Charlie's Warning
 Date: 97-09-22 

Story Note: I loved the show 'The Calusari', and I thought I would see
 tons of stories on the newsgroup about it, it was such fertile territory. 
 So far, I've only run across one. It was good, but a while ago, so here
 is my own sequel to the show. This is not one of my infamous 'fill in the
 commercial break' stories, but happens about three months after the
 exorcism.
 Standard Disclaimer: I only wish Disney would have offered me that
 job, Chris, but they gave it to you. And that monumental season you
 worked on 'The Nanny' gave you the courage to try something
 REALLY challenging, so you thought up 'The X Files'. As a result, you
 own them, all the characters mentioned in the story and the extremely
 profitable copyright under the label 10-13 Productions. And all I can
 do is pay homage and promise faithfully not to infringe or in layman's
 terms, profit from this work of fiction.
 Standard XA disclaimer also applies.
 WARNINGS: PG for some violence. This is a Second Season Story,
 NOT a romance, and I do have Melissa in it ('bring her back', 'bring her
 back'. . .).
 I love mail. Send me some. Same place as always. vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com
 (If you scratch your head at the subtitle, blame Michelle Hiley, cause it's
 her fault :) 

CHARLIE'S WARNING
 or NINE TENTHS OF THE LAW
 By Vickie M. Moseley
 vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com 

Holvey Residence
 Suburban Maryland
 Day 1 9:35 pm


 Maggie Holvey stood in the doorway to her son's bedroom. The
 moonlight through the window illuminated the stuffed teddy bear sitting
 on the window ledge. The bear looked relaxed, but watchful. Standing
 guard over his sleeping charge. Charlie, ten years old and really too old
 for a teddy to sleep with, still didn't mind having one in his room. 
 Maggie knew that would change soon, but for now, the sentinel bear
 was a comfort. So much had happened. Giving Charlie one last
 'mother's look', she pulled the door closed and retreated to the first
 floor of the house.
 Fox Mulder played with the fire in the fireplace. It gave him
 something to do. He was feeling very self-conscious. He still didn't
 know what he was doing, coming by at this hour. For some reason
 known only to his id, he was feeling anxious about the Holveys. It had
 been three months since the events that had taken the lives of three
 members of this family. He liked to think that the actions of Scully, and
 himself, had stopped that death toll at three, and not five. He hadn't
 given it a second thought until he was driving home from work tonight. 
 All of a sudden, he had to stop by and see Maggie and Charlie.
 Maggie Holvey came into the room carrying two steaming cups of
 hot tea. "I'm sorry I don't have any coffee to offer you, Agent Mulder"
 she said in her soft Romanian accented English. "I never really liked
 coffee. My husband was the only one to drink. . ." her voice drifted off
 as she spoke of her husband. This woman was still dealing with the
 grief of losing so many loved ones at one time. It was a wonder to
 Mulder that she was able to function at all.
 "Tea is fine, Mrs. Holvey" he answered, taking his cup. "You really
 didn't need to go to all this bother. I just wanted to see how you and
 Charlie were doing." He sat down on the sofa, close to the fireplace
 and watched her sit opposite him on an overstuffed chair.
 "We are doing well," she lied. "Oh, Charlie still misses his father,
 deeply. They were close. And I still wake up in the middle of the night
 and go check on Teddy in his crib." She put her cup of tea down on
 the coffee table. Tears were forming in her eyes and she choked on a
 sob. "I'm sorry, Agent Mulder, I just have such a hard time talking
 about . . ."
 Mulder pulled his handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and got up
 to hand it to her. He found himself kneeling down beside her as she
 cried into her hands. Some reflex made him reach out and touch her
 shoulder. "I'm sorry I came here, Mrs. Holvey. I never meant to cause
 you any more pain." His voice was full of sincerity and emotion.
 Maggie looked up anxiously. "No, no. I am glad you stopped by. I
 wanted to ask you about what happened that night. That night at the
 hospital. I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I still don't know what
 to believe. You were there, in Charlie's room. Agent Mulder, what
 happened? I need to know what happened. Why did my baby, my
 husband and my mother have to die?"
 Mulder rocked back on his heels. He hadn't expected this, but then,
 he should have. Of course this woman wanted answers. Hell, he
 thought, *he* would have liked some answers. His thoughts flashed
 back to the night Maggie Holvey's mother died. They had taken
 Charlie to the hospital, more for his own safety, than anything else. His
 baby brother had been killed in a freak accident at a local amusement
 park. His father had been killed in another freak accident involving the
 garage door opener, Mulder himself had cut the man's body down
 where it hung in the garage. And then, a day later, his grandmother died
 of a heart attack while trying to rid the house of it's 'curse'.
 But that was nothing compared to the events later that night at the
 hospital. At the hospital, it was becoming apparent to Mulder that
 medical science was not going to help Charlie Holvey. The boy was
 being possessed, there was no other explanation he could think of. 
 Maggie Holvey had left the hospital, in the company of the spirit of her
 deceased son (that had been an interesting sidebar in Scully's field
 report!) and Scully went off to help her. Mulder stayed behind with
 Charlie.
 Exorcism had never been Mulder's strong suit. It required too much
 Latin, he had once consoled himself. But that night, he wished he was
 an ordained priest, anything to save that boy. So he turned to the only
 people he could think of who knew the circumstances and were
 prepared, and willing, to help--the Calusari, the old Romanian men who
 had tried to help Charlie's grandmother rid the house of the curse.
 The old men had taken over immediately and relegated Mulder the
 duty of guarding the door. That was fine with him, but things got out of
 hand quickly. The oldest man, with a white beard, called Mulder
 over--he was needed to hold Charlie's legs so the ritual could be
 performed. Charlie was kicking and wiggling, fighting with more
 strength than any ten year old should have. Mulder grabbed the boy's
 thrashing feet and held on for dear life.
 The ritual was done in a strange mixture of Latin and Romanian. 
 Mulder had caught a word here or there, but nothing to draw him into
 the meaning. He had nothing to do, but watch. His eyes were drawn to
 Charlie's eyes. The boys eyes were dark and deep, bottomless. And
 they held such a concentration of evil that it took Mulder's breath away. 
 He couldn't stop staring at them. The bearded man glanced over and
 saw the look on Mulder's face. "Look away," the old man shouted. 
 "Look away. He will know you." The warning given, the old man
 turned his attention back to the ritual.
 Mulder had averted his eyes at the warning, but found he couldn't
 help himself. He was drawn back to stare into Charlie's eyes. That's
 when it happened. Mulder knew. He knew what the evil was, but
 worse than that, he knew something more horrifying. The evil knew
 him. And the evil wanted _Mulder_, as well as the boy.
 The bed had risen off the floor, Charlie was writhing with the
 strength of ten men, Mulder was holding on as tightly as he could, and
 he could not take his eyes away from Charlie's stare! And it was over! 
 The ritual concluded, the bed fell to the floor with a thud, bouncing the
 boy and Mulder. Charlie closed his eyes, and fell into a deep sleep. 
 And Mulder stood there, shaking like a leaf as the old men cleaned up
 the mess and prepared to leave.
 When Scully and Maggie Holvey arrived, just moments later, they
 told of how Charlie's stillborn twin, Michael, had tried to kill them both. 
 Scully was completely at a loss to explain how the dead child could
 have been in the house, how he could have lifted his mother four feet off
 the ground and held her there, how he could have wielded a knife that
 almost cut Scully's heart out. 
 She finally fell back on her old 'hallucination' theory. It amazed
 Mulder that Scully never seemed to tire of that one. Wouldn't you start
 to worry about your own sanity if you allowed yourself to believe that
 you hallucinated as much as she had in the last three years? But as
 much as it annoyed him, that was the official record now. For his part,
 he wrote of the possession, the exorcism, and the state of the child
 following the ritual. He did not mention his own terror. He convinced
 himself it had no relevance to the case.
 Mulder shook his head, to bring his thoughts back to the present. 
 Maggie Holvey sat, staring at him, waiting for the answers she prayed
 he would give her.
 "Mrs. Holvey, I really can't say what happened that night. Your
 mother's friends came. They performed a ritual, I think it was an
 exorcism. Whatever it was, I think it worked. You saw Charlie when
 you got back to the hospital. He was perfectly normal. And all the
 horrors ended that night. I know that's not the answer you were
 looking for, " he added kindly, "but it's the only one I have."
 "Mummy, what's Agent Mulder doin here?" A small, sleepy boy
 stood on the stairs, rubbing his eyes.
 Mulder got up and went over to pick up the boy. "Hey, you've
 grown since I last saw you, Charlie."
 Charlie smiled brightly. "I grew out of my skates, too. I wear a size
 4 skate, now," he said proudly.
 "Won't be long till I have to look up at *you*," Mulder confided. 
 The boy's smile reached from ear to ear. "I just came by to see how
 you are doing. Are you helping your mom around the house?"
 "Sort of," the boy said sheepishly.
 "Well, help her all you can, OK." Mulder put the boy down on the
 chair with his mother. "Now that I have totally disrupted your
 household, I should be going."
 Maggie Holvey sent Charlie back up to his room with the promise
 that she would be right up. She got up and followed Mulder to the
 door. "Agent Mulder, thank you for coming by. Even if you don't have
 all the answers. I appreciate the fact that you were thinking of us." She
 smiled warmly at Mulder, but the grief was still there in her eyes.
 Mulder reached out and shook her hand. "If you need anything,
 please call," he said meekly. He turned to leave.
 "Agent Mulder," Charlie shouted from the top of the steps. Maggie
 turned and stepped aside, so Mulder could see the boy.
 "What is it, sport?" Mulder asked. Poor kid, I wish there was
 something I could do, he thought sadly.
 "Be careful, Agent Mulder. I think he wants you, too. Be careful,"
 Charlie said, with all the seriousness a ten year old could muster. Then
 he turned and hurried off to his room.
 Mulder stood there and cold terror flooded through him. The boy
 was warning him. But how did the child even know? Mulder had been
 sure that Charlie wasn't present in his own body that night in the
 hospital, and if he had been, he was under the control of another force,
 totally unaware of what was happening. He tried to shake off his feeling
 of dread and hurried to his car. 

J. Edgar Hoover Building
 FBI Headquarters
 Day 2 4:20 pm 

"Scully, can I have a couple of aspirin?" Mulder asked, not even
 bothering to look up from the file folder he was reading, or at least
 trying to read.
 "Mulder, I just gave you two an hour ago. They were extra strength. 
 No more for at least three more hours. Sorry." Scully tried hard to
 sound apologetic, but he knew her philosophy on 'masking symptoms'.
 "Well, they must have been old, because they didn't work," he
 complained. "Come on, Scully, two more. I'm a big guy, they're little
 pills, this headache is really getting bad," he complained. He whined
 better than Scully's 6 year old nephew, when he wanted to.
 Scully got up from her desk and pulled something out of her top
 desk drawer. As she approached him, he caught sight of the small glass
 tube she held at her side.
 "That had better be a new stealth weapon, because if it's a
 thermometer, I'm gonna deck you," he growled.
 She stopped and put her hands on her hips. "Mulder, why are you
 afraid of a thermometer?"
 "I am not afraid of thermometers" he said defiantly. "OK, maybe the
 rectal kind, but that's not the point. I have a simple headache and you
 are going try to put me through a complete physical. Just gimme the
 aspirin, OK?" he concluded his plea with a real good imitation of a
 wounded puppy.
 Scully surprised him by taking his glasses off his head. "How long
 have you had these glasses, Mulder?" she asked.
 "I don't know, a while, I guess."
 "They're the same ones you had when I started to work with you
 aren't they?" It wasn't a question, it was an accusation.
 "Yeah. What's your point?" he asked, feeling defensive and he
 didn't know why.
 "The point is, you need new glasses. These are scratched beyond
 belief! Besides, you're in your thirties now, you probably need a new
 prescription. That would explain the headache, and why the aspirin isn't
 working. You haven't corrected the problem, you were only trying to. . ."
 "Mask the symptom, yeah, yeah, I know. So what do I do now, ole
 Doc Scully?"
 "Well, you take off your glasses, go home and get some rest. Oh,
 and make an eye appointment. But in the meantime, don't strain your
 eyes," she added.
 He shook his head in total dejection and put on his jacket. "Hey, I
 know when I'm not wanted," he teased. She shot him a grin and went
 back to typing on her laptop. "See ya," he added. She nodded, still
 engrossed in her work. 
 He was at the door when she looked up suddenly. "Mulder!" she
 called. He stopped and turned, expectantly. "I forgot, don't watch TV
 tonight. It's a number one cause of eye strain."
 Mulder's mouth dropped to the floor. "Scully," he whined, "I gotta
 watch TV. You know I can't get to sleep otherwise!"
 "I'm telling you, if you go home and turn on that idiot box, you will
 have a headache to make the one you have feel like a massage. I mean
 it, _no TV tonight_! Put on some CD's if you need white noise." The
 tone in her voice allowed for no discussion. It was her 'Doctor's
 Orders' voice.
 Mulder nodded, looking even more dejected than he had a few
 minutes before. "This had better work, Scully," he mumbled. "Too
 many nights without TV and I might get suicidal."
 Scully looked up at the clock and was surprised at how late it was. 
 She had meant to only stay for an hour or so after Mulder left, but she'd
 been there for three hours already. Without him and his headache,
 constantly asking for more aspirin, she'd gotten quite a bit of work
 done. Guiltily, she thought about his headache. He really had been in
 pain. Mulder wasn't like a lot of guys she knew who reveled in their
 agony and constantly demanded attention. He usually kept quiet if he
 wasn't feeling well. He had to have been in real anguish to ask her for
 medicine, because he knew she wouldn't just hand it out without reason.
 She logged off her computer and got her purse out of the desk
 drawer. She decided to stop by and see how he was doing. She
 thought about calling, but decided to surprise him and bring food. 
 Chances were real good he hadn't thought about dinner on his way
 home. She remembered he liked Chinese when he was feeling bad. It
 would be her way of apologizing for not being more sympathetic.
 She got to his apartment and shifted her bags until she could knock
 on the door. There was no answer. "Mulder, it's me," she called out. 
 Still no answer. Maybe he was sleeping, she thought to herself. She
 put the bags of take out containers down and fumbled for the key to his
 apartment and let herself in.
 When she got in, she went to put the bags on the kitchen table. 
 Mulder was standing at the sink, looking dazed. "Hey, I knocked, but
 you didn't answer. I brought Chinese," she said casually, then looked at
 his face. "Hey, Mulder, did you hear me? I brought dinner. Are you
 OK?" He was still staring into space.
 "Scully, I think I just did something really stupid," he said quietly,
 almost in a whisper. He brought his hand up and opened it to reveal an
 aspirin bottle, empty.
 Scully was becoming very worried by his tone. She walked around
 the table to stand by him at the sink. "Mulder, what are you saying? 
 What did you do?" She reached out and took the bottle out of his
 hand. "Mulder," she said, her voice starting to shake, "did you take all
 of these? How many pills were in this bottle?" she demanded.
 He swallowed hard and a look of fear came over him. "I think it
 was full. I had to take it out of the wrapper. I don't know what
 happened. I'm not feeling so well." He reached out to grab the sink for
 support.
 Scully looked closely at the bottle. The label said it contained 100
 aspirin. "We have to get you to the hospital, now," she said, totally in
 control. She looked at him. He was wearing sweats and a tee shirt, his
 feet were bare. She looked around and spied his tennis shoes by the
 door. She grabbed them and his arm and hurried out the door.
 Once in the car, headed for the hospital, Scully knew she had to
 keep him talking. "Mulder, what were you thinking? I told you not to
 take any more aspirin!" She was worried and her exasperation was
 showing more than she wanted it to.
 Mulder was still looking dazed. "It had been four hours," he said
 plaintively. "I got home and tried to take a nap. I even put on the
 radio. It just wasn't working. The headache was really getting bad,
 worse than I've ever had." He looked over at her, the pain still in his
 face. "But I waited until the time was up. I went into the kitchen, my
 head hurt so bad I couldn't see straight. I found the bottle of aspirin. I
 had to struggle to get the wrapper off. Then I woke up and you were
 standing in the kitchen talking about Chinese food. But I have this really
 bad taste in my mouth. Scully," he looked at her with total disbelief at
 his own actions, "I think I actually *chewed* the aspirin before I
 swallowed them. God, is that a scary thought, or what?" He laid his
 head back on the back of the seat.
 "You don't remember any of it, you don't remember swallowing,
 chewing, anything?" she asked.
 "I don't remember anything," he said flatly. Then he groaned in pain. 
 "Damn, my stomach hurts, Scully!" He doubled over as much as his
 seatbelt would allow.
 Scully looked around her car frantically and snatched a bag from
 between the bucket seats. "Here, throw up in this," she ordered.
 "I don't have to throw up, it just hurts," he said weakly.
 "Hang on, Mulder, we're almost there."
 The emergency room was bright and very businesslike. Scully had
 no option but to tell the triage nurse that Mulder had 'accidentally'
 ingested 100 aspirin. The nurse gave a look that clearly showed what
 she thought of that kind of 'accident'. Mulder was rushed into one of
 the cubicles and Scully was left with the paperwork for admitting. 
 When she was finally able to join him, the doctor who had been called
 in took her aside to ask about Mulder's general health.
 "He's had a headache all day, but it was really getting bad about 4
 o'clock," Scully tried to explain. "He went home to rest. I thought it
 might be due to eye strain."
 "Does he have a history of migraines?" the doctor asked.
 "No, none that I know of."
 "Has he had any head trauma recently?"
 Scully thought for a moment. "How recent is recent? I mean, he
 hasn't been hit on the head in the last month or so, if that's what you're
 asking."
 The doctor looked at her questioningly. "Does he get hit in the head,
 a lot?"
 "In our line of work, probably more than he should," Scully replied.
 "Well, when was his last CAT Scan?" the doctor asked, writing as
 much of their conversation as he could on Mulder's chart.
 "It's been a while. Actually, I don't know when the last one was. 
 I'm not sure where you're going with this."
 "Well, Dr. Scully, I've worked ER for 15 years and in that time I can
 tell you I haven't run across anyone who tried suicide with aspirin. You
 say Agent Mulder doesn't remember taking the pills, just the taste in his
 mouth. If you've ever bitten down on an aspirin, well, it's not likely you
 would want to repeat the process, at least not soon. I think he blacked
 out, had a seizure, something that left him out of control of his actions. 
 Given the headache today, I think we should investigate a physiological
 reason, don't you?"
 "How is he doing, now?" Scully asked quietly, still trying to get a grip
 on the happenings of the evening.
 "Well, we think we were able to remove about 75 % of the contents
 of the bottle from his stomach, but it's hard to say. That would mean
 he's absorbed the equivalent of 25 aspirin into his bloodstream--more
 than he should, obviously, but not life threatening. He's stable now, but
 I have admitted him for observation. He also has one hell of a stomach
 ache. It's no fun getting your stomach pumped."
 Mulder was lying in the hospital bed, on his side, curled up as much
 as he could. He looked like he had seen much better nights. He had an
 IV in his arm and monitors keeping track of his respiration and
 heartrate. He was not a happy camper.
 "This is the first time I've ever been hospitalized for eye strain,
 Scully. For that matter, it might just make medical history," he quipped
 as she came in.
 "How's your tummy?" she asked, pulling up a chair.
 "Well, I've forgotten about my headache. I guess I can thank having
 my stomach pumped. By the way, please make sure I don't repeat that
 experience at any point in the near or distant future." He winced and
 shifted on the bed a bit. Then he suddenly looked directly in her eyes. 
 "I was not committing suicide, you know." He sounded like he was
 wanting to assure her of the obvious.
 "Mulder, I didn't say you were."
 "I know, but I was lying here, thinking, and I know that some people
 might take this opportunity to say I had finally broken my thin strand of
 sanity. I don't remember taking all those pills, but my only thought was
 getting rid of that damn headache, not ending my life. I have too much
 to do."
 Scully reached over and took his hand. "I know that," she said
 confidently. "Besides, if you really wanted to kill yourself, you have lots
 of other ways available. And nobody, no matter how bad off they are,
 would chew aspirin! But I think you should know that the doctor wants
 to run a CAT Scan in the morning."
 "What is your medical opinion, Dr. Scully," he asked in his best
 investigator's voice.
 "I don't think it's a bad idea. I'm concerned that you blacked out,
 standing up. That is not normal, Mulder, even for you. And you have
 been knocked on the head a few times in your career. It might be
 interesting to see what, if anything, you have rattling around up there."
 It took a lot of convincing to get Scully to agree to leave the hospital
 and go back to her apartment. She was feeling concerned, but also a
 little guilty. She should have realized that people in pain can sometimes
 act irrationally. Couple that with her belief that Mulder acted irrationally
 about 90 percent of the time, and she should have taken him to the
 doctor's herself, not just sent him home with a pat on the head. Finally,
 when Mulder suggested that she could fit on the bed with him, she had
 agreed to go home.
 Mulder's stomach had settled down to a dull ache. The only positive
 result of the evening was that the amount of aspirin he had absorbed
 into his bloodstream was finally sufficient to get rid of his headache. 
 The whole experience had been an enormous drain on him and without
 really trying to, he drifted off.
 The dream came sometime just before morning. Up until that
 moment, he had been relaxed and finally getting a good night's sleep. 
 Then, like a bucket of cold water, the dream flooded him with dread. 
 He was standing in a hospital room. The walls were covered with
 liquid, flowing in patterns down the wall. It wasn't red, but somehow he
 recognized it as blood. He could feel his own terror tighten around his
 heart. It looked like the room Charlie had been in. He looked down at
 his own hands and they were holding on to legs. He was reliving the
 exorcism. The old men were chanting, one to his left, two on his right. 
 They were dipping a feather in something red, probably the blood of a
 chicken, he thought wryly. They were painting something on Charlie's
 chest with the feather dipped in blood. He recognized the symbols. His
 mind kept telling him that it would soon be over. It had worked the last
 time, it would work again. But the feeling of dread would not leave, the
 vise would not let go of his heart. It was difficult to breath, and he felt
 he was losing his grip on Charlie's legs.
 "Hold him tighter," the old man on his right shouted gruffly and
 immediately returned to the chant. Mulder forced his hands to tighten
 around the thrashing legs before him. It was odd, he didn't remember
 Charlie being so big. It didn't look like a child's legs before him, it
 looked like a man's.
 Curiosity overcame Mulder. The old man had already warned him
 not to look at the child's face. But that was the last time. And now,
 Mulder couldn't help himself. He had to look. Slowly, he allowed his
 eyes to travel passed the chest with the markings, passed the old men's
 hands, working furiously, all the way to the face of the person laying
 prone on the bed in front of him.
 Mulder's scream could be heard at the nurses station at the end of
 the hallway. 

Arlington General Hospital
 Day 3 6:15 am 

Scully ran a hand through her hair. Glancing at her reflection in the
 polished metal doors of the elevator, she realized she had left her house
 without combing her hair. The phone call from the doctor had been
 upsetting enough, but the urgency in his voice told her she shouldn't
 waste anytime in getting to the hospital. It wasn't even 6:30 in the
 morning.
 When she got to Mulder's room, she found a guard sitting on a chair
 outside his door. She looked at him quizzically. He hadn't been there
 last night. Surely they weren't treating this as a serious suicide attempt? 
 She would ask the doctor as soon as she found him. 
 The guard put a hand up and stopped her from opening the door. 
 "That's my friend in there," she told him coldly. 
 "Don't care, miss. Doctor's orders. It's for your own safety," he
 added, implying there was something threatening behind the door.
 "What the hell are you talking about? Where is the doctor?" Scully
 asked and as she spun around on her heel, she almost bumped right into
 a tall man wearing surgical scrubs. He was not the same doctor who
 had admitted Mulder the night before. His shift would have ended by
 now, she reminded herself.
 "Agent Scully, I'm Dr. Pearson. I came on at 3 this morning. Dr.
 Malcolm had to leave, but I was treating Agent Mulder after the
 incident, as well, so I can explain the precautions." He led her over to a
 small alcove with chairs near the nurses station.
 The story the doctor told almost put Scully in a state of shock. 
 Apparently, about 5 o'clock, Mulder had awakened from a nightmare. 
 His screams brought the floor nurse running into his room. When she
 arrived, Mulder had pulled the IV out of his arm, had already
 overturned the heart monitor and was in the process of generally
 destroying everything in sight. The nurse stood in the doorway, and
 called for an orderly to try and restrain him. When she wasn't looking,
 Mulder tackled her, pinning her against the door, so that it could not be
 opened. According to the doctor, Mulder came very close to killing the
 woman. It took three orderlies and two doctors to get the door open
 and subdue him. The nurse was in surgery, she had suffered a broken
 nose, broken ribs and arm and a severe concussion.
 "I know you are both with the FBI," Dr. Pearson said quietly. "I
 did my residency at a VA hospital. I treated a lot of Vietnam Vets. 
 Your partner could be exhibiting Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. 
 Although it is rare, it could account for the violent behavior, the
 headaches, the nightmares. Dr. Malcolm, on the other hand, seems
 convinced that the problem is physiological. At any rate, we've
 scheduled a CAT Scan, and an EEG. Dr. Malcolm had been thinking
 of releasing him after the tests, but I think we should consider moving
 him to the psychiatric ward." He saw Scully catch her breath. He
 reached out and held her hand. "I know this is upsetting, Agent Scully,
 but I think they're better able to deal with these violent episodes up
 there."
 "May I see him?" Scully asked in a whisper.
 "I think it would be all right. We have him sedated. Please don't be
 upset by the restraints. It's for his safety, too. He sustained a number
 of bruises and lacerations during the episode. Fortunately, he didn't do
 any serious damage to himself, but we can't let it happen again."
 Scully took a deep breath before she opened the door, steeling
 herself. The room was almost bare. There were no pictures on the
 walls, no curtains or blinds at the window. Mulder was asleep. Just
 looking at his face, he seemed relaxed. If it hadn't been for the butterfly
 bandage holding together the three inch long gash just under his left eye,
 she would've assumed he had slept through the night. She looked
 around the room for a chair, but found nothing. She moved over to the
 bed and saw the straps across his legs, his chest and two holding his
 arms just above the wrists. She bit her lip to keep back the tears. 
 Carefully avoiding the restraints, she sat on the edge of the bed and held
 his hand.
 She was trying to figure out what to do. She should be calling
 Skinner right now. Their superior would want to know what had
 happened, and besides, the hospital had probably filed a report with the
 police already. It would be far better for Mulder if she could explain
 the accidental overdose, the violent episode, even the nightmare, instead
 of Skinner reading someone's else's version. But what was she going to
 say? It was all so bizarre and terrifying.
 Mulder started to stir. Slowly he opened his eyes to mere slits and
 tried to focus on her. "Scully, zat you?" he said, slurring the words. His
 voice was heavy with sleep.
 "I'm right here, Mulder. Are you OK?" she asked. Her voice was
 trembling and she realized she sounded pretty scared. She hoped he
 was far enough 'out of it' that he wouldn't pick up on that.
 "I thought you went home. God, why do I feel so, . . . so fuzzy?" he
 complained.
 "They gave you some medicine to help you sleep." Simple answers
 were usually best when dealing with someone under the affects of heavy
 sedatives.
 He started to reach up, possibly to scratch his nose, she didn't
 know, but the restraint caught him by surprise. "What the hell. . ."
 Scully put her hand on his shoulder to hold him down, as well as try
 and comfort him. "Mulder, you had an episode. The doctors felt it was
 for your own safety to restrain you. So you couldn't hurt yourself," she
 added. She really didn't know how much he remembered. She hoped
 he didn't remember anything, but then again, he was the only one who
 could answer some of her questions.
 Mulder was fighting against the medicine now to come more fully to
 attention. His eyes were opened unnaturally wide, trying to bring them
 into focus. "Tell me."
 Keeping her emotions in a locked cabinet somewhere in her mind,
 Scully repeated as much of the details of the early morning as Dr.
 Pearson had told her. She tried to sound clinical, hoping it would lessen
 the impact. It didn't. By the time she finished, Mulder was choking
 back tears of fear and frustration.
 "How's the nurse?" he asked, almost too terrified to voice his
 concern.
 "She's still in surgery. They're setting the bones in her arm and nose. 
 Dr. Pearson seemed to think she'll be all right, a full recovery."
 "My God, Dana, I could have killed. . ." his voice trailed off.
 Scully took a minute to compose herself. "Do you remember any of
 it?"
 "I remember the nightmare. But I don't remember waking up from
 it. I don't remember anything except waking up and seeing you sitting
 on the bed here." All the emotion and straining to pay attention had
 taken it's toll. The medication was quickly pulling him back under again. 
 "The nightmare. . .Charlie. . .it was me in that bed. . ." he mumbled as
 his eyes closed and fell deeper and deeper into sleep.
 Scully had taken the time to go home to shower and dress before
 heading into the office. Somehow, she felt the distance, talking to
 Skinner about Mulder in the familiar confines of the office, would help
 her bring some rationality to the discussion. And she really didn't want
 the Assistant Director to see his maverick agent trussed to a bed like a
 homicidal maniac. It might be too convenient to just lock the door and
 throw away the key.
 She told the secretary that she had urgent business to discuss with
 the Assistant Director, then crossed her fingers and prayed she was
 getting there before any other reports had reached him. She glanced at
 her watch, it was just 8:00. Chances were good that her's would be the
 first report he would have on Mulder.
 Skinner looked up when she entered the room. "Yes Agent Scully,
 there's a problem?" he asked.
 Scully stood in the doorway and then very deliberately closed it
 behind her. She had been rehearsing her spiel all the way over, but now
 all the words had escaped her.
 "This wouldn't have anything to do with Agent Mulder's recent
 hospitalization, would it," he asked.
 Scully crossed the room and dropped to one of the two chairs. Too
 late. He knew. But how much did he know?
 "Yes, sir," she said. "I wanted to give you my report on Agent
 Mulder's . . .uh, illness."
 Skinner had a set of papers in front of him and started flipping
 through them. "I would appreciate any input you might have on this,
 Agent Scully. Your _professional_ assessment, of course." 
 Well, that did it. In other words, no emotional outpourings, no plea
 for leniency, 'just the facts, ma'am'. She could hear the key in the lock. 
 OK, take the medical approach.
 "Sir, if you have any information from the doctors on this case, I
 think you will find that there is a difference of opinion. One doctor, Dr.
 Malcolm, treated Agent Mulder for an accidental overdose of aspirin. 
 He believes that Mulder's irrational behavior is the result of some sort of
 brain malfunction, possibly even a tumor. Dr. Pearson, a second
 physician who was called in this morning, has treated veterans suffering
 from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. He feels Mulder is suffering
 from that illness, possibly as a side effect of one of our cases." There,
 now he knew what she knew.
 "And what is your opinion on this, Scully?"
 She almost had to laugh, those were Mulder's words, that was
 Mulder's line. He had used it on her so often that now it had been
 reduced to a simple raise of his eyebrow. Oh, he sometimes still voiced
 it, but he no longer needed to. It sounded funny coming from Skinner. 
 Funny, but very threatening, too.
 "Sir, I am inclined to support Dr. Malcolm's diagnosis. He wants to
 perform a brain scan and an EEG. I feel these tests might support the
 hypothesis that there is a physical, medical reason behind Agent
 Mulder's recent illness."
 Skinner was silent for a moment. "Well, it goes without saying that
 Agent Mulder is on medical leave until this matter is settled. I've been
 informed that the nurse he attacked does not intend to press charges, so
 that will have no effect on his record. Scully, I know that I haven't
 always backed Mulder on some of his wilder escapades, but I value
 him as an agent. We don't have enough talented agents around here to
 just 'throw one away'. I trust you to do whatever it takes to make sure
 Mulder makes a full recovery and returns to work as soon as possible." 
 He was leaving it in her hands. She almost felt the key to the door in
 her hand. The Director's voice brought her back to the room. "If that is
 all, Agent Scully, I think you have some work to do," he said, dismissing
 her.
 Scully spent the morning digging through medical journal entries on
 violent behavior. Most of them included documentation in the form of
 x-rays and MRI's. She decided to read up as much as she could on the
 treatment of such disorders, she was fairly certain that was what they
 were up against. It was a little past noon when she went back to the
 hospital to see what tests had been performed and what the results
 were.
 The nurse at the desk told her that Dr. Pearson had ordered the
 tests early, but that the results weren't back. Dr. Pearson himself was
 off duty and it would be a few hours before Dr. Malcolm came in. In
 the meantime, Mulder had indeed been moved to the 8th floor of the
 hospital, the psych ward.
 The door to Mulder's room was locked, but not guarded. The nurse
 knocked once and then unlocked the door. A couple of orderlies were
 trying to appear inconspicuous in the hallway, but they had obviously
 been alerted to watch for any trouble from Room 843. Scully felt a red
 flush grow up her cheeks as she thought about all this security to guard
 a person she had often trusted with her very life. The whole idea was
 very unsettling.
 Mulder was sitting up on his bed. The restraints were off, but the
 bed was equipped with them, just in case. The room was brightly
 colored, with a bright abstract design on the wall paper, but there was
 little furniture and what was there was bolted to the floor. Blinds
 concealed the almost imperceptible bars on the windows. When he
 heard the door open, Mulder looked up, recognized his partner and
 broke out in a huge grin. "Hey, Scully, welcome to the cuckoo's nest!"
 Scully smiled. The sedative had obviously worn off, he was
 definitely lucid. The grin didn't hide the worry and frustration in his
 eyes, but was there to assure her that he hadn't really lost it. Not yet,
 anyway. Scully purposefully ignored the chair and opted to sit next to
 him on the bed. She wanted him to know she was not afraid of him,
 that she didn't think he had turned into a monster. "Hey, yourself," she
 answered brightly. As the nurse left, she nodded toward the door. 
 "How is Nurse Ratchet, by the way?"
 "Oh, she's OK. Not exactly 'cover girl' material, but she hasn't
 pulled a gun on me, yet, so I guess we're getting along." He grew more
 serious. "So what did Skinner say?"
 His perceptions never ceased to amaze her. "He said you are
 officially on medical leave," she said.
 "Big surprise," he said flatly.
 "But he also said that we can't afford to lose any 'talented' agents
 and that I am to get you well and back to work ASAP," she said with a
 sly smile.
 "Gosh, and I didn't think he cared," Mulder said, leaning back on his
 pillows. He was joking, but she could see the relief in his eyes. He
 probably figured this was the straw to break the camel's back.
 "Did you have fun getting your CAT Scan," she asked, teasingly.
 "Oh, yeah, and by the way, they don't think it was eye strain, but it
 was a great try, Scully. The EEG is scheduled for tomorrow morning. I
 get to stay awake all night. Just like at home." He looked down at his
 hands, he was wanting to say something, but wasn't sure how she would
 react.
 "Mulder, out with it. What do you want to say?" she ordered.
 "It's just. . .I don't think they'll find anything, Scully. I don't think this
 is medical."
 Scully looked at him, slightly confused. "You think it's
 psychological? Are you having flashbacks or something?"
 "No, I don't think it's exactly psychological, either. I think there's
 something else at work here, but I'm afraid you aren't going to like it
 and I doubt sincerely if I can make you believe it. Which is a big
 problem, because I need your help desperately, Dana." He had
 reached out and taken her hand in his.
 "Mulder, what is it? You know I will do everything in my power to
 help you. Haven't I always?" She was a little hurt at his implication.
 "Yes, you have. But this time, I'm asking you to believe me and
 believe in something I know is possible, but I don't think you do. It isn't
 very scientific. As a matter of fact, it's pretty scary. I'm not real
 comfortable even talking about it, but we have to."
 "Mulder, quit softening me up and spit it out!"
 "Do you remember Charlie Holvey?" With that beginning, Mulder
 launched into an explanation of what actually happened that night in the
 hospital room with Charlie. This time, he didn't leave out the fact that
 he had looked into Charlie's, or whatever's, eyes and that he had
 known the evil and the evil knew him. Then, he told her of his visit to
 the Holvey house, and how Charlie tried to warn him. Finally, he told
 her every detail of the dream he had that morning and how it was his
 body lying in the hospital bed, being possessed and having an exorcism
 performed upon him. When he was finished, he sat forward on the bed,
 anxious to hear what she thought.
 "Mulder," Scully began. He immediately threw up his hand to stop
 her. Just that one word, his name, the tone she had used, told him all he
 needed to know. She wasn't going to buy it. Not now, probably not
 ever.
 "That's OK. It was a long shot, anyway," he said glumly.
 That made her angry. "Look, just because you had a dream about a
 case three months ago does not mean you have been possessed by the
 devil, Mulder! As a matter of fact, it tends to substantiate Dr. Pearson's
 theory of PTSS. I had no idea that case affected you as deeply as it
 did, but now that we know that, we can proceed. We are going to lick
 this, you and I. I don't know if you realize how much I depend on you. 
 I don't just want you to be well, I need you to be well, for my own
 sake. Now, let's start approaching this thing rationally and I think we
 can get you better before either of us lose too much time."
 Mulder had fallen back on his pillows. He looked totally drained,
 and totally without hope. The look in his eyes worried her.
 "Can I bring you anything from home?" she asked, hoping a change
 of subject might lift the gloom that had settled over them.
 "Yeah, my address book. I need Maggie Holvey's phone number,"
 he said quietly.
 Scully sighed. "I don't think that's a good idea, Mulder. I think it
 would be very counterproductive to your recovery."
 "Fine, Scully. I don't need anything else. I don't want anything else. 
 I. . .ah I really want to just think for a while, if you don't mind." And
 with that he turned away from her and didn't speak again.
 "Mulder," she said, trying to get his attention. "Come on, Mulder,
 don't do this. Don't shut me out like this," she pleaded. He made no
 attempt to answer, he just sat looking out the window. "OK. If that's
 the way you want to play it," she said angrily. "I'll be back tomorrow
 and I expect to talk to you. I also expect you to talk to me. I don't
 think that's too much to expect from a partner and friend. I am going to
 get you well, Mulder, whether you like it or not!" She got off the bed
 and stormed out the door.

Scully fumed all the way home. For the first few miles, she was
 angry at Mulder. Then, at a particularly long stoplight, she realized that
 she was angry at a man who was in no emotional condition to think
 rationally. She was angry at someone because they were sick. And to
 make matters worse, that someone was her best friend, and was
 depending on her to understand. All of a sudden all the anger she had
 directed at Mulder reversed itself and fell square on her own shoulders. 
 The rest of the ride home was a big, red blur.
 As she pulled into her parking space, she noticed a familiar blue
 Saturn parked on the street. Great! Just what she needed! Her sister
 Melissa was over for a visit.
 Usually, Scully would have been glad to see Melissa. She was her
 older sister, and although they almost never agreed, they still had a good
 time together. Mel was a free spirit, the antithesis of Dana's controlled
 and orderly lifestyle. The really funny part was, Mel was even more
 'spooky' than Mulder, a fact he pointed out to Dana everytime the
 subject of her sister came up. Chalk it up to opposites getting along,
 Dana's mother had always said.
 But in light of the recent argument at the hospital and her overall
 concern for Mulder and the fact that all told, she was running on about
 4 hours of sleep, Scully just was not in the mood for a 'mind altering'
 experience in the form of her sister. She knew that wouldn't stop
 Melissa.
 Melissa had let herself into the apartment. Dana didn't mind, Mel
 usually took care of her plants when she and Mulder were on a long
 case. Mel sat in the middle of Dana's living room floor, in the lotus
 position, to be exact. Her eyes were closed and she was swaying
 slightly, as if in a gentle breeze. She didn't acknowledge Dana's
 presence at first but waited until Dana had taken off her jacket and put
 away her purse. "So how is he?" Melissa asked, without even a
 greeting.
 "How's who?" Dana asked, immediately suspicious. What did
 Melissa know about this? What could she know?
 "Fox. Your partner. The guy who believes in UFO's and you still
 hang out with him. Oh, excuse me, you call him Mulder, don't you?" 
 Melissa was talking, but her eyes were still closed, she was still
 swaying.
 "What makes you ask?" Dana retorted. This line of questioning was
 beginning to annoy her, but then, that wasn't hard to do right then.
 "Well, I ask because he knocked me out of bed this morning and I
 wondered if he was all right," Mel said, finally opening her eyes to look
 directly at her sister.
 "How could he have knocked you out of bed. You were nowhere
 near him!" Dana fumed.
 "Well, I was sound asleep, having a really great dream where I was
 the Mistress of the Universe and had just banned all acts of violence,
 when all of a sudden, I get a flash and hear a blood curdling scream, as
 Granny Rosie used to say. It was definitely Fox. I don't remember
 seeing or hearing him that upset since you were in the hospital. He was
 completely terrified and utterly hopeless. I couldn't stop crying for an
 hour. I was late for work." She stopped and caught her breath. "So
 what happened? Or do you even know?"
 Dana sat down on the couch just across from her sister. She didn't
 really want to, but found herself retelling the whole story, as she knew it,
 to Melissa. She ended it with the argument they had before she left the
 hospital. Melissa sat in rapt attention. After Dana was finished talking
 Melissa got up and walked over to the kitchen, got her sister a glass of
 water, and sat on the edge of the couch. Dana hadn't even realized she
 was thirsty. She took the water gratefully.
 "Well, what do you think?" Melissa asked, after Dana had drained
 the glass.
 "I told you what I think. I think it's medical. Either it's a structure in
 the brain or maybe it is traumatic stress syndrome. God knows he's
 been through a few battles. It could be taking it's toll on him," Dana
 surmised.
 "And you've been through most of the same battles, unless I'm
 mistaken. How come you haven't attacked anyone?"
 "I don't know that I won't at some time. This kind of thing affects
 everyone differently. Anything might have triggered it. Mulder said he
 had been thinking about a case we finished three months ago. Real
 disturbing. A two year old was killed in a freak accident, then the boy's
 father and grandmother both died under unusual circumstances. The
 only members of the family left are a 10 year old boy and his mother. I
 know I had nightmares about it for a while. It just seemed to have
 impacted Mulder more than me."
 "And what does Mulder think? I mean the guy is a psychologist, he
 must have some idea as to what might be affecting him."
 Scully bit her lip. That was the real rub. But she had gone this far. .
 . "Mulder thinks it's. . . he thinks it's spiritual."
 "*Spiritual*?" Melissa repeated, not sure she had heard it correctly.
 "He thinks he has been possessed by a demon. The same demon he
 claims had possessed the 10 year old boy, Charlie," Dana said, getting
 up and putting her glass in the sink in the kitchen. By her tone, it was
 obvious that she did not subscribe to Mulder's theory.
 "And you blew him off," Melissa said, in a matter of fact tone.
 "I simply told him it was not going to help in his recovery!" Dana
 fumed. "Melissa, he is having blackouts. He is having severe
 headaches that are causing him to do harm to himself and others. He
 almost killed himself last night and almost killed a nurse this morning. 
 He isn't spitting out green stuff and turning his head around on his
 shoulders! Would you please look at this rationally, for once in your
 life!"
 "My God, it must be nice to be so intellectually superior! I'm glad
 I'm your sister. Being your friend would be sheer Hell," Melissa
 countered, wounded by her sister's words.
 The two women stood glaring at each other for what seemed like
 hours. Finally Dana melted. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so, so.
 . ."
 "God-like?" Melissa offered, but her tone had softened and her eyes
 were smiling.
 "I was going to say 'bitchy', actually," Dana said firmly. "I just can't
 fall into his delusion, Mel. It could cost him his life." She fell back onto
 the couch.
 Staying awake had seemed like a simple enough task. Mulder never
 fell asleep before 1 or 2 in the morning, unless he was sick, or injured. 
 But here he was, barely 8:30 and he was having a terrible time just
 keeping his eyes open. Damn it, they just wanted him to stay up so they
 could make him fall asleep in the morning, he told himself. Why couldn't
 they just let him fall asleep now, and do the test and get it over with? It
 was only logical. Scully would be so proud! 
 Thinking about Scully still hurt. They had arguments before and at
 the time, they had seemed just as important. But this was his life they
 were debating and he needed her to help him. But you can't ask a
 leopard to change their spots! The thought of Scully covered with spots
 that kept changing color made him chuckle softly. He really was losing
 it, now.
 There was a soft knock on his door. He didn't figure it was Scully,
 she would still be too mad at him. It was probably Dr. Malcolm or the
 ward psychiatrist, Dr. Gleason. She was nice. Enough to make him
 consider a real practice, someday. If he made it through his current
 experience, of course. "I'm decent," he called to the door.
 "I know better," Melissa said, entering the doorway with the floor
 nurse close behind. The nurse was there to ensure that Mulder was
 calm enough to have visitors. He seemed relaxed, but she showed
 Melissa the emergency call button, just in case and left them alone.
 "So, another Scully. I must have hit the jackpot," Mulder said,
 half-joking.
 "And how are you, Fox?" Melissa asked and started toward him. 
 Halfway across the room she stopped cold in her tracks. She cringed
 as she looked at him. "My God, you're right. The evil in this room is
 absolutely oppressive!" she muttered.
 "That isn't evil, Melissa, it's 'Poison', my aftershave. I spilled some
 on the mattress after my shower," Mulder quipped. His eyes, however,
 told a different story. If Melissa sensed the evil, it was there. He had
 been right. It gave him no comfort whatsoever.
 "Don't, Fox. This is too important," she pleaded. "What can I do to
 help?"
 "Turn yourself into your sister?" Mulder offered. He regretted the
 words the minute they were said. "I'm sorry, Melissa. Waking up
 shackled to your bed tends to make one a little grumpy, I guess. There
 is nothing you can do, honestly. Just keep thinking good thoughts, or
 whatever you do. It may not help, but it probably won't hurt as much
 as cracking my skull open and fishing around in my brain."
 "Fox, I know some people. I think some of them might be in a
 position to help you. The problem is getting them up on this floor. They
 aren't exactly what one might call normal looking and quite frankly, I
 don't think they'd feel all that comfortable on a psych ward, anyway."
 "It's funny you should say that. I feel right at home, here," Mulder
 replied sarcastically. "No, Melissa, I know who can help me. Your
 sister, my partner, knows who can help me. I doubt that you know
 them, unless you move in stranger circles than I thought. But thanks for
 the offer. I do appreciate it. Too bad I'm so old, I'd ask your mom to
 adopt me."
 "Don't you get it, Fox? We already have," Melissa said softly and
 went over to kiss him gently on the forehead. "Rest well, Fox. And if I
 can help, call me, OK?"
 The visit by Melissa had at least accomplished one thing, it woke
 him up, for a while. But by 1 o'clock, his normal bedtime, he was
 getting entirely too sleepy. He buzzed the nurse to warn her, she
 promised to come in as often as she could to check on him. By 1:15,
 he was sound asleep. The dream came shortly thereafter.
 It was the same dream, the same result. The nurse, prepared for
 every contingency, brought reinforcements with her when she entered
 his room. No one could figure how he had managed to get the table
 unbolted from the floor, or how he managed to throw it against the
 window. The glass shattered, littering the carpet with razor sharp
 shards, but the bars remained intact. Mulder had run around the room,
 in an absolute tirade of violence. His feet were cut severely and he was
 bleeding so much that the carpet was soaked with red in places. It took
 two hypodermic injections to calm him, twice the amount that had
 succeeded in knocking him senseless just that morning. Dr. Gleason
 called Scully as soon as he was securely restrained and the room was
 cleaned up. At least this time, the only casualty was Mulder himself.
 When Scully arrived, the doctor had just finished suturing the last of
 the deep gashes on Mulder's feet and legs. The doctor had ordered a
 unit of blood to replace all that had been lost. Again, the straps were in
 place across his legs, his chest and at his wrists. He was so heavily
 sedated that it took Scully a minute to find his pulse. She sat down on
 the edge of the bed again (the chair was another casualty) and wept
 openly. This time, Mulder didn't wake up. He only slept. 

Arlington General Hospital
 Day 4 2:06 pm 

Mulder woke up in the middle of the afternoon. He felt horrible. He
 was sick to his stomach, his feet hurt, his eyes couldn't take the light. 
 He squinted and just barely made out a figure sitting on the edge of the
 bed. "Scully?" he said, trying very hard not to slur.
 "No, Mr. Mulder, it's Maggie. Maggie Holvey. Agent Scully called
 me this morning. I contacted my mother's friends. They came
 immediately."
 "How did they get on the floor?" Mulder asked. It was clear he
 wasn't thinking rationally, but then, he had been through a lot.
 "Agent Scully told the hospital administrators that they were
 specialists brought in by the FBI," Mrs. Holvey said, in her lilting accent.
 Mulder grinned at the thought. "Where is Scully, ah, I mean Agent
 Scully?" he asked. Suddenly he missed her very much.
 "She just left the room for a minute and asked that I stay in case you
 woke up." She glanced at her watch. "Actually, I have to be picking
 up Charlie at school in a little while. I just wanted to make sure you are
 feeling better."
 Mulder was too groggy to understand her meaning. Somewhere, in
 the distance, he heard a door click and open. Maggie Holvey got up
 and he could hear muffled voices, but the light in his eyes prevented him
 from seeing who it was that was talking. He drifted off to sleep again.
 It was dark outside the window when Mulder woke up again. This
 time, he wasn't nearly as groggy and the light no longer hurt his eyes. 
 He looked over and saw Scully, sitting in a chair, looking at him. He
 reached up to touch her shoulder, and noticed that he was no longer
 restrained. "So what happened?" he asked, motioning to his now free
 wrist.
 "Let's just say we called in some specialists and leave it at that,"
 Scully said mysteriously.
 "Were they your specialists, or my specialists?" he asked pointedly.
 "They were specialists that knew what they were doing," Scully said,
 evading the question. He was fairly certain he knew who they were, but
 he also knew she was not going to admit to calling them. Still, he
 couldn't resist teasing her about it.
 "I didn't think you believed in those 'specialists', Scully. I thought it
 went against your belief in a perfect, ordered, scientific universe." He
 was definitely feeling his oats, now.
 "Mulder, it doesn't matter if *I* believe. I had enough psychology in
 med school to know that it only matters what *you* believed. And you
 believed that you were possessed. Therefore, to cure you, I gave you
 what you thought you needed. Hence, the specialists." She wasn't
 going to budge an inch.
 "Did you watch?" he asked, suddenly fearful for her.
 "No. I stood watch outside the door. They refused to let me in. 
 One of them kept muttering that he wasn't going to go through this
 again."
 Mulder laughed. "Good. I have to agree with him!" He let his
 thoughts flow a minute. It had been frightening, exhausting, draining, but
 now that it was over, he felt free, totally free. He really felt better, just
 as Maggie Holvey had said.
 "So when do I get out of here? You know how I hate these places,"
 he hinted, none too subtle.
 "Hold on there, buckaroo. We tried it your way, now we try it my
 way. You are still scheduled for a complete battery of tests. Between
 that, and your stitches in your feet, you are going to be holed up here
 for a week, maybe two. But I do have a surprise," she said over his
 groaning. "Since we are almost positive that this was not caused by eye
 strain, I brought all the expense reports that you've been avoiding for
 the last three months and I am letting you use my laptop for the time you
 are in here. You can set up a little office and get all kinds of paperwork
 done. Won't that be great?"
 Mulder closed his eyes and shook his head. "Can I go back to
 being possessed?"
 The end

Vickie Moseley