JUST THE TWO OF US: Book III  Fox and Dana (10/12)
By S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com)

See disclaimer part 1/12. Copyright 1996 by Sue Esty

Chapter 10

Blacksburg University Hospital
Sunday, 10pm
December 23, 1993

                                      
       The ceiling was clean and white. No water spots. At least it
was a nice place they had sent him to this time. The small
university had both a football team and a hospital. The hospital
was small but had an orthopedics department with a decent
reputation for dealing with sports injuries. Sports injuries?
Mulder could not imagine what sort of people would classify what he
had done as a sport. Not rock climbing. Rock falling was a better
description. 'Intentional' rock falling was closer to the fact.
People who went bungee jumping had to be even crazier than he was. 

      Besides the fact that he was in a hospital - again - Mulder
knew he had no reason to complain. The rescue teams and nursing
staff had been decent to him. Sheila was nearly as good as Scully
at protecting him against the press, chatty nurses aides, and
phlebotomists who needed 'one more tube'. Scully, however, had the
paperwork routine down to five minutes flat and no longer had to
ask him all the embarrassing medical history questions. Somehow his
medical records had been left behind either at the cave site or in
the helicopter or had gotten mixed in with Dr. Chen's things. 

      After taking innumerable x-rays, the hospital staff had left
him sitting in one cold drafty examining room after another while
the they conferred. He had been poked and prodded from the old
injury on his head to the recovering blisters on his toes from
having run so far four days earlier. He was news in this small part
of the world and everyone wanted their pound of flesh. The only
fortunate part was that he was so exhausted and the muscle
relaxants were still working well enough that he hardly noticed.
Sheila, returning from another round of paperwork, had taken one
look at his shivering, barely clad body - those awful hospital
gowns again - and had requisitioned three blankets and a set of
lime green scrubs. Unfortunately, green in his present condition
was definitely not his color.

      Finally, around two in the afternoon they had given him this
room with a real bed. He was able to enjoy its blissful comfort -
sheets, blankets that didn't smell like they'd been in someone's
cellar for half a century, and a level surface devoid of sharp
rocks, crumbling leaves and creepy crawlies - for a full thirty
seconds before he fell asleep, but those thirty seconds had felt
like heaven.  

      Now it was dark outside. How long had he slept? He located the
control next to his pillow where someone had conveniently
remembered to pin it and expertly raised the head of his bed. His
left shoulder was a wheel of fire. They had found it necessary to
rebreak the collarbone and after the swelling went down he would
have to have intensive physical therapy on the arm. It had been
traumatized with that dislocation for far too long. At the moment
it was bound tight to keep it and his broken collar bone immobile
so that his left hand was cradled semi-permanently on his chest.
Concentrating against the pain he worked the numbness out of his
fingers. Though his feet were elevated, his ankle was still swollen
and throbbed. What was surprising was that he had been able to
sleep at all with all these distractions. The pain was nearly as
bad now as it had been down in the belly of the rock slide, but
then the drugs had largely worn off, or, at least, he hoped the
drugs had largely worn off or he was really going to feel evil
later. Fewer drugs, however, did mean that he had his appetite
back.

      The smell of food tickled his nostrils. One handed, he pulled
over the bedside table on which sat a supper tray. Salisbury steak
- whatever that was made from - and the inevitable parsley potatoes
and green beans. The food was cold, leading him to wonder again
what time it was, but he was so hungry he refused to allow the
temperature of the food to dissuade him. Halfway through, though,
he saw a pile of little pink 'While you were out' messages sitting
on the night stand beside the bed. They were lying under his watch
and Scully's bracelet which he remembered he had left in his jacket
pocket. The very thought of the bracelet and what it had been
through made him pick it up with an almost mystical reverence. The
watch told him it was nearly ten o'clock. He had slept for eight
hours. Unbelievable! The messages were all from Scully. 

      Even though the handwriting was not hers he still stared at
the signature. Just that one word. 'Scully'. She must have given
particular instructions about that. Somehow that written word made
her more real. Their night together huddled together for warmth,
the pain mingling with the exquisite pleasure of her desperate lips
upon his, seemed less like a dream. he could almost feel her
fingers none too chastely exploring his body, which at the time had
also made him feel far from chaste. 

      The first message made him smile. From the time written on the
upper right hand corner, it had come in before he had even been
assigned this room. "Saw you on the news. Prone is definitely your
good side."

      His smile faded as he read the second which had come in about
three o'clock, just after he had gone to sleep. "They tell me
you're sleeping. Mom wants you to come for Christmas. We don't know
what Sheila's schedule is yet, but we'll find a way to get you up
there somehow."

      <Somehow.> The hopeful optimism Mulder had tried to hold onto
as he held the bracelet he had bought for her, snapped. Unhappily,
he pushed aside the tray, his appetite gone. Suddenly, he felt
helpless, more than helpless. Like useless baggage that had to be
hauled about from place to place. He hated it! This was not how he
wanted to be for her. This was what he had gone away to Colorado
for in the first place, to heal and then, as men euphemistically
put it, he had hoped to get up enough courage to 'make his move'.
Well, that plan certainly had ended in disaster. Now here was this
note which sounded like she wanted to see him at Christmas.
Christmas was good. But as just one more in a houseful of Scullys?
He would feel about as out of place as the plague. And with so much
left unsaid, so much uncertainty. He wanted her. He wanted to be
alone with her. He wanted to talk and for it to be just the two of
them. He could not see how on Christmas morning they were going to
find any time at all to be alone before they were surrounded by a
dozen or so of her relatives singing carols and bearing mistletoe. 

      Mulder hesitated. Actually, mistletoe didn't sound like such
a bad idea, though he would prefer to bow to its superstitious
charm in more private surroundings. 

      He reached for the phone, grimacing against the semi-major
explosions of pain that action produced in the area of his left
shoulder. Finally, he had the unit down on the bed beside him and
was trying to figure out how to dial the number she had left on the
bottom of the note and still hold the receiver one handed, when his
eyes caught and read the last message. Someone had recorded the
time as nine p.m. The 'call back' box was not marked this time. 

      "Hi, sleepyhead. Still down for the count I hear. They're
springing me tonight. Odd time, but it's the holidays. Because it's
late and they predict more snow, Mom is going to take me directly
to Aunt Edna's for the night because the old woman's a nurse. As if
I weren't a doctor. Sorry I keep missing you. Can't wait to see you
at Christmas. I know you hate crowds but please, please come."

      Dejected, Mulder set the receiver down on its cradle. There
was no one else to call. She would be en route and he had no idea
to where. Funny, Dana had never mentioned an Aunt Edna. He thought
about calling her cellular number, but then remembered seeing her
phone on the seat of her car and, to the best of his knowledge, was
still sitting in the parking lot above Blackwater Falls. 

      He didn't notice when Sheila returned a few minutes later. She
halted just inside the door and studied his face, as bleak as a
gloomy, winter afternoon, saw the slump to his good shoulder and
the way he let the bracelet fall through his good right hand to the
stiff palm of left hand over and over again. For a long moment, her
eyes were sad for him, then she took a deep breath and forced her
mood to brighten. No point in helping him to wallow.

      "You're awake," she said cheerfully, as if she had just
arrived. She was heartened to see him at least attempt a smile.

      "Finally, it seems," he answered with a ghost of a lopsided
grin. He was relieved to see she had shaken off the mother role and
was wearing her own clothes. He held up the messages. "Have you
seen these?" 

      She nodded. "Sorry, the doctors requested that you not receive
any incoming calls. They really do want to get you out of here
tomorrow and they knew you needed your rest. You were so out of it,
they came in to do vitals twice and you never even stirred."

      A lip curled. "Oh, I learned to sleep through those long ago
or I would never get any rest at all." Suddenly tired, he carefully
placed the messages beside the tray and leaned back against the
raised head of his bed.

      She came to his side and adjusted one of the pillows that had
fallen to the left where he couldn't reach it. "Hey, why so glum?
Considering what you've been through, you're doing amazingly well.
One of the residents wants to do a paper on your recuperative
powers. They have you scheduled for a double session with a
physical therapist tomorrow morning and then you're out of here.
That is," she added, concerned at the lack of spark in him, "if you
feel like you're up to it."

      "I'm always up to checking out of places where the staff finds
pleasure in sticking needles in my arms and tubes up my - well, you
know."

      Sheila finished the statement for him. "But you want to see
Scully."

      "That obvious?"

      "Let's just say I don't need a road map, besides, they called
me down to the nurse's station to take the last two messages."
Sheila came and sat on the side of his bed. "From the sound of her
voice, I'd say she misses you as much as you miss her."

      "You should have called me," he grumbled. 

      "I wanted to, but she was against it. In fact she was emphatic
about it. She knows you too well. She wants you well, she wants you
out of here." At that Sheila swung the dinner tray back over in
front of him. "So eat."

      Unconsciously his nose wrinkled. "When I woke up I thought it
was food. Now I'm not so sure."

      Sheila stared at the greasy meat, the green-spotted potatoes 
and the grey vegetables. "I think I can see your point. The
cafeteria is closed, but I'll go down to the vending machines in a
minute and see what I can find.  Oh, I never got a chance to tell
you - I did actually see Dana yesterday." That got his attention.
"Walt called and let us know what was going on. When I offered to
come, I think he was relieved. He was anxious."

      "What about? When we'll both be healthy enough at the same
time to get any work done?"

      "Well, that may be part of it," she smiled, "but no matter
what you may think, he does care for you both as people. Did you
know he came to the site the first night you were unconscious?"

      Mulder started and Sheila seemed to find his surprise
humorous. "Walt really has you two bamboozled, doesn't he? He's a
real softy at heart though he'd never admit it. He was the one who
made the arrangements to have Dr. Chen brought in. She passed on
your concerns to him which led to their not allowing your real name
to be used in the press. Her concerns about your 'mental state' -
that you were showing a lot of stress over being recognized, not to
mention a bit of fiction about national security - paved the way
for that little show we put on this morning. Certain members of the
press and the TV crew had to be allowed in on that, you know. Walt
also asked if I would deliver your tape on my way to West
Virginia." Thinking about that Sheila smiled. "Not exactly on my
way, but I was glad to finally see your Dana."

      "How did she look?" he asked earnestly and a little quicker
than he wished she had seen.

      "Beautiful." Dark lights flared in the hazel eyes which
indicated that he was not amused. "And sleeping. I talked to her
mother. For a day or so she was in a bad way - during about the
same time you were. Like you, she's exhausted. The ribs are also
pretty bad. One did puncture a lung a bit. She'll be a few weeks
healing. So will you. I dare say you'll have time for a chat or two
then. So you see? Neither of you missed a thing." 

      He tried to look happier at that, if only for the sake of the
woman beside him with the longish greying hair, but it didn't help
much. "Sheila, you have a twisted sense of humor."

      Sheila gathered her calf length full skirt and sat down on the
chair next to his bed thinking that a change of subject might help
his mood. "I haven't told you. Using your descriptions, Richard has
located the quartet in black suits who kidnapped you, though he is
waiting until the main office has identified all the loose ends
before he lets his people close in. He found the girl, too. She's
been very cooperative and will be placed under protective custody."
Sheila sought his eyes and there was a twinkle in hers. "She asked
about you, by the way. Wanted to know if you were all right and if
you would be coming for the trial. The Denver office is singing
your praises and has sent a nice letter of commendation to Walt for
your file. If you ever want a job out West -"

      "I have a job."

      "Easy now. Just thought I'd ask. Just thought you'd like to
know there are people who appreciate your talent."

      Mulder stared out of the window though in the dark there was
not much to see. Catching the White Industries extortion gang
seemed very little compensation for a series of events which could
very easily have ended in tragedy. Actually, in many ways it HAD
ended in tragedy leaving scars that might never heal. Letters of
commendation were nice to have, the personnel file of Special Agent
Mulder was thick with them, but Spooky had just as many
disciplinary warnings, if not more. None of that seemed to matter
tonight somehow. 

      Even though she could not see his face, Sheila could not help
noticing the slump in his posture. When she felt the silence was
becoming uncomfortable, she began, "You had a visitor."

       Mulder turned to her, brushing the ever present lock of hair
out of his eyes.  He was going to have to cut that again one of
these days. Worse, his fingers felt hair which was stiff with an
unpleasant mix of grease and dirt. He had not had time for a shower
yet and realized he wanted one very badly. "Now I know why I don't
usually sleep more than four hours a night. I miss too much. Who,
if I may ask? Leonard Nimoy this time?"

      "I only wish. I had the worst crush on Mr. Spock when I was in
college. No, Evan Byers," she said, trying to sound casual, but her
eyes were hesitant, as if she was not sure how he was going to take
the news. "He seemed nice," she added carefully.

      Mulder was momentarily confused by the odd tone in her voice
until he remembered that the only thing she knew about Evan was
that Scully had, supposedly, taken off with him for a long weekend
and that he was supposed to be - as Evan himself had described it -
the villain in this melodrama.

      Mildly, he remarked, "We patched things up."

      He could almost feel the tension leave the woman. "I'm glad,"
she said. "He really IS nice. He's a doctor, too, or so he says,
and he was concerned about you. He said, by the way, that you
didn't look too bad. If this is not bad, I'm relieved that I
haven't seen what he has."

      "I'm glad you haven't either," Mulder told her and he meant
it. Evan had seen him in the emergency room after Angela had gotten
through with him. He had nearly died. If Sheila had seen him then,
it would have torn her up to come so close to losing yet another
'son'.

      "He was nice enough to bring your duffle bag so you have some
of your own clothes. One set seems clean enough. And he said for
you to be careful, that your gun was in there and he didn't know if
he had put the safety on correctly." She shrugged. "I checked. He
hadn't."

      "At least there's one Accounting can't charge me for."

      "He also brought a message from Dana." Sheila paused. "How
come he calls her 'Dana' and you don't?"

      Mulder waved his hand impatiently. "Long story... What's the
message?"

      "Oh... Dana says to tell you that 'she's fine.'"

      He gave a silent laugh. "She always is."

      "He apologized for not being able to stay but he had a date in
D.C... a Dr. Adams." To Mulder's smile she asked, "Someone you
know?"

      "You might say that." He looked around at that point for a
water pitcher and it was exactly where he expected it to be.
"Thanks for setting everything out where I could reach it." He
meant her positioning everything on his right side since his left
was virtually immobile both from its own pain and stiffness and the
heavy bindings which prevented him from moving his arm or shoulder
even if he wanted to. 

      "No, problem. Having small children mothers learn to attend to
these little details."

      That brought a guilty thought rushing towards him. "Children?
your kids! Your family! You shouldn't be here nurse-maiding me.
It's Christmas!"

      "Shhh, no problem," Sheila said with a toss of her long hair.
"Richard's parents and a sister are still in the New York area.
Richard and the girls are flying in tomorrow to Newark. Skinner
found them a flight at the last minute and is paying. And if he was
able to get seats this near the holidays and on such short notice,
he must be paying through the nose."

      "I guess I'd better not expect much of a Christmas bonus this
year." Speaking of nose, Mulder touched his face. There was that
four days growth of beard. He needed a shave and knew for certain
he could smell himself. "So when do you join them?" he asked.

      "Trying to get rid of me?" Sheila asked, eyebrows raised. "I
have tickets out of Baltimore Christmas morning. I'll take you to
your place tomorrow so we can get you a change of clothes,
comfortable but appropriate for the holidays and then Christmas
morning I'll drive you up to Maggie's place in Baltimore. That is
if you want to go. No, even if you don't want to, you're going. I
won't have you moping about your apartment all alone, especially at
Christmas. Then I jump on my plane and I'll be with the 'rest' of
my family before noon."

      "'Maggie's place'?" Mulder asked, clearly suspicious about the
way Sheila had so casually used that diminutive. Obviously, the
mothers had been talking. Scary idea that.

      Sheila colored. "We found we have a lot in common."

      "I'll bet. May I ask what you talked about besides directions
to her house and the state of Scully's ribs?"

      "You can ask," but Sheila did not go on from there, though
there was a light in her eyes. "By the way, she's a pretty woman,
your Scully. I told Dana's mother that you two would make some
beautiful ba- "

      "Sheila!" It was Mulder's turn to color.

      "Excuse me?" Sheila asked in all innocence. "Did I say
something wrong?"

      "Premature."

      "I hope so."

      Mulder snorted in good natured disgust. At the same moment he
caught a whiff of himself again and recoiled.

      Sheila must have noticed the gesture for she vanished into the
bathroom and came out with a towel which she threw at him. "They
didn't have time to wash you before you passed out. It's been - how
long? - since you had a shower. I think you need one. I know you
need one. And while you're at it I'll rustle up some clean sheets
from the housekeeping staff." She came a little closer then reacted
melodramatically, "Whoo, I think we may be talking about more than
one washing here. You want to look and smell nice for Scully, don't
you?"

      Damn, why did she have to mention Scully's name in quite that
connotation. Mulder knew he was coming dangerously close to showing
that look on his face again. He was eternally grateful for whoever
had gotten him the lime green scrubs, a universe of improvement
over the short hospital gowns, but even they were nowhere near
sturdy enough to hide other 'indications' that Sheila's comments
had led his mind - and other parts of his anatomy - into
considering some long denied activities of an animal nature.
Glancing up, he spied the lift bar and, grasping it with his right
hand, attempted to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and to
the floor. With only half his weight on his good leg he had to
stop, that limb quivering weakly. 

      "Looks like you're going to need some help in the shower,"
Sheila observed.  "Do you want me to call some pretty nurse or
should I do it?"
 
      Gazing upon her Mulder saw Sheila's round, pleasant face, her
soft but energetic body and her really, very lovely young eyes.
"Call someone else. You don't look nearly enough like my mother."

      "Spoil sport," she frowned with exaggeration.

      "And call the oldest, most blind body you can find out there."

      "As ordered and while Monsieur is bathing I'll go out and get
you some real food. McDonald's okay?"  His greedy smile answered
that one. She headed for the door and stopped. "Oh, and by the way,
Fox -"

      "What?"

      "Nice to have you back."

      <Same here,> he thought, realizing with mild surprise that he
did feel better having talked to someone. He still missed Scully -
she filled a vacuum in his life no one else could - but it also
felt good not to be so far down that people thought about crossing
to the other side of the street when they saw you coming. I guess
this is progress, he sighed as he began trying to figure out how,
one handed and one armed, he was going to remove the top of his
lime green scrubs. 
      
End of Book III, Chapter 10