TITLE: "New Millennium: Snakes and Saints Alive!"
BY: Ten and Vickie Moseley
E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au and
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

CATEGORY: V; MSR; MT; A; Religious overtones
RATING: PG-13 (innuendo aplenty, but 'no worse than in
Shrek' ;)
SUMMARY: Near death from snakebites in "Signs and
Wonders", how does Mulder manage to survive?
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Set during and after "Signs and
Wonders", and mentions "The Amazing Maleeni", "The
Goldberg Variation", the "Biogenesis" trilogy, the X-
Files Movie and "The Calusari". This is part of our "New
Millennium" series, which goes into alternate universe
after "Millennium". Apologies for the large lapse of time
that has passed since the last one was posted - it was
not intentional!

NOTE: Not every season seven episode occurs in this
alternate universe, and some we have bent to our wills
<G>. (Eg, in this story for plot purposes, Mulder did not
get bitten on the jaw like we saw in the ep.) This story
can be read on its own, but the rest are at Ten's website
(see below).
ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be
archived anywhere as long as our names, addys and
disclaimer stay intact.
FEEDBACK: Love it.
THANKS TO: Gerry, Mac, Suzanne, Debbie, Sheila, Judie,
Tamra and Dee_ayy for all the help and patience. You've
been wonderful!

The stories in this series are available at Ten's
website, thanks to the wonderful Arria:
http://www.4gigs.com/~tenxffic/index2.html
And the mirror site:
http://tenxffic.tripod.com

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder
and Scully and all other characters from the show belong
to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox
Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be
gained. Characters not recognized from the show are ours.


"New Millennium: Snakes and Saints Alive!"

xXx

Scully's POV:

I'm making a list.

The things a wife gets to do for her husband. It's a much
cleaner list than I would have imagined at first. The
things that keep coming to mind are the really simple
things. Finding the right tie to go with his suit in the
morning. Making sure we have a bar of the soap that
doesn't cause his skin to break out in the shower.
Stocking the pantry with enough bags of sunflower seeds
to feed an army of hamsters. Sitting in his hospital room
while he's fighting for his life.

If I were a real wife, a public wife, that's exactly
where I would be. I wouldn't be in this damned ICU
lounge, trying to think over the droning of CNN on the
ancient television or trying to find some place larger
than ten square feet to pace. I would be stationed in a
chair, right next to his bed in that damned ICU. Funny,
the doctors and nurses had no problem with two FBI agents
traipsing through their ICU when the patient was a
suspect from the jail. But when one of the same agents is
a victim of snakebites and his 'partner' wants to sit by
his bedside, suddenly there are rules, there is Hospital
Policy, there are insurance considerations.

I can't go up to those high and mighty doctors and nurses
and scream that this man is my husband. I can't tell them
that we were married on New Years Day, in front of his
Aunt and Uncle. I can't tell them that we've spent every
night together since that day, save for just a few. I
can't tell them any of this because if I do, it will get
back to the Bureau.

Skinner has done an excellent job of keeping our secret.
But he's warned us on more than one occasion that we have
to keep up pretenses. We can't overstep the boundary. We
can't share a motel room on the road, we can't appear to
be living at each others' apartments (even though for all
intents and purposes we are living together at both of
our apartments). And for reasons too numerous to mention,
we have to limit just who we reveal our relationship to,
outside of the few trusted individuals who already know.

In short, even though I hold Mulder's Medical Power of
Attorney, I couldn't convince the rigid hospital
administrator to let me sit with my partner.

What a time to find hospital staff that I can't bend to
my will...

I tried explaining that I am his physician. They asked
how I intended to treat so many snakebites. Of course, I
knew enough not to answer that one directly. I have read
the journal articles, but they are the experts. They've
handled dozens of such cases, successfully, with notable
exceptions like Mrs. O'Connor and Ms. Feinster. They
obviously did something right if Enoch O'Connor managed
to walk out of here after his run-in with snakes at the
jail. So I kept silent, not wanting to give the wrong
impression that I understood snakebites well enough to
treat them.

Not when my husband's life is on the line.

When we had arrived at the hospital, a doctor asked me
about Mulder's medical history and any allergies. They
wanted to administer antivenin. It is often made by
injecting horses with small amounts of snake venom. Then
the horse produces antibodies, blood is drawn from the
horse and the antibodies are separated out and processed.

So the doctor needed to know if Mulder was allergic to
horses. We've never been near horses that I can remember.
Did he tell me once that he played polo at Oxford? No,
his flatmate was on the polo team. Mulder played rugby.
Amazingly, he still has all his own teeth.

Mulder proved not to be allergic, thankfully.

That's one positive. Plus, this is a rural area, used to
cases of snakebites. The hospital does have a lot of
antivenin on hand.

And none of the snakebites are on Mulder's face or neck,
but that stroke of good fortune might not matter anymore
soon. He may have received too much venom for the
antivenin to be able to counteract...

Now I sit here. And pray. I would like to find a Catholic
Church and go to Mass, but we're in the hills of
Tennessee and Catholic churches are about as rare as
Volvos in these parts. There is a chapel in the hospital
and I've been there, but it's not the same. And I don't
want to leave this building anyway.

I wish I had my rosary with me. I wish I could light a
candle for him. A hundred candles. Or maybe one for each
bite on his body.

I just want to hold his hand. I just want to watch him
breathe, see the heart monitor, listen to its beat. I
want to be reassured that my love, my life, is still
there, just waiting for the antivenin to take effect and
allow him to come back to me.

I swallow. Thoughts race around in my head.

Staff are probably still bustling around Mulder. When the
room no longer resembles Grand Central Station, they
might decide that I won't get in their way. Then I can
touch him. Be with him. So I will wait - for now. Usually
in hospitals I use the Medical Power of Attorney as well
as my FBI badge and doctor status to get the staff to
waive the 'ten minutes only per hour' visiting rule in
ICU. This hospital won't have any of that. Even if I did
tell them that I am Mulder's wife, it might not make any
difference. But surely once 'rush hour' is over they will
let me in for ten minutes at the end of each hour... I'll
just have to wait until then.

Or try to.

I close my eyes and make myself remember the last time he
held me in his arms. It was three nights ago, before we
left for this hellhole. Blessing - who the hell named
this place Blessing? That's an oxymoron if I ever heard
one. Blessing, Tennessee!

But, back to being in his arms. We were too tired to make
love - we'd spent the whole day running around making
flight arrangements. For once we couldn't get a flight
out the same day and it seemed to take forever to get the
tickets and the motel reservations and all the rest. We
got home about nine; I scrambled some eggs and made up
some toast while Mulder took a shower. He looked
absolutely adorable standing in the kitchen with just a
towel on, eating his eggs. Is it a sign that we've
started taking each other for granted that I didn't throw
him to the floor and make love to him right there? Or is
it a sign that we have finally reached a point where
we're comfortable in our relationship and we no longer
feel that every missed opportunity might be our last?

Oh, God, it might have been our last.

But I won't think about that now. I want to remember the
feel of his arms around my waist as he pulled me close to
him in bed and nuzzled my neck before I heard his
breathing even out and he fell asleep. It's silly, almost
- the inordinate amount of pride I feel every time Mulder
falls asleep before me. It's like I've lulled a colicky
baby to sleep. It's like I've given him the most
treasured possession he'll ever attain - a peaceful rest.

If I try hard, I can feel his arms around me now. How
they grow heavier as he goes deeper into sleep. How his
palm lies flat against my stomach. How his nose tickles
the hair at the base of my neck.

I jump a foot when a hand lands on my shoulder! Standing
over me, towering over me, is none other than Enoch
O'Connor. He might not be the last person on earth I
wanted to face right now, but I would have to put him in
the top five. His arm is bandaged and in a blue sling.
His glasses need cleaning. He seems to be waiting for me
to offer him a seat. I stand up to avoid that
possibility.

"Rev. O'Connor," I say in my most neutral voice. I
understand, on some level, that this man is not the one
who hurt my husband, but I can't help thinking that he
could have done something...anything!

"Agent Scully," he replies, looking over toward the
patient rooms. "How's your man doin'?"

I swallow back the objection to him calling Mulder 'my
man' and turn the subject. "How's Gracie?"

His eyes crinkle up a bit at the edges and I can't really
tell if it is a grimace or a smile. "She's sleepin' right
now." When he says it, there's a 'g' sound in the word
'right'. "I 'spect she will fer a while. Poor
thing's tuckered, she is. But she's in God's hands.
She'll be fine." He looks down at me again and I can
sense hesitation.

"I wanted t' thank you, and your man, fer doin' what you
did. I mean, I realize I was the suspect fer a while, but
your man figgered it out when he let his heart tell him
what was goin' on."

I nod. I can't speak because if I do, I'll break down
into sobs and I'm not going to do that.

"Why donch they let you in t' see him?" he asks.

"I'm just his partner," I say, not looking the man in the
face. I know he can tell I'm lying, but that doesn't
change my answer.

"Not in the eyes of God," he replies with what I can tell
is a smile now. "You two stood up 'fore God and told him
you were of one flesh. I know that like I know my own
name."

I shake my head. I don't like having this man read my
thoughts. It was bad enough when Mulder could do it and I
trust him. The good Reverend tried to get me bitten by a
snake.

"I really don't think this is any of your concern, Rev.
O'Connor," I tell him in my best 'don't mess with me'
voice. He gives me a nod and seems to back off.

So I'm alone again.

My mind is wandering and I can't sit still. Pacing seems
to ease the pain in my chest. I understand now what it
means to have a heartache. My heart aches for my husband.
It aches to be near him. To touch him. To hold him to me.

My hand traces my wedding ring and engagement ring where
they rest at the end of the chain under my shirt. And my
husband's wedding ring on its own chain, now resting
against my skin. When I was waiting for the ambulance to
arrive, I had followed medical procedure and removed it
from around his neck and undone his buttons and divested
him of his watch and belt and shoes... It had to be done,
but separating him from his ring made me feel worried in
a...superstitious way.

If he gets any worse...

Damn. I've chewed on my lip and now it's bleeding. I
reach down to my purse to find a tissue and when I
straighten up again, a nurse is standing in the doorway.

"Rev. O'Connor says you should go see your partner," she
says, in an almost accusing tone.

"Excuse me?" I reply stupidly. I don't think I've heard
her correctly. This is the same woman who quoted me
hospital policy not all that long ago.

"He said the man needs support. Rev. O'Connor is the
chaplain here, on a rotatin' basis with Rev. Mackey."

I almost gag at the sound of that name.

"Anyways, Rev. O'Connor knows what he's talkin' about. So
you can go visit your partner. But just for ten minutes.
Then you have to leave."

I don't question my good fortune. I just follow her.

************

Mulder's POV:

The snakes - everywhere...striking...biting...

Pain!

And even when I hear Scully's voice and know that the
snakes are gone, I'm still under attack.

Each place that I've been bitten is broadcasting its
agony. All those snakes, the pain, so much venom in me...
I'm as good as -

Stop it! Scully is here. And I can hear other voices.
They're asking what happened, what type of snakes, the
timeframe... Hopefully Scully is answering them, because
I can't. They're probably EMTs. I'll be fine soon. I just
have to stay calm. The more I panic, the more my heart's
gonna race, and that'll spread the venom even faster.

But the pain...

Focus. Focus on something else!

Okay... Happy thoughts.

Things had been going so well.

I actually got through our last case without getting
injured. The 'Amazing' Maleeni. Though I guess I must
have come close to putting my back out again on the night
we wrapped up the case - my wife and I had some private
performances of our own brand of magic. We were really
into the appearing and disappearing trick, though not
with coins. And when Scully got down on her knees she
more than made my head spin...

Things really had been going well. We solved our last few
cases and prevented some major crimes and actually had
some tangible wrap-ups that satisfied both of us. Didn't
hurt that old 'solved case ratio' either, not that we're
keeping track.

Ninety-five percent of the time when we head home from
work, it's to her apartment. The other five percent are
when we go to my place for a change or we go our separate
ways for the night to preserve some facade or 'cover' to
the outside world. At the Bureau only Skinner knows that
we're married. As far as we know, anyway.

I'm sure the game will be given away sooner or later. I
don't really want to hide our marriage anymore. But
picking the right time would be good if we could manage
it.

Providing I survive, of course.

A week or so before today, about the closest we came to a
dark cloud was when Scully had a very vivid nightmare
that Donnie Pfaster escaped from prison. Fortunately
that's all it proved to be, though it did shake her up a
lot. At least I could hold and comfort her. Since our
marriage she lets me.

We've both gotten a lot less rigid in our dress code too.
I compliment her on what she's wearing - now that I know
I don't risk the Look or a punch. Scully goes to work
with her shirts untucked and with one button more than
usual undone at her collar. The first time she was ready
for work like that, I teased her. I said that she was
just hoping that someone would see her wedding ring at
the end of the long chain she wears it on or that she
just wanted to give me easier access to her if we got the
chance for a quickie. She merely rolled her eyes and said
something about being relaxed.

When we got the go-ahead to leave for Blessing, Tennessee
to investigate Jared Chirp's death, I was feeling pretty
relaxed too. On impulse before we left to catch the
flight I'd decided to hell with my suit and tie - I
dressed 'business casual'. My beautiful wife stared at
me. "You look like you're going to play golf."

"You bought these clothes for me," I reminded her.

And she looked like she wanted to take them off me. In a
very good way.

But instead of launching into a thorough raid by the
fashion police, she told me that we would miss our flight
if we didn't leave right away. Sigh.

On the plane, one of the attendants asked what drinks my
wife and I would like. We told them we were business
partners. I think we kind of bemused ourselves, wondering
if our answer was automatic, because although we fly a
lot on official business, it would be a safe place to
drop the act. Then again, with our luck the Consortium
would have spies everywhere...

When I headed down the aisle to use the bathroom, I heard
a few attendants at the drinks cart saying that the two
of us were definitely together - "Just look at what he's
wearing. Nice clothes. Only a woman would buy her man a
belt that matched his shoes. Then make sure that he wore
them."

That seems like years ago now. I wish that fashion was my
biggest problem at the moment. My shirt must be riddled
with fang marks. And so is my skin.

All there is now is pain.

At least it's my pain and I'm the one feeling it. Not
Scully.

xXx

I'm still trying to ignore the pain.

I'm in a hospital now, in a room, with fragmented
memories of the time in-between. Have they got me on
anything for the pain? If they have, it doesn't seem to
be making a dent... Knowing my luck, if I'm on one of
those automatic pain relief pumps, they've probably set
it on too low a dose - or my mind is stuck in the
memories of the snakes attacking me instead of
registering the help.

There is no sense of time. Voices break through to me
occasionally, talking or yelling. Sometimes I can make
out the words, but most I can't quite hear or understand.
I don't know where Scully is... Probably as close to me
as she can get.

God, the pain!

Time to grab a distraction again. Like a woman does in
childbirth. I don't know if that analogy affects me, but
I find myself thinking about Gracie. Reverend O'Connor's
daughter, pregnant when we first met her a few days ago.
Scully's face had been slightly wistful when she saw that
Gracie was expecting, and I knew a lot more was going on
under the surface. My own thoughts were along the same
lines. We know that Scully is supposed to be infertile,
but we've been married since New Year's Day and as the
weeks pass we've kind of got this unspoken hope that we
will make a baby against the odds.

Stranger things have happened. Like Gracie giving birth
to snakes.

In the times that we've come across babies and children
on our outings, Scully and I are reflective, yeah, but
it's early days yet. And Scully turns to me and gives me
this look which I know means she is so grateful for what
she does have. We're together at last.

But the look Scully gave me in the ambulance - when I was
aware enough and focusing enough to see - was of a
desperate fear that she might not have me much longer.

All those snakes...

I must have more rattlesnake venom racing through my
veins than blood. I did my homework about this assignment
and now I can't stop my mind from throwing facts up at
me. Rattlesnake venom is an anticoagulant...can cause
massive tissue damage...release of toxins in the
body...danger of the kidneys becoming overwhelmed...

And with all these bites... I don't think a truckful of
antivenin will be able to counteract this.

But O'Connor... O'Connor survived. *Without* any
antivenin being administered. He was up and walking,
threatening Mackey...

O'Connor is a preacher though. 'Righteous'.

So, I'm screwed.

I try to distract myself again, but then, as if I've
summoned him, I hear O'Connor's voice. I struggle to make
out the words. I open my eyes and try to bring the
hospital room into focus. Two blurry figures. My vision
clears. Scully is standing just inside the room, her hand
on the open door. I can't really see her face from this
angle. O'Connor is just outside the doorway.

Like me, Scully is wanting - demanding - to know how he
recovered so quickly from all the snakebites.

I can just make out his reply. "I was able t' draw on
God's power t' see me through."

Yep. Screwed.

"Your man kin do this too - even more'n me."

Huh?

"But he's gots t' find his way to it. Pray that he'll be
showed the right path."

How? Does my wife's faith automatically umbrella out to
cover me too?

I can't keep my eyes open. I hear footsteps and a door
closing. Things fade out and I'm not sure if it's only a
minute or hours later than I come somewhat back to
myself. I hear a muffled sound close to my bed. Scully
crying.

I can't comfort her, I can't talk to her. I'm all locked
up in this pain. It's like when I was catatonic and
drugged, only I don't have voices in my head -

"You're warm, lad."

I nearly jump out of my skin. Actually, I wish I could.
It might be an escape from the pain. Instead, I manage to
focus on the speaker. It's a man in his fifties. He's
wearing hospital scrubs, I think, but the shirt is a
shade of green I've never seen in all my other
associations with these facilities. Unless it's some new
way to denote between doctors, orderlies and nurses.

Strangely, Scully seems to be ignoring the guy, staring
off into space, tears on her cheeks. Perhaps he said
something to her that she doesn't agree with - something
about my treatment, and she's freezing him out. She
certainly looks upset enough.

"You're warm," he repeats.

They build hospital staff bright as buttons these days.
"Snakebites can cause fever," I manage to mutter,
surprising myself.

"Fever, true, but that's not quite what I meant," the man
continues, with a strangely placid air. He's got a beard.
Longer than I'd expect on a med person.

"Are you a doctor?" I ask.

"No, but I am credited with getting rid of snakes."

They must have called him in as an expert or something,
about the bites. "It's snake venom I need to get rid of,
not snakes," I tell him.

"I know that too."

"So...what are you going to do?" And why the heck isn't
Scully saying anything?

"Give you some help, if I can. And I'd better start with
my manners. My name is Patrick."

"Doctor -" Wait, he said he wasn't one. "Mr. Patrick..."

"No, Patrick's fine. Saint Patrick, actually, but we
won't stand on ceremony."

I stare at him. Okay, someone left the psych wing
unguarded.... Wait a minute - Scully isn't talking to
this guy. That's because he isn't really there. Snake
venom can cause an altered conscious state. Or I'm in
shock. Either way, I'm hallucinating. A distraction from
the pain. Not that it seems to be working. Though with
everything else that might be happening to my body at the
moment due to the venom, I should be grateful that my
mind is off on this trip and that pain is the only 'bad
part' that it is filtering through to me.

Patrick shifts his arms and I can see now that he is
holding a Bishop's...what are those pointy hat things? A
mitre. He smiles. "I didn't want to overload you on first
impression." Nice to know that my visions are so
considerate of my health. On closer look, those are long,
flowing robes he's wearing. He puts the hat on and there
is also a shamrock in his other hand. Well, that might
come in handy.

"What, no gold staff?"

"The crozier?" he asks.

"If it's the one with the curly cue at the top, yep,
that's the one I mean, 'Saint Patrick'." Why am I having
this conversation? "Just as well you aren't really there.
They'd never have let you in dressed like that."

He just looks at me in amusement. I'm amused too. Me
getting religious visions is a stitch.

He says something but I miss it because the pain really
hits me again. Everything hurts, especially the places
where I was bitten, lasting for ages before easing from
'excruciating' down to 'bad'.

I try to ignore the hallucination guy and the pain and
focus instead on Scully. She's looking at me now, talking
to me, but I can't understand her words. All I can make
out is the desperation in her tone.

I try to talk to her, but can't seem to get my voice to
work. Funny - I can talk just fine to good old Pat.

A fragment of memory comes to me, of Scully and I walking
towards the Church of God with Signs and Wonders at the
beginning of the case.

"Snake handling," my wife said. "I didn't learn that in
catechism class."

"That's funny. I know a Catholic schoolgirl who's expert
at it," I replied and got the Look in return. "Well, you
must have picked up something."

"I certainly did pick up something, but it wasn't in or
from a class!"

"I thought my lessons were very instructive."

We were at the entrance to the church and she went back
into professional mode. "Shhhh!"

I will never joke about snake handling again. All those
rattlesnakes sliding and slithering out of my clothes,
along my skin, now they're IN my skin in my blood and I
have to get them out!

"Mulder!" I'm struggling and Scully's voice is somewhere
but the snakes are blocking her out, both with their
bodies and their hissing. "No, let me stay with him!
Please! Mulder!"

She's gone. I can feel it. Torn away from me.

And there are med staff swarming over and around me now
too. Just like snakes. Get them off me! Get everyone off
me!

Then Patrick's voice pierces all the babble and hissing,
ringing out authoritatively. "Begone!"

And suddenly the snakes ARE gone. Or at least the feeling
that they and the venom are overwhelming me.

My eyes fly open and I stare at him. "Um... Thanks..."

"You were allowing yourself to become lost in the memory
of the attack and lost in hopelessness." Then his
expression and tone become less stern. "I'm afraid that
what I did was only a temporary measure. They will be
back soon and you must defeat them."

"What - you can't pretend that I'm Ireland and do the
full deal?"

"We must work on that."

xXx

Scully's POV:

Oh God. Please let him be all right. Please...

My hands are still warm from touching his skin. Out in
the hallway I watch and wait and pray, managing to catch
glimpses of Mulder and some of the readouts amongst all
the activity. Standing on this side of the glass is a
poor substitute to being with him, but I don't hear a
flatline. Thank God.

Saints. I'm sure I heard Mulder mumble something about
saints. He must think he's dying...

Or perhaps it was *snakes*, not saints. That must be it.

When O'Connor approached me in the lounge before, I had
been too wrapped up and rattled - ouch, unintentional
joke - to ask him how he had survived his own run-in with
the snakes. Plus my faith was placed firmly with medical
science. But this time when I saw the Reverend peering
into Mulder's room, I wanted answers. O'Connor gave me
some zealous babble that was no help at all, which was
not a surprise.

I keep staring mutely into my husband's room, waiting and
listening, staying out of the way of the door, as much as
I want to rush in there. I am trying to piece together
what has happened and what is happening.

Finally staff come out and a doctor tells me that Mulder
has been stabilized for the moment. It seems that he had
a panic attack and started to hyperventilate. I'll be
allowed to see him again in another hour.

The doctor takes me to his office. He is not sure how
O'Connor survived - or perhaps he isn't surprised because
the man is a reverend. Somehow the venom just...oozed
back out of O'Connor's wounds.

The hospital staff are doing the best they can with
Mulder, but it does not look good. If the antivenin has
no positive effect...

I don't want to hear what the doctor is saying. I don't
want a timeframe put on my husband's life, but that is
what he is doing, trying to prepare me for the worst.
Inside I am yelling. On the outside, I am stunned and
momentarily mute.

After being so pessimistic, I expect the doctor to relax
my visiting 'rights' but he is called away before I can
bring the subject up. And there is something that I have
to do anyway that I can't in Mulder's room, something
that I had better not put off any longer.

I try to phone my mother-in-law, but it rings out, and
Teena does not have an answering machine.

Naturally the woman isn't there when you need her. She
never is and never has been. Lately she has been acting
even more strange than usual. Vague and preoccupied, very
abrupt when Mulder phones - in both her manner and length
of conversation. He is always the one who initiates the
contact.

I know he loves Teena and I do have compassion for her,
but I also have my share of mutinous thoughts due to her
treatment of him over the years...

We haven't told Teena that we're married. Yet. A few
times we tried but she either hasn't been there to take
the call or her behavior has caused us to hold off.
Mulder wants to tell her but is worried about how she
will react. I agree. "She may even think that I'm giving
up on looking for Sam..." Mulder said once.

Speaking of mothers...

I phone my mom. As soon as she hears my voice, she can
tell that Mulder has been hurt. Nothing else can shake me
so deeply.

It is good to pour out my fears to someone who knows
we're married and who loves and cares for him. Mom
manages to calm me down a little and says that she is
going to go to church and pray, seeing as I can't.

"But what if I need to reach you?" I ask.

"I'll take my cellular and have it set on silent ring."

She and Father McCue have probably counted up all the
prayers it took to get us together. Let's see how many it
takes to keep us together.

When I hang up the sheriff comes by and tells me that
Mackey is still missing. A woman who lived near Mackey's
church said she saw him calmly leave it by a side
entrance a minute after she saw me rush in the front. I
didn't see him in there, but he could have made his
escape from one of the other rooms while I was attending
to Mulder. Because of that witness account the police
have not arrested O'Connor on suspicion of foul play - he
was with Mulder and me at the time. Those reasons, and
some of what Mulder has said, have pointed to Mackey as
the instigator of the attack on my partner.

How is it that I didn't recognize that Mackey was the one
behind all this? How was it that Mulder did?

And from what Mulder was mumbling in the ambulance,
Mackey is no ordinary man. He is evil personified.

The venom and pain probably made Mulder hallucinate. Why
else would he say something like that about a faith he
doesn't believe in?

The image comes into my head of the lone rattlesnake
sliding out the door while I knelt beside Mulder in the
church kitchen. Tiredness and overstress makes me wonder
for a second if the snake was actually Mackey, escaping.

Only for a second.

**********

Mulder's POV:

I sigh and close my eyes. Why do all my hallucinatory
figures have to talk in riddles? How the hell can 'we'
work on this venom? I am about to ask Patrick exactly
that, but then a strange voice queries, "Am I required?"

My eyes fly open as Patrick answers, "Very much so. I
think summoning the others would be an idea."

I crane my head to see Patrick. He moves closer, somehow
keeping out of the way of the bustling med personnel. I
guess that's one of the advantages of being a vision or a
ghost. I look around to see who he was talking to just
now. Hmmm. My hallucinations have gone corporeal. Either
that, or my eyes are playing up again. There is a
sparkling, glowing shape on the other side of the bed. "I
am Hilary." A dignified voice comes from the shape.
"Pirminus and Vitus will be here presently."

"Lemme guess - Patron saints?" I ask.

"We are. Of snakebite victims."

"Well, you've come to the right town and place. But why
are you here? Why help me?"

Patrick says, "We're hoping to help you help yourself. Or
keep you alive long enough for you to help yourself."

I laugh. "You're all just in my mind. All this dealing
with religion and churches and a devil incarnate has
blended in my subconscious. From a psychological point of
view, it's quite fascinating... Or is this revenge for my
cracks about snake handling and communion wafers?"

I realize that I have sat up during my diatribe. Then I
catch sight of my arms and realize something else.

I'm sitting up, but my body isn't.

Though it takes me a moment to recognize myself as I'm
not in the best of health at the moment. My body is lying
still on the bed. "Oh God," I whisper, and see the lips
on my body move.

The ghostly form of - of what? - my soul, I guess, is
visible from the torso up out of my physical body.

This is too weird.

Before I can launch into another major panic attack there
is a knock on the door, but the one nurse remaining in
the room doesn't react to it. I stare as a procession
enters the room. The saints are marching in. Some are
human, or humanoid. Others...a man who is literally a
mosaic, a woman in the form of a stained glass window...
A floating figure of light with indistinct features.

Patrick gives rapid introductions, but I only catch a
few, plus I'm searching desperately for Scully, without
luck. "John of God and Camillus de Lellis, patrons of the
sick. Our Lady of Lourdes, patron of bodily ills."

Giving into the surrealness of things, I open my mouth to
crack, "What's a nice deity like you doing with a
patronage like that?" but find myself closing it.

I lie myself back 'down' into my body. Another wave of
intense pain comes, so that might not have been such a
bright idea... I can't get 'out' again, or half-out, to
see if it helps. Knowing me, if I did manage to leave my
body I probably wouldn't be able to get back in.

As I struggle with the pain, I see a bright light. Uh oh
- could I be *that* close to death? I force my eyes fully
open and see that it is the saints. They have all begun
to glow. The pain goes away. I blink, astonished. Did
they just help me?

Patrick smiles enigmatically and continues with his
introductions. "There's a patron saint of Boy Scouts - I
know you were an Indian Guide, but I think this is close
enough. And we also have several patrons for poison
sufferers."

"Catholics really like to cover all the bases, don't
they?" I say, trying to get my equilibrium back. I hear
mention of an 'Elmo' in there somewhere and wonder if the
Sesame Street character is going to appear.

Then I hear a noise that sounds like that TV character's
incessant yapping. Nope - it's wheels squeaking on a
cart.

Hang on, what's that flash of red. Elmo? No, that's
Dana's... no, a nurse's red hair. My eyesight must be
going. Hmmm, now the nurse looks like Bert. AND Ernie...

Saints and Sesame Street...

Patrick is still listing the saints. One is announced as
the patron of souls in purgatory, and I figure that must
be where I am. This is some bizarre dream but it's
stopping me from being swallowed up by the pain and by
the other effects of the venom, so I guess I'll ride it
out and see what happens next.

Another figure comes in the door. "Am I required?"

"Antony the Abbot, patron of skin diseases." Patrick
looks at my skin, which is definitely not at its best at
the moment. "Can't hurt - come on in!"

Soon the place is positively packed. "Full house, I
think," Patrick states. "Hang on, where's -"

"I am here."

A man with gold wings and a toga approaches my bedside.
He has a sword in his belt, which should be an
incongruous mix, but somehow it isn't.

"Archangel Michael?" I ask.

He nods regally.

Okay. "I'm rather...overwhelmed at the support I'm
getting here."

"I am the patron saint of police and sickness, among
others. And you are battling for your life and soul."

I think I have reached my saint-saturation point. "You're
hallucinations! The question is, out of all the things I
could be hallucinating about - why all of you? No
offense, it's just a little odd. I know that saints are
special protectors or guardians, and there's no doubt
that I could use the help, but why are you appearing to
*me* of all people? And why would I be imagining *you*,
of all people? Peoples..." I try to remember the date.
"Is it St Patrick's Day or something? That might explain
it. This *has* to be a dream." I look at Patrick. "One of
the dead giveaways is that you're not speaking in Latin!
And you don't even have an accent!" Well, whatever accent
existed at that time and place...

Patrick rolls his eyes and mutters something that sounds
like: "Dona nobis pacem." I stare, baffled. I'm not
fluent in Latin - but I should be able to work this one
out... Though I've got enough else to deal with at the
moment. "Grant us peace," he translates as I struggle.

"Very funny."

"Remember, I'm here to help you. If I spoke in Latin -
with or without a heavy accent - you would not be able to
fully understand me. What would be the point of that?"

"But..." I begin.

"Time to get this show on the road," Patrick announces,
cutting me off. He shakes his head at me. "You are
unique. You and your soulmate are finally together in
body as well as mind, but you keep getting hurt or ill.
Every time you heal and can perform in the marital bed
again, you end up back in the hospital!"

"You think I plan it like this? And I find that comment
very unsaintlike!"

Patrick is unimpressed. "Pull your finger out, lad!
You're dying! But it doesn't have to be that way!

My certainty that this is just a dream is slipping. "You
helped Rev. O'Connor?"

"He knew how to draw on a pocket of the power to help
himself. As you must."

"What power? Why are you all here? Why are YOU telling me
this? I don't... Well, I mean I'm sure that a lot of
patron saints were real people at some point in history,
and their sufferings or the legends that sprang up around
them got them canonized, but..."

Patrick shakes his head again, in what could perhaps be
amusement. "You are a good man and a believer, lad. Not
in God or a faith in quite the same way that it is
presented by the various religions, but you do have the
capacity for very strong faith and belief. And the
ability to recognize evil, as you eventually did this
time. You followed your heart and instincts. Those are
the things that count." He looks around the assembled
crowd, then back to me. "We could be hallucinations. We
could be real. We could be aspects of your personality,
your feelings, or some interpretation of your body's
immune system, white cells waiting for you to give us the
power to defeat the invaders."

"But you're the saints. You *have* all the power..."

Patrick is solemn. "Unfortunately there are limitations.
Otherwise we could have prevented Mackey from killing
others." He looks at me intensely and continues, "Mackey
is one of the Dark Ones. He had the snakes attack you
because you realized his true nature. And he realized
yours. He knew you were unaware of your own capabilities,
that he could kill you now, making it so much easier for
him and others like him to continue their work. For the
world to slide into the sixth extinction."

I start at his choice of words.

"Mulder, do you remember talk of the magic squares? Of
certain people having access to great power through them?
You are one of those people. You had a taste of that
power after seeing the rubbing of the alien craft."

"I couldn't control it. Most of the time it was
overwhelming - I nearly went crazy. So what good is it?"
Well, I think I may have started to get the hang of it as
I went along, to a degree, but was hampered by the drugs
and by being kidnapped... "And whatever Cancerman did to
me finished it off..." He and his buddies at the
Department Of Defense.

"You were caught unawares. Mind reading is only one
aspect of the power. We will guide you to the wellspring
again, only from a different angle, you could say. What
'Cancerman' did to you should not matter. He thought he
had the key, but he did not. You were born with this
latent ability. It is a matter of learning how to control
it. O'Connor was able to expel the poison from his wounds
and heal the damage. So can you, if you manage to access
this power," Patrick explains.

I wonder why O'Connor didn't give me some tips or let me
in on the secret earlier, like after I was attacked, but
I guess I wasn't able to hear him even if he did try.
"Hey, if O'Connor can wield this power, why didn't he use
it to get rid of the venom in me?"

"If he could have, he would have. As I said, there are
limitations."

I remember my glimpse of O'Connor standing in my hospital
room doorway. He had been wearing a sling. "Like he was
able to get rid of the snake venom but not the bullet
wound I gave him?" And he couldn't save his wife...

"The power cannot be used just like waving a wand - there
are many factors. Saving himself from the venom took a
great effort."

I wonder if O'Connor was able to save Gracie in the same
way. He probably used up his 'allotment' by the time I
was attacked. And from what he said to Scully, he thought
I was capable of saving myself...

"Lad, we're wasting time."

"If using this power will get me back to Scully, I'll try
it." But Patrick sees my uncertainty, my nervousness.

"You have to survive this," he insists. "Dying now is too
soon. The fate of the world rests with you and your
partner. She is unique too - both the rudder that will
steer you through the power and keep you upright, and
your guide to shore. If not for her, you would have died
long ago."

That's certainly true. I can feel the pain gathering
again. "I don't want to die. I don't know if you people -
sorry, saints - are real or not, but if you say that I
can make it back to her, then please tell me or show me
how. I have to get back to her."

**********

Scully's POV:

I have just finished talking to the sheriff. I gaze out
the window. Blankly at first, then with strengthening
resolve. The sky is thick with clouds. I can hear
thunder.

Like me, the heavens are in turmoil and are about to
unleash.

It is not time for my next ten minutes yet, but I don't
care. Does it really matter at this point if I tell the
staff that Mulder is actually my husband? There is a very
real chance that I could be his widow soon enough, and I
don't want to waste any more time stuck out here. I have
to be with him, whatever happens. I'll deal with the D.C.
fallout if and when I have to.

I march down the corridor. A nurse sees me coming, and
reads my intentions in my face. She plants her feet,
ready for battle. As she opens her mouth to object, I
raise my hand, not for my gun, but to my collar, to pull
out the chain and show her my rings. Even if that fails
to impress her, I am determined to achieve my goal.

But just as I am about to reveal my rings, I hear Mulder
call my name - weakly, but loud enough for me to hear -
and then pandemonium breaks loose.


END PART TWO OF THREE

3/3

xXx

Mulder's POV:

Patrick says, "We could try to do this the scientific
way, by showing you how to identify and remove the poison
at the molecular level and then repair your cells. But it
would be complex and you would most likely panic, even
though you are capable. Instead, there is another way we
can try. It is probably best that you work from instinct
anyway. From your feelings."

"So I feel, not think?"

He nods. "Yes. Like how you used your instincts and your
heart and realized that Mackey was the danger, not
O'Connor."

"So what is this other way we can try?"

"A spot of symbolism." Patrick then addresses the other
saints. "Are you ready?" They all glow. Brighter and
brighter. Then they merge into Patrick. They're focusing
all their power and energy through him as a single
entity. I can feel it...

The room shimmers around me. Panicked, I look at Patrick.
He is fading too, and says, "We are transporting you into
the 'arena', you could say."

"Any last words of advice or wisdom?" I ask desperately.

"May the force be with you..."

A second later, I'm not in the hospital room anymore. I'm
standing in a forest. No saints.

But there are snakes everywhere...

I go to jump back, but realize I can see through my feet,
right through to the forest floor. Oh great, perhaps I
really have left my body...

So, I'm here, but I'm not here.

I look more closely at my surroundings, trying to see
past the snakes. That's hard. They're hanging from the
sickly, leafless trees; there are so many of them on the
ground that they ARE the ground, and more are sliding
over what looks like Roman ruins that are just up ahead.
This is better than the colosseum I had been half-
expecting to materialize in after the 'arena' remark,
although a pride of hungry lions might be preferable to
all these snakes...

I look over at the rubble. Was this a temple? A place
that the snakes took over and scared everyone away from,
and so the forest reclaimed it?

The sky is bleak and overcast. I see lightning in the
clouds and hear thunder.

I look down and realize a snake has just slid through my
left foot.

I wonder if ghosts can toss their corporeal cookies?

Focus. I have to focus.

Okay, I'm here, so what the hell am I supposed to do?

FBI training - observe my surroundings. Scrutinize
carefully. I move forward, trying not to think about
stepping on - and in - those snakes.

I see that the snakes are really thick at one particular
spot in the ruins as I get nearer to them. It looks like
the remnants of a well or some sort of sacred pool. The
water is foul and full of mud as well as reptiles.

"Patrick?" I yell. No answer. "Patrick, what am I
supposed to do here?"

Nothing. Then there is a faint whisper. "You ARE here."

This guy is even more cryptic than X or Deep Throat ever
were.

The snakes are smothering this forest. I can see it
deteriorating as I watch: trees becoming more shriveled,
cracks appearing in the ruins, pieces falling off. I
brush past a tree while automatically trying to avoid
what looks like a python, and suddenly I feel something.

Pain. My leg...

I stumble back and automatically go to steady myself on
another tree. My hand goes through and suddenly my other
leg is hurting instead.

Then I am upright. I move away from the trees and the
pain is gone.

Wait a minute.

You are here, Patrick said.

What if this place is my body? The trees. Do they
represent my limbs, my organs? And what if these snakes
are the poison?

I *am* here.

Here is me.

I have to get rid of the snakes. But how?

At that moment there is a gigantic flash of light in the
sky and a crack of thunder. I'd jump out of my skin, but
it appears I already have. Shame it doesn't do the same
to the snakes though.

The lightning. I stare up at it. Patrick said that I had
to use the power. The lightning is the only source of
power that I can see around here.

He did mention being guided to the 'wellspring', but the
well certainly doesn't appear to be good for anything
except a snake pit.

And the more I focus on the flashes of light above, the
more I can sense a strength. I can sense it, I just can't
reach or use it.

The strength feels...familiar in a way. Like I felt at
times after my brain saw the rubbing.

The lightning is the power I have to harness.

I hear a faint but affirmative noise in my head from
Patrick.

But the lightning is dancing through the clouds, from one
to the other. Not to the ground.

I focus on it. I spread my arms out and pretend I'm a
lightning rod and try to draw it down to me, through me.

Something's... I can feel it, just out of my reach.
Patrick is silent on the subject.

Perhaps gaining higher ground might help.

I move towards the ancient well. It is in a clearer area
- free of trees, that is, not snakes. The well is on my
left as I approach. It is set on a raised area, and then
on the right, up a series of steps, are the remains of a
temple.

When I reach the well, I hear Patrick's voice, but I
can't see him. "This is your brain, lad."

It's so choked full of snakes, of poison. How can I use
my brain to help myself?

If I can tap into the power above me and purify the water
- my mind - I can remove the snakes. Banish them from the
forest, like throwing Adam and Eve out of the Garden of
Eden. But how do I open the magic square to do so? To
bring the power down. And without being overwhelmed by
it?

What's the key?

I yell my questions out to Patrick, to anyone, but
there's no reply. I wonder if the snakes are somehow
blocking the link.

I look over at the temple and move around the well a
little to get a better view. I see a statue in the middle
of the structure. It's of some goddess. And there are no
snakes on it.

Perhaps they can't slither up onto it. But that doesn't
explain why there's an area of floor around the base of
the statue, a circular shape, where no snake is lying or
passing through. They're avoiding it.

The antivenin, perhaps?

I move towards the temple, towards the statue. I hear a
noise coming from it. A heartbeat. As with the lightning
I can sense something emanating from it, a strength, and
it is a feeling that I am much more familiar with.

Scully. My heart.

I remember what both O'Connor and Patrick said about
feelings and instincts. I've been thinking in squares
instead of in hearts.

I have my focus, my key.

I have to get back to her.

She is the way back.

And I know what I have to do. I go back to the well,
putting it between me and the statue, so I can see the
goddess. I focus on our love, visualizing the pool as a
prism that will magnify and reflect our feelings.
Lightning spears down into the center of the pool. It
transfixes itself there. Pure and blue, like Scully's
eyes and her steely blue determination. The lightning
becomes a glowing cylinder of light. The snakes in the
well writhe and disintegrate so thoroughly that nothing
remains of them. Instead of expelling them like O'Connor
did, I've destroyed them... And the sludge changes to
pure water.

Going by instinct, I spread my hands. The light envelops
the forest. The snakes have no time to flee. When I draw
the light back, there isn't even a lone snake to be seen.
I yell with triumph and release the power.

Wait. The forest is still dark and drained. Dying.

I've removed the poison, but my body isn't out of danger,
thanks to the damage caused by the venom. So, for my next
party trick...

I go to bring the power down again, but can't. What the
...? I look up. There is a blackness in the sky above the
well that is *not* one of the thunderstorm clouds. It is
a large cloud that is different, blacker, blocking out
the others. Or it's a swarm... Bats or ravens or crows or
just darkness itself... I can't tell. But I can feel how
heavy and evil it is...

I can't reach the power. Damn, I shouldn't have let it
go... I can feel myself weakening. The darkness is
drawing in what energy I have left, making a desperate
effort, killing me faster...

I can't leave Scully. I won't leave Scully.

I focus on the statue again, remembering how the snakes
were avoiding it. Instead of trying to bring the power
down, I gather our power, our love, feeling it run
between her and me, and send it upwards. The swarm
shrieks and churns in the air and vaporizes.

Staggering and lightheaded, I can sense that there is no
time to lose. I spread the light out again - both from my
heart and from the lightning - and close my eyes in
concentration. When I open them, sunshine and leafy
greenery surround me. The little temple is no longer a
ruin. The pillars and roof are upright, as new, with the
statue in the center and the sacred pool sparkling in the
courtyard. A profusion of four-leaf clovers are growing
at the water's edge.

All right!

**********

Scully's POV:

Through the glass panel, I see that Mulder is convulsing.

I race into his room, the nurse on my heels.

Oh God...

"Mulder, I love you! Please stay with me!" I feel...
Desolate definitely, but something else... Something
strange...

Then a part of my mind registers a huge crash of thunder
directly above the room. The floor seems to shake. The
lights flicker then go out, just as...

The monitors and machines go crazy. The readouts change
to gibberish, then become blank screens. Mulder collapses
back against the bed and lies still.

He's not breathing... His heart...

I choke out his name. The room is dim and my eyes still
have 'flash blots' in front of them from the readouts. I
blink my eyes clear as I fumble to find a pulse.

On another level my brain registers what is happening
around me. I hear the nurse who came in behind me stumble
against something or trip. I hear others entering the
room, fumbling along in the twilight created by the light
that is coming through the glass panel from the hallway.
Yells for flashlights and 'how is he?' and exclamations
over how the hey the emergency generator could have shut
down like this.

All this in a matter of seconds...

And the strange feeling comes over me again. A
tingling...

I am praying. I won't let him go. I am desperately
willing him to live, to stay with me... And I'm about to
begin CPR...

Then Mulder sucks in a breath. And another.

The lights go back on in the room. Mulder is lying in the
bed, eyes closed, breathing normally. His skin... The
swelling doesn't seem as bad...

My eyes must be playing tricks. Too much flipping back
and forth between light and dark for me to handle. Or
perhaps the antivenin is really kicking in... But to such
a degree, so suddenly? How long has it been since I was
last with him?

I feel someone take my arm, determined to eject me from
the room. I hang on just as determinedly to the bedrail
with one hand and Mulder's hand with the other. "No -
he's all right. Look!" I insist. The monitors are up and
running again, quantifying my diagnosis. "Mulder?"

He slowly opens his eyes. He looks at me groggily and
smiles, then closes his eyes again. I can feel a strong
and steady pulse and want to shout with joy. My husband
is just asleep.

**********

Mulder's POV:

"You won't remember this," Patrick tells me. We are
standing beside the pool.

"What - you or the forest or -"

"Both." Then he points to the sky. "And this power too.
You will use it again when needed." He sees my
disappointment. "Lad, you are not meant to rush around
like Superman, wielding those powers every day. It does
not work that way. And as you yourself have discovered,
you already have a wonderful source of strength and power
that you share with your soulmate."

No argument there. The strength and feelings that, for
example, allowed me to make it to Antarctica and to get
Scully out of that base... And for her to come out of her
coma when medical science said it was hopeless.

"That love enabled you to access the other power, and to
control it, with amazing results." Patrick's expression
is now impressed. "Through that, you actually managed to
neutralize the poison in your body. It didn't even have
to be expelled."

"That makes it sound like a very bizarre take on water
into wine. Or vice versa," I muse. "I think they did
something like that in 'Dune'." Perhaps all those nights
spent overdosing on science fiction movies finally came
back to bite me in the ass. "I'm just glad it worked.
Thank you. All of you."

He smiles. "Worked? It certainly did. After achieving
that, you - the both of you, it could be said - actually
destroyed a Dark One."

"Mackey? That black cloud?"

"I did not expect him to come after you again. Or at
least not so soon. He would have expected you to die
after your confrontation in the church and he would have
wanted to lie low. But perhaps when you rid yourself of
the poison, Mackey sensed that your life was still in the
balance and wanted to strike while you were still
vulnerable. And he might have sensed how much of a threat
you would be if you fully wielded those powers. Remember
the time you encountered the dark force with the
Calusari, lad?"

I recall the ceremony years ago to cast the demon out of
young Charlie. "I looked when I was told not to... The
old men said I would have to be careful because it knew
me now..."

"That made you exposed, but what you did here has taken
care of that - it has sealed off a 'back door' from being
used against you. You have encountered evil in different
forms and guises. It is just a matter of seeing it for
what it really is. Anyway, the time has come for you to
return to the real world."

He nods at the pool. I can see Scully reflected there.
Patrick continues, "Time is different here - when you go
back, the same amount of time will not have passed there.
Not much at all, in fact. Oh, another thing. You expended
so much energy in destroying that Dark One that although
you healed your body, you will probably feel run down for
the next few weeks. Like you are recovering from a bout
of pneumonia. So conserve your strength for the important
things."

He winks and disappears, just as I open my mouth to ask
him just what else I can do with the power. I know he
said there are limitations, but I want more detail on
just what that means - what they are. I think Scully and
I may have stretched or surpassed some of those
limitations in the forest, and maybe even at other times
in the past, unconsciously.

And if I'm capable of healing myself, perhaps I can also
restore Scully's fertility...

**********

Scully's POV:

Mulder is awake. Tired and pale, but all right. The venom
is gone. There is no internal bleeding or tissue damage.
His kidneys are fine and he looks remarkably better.

"How can that be?" he asks me, upon hearing my
reassurances.

"I don't know how it can be, but I'm glad it is." There
is a long pause as we just look at each other. I am
allowed to sit with Mulder for as long as I want,
whenever I want. I don't know whether that's because he's
out of ICU now or what. I never did get to tell them that
I am his wife. "Do you remember anything after the snakes
attacked you?"

Mulder frowns in thought. "Nothing clearly..."

"You were talking about snakes or saints, or something."

"I did? One thing's for sure, I will never joke about
snake handling again. Except to say that Eve was framed."

"Well, you proved yourself to be Wile E Coyote," I say,
glad that he is able to joke.

"Huh?"

"Remember Henry Weems?" Mulder nods, recalling the man
whose near-death experience had given him an incredible
run of luck - which came in handy when he fell three
hundred feet and survived remarkably unhurt. "When we
were investigating Weems, you wondered if he had a
special capability or some kind of genetic predisposition
towards rapid healing or tissue regeneration. Basically,
as invulnerable as Wile E Coyote."

"Oh, right. I could be Wile E, apart from one thing."

"Which is?"

He squeezes my hand. "I actually caught the road runner."

"Meep Meep," I say with a smile as I lean down to kiss
him. I can't resist and hopefully my back is blocking the
sight if anyone is going past and peering in at this late
hour.

A few seconds later he is asleep.

xXx

We are back in D.C., at my apartment, at last.

Exhausted from the flight, Mulder doesn't complain about
being put to bed. Soon I join him and we hold each other.

My husband sighs longingly. "I wish my snake felt 'up' to
being charmed... Though perhaps if it *was* felt up, it
might..."

I feel his grin. We both know that we're too tired to
make love, as much as we would like to. "We'll see how
things 'stand' or 'rear up' after a good night's sleep,"
I say. "And you promised that you wouldn't do any more
snake handling jokes, remember?"

"That's true." He is drifting off. "Though I was thinking
less along the lines of handling... and more towards
captivity and confinement..."

He's asleep before he can go into lairs and burrowing. I
lay here and hold him, feeling his breath, his heartbeat.
His hair underneath my chin. My tears fall into my
pillow. Relief and release.

I don't want to miss any opportunity but I'm just
grateful to hold him.

And still my mind is nagging at me about the monitoring
equipment in the hospital room. I have no idea why and
try to reason with myself in an effort to stop it. There
was a storm. It resulted in a power failure or surge that
somehow affected the room - only that one room - and so
the readouts went haywire, then stopped.

And just at that exact moment, my husband's heart and
lungs seemed to stop. Hey, it was hard to see properly, I
was panicking, the blank screens on the monitors were a
definite cause for alarm - I could have *thought* that
Mulder flatlined. Just for a second. An easy enough
mistake to make under the circumstances.

But how do I explain how one minute he was so sick, and
then dramatically improved? The next blood test showed no
venom or resulting toxins in his body. Or even traces of
the antivenin.

How could they disappear like that?

The doctor said that the poison exited O'Connor's body
via the bites. That didn't happen to Mulder. I was there
with him and didn't see it, or find any traces on his
skin or on the sheets or the gown.

I did feel...

My mind keeps flashing back to the moment the monitors
packed it in. Something about the garbled readouts...
Something familiar, but very much out of place...

Enough! My husband is alive. He's safe. I'm quite happy
to accept a miracle. For Blessing to have finally lived
up to its name.

I am just drifting off to sleep when it hits me.

That wasn't gibberish on the readouts. I only saw them
for an instant on the monitors, but...

They looked like symbols.

They were.

Symbols from the UFO in Africa...


THE END 


Note: Inspiration for Mulder bringing the lightning down
and making it into a cylinder of light to wield came from
Suzanne Bickerstaffe's excellent "The Magician" series.

(Alternate/Working Title: "Fangs for the Memories" <g>)

There are more stories to come in this series. We are
currently working on the 'Closure' installment.