Stitches In Time
 Date: Sat, 27 Jun 1998 

******** 

SPOILER: The X-Files: Fight the Future
 Summary: Third person observation of Mulder's gunshot wound
 and hospital stay.
 Rating: PG-13 just like the movie <G>
 Category: Fill in the Blank (if that isn't a category, it needs to be)
 A, H, Muldertorture
 Disclaimer: It was a great movie. Owned by 10-13 Productions
 (that looked so cool up there on the big screen) and 20th Century
 Fox (more money for FOX) and all I did was borrow the characters
 and fill in a little gap in the plot. No copyright infringement
 intended.
 Archive: YES
 Comments: to me at vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com
 Thank you: To everyone who wrote me after Ruminations on Ice.
 I told most of you that there was one in the works, this is it. There
 may be other. And thanks as always to Susan and now Donna for
 looking it over and kicking my butt to finish it. 

Stitches In Time
 by Vickie Moseley
 vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com 

Langly says I do it because I'm a dirty old man, but I notice he
 never complains when I turn up something interesting. So once
 again, I was manning my trusty police scanner while downloading
 stuff from the net. 

I recognized the address immediately. I was halfway out the door
 when I remembered that my two associates might want to tag
 along. As I grabbed my hat off the hook on the back of the door, I
 called out. 

"Mulder just called for an ambulance. Officer down. Scully's been
 hurt. Are you two coming?" 

I was actually a little surprised that no body said anything as we
 hopped in Langly's old VW and headed out. But then, I sort of
 knew we were all lost in our own thoughts. 

Let's get one thing straight, right off the bat. I like Agent Scully.
 Hell, I've liked her since Mulder first brought her to the office.
 Langly was sure she'd nark us out, Byers just kept blathering about
 how smart she was, but I just plain _liked_ the woman. She
 reminded me so much of . . . someone I used to know. 

But I could see it right then, right in that room. They were a
 couple. An 'us'. As in 'us' against 'them'. That kind of 'us'. And
 there is no place in 'us'es for 'others'. Definitely not 'significant
 others', even if she would give me a second look. Even so, I do
 dearly love to give that tight-assed Mulder a good tweak now and
 again. And seeing Dana Scully blush has got to be one of the seven
 wonders of the modern world. But I know my place, and my place
 is to sit back and watch. 

So I had my own little musings as we rode along. I know that
 seeing her with cancer had almost killed Mulder. And I know that
 if she'd died . . . well, that suicide they staged would have been the
 real thing. So all I could think of as we drove through the night
 was how in the hell we could keep Mulder together if the worst had
 come about. And then it occurred to me, maybe we shouldn't even
 try. 

Maybe the kinder act would be to let him go, too. 

Morbid thought, but the one on my mind as we turned the corner
 and skidded to a stop behind the flashing lights of the ambulance. 

I was the first out of the car, since I'd managed to snag the front
 seat. Byers was still extracting himself from the back and Langly
 has to lock the damned thing - like anyone would bother to steal the
 piece of shit. I made a beeline for the stretcher being loaded, all the
 while glancing around to see if I could find Mulder. 

It hit me that Scully had her hair cut awful short as I looked at the
 patient on the stretcher. And about a half second later, I'm kicking
 myself in the ass when I realize that it's _Mulder_ on the stretcher. 

"Excuse me," I grabbed the first paramedic I could reach. "Where
 is Agent Scully?" 

"Who?" was the answer and I decided to try another tack. 

"The woman who is injured. The officer down. Agent Scully.
 You guys were called to pick her up." Was I the only one on the
 block who was sober? 

"Look, we got a call to pick up a federal officer. We got here and
 we find this guy in the street, bleeding from a wound to the head.
 We need to get him in pronto, we're pretty sure there's internal
 bleeding. Now, who the hell are you and what do you know about
 this?" 

"Uh, I'm this man's uncle," I lied. Hey, it's a gift. "His mother's
 brother. I'm coming with you!" 

By this time, Byers had caught up with me. "My god, that's
 Mulder! I thought you said . . ." 

"We don't have time for a conference. I'm going with Mulder to
 the hospital. You guys go up and see what you can find in his
 apartment." 

"Frohike! What the hell are we supposed to . . ." 

I cut him off. "Just look, OK, goddammit! It's the least we can do.
 Something's screwy and I think we're the only ones who know that
 right now.' 

"We don't know anything right now, Melvin," Byers retorted but I
 could tell he'd do what I asked. "How are you going to get in the
 ambulance, anyway? You aren't --" 

I stomped on his foot to keep him from blowing my cover. "I'm
 going to the hospital with my nephew, Fox. It's the least my sister,
 his mother Teena would expect me to do," I growled, loud enough
 for the people on the top floor of the apartments to hear me. 

Byers glared at me, but caught on quick enough. "Oh, yeah, his
 mom. Right. OK, 'Uncle Melvin', keep us apprised." 

"I'll call when I know anything," I answered and jumped in the
 ambulance right before they closed the door. 

I've never been in the back of an ambulance. I was in the back of
 an Army truck that was being used as an ambulance, but it sure
 didn't look like this. This place looked like they could perform
 surgery if they wanted to. That thought made my stomach fold in
 on itself. 

Mulder, for his part, was semi-conscious and muttering something.
 There was blood everywhere, all the way down his face and all over
 the pillow under his head. I thought when you got shot in the head,
 you died. Fast. No painful death throes or anything like that.
 That's how it is in the movies. The guys with the bullet holes in the
 head always have that amazed look on their faces. Like death was
 a surprise. The thought that Mulder might bleed to death or die
 slow really made my heart jump up to my throat. But when I got
 control of myself, I realized he was saying one word, over and over
 again. 

It sounded like 'B'. The letter B. It made no sense. Dana
 Katherine Scully. Not a 'B' in the whole darned thing. Fox
 William Mulder. No B there, either. Walter Skinner. Nope,
 another wash out. So who the hell was he talking about? Byers?
 Maybe he was calling for us. 

That scared me more than the thought that he was dying. 

The medics were noticing his mutterings, too. "Hey, why is he
 talking about Bs?" he asked me. 

I was at a loss. "Beats me," I told him. 

"Wait. He's saying something else," the other medic said suddenly.
 "B . . . sting. Bee sting!" 

I was about to lean over and try to talk to Mulder directly when the
 medic manning the inflatable cuff on his arm started yelling. 

"His pressures rising! Get base on the horn and get ready with the
 IV mannitol." 

I sat there, trying real hard to become the invisible man. Then I
 realized, I didn't want to be invisible, I wanted to be out. I didn't
 want to sit there and watch another friend die and not be able to do
 a damned thing about it. I realized that it wasn't even my place,
 that it should be Scully here, holding his hand, saying goodbye and
 I sorely regretting getting into the ambulance in the first place. I
 wanted to be anywhere else but there. 

They were running tubes up his arms and had a mask over his face
 and shooting shit in his IV and I really, really wanted to close my
 eyes and make it all go away. I could hear the siren blaring in the
 night, I could hear the tires squeal at every corner, and I didn't
 want to, but I could hear Mulder trying to breathe, trying to hold
 onto life with the very fingernails of his soul. 

I pried my eyes open when we skidded to a stop. The two medics
 were unlatching the stretcher and I hopped out the door and got
 out of the way. They didn't give me a second look as they rushed
 Mulder into the hospital. All I could do was follow along behind
 and hope I didn't lose them in the maze of the ER. 

We were headed through a big metal door when a nurse grabbed
 my arm. 

"I understand you're a relative?" 

I figured out why I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. My
 cover was getting harder and harder to keep up with. 

"Uhh, yeah. His uncle." 

"We have a Dana Scully listed as his next of kin. Has she been
 contacted?" 

Scully. Shit. In the excitement in the ambulance, I'd forgotten all
 about Scully. Now I had to come up with something fast. 

"She's on vacation. Unavailable." 

The nurse's face grew pretty grim at that. "What about the second
 name on the list? Margaret Scully? Is _she_ available?" 

Margaret? Oh damn, Mrs. Scully! Shit, damn. For some reason I
 thought it was a really bad idea to call Mrs. Scully on this. I just
 hoped whatever law I was about to break had a fairly short prison
 sentence. 

"That's my sister. She remarried. She's out of town, too. With
 her husband. I'm all there is at the moment. I'll sign whatever
 papers you need." There, I'd done it. Committed medical felony.
 I could hear the cell door slam shut in my mind. 

The nurse seemed to take all that with a large grain of salt, but then
 ushered me back to a cubicle. I was half expecting her to call the
 police, but instead, she waved me into a chair and a man in regular
 clothes - not medical - started asking me questions. 

I'm the first one to admit that we know more about Mulder than we
 should. Hell, yes, we've hacked into his files. Sometimes, we've
 done so at Agent Scully's request. I've never been proud of that
 fact, I value privacy and I know these two have little enough of it.
 But that night I was damned glad I knew too much about Mulder. 

I answered all the guy's questions, with accurate information, I
 might add. I didn't embellish, didn't make anything up. I probably
 didn't do as bang up a job as Agent Scully would have done, but if
 Mulder's life was in the balance because of anything I said, I'm
 certain the scales would tip in his favor. 

After signing my name a few thousand times, and I'm pretty sure
 that I'm gonna get the bill if Mulder checks out, I was allowed into
 the waiting room. 

I hate hospitals. I avoid them at all costs. So I'm always trying to
 figure out how I keep managing to end up sitting around the
 damned places whenever Mulder or his partner come into the
 picture. It's a curse and it's connected directly to these two people.
 I was thinking on that curse when a tall man in blue green scrubs
 came into the room and looked around. 

"Are you with Agent Mulder?" 

I stood up, still only coming to this guy's shoulder. "Yeah, I'm
 Melvin Frohike. I'm his uncle. How is he?" 

The man extended his hand. "I'm Dr. Franklin, I'm the doctor
 overseeing Agent Mulder's care at this point. Here, let's sit down." 

I did NOT like the sounds of that. Good news you want to blurt
 out, you don't need to sit down. Bad news you need to sit down
 for. But I sat down anyway. 

"Agent Mulder received a bullet wound to the left temple. Now the
 good news is, the bullet literally glanced off, not entering the skull." 

I was nodding like one of those little dogs people used to keep in
 the back windows of their cars. 

"The bad news is, he sustained pretty nasty concussion and there is
 a sub dural hematoma - bleeding under the skull. It's caused a build
 up of pressure in his head. That's very dangerous, it can cause
 complications and if not treated quickly, can result in death." 

I don't know if he thought I was going to try and stop him from
 treating Mulder at that point, but he seemed to want me to say
 something. "What can you do?" I asked. 

"I've called in a specialist, a neurologist, and he wants to perform a
 craniotomy. He would perform surgery where he would drill a
 small hole in the skull and relieve the pressure. If there is still
 bleeding, he can cauterize the site and stop that as well. The
 procedure shouldn't take long, no more than an hour or so. But we
 do need your permission." 

Oh shit. But it seemed like the right thing to do. "Sure, fine, do I
 sign something?" I asked. 

He smiled at me, and I could tell he was relieved, too. "The nurse
 will be in shortly. I'd better get back there. We'll let you know as
 soon as your nephew is out of surgery." He got up and started to
 leave. 

I didn't let him get out the door. "Ummm, could I see him? Before
 you take him to surgery that is?" 

"Mr. Mulder," he started and I decided the charade was getting too
 hard to maintain. 

"My name's Frohike. Melvin Frohike." 

"Oh, sorry, my mistake. That's right, the nurse said you were his
 mother's brother. Mr. Frohike, your nephew is unconscious right
 now. He's prepped and ready for surgery. If you really want to see
 him . . ." 

"Yes, I really do. Please, just for a moment." 

He hesitated for a moment and I tried to look my most paternal and
 responsible. Quite a stretch for my acting abilities. But he bought
 it. "I guess I can allow it. But just for a moment." He led the way
 through the door. 

*******

I don't know why it was so important for me to see Mulder. I
 guess it was to ensure they had the right guy, that Mulder wasn't
 lying in some hallway, face covered with a sheet, waiting for the
 guys to toe tag him and ship him off to the morgue. Maybe it was
 because I knew that if Scully was there, she'd be with him right up
 to the point where they dragged her away from the operating room
 doors. Whatever the reason, I knew I had to go, I just didn't
 expect so many butterflies in my stomach. 

I've always thought Mulder was too cocky for his own good. Oh,
 he's a great guy. Get a few beers in him and he'll talk your arm
 off. Plays a mean hand of poker, too. Bluffs like a pro from
 Vegas. We're friends. Not in the 'buddy-ole-pal-a-mine' sense,
 but in the 'just-ask-and-it's-yours' sense. Still, when I first met
 him, I longed for the day when he'd been taken down a notch or
 two. Unfortunately for us both, I've seen that day, too many times.
 This was another one. 

I've seen him hurt before. This isn't the first time, by a long shot.
 But it was the first time I'd been in on the 'opening act' as it were.
 I usually catch up with him when he's on the mend, like the time he
 got shot on a case, or when he's on medical leave, like when Scully
 carried him home from the Arctic. He could talk to me, tell me
 how great the pain killers were, or weren't and generally assure me
 that he was OK. Not so this time. Not so at all. 

He was so pale. The blood was gone from his face, but I could see
 a bag of it hanging from the pole next to the gurney. The wound
 was covered with a gauze bandage and a patch of hair had been
 shaved, but the hair on the top of his head was flopping over the
 area anyway. Serve him right if they shaved him bald. But that's
 just Rogaine envy talking. 

He wasn't moving. I had to watch him closely to make sure he was
 breathing. They still had the mask covering his mouth and nose.
 There were wires on his chest, little pads attached to the skin. I
 could see a bunch of monitors that were tied to the little wires and
 pads. One was a heart monitor, and though I don't know if 60's a
 good number, it look right. All told, I now had proof that Mulder
 really was alive. It gave me hope that he would make it. 

The nurse moved aside, so I could get a little closer. I don't know
 what they expected me do to. I guess that's where my little
 charade really failed me. I'm not anybody's uncle. My brother
 couldn't get a date to save his soul. So I don't know how an uncle
 would act at a moment like this. I did the only thing I could think
 of. I reached out and squeezed his hand. 

I leaned over a little, to get in close so the nurse wouldn't hear.
 "I'm right here, Mulder. They guys are looking. We'll help all we
 can. Just make it through, OK?" I whispered in his ear. I don't
 think the nurse heard me, but she looked kinda teary eyed when I
 stood up straight again. 

"We'll take good care of him, Mr. Frohike," she promised. I
 wanted to tell her I was going going to hold her to that, but I
 didn't. Another nurse pointed me to the door and I watched as
 they pushed Mulder out the other way, toward the operating
 rooms. 

There was a crowd in the waiting room. Byers and Langly. And,
 oh, shit, Skinner. 

I knew we were screwed. 

"How's Agent Mulder?" Skinner was the only one talking. I
 glanced down at Byers and Langly's hands, to see if they were
 cuffed. They weren't, that surprised me. 

"They're taking him into surgery. There's bleeding under the
 cranium and they have to drill a hole to relieve it." I took a little
 satisfaction in the look on Langly's face. I was pretty sure he was
 ready to pass out. 

"Who signed off on the surgery?" Skinner seemed a touch
 surprised that I had all the information, but he wasn't questioning it,
 yet. 

"I did." The guy now had eyebrows for a hairline. "There wasn't
 time. I let them think I was his uncle." There, it was done. Book
 me, read me my rights, I lied to the medical community. At least I
 was coming clean with the Feds. 

"Good thinking," was all he said. "Now, I want to know what you
 were doing at Agent Mulder's apartment and where the hell is
 Agent Scully." 

It was one of those moments when history is made. You either
 stonewall, and possibly screw up royally, or give up the goods and
 get screwed anyway. But at that point, after seeing them wheel
 Mulder to surgery, I didn't really give a shit. This wasn't a game
 anymore. This was serious. 

"I overheard it on the police band. I recognized Mulder's address.
 He was calling for an ambulance, he used the words 'officer down'.
 It had to have been Scully." 

"Then where in the hell is she? The neighbors said they saw an
 ambulance come and load her on a gurney, but we've had people
 calling all the area hospitals and no one has seen her. And who shot
 Mulder?" I don't know if he expected me to answer any of those
 questions, but I sure as hell hoped somebody would. 

"The ambulance driver," Byers said quietly. "I talked to the lady
 who lives beneath Mulder. She's got binoculars in her nightstand.
 When she heard the commotion, she peeked out the window. Said
 Mulder went up to the door of the ambulance, pounded on it and
 there was a gunshot and he fell. Then the other ambulance pulled
 up right away, like it had been on the way there already. The cops
 showed up because it was an 'officer down' call." 

Skinner's jaw clenched. I would not like to get this man angry with
 me. We all stood there, looking at each other and him. We knew
 what this meant. 

'They' had Scully. And they shot Mulder in the process. And we
 didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of finding her without him. 

After a while, we all got tired of standing around. Langly went off
 and found a coffee machine, Skinner moved to the corner of the
 room and started making phone calls on his cellphone. Byers sat
 next to me. 

"How did he look?" 

"Who? Mulder? He looked like he was shot in the head. He
 looked like he was dying," I spat out, but then I regretted it. Byers
 has a soft heart and he didn't need my shit right then. "Sorry, man.
 Look, the doctor was real optimistic. They just have to get the
 pressure relieved." 

"That was the problem with Scully's sister, too," he muttered.
 "The pressure built up. She died. They couldn't do anything to
 stop it." 

I remembered Mulder telling us about it when we asked how she
 was. I had forgotten all about that. I swallowed hard to keep from
 punching the wall. 

"Well, the doctor said it would be about an hour or so. He'll let us
 know when they're finished." 

"Did Mulder say anything? I mean, before they took him into
 surgery?" 

Geezus, if my head wasn't attached, I lose it, too! "Oh, yeah. But
 I couldn't figure out what he was talking about. In the ambulance.
 He kept saying 'bee'. And then, before he, uh, passed out, he said
 'bee sting'." 

I expected him to look confused. I didn't expect him to look
 excited. Byers grabbed my arm and turned me to the side, so that
 his back was to Skinner. Then he pulled a little vial out of his
 pocket. 

"We found this in the hallway." 

I took the vial and held it between us. Inside it was a dead bee.
 Bee sting. I didn't know what it meant, but if it was the last words
 Mulder had spoken, it had to be important. I handed the vial back
 to Byers. 

"Get that over to the office, put it in the lock box. I don't know
 how a bee got involved in all this, but I don't want anything to
 happen to it." 

"Shouldn't be give it to Skinner?" 

Once a fed, always a fed, even if it was just the FCC. "Hell, no, we
 don't give it to Skinner! We save it. We'll give it to Mulder." 

"If he makes it," Byers said, his eyes on the floor. 

"When he's up and around," I corrected. "Now, get out of here.
 I'll say you have to lock up or something. Or that you're getting
 some decent coffee that doesn't come from a vending machine.
 And bring back some Dunkin Donuts while you're at it." 

That got a smile out of him. "Always thinking about your
 stomach," he muttered, but he got up, asked Langly for the keys
 and left. 

"Where's he going?" Skinner asked. 

"Gonna make a coffee run. Looks like it'll be a long night and this
 place only has swill." 

That satisfied him and he went back to his phone calls. I let myself
 breath again. After a minute, Langly came over and I filled him in.
 Then we just sat there and waited. 

I kept looking at my watch. It had been an hour and a half. I was
 starting to get worried when Dr. Franklin made his reappearance
 with another doctor. He introduced the other guy as Dr. Eastman. 

Skinner sort of wanted to take over and I didn't see any reason not
 to let him. He was on those two like flies on shit. "How is my
 agent?" he demanded. 

Franklin gave him a weird ass look and then turned to me. I figured
 it was time to make some introductions before Skinner read him his
 rights. "Dr. Franklin, this is Assistant Director Walter Skinner.
 He's Mul . . . er, Fox's boss." 

That was enough for Franklin. He turned to Skinner. "Oh, sorry.
 Well, I'll let Dr. Eastman explain the particulars of the surgery." 

Dr. Eastman took a step closer. "The surgery went well. Mr.
 Mulder received a ten centimeter laceration to his temple about a
 half centimeter deep. It made contact with the cranium, and then
 glanced off. Fortunately, he avoided a skull fracture, but the impact
 did concuss the brain. There was some bleeding, which we were
 able to repair. His intercranial pressure is good right now and since
 his vitals are strong, I would say we can be guardedly optimistic." 

He was hedging his bets, I could tell. "What's the problem?" I
 asked. I just knew there was a big 'but' hanging in the air. 

"Mr. Mulder is currently in a light coma. It's not unexpected with
 this sort of injury. He's responding to painful stimulus, but other
 than that, we can't rouse him." 

"He can't tell us what happened," Skinner muttered under his
 breath. It was like he shook off his dispair. "Where is he now?" 

"I've moved him to ICU." 

"I want someone posted outside his room 24/7," Skinner started
 and Franklin looked like he was about to object, but Mr. FBI didn't
 give him a chance. "Doctor, there has been an assault on a Federal
 Officer. Another Federal Officer is missing. We will stay out of
 your way, but there will be a guard. End of discussion. And I think
 someone he knows should be there in the room, in case he wakes
 up. He may have some information for us." 

Franklin looked suitably chastised, but nodded his head. Eastman
 just looked scared. Personally, I was wondering who the hell was
 going to be sitting next to Mulder's bedside when old Chromedome
 looked my way. 

"Mr. Frohike, can I count on you to stay with Mulder while I
 organize the search and the guards?" 

Gee, wow, sure. "Uhh, I guess that'll be all right. Guys?" Why I
 felt the need to defer to my associates, I'll never know, but it
 seemed like a good thing to do. 

"We can take shifts. I'll take first shift. Go on back to the office
 and get some sleep. You can relieve me in six hours," Byers said,
 taking charge. "I'll call you if there's any change in his condition." 

It sounded like a decent plan to me. Until Langly thought about it.
 "Maybe we should stick it out here. I mean, if they really are out to
 get Mulder, whoever is with him . . ." 

"Oh, for cripes sakes, there'll be an FBI agent outside the door,"
 Byers groused. "I'll be perfectly safe." 

"Oh, yeah? Well, Agent Scully IS an FBI agent, and this is the
 second time she's been taken!" Langly shot back. That tore it. I
 decided right then I wasn't going anywhere. 

"These chairs aren't that uncomfortable," I told them both. "Let's
 find the room he's in, and the nearest lounge. We'll take turns in
 his room, but stick together. Will that make everybody happy?" 

They had to think about it for a minute, but finally, they agreed.
 We went up to find the Intensive Care Unit. 

Byers woke me up about five a.m. by my watch. Langly, who
 could sleep hanging from a rafter, was sawing logs. I got off my
 not terribly painful couch and Byers eased himself down into it's
 cushions with a sigh. 

"The nurse comes in to check on him about every fifteen minutes.
 The only chair is an old wooden ladder back, and it's got splinters.
 He had a restful night, but then, how much trouble can you cause in
 a coma?" Byers said with a big yawn. 

"He's still in the coma?" I asked, but it was more of an excuse to
 give me some time to wake up before going into the room. 

"Yeah. His blood pressure snuck up a little around 2, but the nurse
 shot something into his IV and it lowered. They still have him on
 oxygen, but it's a little tube instead of a full mask. I think he's
 doing all right, but he still won't wake up." 

I could tell this was starting to wear on Byers. I knew he was
 thinking about Melissa Scully. She didn't wake up, either. 

"Get some sleep. I'll wake up Sleeping Beauty over there when I
 get tired," I told him. He glanced over to Langly, shook his head,
 and then settled into the couch and fell asleep. I left them snoring
 in tandem. 

It was so quiet in Mulder's room. Someone, the nurse, probably,
 had turned down the sound on the heart monitor. I could still hear
 a faint hiss from the oxygen tube and there was some kind of pump
 attached to the IV pole making an electroic noise. If any of that
 crap had something to do with surveillance, I would have taken the
 time to figure out what it was. Since it was only there to keep a
 person alive, I didn't want to know what did what, and I sure
 wasn't going to touch any of it. 

Mulder was turned on his side. I didn't expect that. I'm used to
 TV, when a person is in the hospital, they lay on their back. But he
 was turned on his side, toward the door, and if I didn't know better,
 I would say that he was just waiting for Scully to show up to open
 his eyes. Like he was laying there, listening for her footsteps or
 something. 

No wonder Langly tells me I'm an old softy. 

I'd no sooner gotten settled in that bitch of a chair when the nurse
 came in. She tossed me a smile, then went about her business. I
 noticed that Mulder had a blood pressure cuff attached to his arm
 all the time, it would inflate every so often. She double checked it,
 and the leads to the heart monitor. Then she took a stethoscope
 and listen to his chest, front and back. I asked her if the machines
 didn't do that for her. 

"Oh, they monitor his heart rate. I'm listening to his lungs. There's
 always the danger of post op infection. We want to make sure his
 lungs don't fill with fluid. He's getting antibiotics, but just in case,
 we listen." 

I decided that sounded like a good idea. 

She checked the dressing around his forehead and sort of screwed
 up her face a little. I noticed the bloody spot on the bandage and
 just about lost my supper. Then I remembered I hadn't _had_ any
 supper, just coffee and donuts and I felt even more queasy. 

"Have you been able to reach his mother and sister?" she asked, as
 she changed the dressing. I was staring at his feet, trying not to get
 a good look at the wound and almost laughed at that last request.
 Then I remembered my little 'story'. As far as they were
 concerned, Agent Scully was his sister and her mom was his mom.
 Geez, Mulder was gonna kill me when he woke up, no doubt about
 it. 

"Uh, we've been trying all night. They went, umm, camping. In
 the Boundary Waters. It's really had to reach them." Thank
 heavens for a good imagination. 

"Bet he wishes he'd gone with them," she said with a shake of her
 head. 

"Yeah, I'm sure he does," I replied. 

Then she looked over at me. "Could you give me a hand here?" 

My stomach dropped to the floor. What the hell was she expecting
 me to do? But I agreed, regardless. I mean, I was sure she wasn't
 going to ask me to do brain surgery, he'd been through that once
 already. 

"I just want to turn him on his back. You watch those leads over
 there and the IV for me. Don't touch anything, just make sure I
 don't 'crimp' anything against the bedrail." 

Whew, something I could handle. "Sure. But why are you turning
 him over? He looked kinda comfortable just the way he was." 

"Bed sores. If he's in this condition for longer than 24 hours, bed
 sores can result. We move him every 6 or so hours so that we
 don't have to contend with that. They'll do that in a nursing home,
 too. Patients in a coma have to be moved or their muscles
 atrophy." She smiled when we were through and straightened his
 covers. 

"Too bad his mom and sister aren't here. I know you're probably
 close, but sometimes a familiar female voice is what brings a guy
 around." 

I sat there a long time after she left, contemplating a call to
 Margaret Scully. But what would I say? 'Hi, Mrs. Scully, you
 don't know me, but your daughter has been kidnapped again and
 her partner is in a coma and maybe you could come down to the
 hosptial and make him wake up?' Oh, yeah, that sounded like a
 great idea. Mulder would just have to wake up to our voices. We
 didn't have any other choice. 

If he woke up. Shit, I hadn't really considered the possibility that
 he might not wake up. I mean, I'd been busy trying to convince
 myself that he wasn't going to die. It hadn't occured to me that he
 might be in a coma for . . . years. And she'd said 'nursing home'.
 The image flashed through my mind of going to a nursing home,
 going to a room after years and years and finding Mulder just as he
 was, lying in a bed. Alive, but not. And we'd never know what
 had happened to Scully. 

I hadn't noticed it before, but there was something in that room that
 made my eyes itch really bad. I kept having to wipe them and blow
 my nose. 

**********

Byers was right, the nurse came in often. After a while a new nurse
 came in and I figured out that the shifts had changed. The new one
 was nice, young and very pretty. She was really gentle with Mulder
 and that was good. She had just gone when Langly came in. 

"How's he doin'?" 

"The same. No change." I could tell that news didn't make him
 happy, but he didn't say anything else. 

"Skinner's back. They went over Mulder's apartment with a fine
 tooth comb. A bunch of albums were on the floor and a couple of
 pictures had fallen out. No prints other than the obvious. The
 hallway was clean." 

"The bee's still locked up, right?" 

He gave me a look. "Yes, 'Melvin', the bee is still locked up.
 Byers wanted to tell Skinner about it again, but I wouldn't let him." 

"Good." 

"So, why don't you go get some food. The cafeteria's open. They
 have a breakfast burrito that's not too bad." 

Langly has the epicurean level of a garbage disposal. "I'll look for
 myself," I told him. "Byers' up?" 

"Yeah. He thinks we should call Mrs. Scully. Skinner's thinking
 about it, too. I don't know, though. I don't want to scare her.
 She's been through enough, don't you think?" 

"Definitely. Besides, Mulder will wake up soon. He'll want some
 time to find Scully." 

Langly wouldn't look at me. But I could tell he wasn't convinced
 that Mulder would come around. "Look, Fro. I know you like the
 guy, hell, I like him, too, but I was talking to a couple of nurses in
 the cafeteria . . ." 

"So what?" 

"Well, with this kind of injury . . . sometimes when they do wake
 up, they don't really wake up, ya know?" 

"No, I don't know," I told him. He was making me mad. "What
 the hell do you mean?" 

"Well, there could be damage. Permanent damage from the
 swelling. He might have seizures, he might have memory loss. He
 might not be the same Mulder, ya know what I mean?" 

The really bad part was I knew exactly what he meant. I just didn't
 want to think about it. "He's gonna be fine. Mulder gets cracked
 on the head all the time. He's got silly putty for brains or
 something. Knock it around and it comes right back." 

Langly wanted to argue, but then decided it wasn't a good idea to
 get me mad. I get mean when I get mad. Too mean, sometimes.
 Finally, he just let it be. "I hope so," was all he'd say. 

I made my way down to the cafeteria, found they had Raisin Bran
 and got myself some breakfast. I tried not to think about what
 Langly said, but it kept coming back to me. 

I knew someone, once. We'd been so happy. And when I found
 out she was sick, I thought I would die. But then we were told that
 they could make her better. And it was like I was given my life
 back again. They just forgot to tell me that she might not be the
 same person as before. That with the tumor, they might accidently
 remove everything in her that made her love an ugly loser like me. 

She's happy. I've never gone to see her, she wouldn't remember
 me anyway. But I've kept in contact with her sister and she's
 happy. The kind of happiness a six year old might experience. Not
 a 47 year old woman. 

But that couldn't happen to Mulder. Mulder has more going for
 him. All the happened years ago and it was a tumor and . . . they
 said they've learned more about the brain than they've ever known. 

I hoped to God they're right. 

Because I knew that unless Mulder woke up, Agent Scully would
 never be found. 

And then I'd lose two more friends for no good reason. 

The hours just kind of ran together after that. Franklin came by, as
 did Eastman. They talked of doing another brain scan, to see if the
 swelling was reducing. They told us that sometimes it just took
 time. And every time they said that, Skinner would look at his
 watch. 

I knew what he was thinking. The longer Mulder was out, the
 slimmer the chance that he would be able to find Scully. All the
 Bureau leads had dried up. There was nothing to go on. No body
 pays attention to an ambulance. Everyone figures they're on the
 way to pick someone up or drop them off at a hospital. And if one
 shows up at an airport, well, people get evac-ed all the time. 

No one had seen anything 'suspicious'. There was no record of an
 ambulance transporting a patient to the airports. Of course,
 Skinner checked all the airports, and it's not like the military ones
 were going to be up front about anything. 

He was reaching a dead end and he knew it. 

I itched to go back to the office and see what we could dig up.
 Langly did, after a while. Nothing. More dead ends. It was like
 she'd vanished off the face of the earth. Boy, I sure didn't want to
 think about that one! 

Skinner went back to his office. He said he had some
 administrative stuff to take care of and that he'd call often. He
 made me swear to call him the moment Mulder showed any signs of
 improvement. Like I wouldn't or something. 

Skinner's an odd duck. I know he has been riding the fence. I
 know why he does it. He figured out a long time ago that throwing
 his lot in with Mulder and Scully would only get them killed. So he
 keeps his distance and helps when he can. I understand that and I
 respect it to an extent. It so just damned hard to watch. 

Langly turned on the TV in the lounge and we sat and stared at
 Babe Volleyball for a while. A long while. Then Langly relieved
 Byers in Mulder's room and we stared at old movies for a while.
 At some point, we got hungry, or at least I did so we went down to
 the cafeteria and ate. Whatever it was, it left no impression other
 than to fill my stomach. I don't think I even knew what time it was,
 it was just getting darker outside the window. I refused to look at
 the clock on the wall, but I knew what it would tell me. Mulder
 had been in a coma for almost a full day. 

When it was time to take up my turn in the room, I dreaded it. It
 was evening, supper trays were being cleared up from the rooms
 down at the other end of the hall. The rooms where people weren't
 receiving their dinner through a tube in the arm. I had this sick
 feeling in the pit of my stomach that this wasn't going to end. That
 Langly and Byers and I would be taking turns like this, forever. Or
 until some doctor, probably Eastman or Franklin, would come and
 ask us to sit with them in the lounge while they talked about
 longterm care and commitment to a facility that could 'better meet
 his needs'. Been there. Done that. Don't ever, ever, ever want to
 go back. 

The nurse from the night before came on at midnight. "I'd hoped
 he'd be in his own room by now," she told me, sort of sadly. 

"Me, too," I told her back. 

"Still no word on mom or sis?" 

I was getting tired of this game. But it was too late to explain it all.
 "yeah. Still no word. We have people working on it," I told her,
 so she wouldn't ask again. 

This time she didn't have to ask me to help when she turned Mulder
 on his side. I knew what to do so I just did it. He was facing me
 when she was through and I almost moved my chair. It was too
 painful to look at him. The dressing needed to be changed again, a
 smudge of brownish wetness was still present on the guaze. I
 remembered why he was there. That he wasn't just being lazy and
 sleeping. That he was really in a bad way and here we were
 wanting him to wake up when that might not be the best for him.
 Maybe he just needed the time to rest. To heal. 

Before she left, the nurse suggested that I read to him. She told me
 that the sound of a voice often got through the coma and helped
 guide the person back to consciousness. I wondered what Agent
 Scully would think about that. But I wasn't going to argue with the
 nurse. She left for a minute and came back with an old copy of
 Entertainment Weekly. I swallowed my revulsion and read the
 damned thing aloud, cover to cover. 

God, I hate the movie _Titanic_. 

And _Deep Impact_? Please! But that Tea Leoni . . . she's HOT! 

Skinner came back about 1. Byers and Langly were out in the
 lounge and the nurse was in checking on Mulder again. He
 groaned. 

Mulder groaned. 

He didn't wake up, but he groaned! 

The nurse said that was a great sign and called the doctors.
 Eastman was still in the hospital working on charts and got there
 right away. He did a quick check and grinned like an idiot. 

"He's coming out of the coma. He's not there yet, but he's on his
 way back. It might take a while, anywhere from a few minutes to a
 couple of hours. But this is very good news." 

Personally, I wanted to do a handstand, but there wasn't room in
 there. 

"I'm just downstairs," Eastman told us. "If he comes around, make
 sure he lies still. He'll have a headache, don't let him move around
 a lot. And call me immediately." This last he said to the nurse and
 to us. 

After that, there was no way any of us were leaving that room. 

It was cramped, and the nurse probably could have thrown us all
 out, but she didn't. Skinner left to oversee the change of agents
 outside the door. Langly groused because they didn't have a TV in
 the ICU. I told to him to watch the heart monitor and pretend. He
 shot me the finger. But mostly, we just watched Mulder. 

I think I was remembering again. Back to when someone else
 woke up, under similar conditions. She'd looked at me, and there
 was nothing there. No love. No recognition. Just flat eyes, staring
 back at me. 

I was feeling like a caged animal by that point. I wanted Mulder to
 wake up, but God in heaven, not if he wasn't right. Not if he
 wasn't Mulder. I couldn't watch that happen to someone else I
 knew. 

He groaned again. 

Like we'd be practicing, we all moved in closer. Langly stated the
 obvious and announced that he was coming to. Like we couldn't
 figure that out. 

I called his name. 

He winced and then slowly cracked his eyes open a slit. Then he
 slammed them shut. "Oh god . . ." he moaned. He looked like the
 pain had just tripled in his head and it had been pretty bad before. 

Mulder whispered something and it took me a moment to figure it
 out. The first word was 'Tinman'. He was squinting at Byers.
 Then he looked at Langly and said 'Scarecrow'. I was starting to
 get really worried when he finally looked at me. "Toto," he said,
 and I could see the twinkle just hiding behind the pain in his eyes. 

Yep, Dorothy had returned from OZ. 

Of course, like the idiot he is, he sat up. Saw him turn a nice shade
 of green in reward of his actions, but the bastard refused to lay
 down. 

"What am I doing here?" Gee, I wanted to smack him right there. 

Byers gave the lowdown on the injury and the surgery. Mulder,
 Mr. Universal Health Care poster boy, seemed unimpressed by his
 brush with death. But then Skinner came in and tried to do what
 we'd been trying to do, get him to lie back down. 

"Scully. She had a violent reaction to a bee sting." Langly, Byers
 and I all exchanged looks. We had the bee. 

"They took her." We knew that much already, too. "Where's
 Scully?" he demanded of Skinner and then decided to stand up. 

That was a mistake. He almost made it but almost passed out from
 the effort. Langly caught him and Skinner helped him sit back
 down. 

"Whoever they are, this all goes back to Dallas," he told Skinner.
 Mulder didn't look so good and I was about ready to call the nurse
 and the doctor and the Fifth Armored Division to get him back in
 the bed. 

"I know." Skinner stopped the show. Hell, what was going on? 

"Agent Scully reported your suspicions to the OPR. On the basis
 of her report I sent people over to SAC Michaud's apartment.
 They picked up PETN residues on his personal affects. It was
 consistent with the construction of the vending machine device in
 Dallas." 

That took all the wind out of Mulder's sails. He sagged and it was
 Byers who caught him. "How deep does this go?" 

"I don't know," Skinner told him. 

Mulder sat there, saying nothing. I knew he was thinking of what
 do to next. He glance out the glass of the room and saw the guard
 stationed there. Skinner explained that he wasn't taking any
 chances. 

Finally, I couldn't stand it. "What can we do?" 

Mulder got that gleam in his eyes. "Strip Byers for me." 

For a second, I thought he'd lost it. Then, it all came to me. The
 perfect escape. We'd smuggle him out and if Byers played along,
 no one would know for at least fifteen minutes or so when the
 nurse came back. 

But then it struck me. Maybe he wasn't in any shape to be running
 off. 

"I don't think you should, Mulder." 

His eyes narrowed and he glared at me. "You gonna stop me,
 Frohike?" 

I could have. I could have reached out, touched his shoulder, and
 he would have folded like a house of cards. But the determined
 look in his eyes told me that our friendship, however circumstantial
 it might have started, would end with that simple gesture. He had
 to do this. It wasn't a choice, it was a necessity. 

"Byers, . . . ante up," I said. 

Skinner did the honors of unhooking Mulder from the various
 contraptions. Apparently he'd watched it being done before or
 maybe he just didn't give a damn. In less than five minutes, he was
 ready to go. Byers hopped in the bed, the bandage now pulled over
 his own hair. 

As we were about open the door when I caught Mulder and pulled
 him closer. "We have the bee. It's at the office. We'll keep it
 safe." 

He smiled at me. "Thanks." 

"Just find her. Just find her and bring her home," I told him. 

"I will. I promise." 

Then we were out in the hall, and we had to be quiet. It was the
 longest hallway I've even seen and when we got to the end of it, I
 was afraid the damned door wouldn't open. It did and Mulder
 slipped through it and was gone. 

All that was left to do was wait. 

the end
 Vickie 

"If you listen closely, you can hear all the Star Trek fans falling off
 their perch on the top of the 'nerd food chain'." 

The Daily Show on _The X-Files Movie: Fight the Future_ and its number one
 showing at the box office