From: gyrfalcon@delphi.com (Gerri Oliver)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: "The Best Medicine"
Date: 18 May 1995 06:02:28 GMT


This is a posting for the author's of the E-Mail X-Creative Club (EMXC) of
AOL. All comments to the author's please, not me! I just bring them to the
world. Stories are placed at the following ftps: ftp.cs.nmt.edu and
at trustno1.pc.cc.cmu.edu when it's back. 
***************************************************************************
The Best Medicine

An X-Files short story 
By Rob Lieberman 
(Dweeberman@aol.com)
1/15/95

Disclaimer and Preface:  Hooooookay, guys, my twisted and 
demented mind has finally schemed up another one.  I've always 
wondered what it would be like if one of our heroes came down with 
a nice little terminal illness...heh heh heh, bet you're worried now!  
I'd just like to mention that this story is *extremely* suggestive - the 
events that transpire here can be interpreted several different ways, 
and not all of them are necessarily conventional.  The way you see it 
just depends on the extent of your knowledge about certain things, I 
suppose.  In any case, I hope y'all enjoy it - at least as much as I did 
writing it.  Once again, an extremely warm 
thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou to Katie and Annie 
Reed for reading it (and they LIKED it!), and to Brian Safdie (who 
read it, said it was corny, and told me I should fix it - shows how 
much *I* pay attention), who is not nearly the fool he thinks he is, 
and also to The Great and Powerful SciNut (trumpet fanfare sounds), 
who is known far and wide and Throughout Several Kingdoms to be 
the One True E-Mail Goddess!  Couldn't do this without ya, Sci!  
There, I think I've paid my homage for a little while.  Oops, almost 
forgot the usual rattle - ::turns on tape recorder::  
"bbzzztt...crackle..snap...'The X-Files' and all characters contained 
therein are the sole property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen 
Productions, and the Fox Television Network.  No copyright 
infringements were intended...bzt...zork...pop...snap"

Bon Apetite!
                           **********

    There was nothing left to do.
    Out of all the tests, all the intrusive and dehumanizing 
procedures, out of all the samples, the injections, and the surgeries, 
emerged nothing but bleakness and death.  His condition baffled even 
the most intelligent minds available.  There was simply no 
diagnosable illness, and thus no treatment could be afforded, and no 
cure could be found.  His condition was utterly hopeless and 
degenerating rapidly, and though all best efforts had been made to 
save him, the final medical proclamation was that of terminal illness, 
of a disease which could not be cured, and of a certainty which no 
one wanted to face.
    And so he had been taken home to die.
    Now Fox Mulder was lying in his own bed, wrapped 
warmly in his sheets, trying to fight the inevitable darkness with 
whatever strength he had left.  Scully sat silently beside the bed in 
one of Mulder's hard-backed oaken chairs, holding his hand.  She 
was still having a hard time accepting the fact that she could do 
nothing for him, and that science, that abstract religion that she had 
built her entire world around was unable to help him, either.  Never 
in her life had she felt so helpless, so frightened, or so thwarted.
    His condition, as it were, had been identified as a sort of 
retrograde heart disease - basically, the bottom line of it was that the 
cells in his cardiac tissue were simply refusing to divide.  Nothing 
worked, no known treatment would suffice to save him or even prove 
to marginally increase or better his condition.  They had tried 
everything - she would have no less, and she had forced the doctors 
to run the gamut of possible regimens, from simple medication to 
advanced electrocardial stimulation techniques, but all for no avail.  
A tissue transplant might have saved him, but, she thought, with a 
heated fire of anger and animosity growing inside of her, there was 
no suitable donor.  His parents were nowhere to be found - 
apparently, they had been out of contact with Mulder completely for 
several years now.  If they had cared the slightest bit for their son, 
they would have come here in the blink of an eye.  No, no, they 
didn't care at all, and Scully wondered how such a kind, 
compassionate, and wonderful person like Mulder could ever have 
been spawned by such cold, callous, and heartless people.  Mulder 
had no other family members, at least none living, and no brothers or 
sisters...
    Well, he did have a sister...  
     In any case, in the end her options were reduced to slowly 
and painfully watching the ailment take form.  For several weeks 
now, from the earliest onset of symptoms, the cellular mitosis rate in 
those same cells had slowed to a rapidly decreasing rate, which 
would, in only a matter of hours, be reduced to zero - and then...
    No.  She refused to think of that at all.  She gazed 
compassionately at his still, silent figure.  He was so peaceful, and 
she had to admit that this was probably the most relaxed that she had 
ever seen him.  Of course, this was not a conscious decision of his - 
due to his degrading health, he was very tired, and she wondered if 
he could even speak.
    At least he wouldn't be alone.  Even if his real parents (and 
she scoffed at the word 'real', pondering the faint possibility that 
Mulder had actually been adopted) could not be here with him, he 
still had friends that loved him more deeply than he realized.  Her 
own mother and sister had been here recently, not more than a few 
hours ago.  They had all just sat there, in silence, and watched the 
clock, and waited for the inevitable.  They would still be here, too, of 
it were not for Mulder's specific request that his final few hours be 
spent alone with Scully.
    Scully reached out, and slowly caressed his cheek with her 
finger.
    "How are you feeling?", she asked softly.  Mulder gradually 
turned his head to look at her.  He coughed twice, then his dry, 
parched lips parted and he spoke.
    "You mean besides the fact that I've been told by five of the 
area's most distinguished surgeons that I'm going to die in about 
three hours?  Pretty terrible."
    She almost smiled at that remark.  At least he could still 
retain that witty, offbeat sense of humor.
    "Do you want to talk...about anything?  If there's something 
you need to say, I want you to know that I'm here to listen."  He 
gazed solemnly at her, his deep hazel eyes trimmed with a watery 
lining from the anguish and pathos that raged behind them.  There 
was so much he wanted to tell her, so much he needed to say...but 
the words to voice his emotions were lost to him.  Scully touched his 
cheek tenderly.  "Are you okay, Mulder?  What's wrong?  
Please...tell me..."  
       As she looked, his face and his expression began to twist 
into a horrible facsimile of his true self, and expression racked with 
pain and sorrow.  She heard the first whimpering sniffs quickly rise 
in emotion and power, until they became heart-wrenching, guttural 
sobs that shook his entire body with force and emotion.  It was 
terrible enough that he was to die, but to see him like this, in this 
state of utter desolation and despair, tormented by pain and the 
knowledge of his own mortality, was more than she could bear to 
watch.  The simple image of him lying there, his faltering strength 
and last gleams of life slowly draining away tore her heart to pieces.  
Almost instinctively, she moved swiftly closer to him, and in a 
single, swift motion caught his head and cradled it in her arms.  She 
caressed his scalp, running her fingers through his soft, dark hair, 
and gently nuzzled his cheek.  She was no longer sure how much of 
him, of his senses, of his consciousness remained, and physical 
contact might be the only way to make him realize that she was still 
there with him, for she had no intention of leaving.  She pressed her 
own face close to his, and as she listened to the debilitating sobs 
emanating from deep within him she felt her own bitter, salty tears 
running down her cheeks and mixing with his own.  Mentally 
slapping herself, she fought the impulse to cry.    
    Dana, you're all he has left, can't you see that?  You can't 
cry now, you have to be strong, because he can't be.  Whatever will 
you have you've got to give to him, or else he really is lost. 
     She straightened, and rocked his head back and forth 
soothingly in her arms until the tears ceased to run down his pale, 
pallid cheeks.  She gently caressed his face with her hand, and asked 
softly, "Mulder?  Can I get you anything?  Just tell me, and I'll get 
whatever you need."  She saw his pale lips move, and heard the 
whisper of faint words that she could not interpret. She leaned down 
closer, and she heard him say softly and with fading breath, "Hit the 
'Enter' key, please".  She gave him a confused look.  Enter?  What 
for?  He motioned to the computer sitting across the room at his desk.  
She slowly lowered his head back onto the pillow, touched his cheek, 
and then walked silently over to the machine.  She lightly tapped the 
"Enter" key, and the indicator light on his CD drive lit up, as soft, 
romantic music began to emanate from the speakers and flow slowly 
through the room.  
    She smiled.  He was such a sly devil, always ready for the 
extended dinner-date with what's-her-face that never was.  Oh, well, 
at least it gave the room some atmosphere, and replaced the cold, 
monotonous, unending silence that so constantly reminded her how 
little time was left.  She turned, giving him the best disapproving 
stare she could muster.  He smiled weakly, and her expression 
softened.  She walked back over to the bedside, then stopped.  Oh, 
what the hell, she thought.  This might very well be the last night 
they would have together, and damned if she wasn't going to try 
everything she could to stop him from going.  Gently, she pulled 
back the sheets, and carefully moved him over in the bed.  Trying not 
to jostle him about unnecessarily, she slowly slipped into he bed next 
to him.  She noticed with some amusement his wide eyed and 
foreboding stare.  He was definitely getting the wrong idea about all 
this.  She pulled the soft, linen sheets back over them both, and 
sitting up straight in the bed, reached out and held him tightly against 
her.  She felt the tenseness of his body, the cold, rigidness, almost 
clamminess, but as she held him she felt him go slack in her arms, 
felt him relax and slip away into the depths of repose.  She checked 
his pulse, and noticed with dismay and alarm that it was erratic, and 
realized now the full, cold, terrible truth of the matter, that he could 
go at any time now.
    Scully clasped Mulder's hand in her own, with force and 
devotion that were clearly communicated to him by her touch.  She 
squeezed his hand, and said quietly, 
    "Fox?"  He winced at the sound of his name, which she 
enjoyed more than she had expected to.  At lease this indicated that 
he was still...here, and that he could hear correctly.  She rubbed his 
palm affectionately.  "Mulder, I never could understand why you 
hate that name so much."  He started to speak, but she bent down and 
whispered into his ear, "Personally, I always thought 'Fox' was a 
very... sexy name", letting the last few syllables roll lazily off of her 
tongue and lips.  She saw his eyes roll upwards to encounter hers, 
and she grinned puerilely.  He returned the grin, and closed his 
increasingly heavy eyelids.  
    "Dana...", he began - well, if she was going to call him 
Fox, then he was simply going to return the favor.  "...I - There's so 
much I want to tell you, but...".  He found that he could not finish 
the sentence, as a thousand or more ideas dashed madly from his 
mind to his mouth, all attempting to squeeze into the same sentence.  
"I'm sorry," was all he could manage in a rather hoarse whisper.  
    "Sorry?  Why?", she inquired.
    He shook his head.  "I don't know...for anything...anything 
I did to hurt you...and for keeping you here with me.  I...I just..."  
His voice trailed off into silence, as he swallowed in a dry throat.  
    "No, no," she said, rocking him slowly back and forth in 
her arms, "I don't remember you ever hurting me.  I don't think 
you're capable of that.  And," she added, "don't you even dare to 
think that me being here with you is any inconvenience.  There's no 
place that I would rather be..."
    Mulder blinked once, then closed his eyes again.
    "Thank you so much, Dana," he said.
    "My pleasure," she responded weakly.  Mulder sighed.
    "Dana," he began, "I - I just want you to know how much 
you mean to me, how much I care about you.  I can't recall anyone 
ever willingly being so close to me, helping or supporting me so 
much - I feel so privileged to be able to call you my friend.  It - It's 
just - oh, I'm so sorry, Dana, I can't - I can't put into words this - 
It's just not-"
    Scully rested her finger lightly on his lips.
    "Shhh," she murmured gently, "It's okay.  I understand.  I 
couldn't think of enough nice things to say about you, either, and 
somehow I think I know exactly what you want to say.  Just - you're 
just as special to me, okay?  You have to know that."  She squeezed 
him tightly, a gesture which he gladly welcomed.  They lay there for 
several long minutes, each savoring the other's presence for what 
little time they could.  Presently, Scully said,    
    "Mulder?  I - I know how much your work means to you, 
and I - Mulder, what I mean is that I would be honored to be your 
progenitor, your successor."
    Mulder shook his head fiercely.
    "No, no," he said, "I can't put you through that.  No, I 
can't do that to you.  It was my work, just an obsessive compulsion 
of mine, and it's jeopardized my safety more times than I care to 
remember.  I can't do that to you.  I don't want to.  Losing my own 
life is bad enough, but I could never deal with being the cause of 
your injury...or worse.  Maybe - maybe I'm getting my just desserts 
after all.  They finally won, Scully.  I saw too much, and this is my 
punishment.  I'm just sorry I have to leave you so soon."
    "No!," she responded.  "No, that isn't true.  Mulder, you're 
forgetting that for every time your life was in jeopardy mine was too.  
We were - are - partners, and friends, and I just can't go back and 
forget all that happened to us.  I've seen too much to just let it rest.  I 
think - I think you've converted me, Mulder," she remarked with a 
laugh.  "I mean, I'll still stick to logic and careful thought, just like I 
always have, but I do have a curiosity now, a wanting to know just 
what the hell is going on out there.  And no one has the right to do 
this to you.  No one."  She breathed in deeply.  "I don't want to just 
let your entire life's work dwindle and disappear in front of me," she 
said, not willing to add like I'm seeing your life dwindle and 
disappear in front of me right now.  "I've always been proud to be 
'Mrs. Spooky', right along side you.  I'm not ashamed of that now."
    There was another long pause, before either of them spoke.
    "Dana?"
    "Yes?"
    "Will you do me a favor?"
    "Anything."
    "Don't be sad, Dana.  For me?"
    "It's not going to be easy to stay happy without you there, 
Fox.  But I'll try."
    Several more minutes passed in silence.  Then, Mulder's 
voice broke the tense air a second time.
    "Do you think there's a God, Dana?"  Scully was a little 
unprepared by the offbeat nature of the question, considering what 
they had just been discussing.
    "Oh, I - I don't really know," she admitted.  "I hope there 
is, I...would like to believe that there is one."
    "Do you think that there's really a heaven and a hell?"
    "Maybe.  I hope there's a heaven."
    "Do you think - where do you think I'm going to go?"
    "Now this I'm sure of," she responded.  "If there is such a 
place, you are without a doubt going up there," she pointed at the 
ceiling and the starry sky above it.  "I simply can't imagine how such 
a kind, trustworthy, honest, caring, and compassionate person like 
you could have any less.  And," she added with a hint of humor, "if 
there does happen to be a mix up, you can bet that when I get up 
there someone's going to have an extremely rough time until I get 
you up there with me.  Paradise isn't paradise without your best 
friend to share it with you."  Mulder smiled.
    "Thank you, Dana.  I really needed to hear that."
    "Anytime, Fox.  Anytime."
    For what seemed like an eternity to Scully, she and Mulder 
were silent again, unspeaking, and she found a rapidly growing 
desire to hear his voice again, to know he was okay still.
    "Mulder?", she asked tentatively.
    No answer.  Her pulse quickened.
    "Mulder?", she inquired again, trembling fear edging it's 
way into her voice.  Still no answer.
    Oh, God, no.  It couldn't end like this.
    She reached over to touch his cheek, and almost sobbed, 
"Mulder?  Can you hear me?  Fox?"
    Her touch was rewarded with a slight, quivering motion, as 
he turned his head painfully upward to meet her eyes.  She sighed, 
and pressed him closely against her, thankful that he was still with 
her.
    "Mulder, I - as a doctor, I pledged to keep all life as sacred, 
and to do my best to protect and preserve it.  I have tried my best to 
live up to that oath, and I'll be damned if I'm going to just sit here 
and let you slip away from me.  What we have means too much to 
me, and," she said, hugging him to her fiercely, "we're gonna fight 
this thing together, okay?  Just like we always have.  Mulder and 
Scully, side by side.  We always pull through together."
    "You got it, Dana.  I won't leave you if you won't leave 
me.  Promise?"
    "Promise."
    Mulder smiled deeply, and sank down, nestling into her 
arms.
    "Still," he remarked contentedly, "what a way to go, right?"
    They both laughed.

                     **********

    Mulder found that he was bathed in darkness, a cool, 
penetrating, constricting darkness, an inky blackness that threatened 
to envelope him and break his bonds with the rest of reality.  In fact, 
there were only three things, three ties still firmly holding him back, 
guarding him against the blackness that was at this moment sapping 
his very life away - his work, Samantha, and Dana.  Ever since she 
had been taken away,  Mulder had always relied on his faith and his 
assumptions about her, that they had come, that they were the ones 
who had taken her from him, and that someday he might find his 
little sister again.  Whenever he felt as if life was ending, as if his 
struggle was finally over, as if he could not go on any longer, he had 
told himself, Fox, just think about where Samantha is now, in a place 
of torture and pain, of suffering, and Fox, she needs you, you have 
to find her and be strong, or else she really is dead.  His work had 
been devoted to finding a way to reach Samantha, to find his sister 
again, and he fiercely believed that he would one day accomplish 
this, no matter what...until now.  Faced with the very real prospect 
of death, of mortality, and of failure, he found his faith waning as he 
struggled to keep hold on something...and found Scully.  She was 
still there, this he knew, and even though his senses were dulling 
rapidly he could still feel that she was there, partly physically, and 
partly in another, different way.  She hadn't left him, he knew she 
wouldn't, not until he really was gone.  He was unsure of his feelings 
toward her now - before, she had been Dana Scully, his friend, his 
best friend, his only friend, but now...something was different, 
something he couldn't quite pinpoint.  He knew he did love her, but 
not in the romantic sense, more along the way that a brother loves a 
sister, and he had a hunch, more than just a hope, that the feeling was 
mutual between them.  It was like Samantha had gone and she had 
taken her place, and would continue to, until he found her again...if 
it was not already too late.
    No, no, dammit!, he thought, fighting back the darkness, 
trying to open his eyelids that now felt as if they were fastened 
permanently to his face, no!  He was not going to give up his life, his 
dreams so easily, and he simply refused to leave everyone behind, 
especially Dana.  He forced his eyes open, willed the muscles to lift 
his eyelids, and saw that his head was resting against the silky 
softness of her neck.  She looked...different somehow, something he 
was not quite sure of, something - and as his senses returned to him 
sluggishly, had he had the strength he would have jumped at the sight 
of her.  Somehow, she was glowing faintly with the most beautiful 
rings of colour he had ever seen.  There were resplendent, radiant 
rings of colour surrounding her entire body, ebbing and flowing in 
gracious, delicate patterns.  He suddenly realized how cold he was, 
how deprived of heat and clammy he felt, and he marveled how 
warm and cozy she was.  It was almost like her body was a 
generator, a furnace even, and he basked in the emanating warmth 
and heat that seeped forth from it.  He realized, somewhat belatedly, 
his own hand, and saw that it, too, was covered in rings of colour, 
but his were uneasily much dimmer and fainter.  He felt drawn to 
Dana now, drawn to the inextinguishable source of warmth, and he 
gathered up enough energy to twine his arms around her neck and 
snuggle closely against her chin, against the pillow of satiny soft skin.  
He felt her own arms slip snugly around his waist, and simply hold 
him there in a compassionate, loving embrace that so wonderfully 
characterized her feelings for him.  He saw with fading vision 
something marvelous as their rings touched, her own bright, vivid 
colour seeping into his own, and at once he felt immensely good and 
comfortable as the transcending heat diffused into his skin, 
permeating his very soul and reaching out to every part of his body in 
a continual chorus that split the iciness like an axe and replaced it 
with a safe, comforting feeling of lovely warmth.
    "Mmmmm....you're warm", he muttered, and abruptly sank 
into a contented, well-deserved slumber with a small, sanguine smile 
on his lips.
    Scully bowed her head in order to kiss his hot, feverish 
forehead, and felt a tear trickle forlornly down her cheek.
                      
                 ********** 

    When Mulder awoke, he found himself amidst curious 
surroundings.  He felt soft, cool sea breezes on his back and face 
simultaneously, and looking around, he saw the world in an 
indistinct, almost blurry form, with edges and corners smeared like 
creamy pastels.  He realized that he was on a boat, a vessel of some 
sort, and that it was a bright, clear, virtually cloudless day.  The 
gentle rocking of the boat brought tangibility and substance to the 
world, making him feel less of the queasy, drifting, almost nauseating 
sense that had been previously present.  The gentle calls of the 
seagulls, the quiet splashing of the water as it lapped up against the 
sides of the boat flooded his senses and made him aware.
    Suddenly, Mulder saw that he was not alone.  There were 
several people here, men and women, all dressed in conservative, 
heavy black clothes, with dark, ominous black hats or veils.  For 
some reason, the simple sight of them made him uneasy - it reminded 
him of a funeral, as if death rode on the shoulders of the black cloths 
covering their bodies.
    Then he saw her.
    Dana.
    Dana was here...
    And she was crying!
    Swiftly, Mulder moved over to her.  Yes, it was indeed 
Dana, the same Dana Scully he had grown to know for the past 
several years, but he doubted that he had ever seen her like this.  It 
was so unnerving, seeing her plunged into such depth of despair and 
utter devastation, and he felt a tight, achy feeling in his chest, as if 
his heart were constricting and tightening.
    Dana, he said, or tried to say, Dana, it's okay, it's okay, 
I'm here.  What's wrong, Dana?  Why are you crying?  Please, talk 
to me.  What happened to make you hurt so?  Oh, Dana, please don't 
cry, you never cry, you're always the strong one, and it's so scary to 
see you like this...
    Mulder tried to put his arm around her, to comfort her, as 
anger, compassion, and fear brewed and bubbled simultaneously 
within him, and he felt that he should like to kill the person who had 
inflicted this kind of pain on her.  Suddenly, and horrifically, Mulder 
realized that he could not put his arm around her because he had no 
arm, and it was then that he saw the large, terrifying, polished, cedar 
box lying on the ground directly in front of him.  Without warning, 
the top flew back, and he gasped inaudibly at the sight of his own, 
cold, lifeless dead body resting in eternal slumber, horribly peaceful, 
never again to wake.  He saw, rather detachedly, Dana leaned over to 
caress his colorless, pale cheek, and whisper, "Goodbye, Fox".
    He really was at a funeral.
    His own funeral.
    Mulder had to stop and appreciate the simple irony at work 
here.
    You wanted to kill the man who put Dana in so much pain?  
Sorry, looks like someone beat you to it.
    Without warning, the box was snapped shut, and two men 
lifted it up onto their shoulders, and promptly discharged it over the 
side of the boat, down, down in to the cold, dark waters, and he felt 
himself being whisked away down with it, down, down deeper, away 
from Dana and all the people he loved, endlessly downward until no 
errant rays of light dared penetrate the inky darkness surrounding 
him, and he found that he was inside the box, in the sarcophagus with 
himself, staring at his own face, his own still, unmoving, forever 
closed eyelids, and he screamed in utter terror, and then the blackness 
crept swiftly in like a horde of angry insects to devour him, and he 
remembered nothing more.
                      
                        **********

    It was morning when Dana slowly awoke to the sounds of 
chirping birds and softly rustling leaves outside the window.   God, 
she was so tired - she felt completely drained for some reason, both 
emotionally and physically.  She groggily tried to remember where 
she was, and suddenly found that there was a great, pressing weight 
on her chest, stomach, and legs.  Then, she remembered - Mulder.  
She expected that the life had drained out of him now, that his body 
resting on top of hers was just that, a body, a shell of the former man 
he had been, and she found that she could no longer contain or 
subside the impulse to cry, and she wept for him openly and 
unreservedly, the bitter tears running down her face in torrents of 
emotion.  At length, when her eyes had run dry of tears to cry with, 
she reached a hand out to close his eyes should they be open, and to 
confirm the inevitable, only hoping that his passing had been quiet 
and painless for him - and all at once felt his hot breath on her hand.  
How cruel does this have to be?, she thought angrily.  Why couldn't 
they have let him pass during the night, in peaceful slumber, just 
leaving in his sleep?  How much more torment do we have to endure?  
Why is this happening to him, to me, to us?  Feeling suddenly near 
tears again, she reached out to take his pulse - and nearly jumped 
when she saw that it was not the erratic, skipping pulse that he had 
possessed last night, but the steady, even pulse of a healthy man.  She 
felt his forehead - it was no longer hot, and she could feel that the 
cold, clammy feeling of him had been replaced with a normal, warm 
and soft feel.  Throwing all logical thought and reasoning aside to 
make way for sheer hope, she leaned over, and kissed his cheek.
    "Fox?", she whispered uncertainly, then, louder, "Fox?"
    "Mmph...D-Dana?  Geez, you don't have to yell so loud.  
I'm right here," he slurred.
    "Oh, my God!", she exclaimed, then hugged him with more 
feeling and emotion than she knew was humanly possible.  "Fox, 
Fox, you're back!  You're not going away, Fox!  Oh, Fox, you're 
going to be alright now!"  She knew she sounded childish and 
extremely silly, but she didn't care, and she was simply so happy that 
she had no idea what to do with herself.
    "What?", he asked uncertainly.
    "I said you're not going away.  You're staying right here 
with me.  Your fever's gone and your pulse is much better now.  
Okay?  You're alright now, Fox.  You're okay!"
    He smiled broadly, and sighed, closing his eyes.
    "I'll call for an ambulance," she said.  "We'll still need to 
put you in-"
    He caught her hand as it reached out to pick up the receiver 
of the phone.
    "Don't - not just yet.  I mean, if I'm okay, then there's no 
rush, and if I'm not it's going to be pretty pointless anyway.  Just 
stay here with me a little while longer, okay?  I just feel so tired.  
Can I rest a little bit?"
    "Rest as much as you want.  I won't leave, Fox.  I'm not 
going anywhere."
    "Neither am I", he said, and slept, confident of the fact now 
that he was going to wake up, after all.

End.