, shit. Now it's coming back to me. I didn't get to 'go home'. I got to go to Scully's brother's house. Bill and Tara. There's something about 'beer' in here somewhere. Fuck it. I'm too tired to think about it right now. I think I'll sort of lie here and fall back into that nice little dreamless buzz world that is mine to inhabit when ever I really do myself damage. Except, there's that other noise. This one is not mechanical. It's entirely organic. Actually, it's human. It's a sigh. Scully's sigh. I might not have all my faculties about me yet, but I do remember Scully was royally pissed at me the last time I was awake. It had something to do with that beer I mentioned earlier. And somehow, Bill Scully was involved. I'm not really good on the details at the moment, but I have a pretty good idea that Scully is still pissed at me. Whatever I did, I probably deserve her wrath. I almost always do. I could just go back to sleep. But that's the coward's way out. Not that I haven't taken it before. Plenty of times. I did it the first time after Ellen's Airbase. Just sort of fazed out on her in the car. I wasn't really unconscious, but it sure seemed like a nice place to be. And she left me alone. Well, until she found a hospital and emergency room and there were all those nice, sterile needles going to waste. But I'm getting too old for that game. Of course, opening my eyes is always the greatest challenge at a time like this. After a few tries, and considerable internal straining on my part, my eyelids come unglued and I blink into the way too bright light coming from the window next to my bed. Hey, I'm not in ICU! What a nice surprise. But all the effort with my eyelids proved to be futile, since I'm facing away from where those sighs are coming. Turn the head. Just . . . a . . . bit . . . and There! Made it. C'mon, Scully. Look at me. I would love to call out to you, but I'm a little tuckered out at the moment. I stare at her a little while. Finally, she turns her head just a fraction and she sees me. "Hey." The smile. I live for that smile. I do, seriously. There have been lots of times when the darkness was a lot more inviting than the cold, bright light of living that I knew I'd have to face. But that smile. I knew I'd miss the smile Scully gives me every single time I wake up like this. "H-h-hey-y-y," I crackle back. Ouch. I really detest what drugs and pain do to my voice. From the soreness in my throat, I think I just missed experiencing my favorite torture device: the respirator. Thank you, whoever is listening for letting me sleep through that. "Here, just a sip." Scully's holding a styrofoam cup with a straw to my mouth. Water. Will wonders never cease. This must be just for observation, first no ICU, now water. I might get out of here by tonight, if I piss off the right people. The water is doing wonders, but Scully yanks the straw away too fast. "Not so much, Mulder. We don't want a repeat of Bethesda, now do we?" Why does she always have to remind me of that? One lousy time, I wake up puking after I was dying on an abandoned and rusting USS Ardent in the North Sea. I don't know what the hell those Navy docs were pumping into me, but I was puking my guts up for days. So now, no matter what the circumstances, Scully takes the opportunity to remind me. It never fails to make my stomach do at least a three-quarter turn. I give her a sour look, but when I swallow this time, it doesn't feel like my throat is rubbing against itself. "Where am I?" "San Diego Naval Base Hospital. We brought you here last night. You were coughing up blood in Bill and Tara's bathroom." Oh, yeah. Now I remember. Yuck. "You had popped some stitches when you were throwing up." Oh shit. Now the beer is becoming all too clear to the picture. Four of them. Not Rolling Rock. I think it was Bud Light, and I usually don't bother if that's all that's being served, but for some reason I did. Probably not the best idea I've had. "Scully, about the beer . . ." She holds up her hand to stop me. "As much as I'd love to blame the beer, that wasn't the problem. You had a reaction to the antibiotic they send home with you. Not that the alcohol in your system helped matters . . ." "Would it make you feel better if I told you about my headache and I swear never to do that again?" When in doubt, go for the sympathy vote. She tries so hard to hide those little smiles, but I can see them in her eyes. "No, Mulder, it wouldn't make me feel better. But you are _never_ to do that again. It masked the symptoms of the reaction, for one. And it made it pretty dicey when they had to put you under again to stitch you back up." She's rubbing my hand. Right under where the IV needle is taped down. That always gets sore, that little patch of skin, and Scully instinctively knows how to make it feel better. She's always known how to make me feel better. "So, what on earth caused you to consume four beers in two hours? And don't tell me it was the game, I heard the sports reporters snoring while we were in the car coming home." Geez. Two 'Scully Investigations' in one night? Or at least one twenty-four hour period, since I'm pretty sure it's not night any more. I don't know if I can handle it. I think it's time to feign some exhaustion, which isn't that far of a stretch right now. "I'm really tired, Scully. Can I sleep? Please?" If I work at it, I can get a really sleepy look to my eyes. But then, with 'good' drugs in my veins, I really don't even have to try. It just comes naturally. And I'm pretty sure it's working, by the look Scully's giving me. "I know you are. You've had a rough week. Why don't you take a nap. I'll be here when you wake up." Oh. And she'll have had all that time to come up with new and better methods of interrogation. Maybe this isn't the best approach. Maybe I should just tough it out now and if the road gets too rocky, I'll really need that nap. "Bill and I were just talking. I asked him for a beer and he got me one. He tried to talk me out of it, by the way, but I sort of forced the issue. I mean, it's not his fault, all of this. Really." I wonder if she notices that I'm actually defending her asshole brother who would like nothing better on most occasions than to tear me limb from limb. The drugs might be working against me at this point. A raised eyebrow. Pursed lips. Oh, shit, she notices. I'm dead. "So you and Bill were just talking. Just a couple of guys and a ball game and a few beers, huh? Gee, Mulder, if I didn't know better, I'd say you two were old pals." Scully, please, I'm in pain here. I'm on drugs here. Don't do this. Not that it would stop her. I mean, if I were really in danger, she would never press the point. But it's all too obvious that I'm out of the woods, so to speak and now she wants what's coming to her: an explanation. "The game was boring. You said so yourself." "So . . . what? You decided to have a beer chugging contest to while away the hours?" She crosses her arms. I'm in deep. "What were you talking about that required you to be 'anesthstized', Mulder? What on earth did he ask you?" I have a big confession to make. I can't lie to Scully. I haven't been able to for a long time, probably all the time I've known her. I can hide things from her, distract her, sometimes I can even lead her away from topics of conversation if I think they're going to be dangerous. But I just can't lie. Especially not when I'm on the good stuff and she's got my hand and she's rubbing that little patch of skin . . . "He wanted to know if we were, ah, . . . you know. Doing 'it'." "Sleeping together?" Duh! "Yeah." "And you told him . . .?" "The truth! What do you think, Scully? I'm gonna tell the guy that we're screwin' like bunnies when we've never laid a hand on each other? Give me a break!" "And that made Bill happy? I mean, he was satisfied with that answer?" "Sort of." The words just slip out of my mouth. Stupid drugs! "He wasn't entirely satisfied with the answer?" When you don't get the answer you want, rephrase the question. Shit, and to think _I_ taught her how to do that. "Well, he wanted to know . . . if I'm gay." To my joy and her credit, Scully smirks at that. "I'm surprised he didn't ask if _I_ was gay, too." "He did." Oh, shit. I really didn't mean to say that. Narrowed eyes, the little ridge between her nose is more pronounced. Is there any way I can warn Bill off before he steps into this minefield? Hey, this guy has spent a long time making my life hell. Why should I warn him? "He asked if I'm gay." Not a question mark in sight. I am sleepy, I am really, really sleepy. Just pass out right now and it will all go away. But I can't. Now, I'm too nervous to sleep. "So, Mulder. What did you say?" When did life get so complicated? "I told him to ask you." A look passes on her face and for a moment, I think that maybe she's a little hurt that I didn't defend her sexual honor or something. Then, Scully the Warrior Princess comes forward and decides I can live. I felt the wind from that one. "Anything else? Any other little tours through our private lives you'd like to tell me about?" "He wanted to know . . ." I stop myself just before I enter into the whole discussion of Emily. Don't go there, don't ever go there. So I quickly come up with something else. "He wanted to know who Ed Jerse was and if he should go beat the shit out of him." Score one for the home team! Now it's her turn to look flustered. Time to press the advantage. "Where did he hear about Jerse from, Scully? I know I sure as hell never mentioned him." OK, this is mean. But dammit, she's been picking on me. I know full well that she mentioned Jerse in a fit of . . . something. That she said it to convince me not to die in her lap. But it's sort of interesting to me that she would use him in that manner. This is a little explanation I think she owes _me_. She's getting that flush to her cheeks and she won't look me in the eye. "Scully." "You need your rest, Mulder. Take a nap." "Running away, Scully? It's not like I can come after you or anything." end of part, continued in Scully's story By Her Side 6: Scully's two cents by Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net "You need your rest, Mulder. Take a nap." I didn't mean anything by it. I am NOT ducking the question. The man just woke up after the _second_ surgery in 7 days and he doesn't need to be overtaxing himself. He's in the hospital, for cripes sakes! "Running away, Scully? It's not like I can come after you or anything." Why is he the most hateful when he's also the most vulnerable. I can't hit him, I can't even yell at him. He's this _lump_ in a hospital bed and if I so much as raise my voice it will appear that I'm browbeating him. I _hate_ when he does this! OK, Mr. MachoMan. Mr. Testosterone. I'll tell you why Bill knows about Ed Jerse. "You were dying on me, Mulder, and I knew I had to use something drastic to get you to stay with me." He looks a little hurt at that statement. Well, actually, that _is_ the reaction I was hoping for. "I'd never leave you, Scully. Not if I could help it." Goddammit! He just keeps doing that! And I sit here after he's offered me the perfect opportunity to tell him what _he_ means to me and once again, I'm going to let it slip by. "I know that, Mulder." I do know that. I've seen it, a thousand times. Everytime he's come to look for me, everytime he's been there for me, everytime he's beaten the odds when he should have been dead. For a long time, maybe a year, I thought it was the search. I thought he was staying alive simply so he could find Samantha. I was almost positive that was the reason he didn't go 'sour' in the ambulance ride from the docks in Raleigh. He'd lost so much blood, his B/P was dropping like a rock and yet he hung in there, he didn't leave. I was certain it was the search. I'm not so sure when that changed or even when I noticed the change. After Alaska, maybe. After seeing him flatline. I know I have no reason to believe this, but I felt that it was _my_ touch that brought him back. Oh, yeah, and the defibrillator. But basically, I touched him, I remember my hand on his forehead. I'm not thinking I'm some 'miracle worker' here. I just think my hand, my touch made a connection to him and guided him back to me. I do know that's what I was praying for all the time I was applying the paddles. That he would know it was me and that he wouldn't leave me. Like I didn't leave him. Twice now. So why the hell can't I tell him that? "Mulder, I . . ." "Why Jerse, Scully? I mean, you didn't . . ." Shit! The man can be so infuriating. I was about to tell him . . . I have no idea what I was about to tell him and he brings that idiot Tattoo Boy back into it? And I didn't 'what' with Jerse? Sleep with him? Not that again! "Mulder, Jerse, . . . Ed, . . . there was nothing to that. Honest. And I don't know why I brought it up to Bill or to you. Maybe because we've never talked about it and I knew you were upset by the whole incident. I wanted shock value, Mulder. Don't try to make it more than that, OK?" He swallows and nods. I really hate when he does that. It's meant to be agreement with my statement. But when I look in his eyes, I know he's just placating me. Letting me think he's agreeing when really he's busy analysing my motives, trying to 'profile' me on the fly, so to speak. I could punch his lights out for that, if he wasn't already in a hospital bed. "Mulder, really, it wasn't about . . ." "Me. Yeah, you told me that." He's supposed to be doped up, that was pretty forceful. Maybe the drugs are wearing off. But the pain on his face has nothing to do with his physical condition. "No, I wasn't going to say 'you'. I was going to say, ah, it was stupid and reckless and I still don't know why I did it, but it wasn't about . . . I mean, I held no feelings for him, you know. Can you understand that it wasn't about . . ." Love, stupid. It wasn't about love. I didn't love Ed Jerse. It's so easy to _think_ those words but so impossible to say them. If I say I didn't love Ed Jerse, then it begs the larger question: Do I love Mulder. And yes, God in heaven, yes I do. But to tell him that, I can't do it. I'm not that strong. I look up from my inspection of my cuticles and notice that Mulder is nodding again. This time, I think he's received the message. Maybe Tara is right, maybe he does know. I'm such a fucking coward. I need to get out of here. I get up to leave, but I feel his hand on mine. "Please, Scully. Don't go. Not yet. Not till I fall asleep. Please." In a few words he conveys a thousand messages. Pleading, fear, pain, . . . forgiveness. I know that if I sit back down, we'll talk of other things, of going home and getting him back to work. I'll start the conversation with my usual admonishment that he _has_ to rest this time, that chest wounds are _nothing_ to mess around with. That he'll be staying at my place for several days, and he can just get used to it. That thought should terrify me after our most recent brush with 'the topic' but oddly enough, I feel safer with Mulder _in_ my apartment than I do when I'm alone and just allowing myself to think about him. But maybe I don't want to let the opportunity pass us by this time. "Why did Ed Jerse bother you so much, Mulder?" If he can play this game, so can I. He's silent for a moment. My hand has slipped into his again, and I'm rubbing the spot right under the tape from the IV. He scratches at it all the time, it's his way of rebelling against the needles and the tubes. If I hold his hand and rub it, he can't get his nails there and do more damage. "It was dangerous." "A given. And I've already admitted that." "It was . . . It hurt to watch, Scully. It just hurt." "Mulder, I didn't mean . . ." He cuts me off. "No, I know. It wasn't about me. It was about you. And the way you were feeling. You felt like you were trapped. And the cancer, the scare you got from Betts, I understand all that. For God's sakes, Scully, I _did_ graduate with highest honors in psychology, after all. I didn't just play rugby for six years!" I have to smile at that, even though he didn't mean it as a joke. "But you don't seem to understand. It hurt me to watch you hurt yourself. Or try to hurt yourself. It hurt me because I didn't want you to do something that reckless, that stupid, that dangerous, . . ." He stops and stares away from me, somewhere toward the little closet at the foot of the bed. " . . . unless it was with me." Now, he's studying the patterns the crisp cotton blanket makes on his lean thighs. "Maybe it would be best if you go. I'll get to sleep. I promise." The large lump in my throat can only be my heart. I know it's a pretty tight fit up there, and it makes taking in air a bit difficult. "Mulder, Ed Jerse will never happen again." He quick shifts his eyes up to face me. "Don't make promises, Scully. You might not be able to keep them." "It's not a promise. It was a one time thing. I did it, it's over, I won't do it again. I don't need to do it again and I never will, that I know." "Scully, sooner or later, you'll get tired of all of this. The work, the Bureau, . . . me. You've got to. People change, we grow. We grow together or we grow apart. Jerse wasn't a problem as much as he was a symptom. A symptom of your own restlessness. Don't hate yourself for being restless. God knows I don't hate you for that." "Do you love me, Mulder?" I wanted to stop his little 'couch session' and boy have I been successful. Get the defibrillator, guys, we may have need of it again. Mulder is looking at me with a slack jaw and a 'Mom, I just saw an alien ship land on the front yard' look on his face. It would be well worth a picture, if I had a camera, which I don't. I know what he's trying to tell me. I can see it a mile away. It's the old 'go be a doctor' speech, with a slight variation in theme. 'Go be a prostitute, Scully, as long as it's away from me.' As long as you're safe from Fox Mulder, it doesn't matter what you do with your life. I really hate this little tactic of his. And maybe now it's just sinking in what I've said. I just asked my partner if he loves me. Saying words we've skirted since . . . well longer than I can remember. But even in the words, I've hidden myself. I'm asking what _he_ feels, not what _I'm_ feeling. Mulder's face finally takes on some animation. Good thing, too. I was ready to call in a crash cart. He's looking at me with a sort of shocked look that turns into a sly half grin. I think I'm about to know how the canary feels when the cat figures out the latch to the birdcage. "You want to know what we really talked about, Scully? Me and Bill? We talked about us. You and I. You're brother . . ." He stops for a moment, and blushes. Mulder. Blushing. Maybe it's an early sign of cardiac infarction, but I think it's more psychological than physiological. Something is embarrassing him. "Bill thinks I've been an idiot for not 'humping' your brains out." There. He looks almost satisfied with himself that he actually said the words. "That is his term, by the way. Humping. I would have used 'boffing' in the same context, but hey, we grew up on separate coast, there's no accounting for regional speech patterns." I've been taking in his rambling, but I'm not processing the information. I'm still stuck on the image of my brother telling my partner to screw me. In the biblical sense. Or whatever. And Mulder is still speaking. "So you asked me if I love you, Scully. But if I answer that question, I'm going to require an answer to a question of my own. Can you handle that?" My stomach, which hasn't been in the best shape for a week, is now somewhere in my upper chest, just below my throat. My heart is a little squished, since my stomach seems to be pushing it further up my throat. My hands are sweating and I feel faint. Where the hell is the crash cart? Maybe I should call for one before he answers me, just in case _I_ need it. My voice is tiny, weak. Amost not there. "Yeah. Sure. I can handle that." I swallow, but there's nothing in my mouth. It's the Sahara in there. "Yes, Scully. I love you." He says it surely. Confidently. Like he's the one who brought the whole subject up. "I've loved you for a long time. I have tried, on repeated occasions, to tell you how I feel. I've never used the word 'love', of course. I didn't want you keeling over in a dead faint on me." He reaches out with his other hand, the hand not punctured with an IV tube and rests in on top of my hand. "I talked to Bill. About a lot of stuff. And I've watched you. These last few days. Scully, I'm not leaving you. I know I've made you crazy and I'm sorry. But you don't have to use Ed Jerse or quitting the FBI or even . . . well, we won't go into the part about the prostitution and the drug overdose. Just know that you are the reason I will always come back. Always. I love you, Scully. Just being with me, you save my life. I can't leave you. It's impossible. You're stuck with me. Always." With my free hand I wipe at the snot running down my lip. Water is coming from my eyes, too. So that's where all the moisture went! I take my hand and put it on top of his. "I'm glad, Mulder. Because I love you. With every breath I take." I'm soaring. I've never felt this free. Never felt this unrestrained and light and . . . unbound. Yet bound. Very bound. To this man I'm holding hands with. Bound with silken threads that are stronger than kevlar, stronger than titanium. Impossible to break. Impossible. I'm smiling at him now. I'm pretty pleased with myself. I answered his question before he could ask it. I have no fear anymore. Until I see the look in his eyes. I've come to know it as 'the evil Mulder look'. It's pure six-year-old-with-a-frog-in-his-pocket mischief and it's directly squarely at me. "Scully, I'm very glad you love me. And very happy that you've told me. But you still have to answer a question. Remember?" Hey, I can take whatever he dishes out. I hope. "OK." Where in the hell is that tiny voice coming from. "What's the question?" "Scully, why haven't we 'boffed' each other's brains out?" Oh, yes. This one I _can_ handle. Very well, as a matter of fact. "Well, Mulder. I guess we just haven't acted on our emotions yet. But if you would hurry up, get well enough to travel and come with me back to my apartment, we might be able to rectify that situation in about, oh, two weeks." Now, it's my turn to play with that canary in the cage. By Her Side 7: Epilogue by Bill by Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net Another beautiful day. It finally cooled off, at least for San Diego, and the breeze off the ocean is just calling my name. Two more weeks and I ship out to Honolulu. If I play my cards right, after our cruise is back from the Phillipines, I can request some leave time at Pearl, tell Tara to pack that bikini she's finally fitting into, and we'll see if we can make the magic happen again. Matty was conceived on a beach in Hawaii. Maybe, this time we can pull a little girl. Oh, maybe my good mood has a little more to it. We are all in the minivan again, but this time, we're heading for the airport. After three more days in the hospital, Dana is finally taking her partner back to DC to finish his recovery. There is a God and he answers prayers! Don't get me wrong. I have changed my opinion of the jerk, to some extent. Oh, I'll be the first to admit that he's a complete and pompous asshole. I'd be the first in line to break his jaw if I ever find out that he's treating my sister with anything other than the upmost respect and devotion. And I'll probably continue to make his life miserable, whenever possible. But I've also come to a conclusion. He's really not that bad for her. That sounds like 'any old screwball' is OK for my sister, and there can be nothing further from the truth. In truth, I'm still battling that small voice within me that wants to tear the little shit limb from limb. Drawn and quarter, hanging from the yardarm, walking the plank and a few other mixed tortures I could come up with given more time. But all this has been a learning experience for me. For us all. I learned, to my utter surprise, that my baby sister really couldn't give two shits what I think of the men in her life. That hurt. But I also found out that she still loves me. I discovered that the guy who has given me the impression that he's systematically destroying my family isn't really a monster after all. That he worships the ground my sister walks on and would give his life in a second to save her. Just like he did a couple of weeks ago. But he's still fucked in the head. And it came as a complete surprise that when I let my 'sensitive side' show a little, and just give people a break, it's an incredible turn on for my wife. Almost made me wish for a longer stint on land. Almost. So, here we are, at the airport. I park at the ten minute spot, close to the door to their terminal. Mulder still walks slow, he's using a cane for support. The doctor assured Dana that he's healing properly, or she was prepared to barracade the hospital door to keep them from kicking him out too early. Mulder just looks happy to be going home. He's not as pale this time and he's smiling easier than I've ever seen. Of course, he probably just can't wait to get away from me. It's been kind of nice, really. On the way here, Tara wanted them to hear how Matty has learned the 'e, i, e, i, oh' part to Old MacDonald. Dana started singing the verses, Mulder started coming up with some pretty weird possiblities for the barnyard (werewolf here, werewolf there, here a wolf, there a wolf, everywhere a wolf, wolf) that had Matty in giggles and Tara and I in stitches. I haven't laughed that hard in ages, and it wasn't easy to do while keeping the car going straight. Mulder still needed a hand getting out of the car. Dana obviously wanted to, but she was first in the car, so unless she wanted to crawl over him, she'd have to wait for him to get out. I don't know why it seemed like such a big deal to her, but it did. I ended up getting to the door and helping him out. I'm not a total creep, regardless of what my sister thinks. Anyway, Mulder accepted my offer of help without a word and together we got him on the sidewalk. He really is doing better than the last time they let him out of the hospital. Stupid ass doctors, if they'd let him stay long enough to heal, he wouldn't have scared us all to death coughing up blood like he did the other night. But all that is over. I hope. We decide to say our goodbyes at the security check point. Matty is too wired to let him down in this crowd. He'd be off like a shot. So we stand for a couple of minutes, making sure they have everything. Finally, it's time for them to go. "Tara, next time we'll skip the hospital part," Dana says, giving my wife a big hug. Like a flash, it occurs to me. My sister has always accepted my wife. Even when we first started coming home, Dana and Tara always hit it off. It seemed so effortless on Dana's part. Tara was just glad my family liked her. It never occured to me that maybe Dana might have seen it some other way. That she might not have accepted Tara at all, might have done everything in her power to keep us apart. Sort of like what I've done to her and her partner. Well, if the ground wants to cooperate and split open to swallow me right now, I wouldn't bat an eye. Dana is looking at me hard, like I'm a bug under a microscope. "You feeling all right, big bro?" No, frankly, right now I feel like ten thousand kinds of heel, but I don't think she'd understand. "You look a little piqued. You better not come down with something before the ship leaves." "Must have been the hot mustard at lunch," I lie. I take hold of her shoulders and give her the tightest hug I can manage. It takes a bit of shifting, but I lean over and whisper in her ear. "He's a good man, Danie. Treat him right." She pulls back and stares at me like I just suggested the President is from outer space. "Of course, if you tell him I said so, I'll deny everything." There, that's better. She's smiling again. She puts her arms around me one more time. "I love you, Billy. I always will." I'm not gonna cry in a crowded airport. But damn the dust in these places. Mulder and Tara are watching us and Tara looks like she's gonna ask me how I am. I don't really feel like lying to her so I reach out and take Mulder's hand to shake it firmly. "Try to make it all the way home without a major medical emergency," I tease. He smiles at me. He can take a joke, apparently. "That's why they assigned me a doctor for a partner. Saves on insurance." Tara steps in and gives Mulder a hug. "Next time, let us know you're in town _before_ you go into surgery, huh, you big lug!" Mulder laughs and Dana rolls her eyes. "I promise." He reaches up and shakes Matty's hand. "Keep 'em on their toes, little guy," he tells my son. OK, so I wouldn't pick him out of a crowd to be my kid's uncle, but we could do a whole lot worse. And they're gone. Guns checked, bags x-rayed, and a wave over their shoulders and we turn to leave. Just for a second, I catch a glimpse of my baby sister, her partner by her side. I know it's right. I know it's where she needs him to be. Tara puts her arm around my waist. "Six months," my wife says as we head toward the car. "Two weeks," I reply. "Two weeks! You think they'll be in bed together in two weeks! That's insane. They've taken _six years_ to get this far!" "Tara, you don't know my baby sister when she gets her heart set on something. He'll be lucky if he's healed before she tackles him." Poor bastard. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. the end Vickie