From: Jennifer Sorowitz <sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu>
Date: Mon, 02 Apr 2001 23:59:50 -0400
Subject: xfc: Blessed Union of Souls III: On a Day Like Today 1/6 by Jennifer Sorowitz
Source: xfc

Title: Blessed Union of Souls III: On a Day Like Today 1/6
Author: Jennifer Sorowitz
Email: sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu or jis3@yahoo.com
Archive: To Gossamer, Ephemeral, and Xemplary. Others please ask first.
Category: SRA
Rating: NC-17 for language, sexual content
Spoilers: Through Season Seven [Brief "Hungry" reference]
Keywords: S/Other Romance
Summary: Scully and Navy SEAL Commander Mark Riskey have been dating since 
they met several months earlier in "Deep Water." Dana and Mark go out to 
dinner with another couple, spending a relaxing evening together. But when 
the night ends in tragedy, will the events draw Dana and Mark closer 
together, or tear their newfound relationship apart?

Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, and all other characters associated 
with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, 
and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no profit 
is being made.

Author's Notes: "On a Day Like Today" is a Bryan Adams song, and can be 
found on his CD of the same name. Complete lyrics can be found at the end 
of the story.

This is the third tale in a much more extensive storyline begun in Blessed 
Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor and Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep 
Water-both of which can be found at Gossamer.

I want to thank Kelley for her awesome beta. Once again, her suggestions 
proved invaluable. Thanks also to Mirage, who was instrumental in the 
creation of RB, as well as to the direction and scope of BUOS.

All comments and criticism are welcome at sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu or 
jis3@yahoo.com. I'd love to hear what you think!


*****


On A Day Like Today
by Jennifer Sorowitz
sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu or jis3@yahoo.com


Part One


on a day like today--no one complains
free to be pure--free to be saved
on a day like today
ya never wanna see the sun go down



Dana sprinted up the steps to her apartment two at a time. Unlocking the 
front door, she hurried inside, slamming the door closed with her foot. She 
tossed her purse and keys onto the table in the foyer and shed her coat 
over the back of the couch before heading toward the bedroom. She kicked 
off her shoes as she unbuttoned her blouse. She left a trail of slacks, 
socks, and underclothes on her way into the bathroom. As she removed her 
watch, she saw that it was nearly six o'clock. That left her with only a 
half hour to get ready.

She turned on the shower and barely fussed with the water temperature 
before stepping into the tub. As the warm spray beat down on the tense 
muscles in her shoulders and back, she closed her eyes and took a deep 
breath. She forced herself to take a moment to regroup. All was not lost. 
If she could prevent herself from becoming any more frazzled than she 
already was, it was quite possible that she could pull this off.

As she attempted to clear her mind, she found herself trying to figure out 
at what point during the day things had taken such a downward spiral. She 
had gone into the office expecting a laid back day consisting of a morning 
meeting with A.D. Skinner and an afternoon of catching up on paperwork. She 
had had every intention of leaving by four at the absolute latest. She 
figured that would have gotten her home well before five, giving her time 
to take a leisurely shower and clean up the apartment a bit. After all 
these years, she should know better. What was it they said about the 
best-laid plans?

She should have known something was up when Mulder received that phone call 
at eleven. He had been sitting back at his desk, feet up and nose buried in 
some old case files when he had answered the phone; the way it made him sit 
up and drop everything in mere moments should have clued her in to the fact 
that her plans for the afternoon were about to change. Her assumption was 
quickly proven accurate: without consulting her, Mulder informed the caller 
that they would be right over to examine the crime scene.

"Hey, Scully, you remember that string of murders we were investigating a 
year or so ago where the victims all had strange slashes in the skin around 
their throats and wrists?"

"You mean the wounds that I said looked like they were caused by a 
scavenging animal's teeth, but you insisted had some sort of pattern to 
them?" she replied, not looking up from the notes she was transcribing onto 
her computer.

"Yeah, that's the case. Apparently another body with similar wounds was 
found behind a restaurant in Arlington," he said, rising from his desk and 
slipping on his suit jacket.
.
"Your point being?" she asked, still typing.

"How do you feel about a drive over to Arlington?"

"Do I have any choice in the matter?"

"C'mon, Scully, it's an unsolved case."

She finally stopped typing and looked up at him. "Mulder, I don't want to 
get wrapped up following more dead-end leads for an old case. I have plans 
for tonight."

"You said you didn't have to be home till five. It's just after eleven now. 
It won't take us long to go over there and check out the crime scene. 
You've got plenty of time, Scully."

She sighed. "All right. But come four o'clock, I'm out of there."

"No problem," Mulder replied, holding out her coat for her. "It shouldn't 
take more than an hour."

Famous last words. An hour turned into two. By the time the photographers 
arrived and they finished interviewing all of the possible witnesses it was 
nearing two o'clock. Then somehow Mulder roped Scully into performing an 
autopsy on the body. Of course there was some sort of hang-up with the body 
being transported to Quantico, and she ended up waiting around for it to 
show up. Then all the trace evidence had to be gathered, and as per 
Mulder's request, detailed documentation by way of photographs, 
measurements, and descriptions had to be made of all the strange wounds. 
Once she was done with the autopsy-proper, there was the lengthy briefing 
Mulder requested regarding the unusual markings.

Normally, she would not have minded sharing her findings with her 
partner--even in the painstaking detail he required. But in Dana's mind, 
the only thing linking this murder with the previous ones they had 
investigated was the fact that the corpse had been gnawed upon by some 
rats. She did not find that very unusual given the fact that it was found 
next to several dumpsters behind a restaurant.

Whether this victim was the handiwork of the same killer would not be 
determined until the tox screen came back; heavy doses of 
alpha-hydroxybutyrate--"Fantasy" or "Liquid X", a date-rape drug even more 
potent than rohypnol--had been found in all of the previous victims. As far 
as she was concerned, it was mere coincidence that all of the bodies had 
been nibbled upon by local vermin. These cases were really a job for 
Violent Crimes, not the X-Files.

So while she did not want to shirk her duties as a federal officer or the 
forensic pathologist performing the postmortem, she really did not see the 
need to put in extra hours in order to identify any additional significance 
to wounds that she felt were merely the result of rat bites.

Finally, after a half hour of discussing the nature and importance of the 
wounds with Mulder, she decided she had had enough. She had done her civic 
duty, and now it was time for her to leave.

"Mulder, I'm sorry, as fascinating as this is, I need to get going--I'm 
late enough as it is." She got up from the table where they had been 
sitting. "The tox screen will be back Monday morning. If it turns up 
positive for Fantasy, we can contact Violent Crimes and go from there. In 
the meantime, I would appreciate it if you did not disturb me this weekend 
in regards to this case."

There was no mistaking the look of surprise and disappointment that 
suddenly filled his face. But then it was quickly replaced by resignation. 
"Yeah, sure. Well, thanks for doing the autopsy. I'll see you Monday then."

"Good night," she said, turning around and heading for the locker room.

"Hey, Scully," he called after her.

She turned back around to face him. "Yeah, Mulder?"

"Have a good time tonight."

Slowly, a grin crept across her face. "Thanks, Mulder. You have a good 
weekend, too. Don't work too hard."

"I won't. Go on, now," he said, waving.

Still smiling, her irritation at his single-minded determination when it 
came to working these cases had faded as she had made her way into the 
locker room to change.

By the time she got onto the road and encountered Friday afternoon 
rush-hour traffic, however, her ire at her partner for keeping her late was 
back with a vengeance. It continued to grow as she sat in bumper-to-bumper 
traffic on the highway for almost an hour, and then had to put up with 
pokey drivers and SUV owners who navigated as though they owned the road. 
The entire trip home, she alternated between wanting to flip people off and 
shoot them. Luckily, she had managed to avoid doing both. Just barely.

Now, though, she had finally made it home and into the shower. Opening her 
eyes, she reached for the shampoo. It was time to wash away the day's 
worries along with the lingering scent of death from the autopsy bay. There 
was no longer any need to think about work. Instead, she could concentrate 
on having a good time tonight. And figure out what the hell to wear.

Twenty minutes later, freshly scrubbed from her shower, hair blown dry, and 
make-up applied, Dana hurried into the bedroom to finish getting ready. She 
quickly scooped up her discarded clothing and tossed it into the closet 
before selecting the outfit she had decided upon during her shower. Thank 
goodness for multi-tasking, she thought with a grin as she got dressed.

Dana had just slipped into her shoes when she heard a knock at the door.

*Perfect timing,* she realized, rising from the bed. She stopped in front 
of the full-length mirror to survey her appearance. Short-cropped, v-necked 
gray-blue sweater, black knee-length fitted skirt, sheer black stockings, 
and three-inch black heels. She smoothed her hair, added a quick coat of 
lipstick and another dash of perfume, and then, finally satisfied, hurried 
to answer the door.

Opening the door, she smiled warmly. Mark looked gorgeous as always. 
Tonight, he looked especially handsome in a deep blue cotton dress shirt, 
jeans, and a black leather biker jacket.

"Hey there," she said in greeting.

"Hi, Dana," he replied, quickly closing the distance between them. He bent 
down to kiss her. The kiss lingered, and she felt herself melting against him.

Eventually, she took a step back, breaking the kiss--but not before taking 
his hand in hers. "C'mon, we're gonna give the neighbors a show."

"Don't you know by now that I'm an exhibitionist?" he replied with mock 
sincerity.
"Only when it comes to guns, explosives, and assorted feats of machismo," 
she countered, leading him inside.
"These are for you," he said, producing a bouquet of colorful orchids from 
behind his back.

Her heart did a little flip-flop at the sight of them. "Oh, Mark, they're 
beautiful," she said, taking them from him. "You know, you don't have to 
give me flowers every time you see me."

"I know. But I like to. Anything to make you smile," he said, cradling her 
face in his hands before softly touching her lips with his own. "You've got 
a gorgeous smile," he whispered. "I love to watch it light your face, the 
way it makes your eyes dance. And I love the way your smile makes me feel."

"I see. You have an ulterior motive."

"Yep. I saw these orchids on my way over here, and I knew if I gave 'em to 
you, I'd get a big smile. We Navy SEALs are always thinking ahead, you see."

"Well, thank you all the same. I'd better go put them in some water, and 
then we can get going," she said, grabbing a vase from the dining room on 
her way to the kitchen.

"No hurry. We've still got time," he said, slipping off his jacket and 
tossing it onto the couch.

"It's just after six-thirty. Isn't our reservation for seven?" she called 
from the kitchen as she filled the vase with water.

"Yeah, but I brought my bike," he shouted back. "We'll get there in no time."

Dana sighed as she cut off the bottom of the stems. "In other words, we'll 
be taking my car."

"I remembered to bring the extra helmet for you."

"You don't expect me to ride in this skirt, do you? Besides, you're a speed 
demon on that thing. It makes me nervous."

"You love the rush, and you know it."

She smiled despite herself. It was true: at first, she had been terrified 
to ride on the motorcycle with him. But Mark was a skilled driver, and 
though he sometimes liked to show off, whenever she was with him, he never 
gave her reason to fear for her safety. Ultimately, it had taken all of ten 
seconds on their first jaunt for Dana to get over her fear. From that point 
on, she reveled in the natural adrenaline high she got every time she rode 
with him on the bike. She quickly grew to love the feel of the open road, 
the speed of the ride, the wind blowing through her clothes, the bike 
thrumming beneath her. Besides, it was just another excuse to wrap her arms 
around him and snuggle close. That thought alone made her body yearn with 
desire.

"I guess you're right," she admitted.

"Aren't I always?" came his husky voice against her ear a moment before she 
felt his arms snake around her waist and pull her close against him with a 
gentleness that belied the strength housed in his broad frame.

Closing her eyes, she leaned back against him as he began to plant soft 
kisses on the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

"Rough day?" he questioned.

"Frustrating," she replied. "Why do you ask?"

"You're tense," he replied, moving his hands to her shoulders. He began to 
slowly knead her knotted muscles. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly. I'd just as soon not think about work tonight."

"Okay," he replied, his thumbs now tracing firm circles on her shoulder 
blades.

"Mmm," she moaned, bowing her head forward. His massage was doing wonders 
for her wound-up muscles. She could already feel her body beginning to relax.

"That feel good?" he asked, kissing the nape of her neck.

"That feels wonderful," she replied with a sigh. As he continued to rub her 
neck, shoulders, and back, the day's tension melted away; beneath his 
gentle hands, her muscles were reduced to a state of languorous warmth.

She reached back and up to grab the back of his head, and led his mouth to 
meet her own. She spun around in his arms, her own wrapping around his 
neck. Dana felt his tongue dart against her lips, begging entrance. She 
granted it, and met his with her own.

He slowly backed her toward the counter, and then pinned her against it 
with his body. A moment later, he had his hands on her waist, and had 
hoisted her up onto the countertop. Her legs wrapped around his hips as his 
mouth wandered from her lips to trace a line of fiery kisses along her jaw. 
He began to suckle on her earlobe even as his hands slowly slid up her 
legs, past her hips, and then slipped beneath her sweater to cup her breasts.

Moaning, she arched her back, leaning into him. The sensation of his warm 
hands brushing against her taught nipples, even through the sheer lace of 
her bra, was maddening. She never wanted it to end.

"Mark," she gasped, as he continued his electrifying massage, "we're going 
to . . . oh! . . . going to . . . be late."

"We've got enough time," he whispered, now nibbling on her other ear.

"But what about . . . nnn . . . Robbins . . . and . . . mmm . . . and. . . 
." She could not think of the woman's name.

"Carly? She's notoriously late," he said, fingers tracing circles on her 
breasts. "Besides, Robbins isn't exactly a speed demon himself these days."

"What if they left early? They might be waiting fo--Oh God!" she cried, 
eyes fluttering closed, as he pinched her nipples.

"Well, I suppose we can finish this later," Mark acquiesced, slowly sliding 
his hands down her fevered flesh and then pulling them out from under her 
sweater.

The absence of his touch left Dana feeling suddenly cold. "Let 'em wait," 
she all but growled, grabbing his face and kissing him fervently, even as 
she firmly ground her hips against him, eliciting a breathy groan.

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Why, Dana Scully, are you trying to seduce me?"

Licking her already moist lips, Dana looked at him through hungry, hooded 
eyes that shone with desire. She quickly grasped the hem of her sweater, 
pulled it up over her head, and then tossed it to the floor. As the smile 
began to grow across Mark's face, her fingers made quick work of her bra 
clasp, and the flimsy black fabric was sent on its way to join her sweater 
on the floor.

"C'mere, Big Guy," she purred, already reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

As he struggled to extricate her from her skirt, she pushed his shirt back 
off of his shoulders. He let go of her long enough to allow her to slide 
the sleeves off of his arms, but quickly resumed his task of undressing 
her. The fact that she was now planting warm, wet kisses across his chest 
did not help matters.

"This thing is like a goddammed chastity belt. Help me out here, Dana," he 
all but pleaded.

Smiling seductively, she arched her hips, giving him the access he needed 
to reach the zipper on the back of her skirt. She held onto his shoulders 
as he slowly slid the fabric down her hips, revealing a pair of high-cut 
black lacy panties. As she kicked the skirt away, his eyes widened when he 
caught sight of the lace-trimmed, thigh-high stockings she wore.

Dana took secret pleasure in the look of pure delight that crossed his 
face. It had been quite a number of years since she had last indulged in 
such frivolities. But during the past few months she had been dating Mark, 
the amount of lingerie in her wardrobe had increased significantly as she 
rediscovered the wonders that came along with having an active sex 
life--something that she had been missing for far too long.

"I see you had some surprises planned for later tonight," he said, running 
his hands up the sheer fabric on her legs until he came to the small band 
of bare flesh. "Good thing I came prepared," he said, letting go of her 
with one hand and producing a small packet from his back pocket.

Smiling mischievously, her nimble fingers were already making short work of 
his own button and zipper. In one deft motion, she slid both jeans and 
boxers down his hips, letting them fall and pool around his ankles. Her 
eyes lingered at his groin, drinking in the magnificent sight of his arousal.

"Allow me," she murmured, grabbing the condom from him. She ripped the 
wrapper open with her teeth and tossed it onto the floor. Then she reached 
down and lightly stroked the length of him, sending a shiver quaking 
through him. She continued to tease him with her touch as she slowly 
ensheathed him.

She raised her eyes to meet his then, and saw her own desire reflected 
there. She had never wanted anyone more than she did him at that moment.

"Mark--"

That one word was enough. His hands flew to her hips, and in a flash the 
last remaining bit of fabric was gone. Bracing herself against his 
shoulders, she raised her pelvis, even as he cupped her ass to lift her 
closer. He entered her in one long, rapid thrust.

Dana gasped at the intense sensation. Closing her eyes, she reached down on 
either side of her to grasp the edge of the countertop for support.

His hands glided down her sides, coming to rest on her waist to help her 
maintain her balance. Smiling, he gave her a quick kiss a moment before 
withdrawing from her nearly all the way.

Dana's hips moved toward his almost of their own accord. Mark responded by 
pushing into her again, this time more slowly, drawing out the sensation. 
He felt her muscles tighten around him, squeezing him, and he groaned. If 
she kept this up, he did not think he was going to be able to last very 
long. Which was probably just as well, given their time constraints.

He began to pick up the pace, moving in and out more quickly. Her own 
movements accelerated, and soon their hips were rocking back and forth 
together in a synchronized tempo. Dana's head had lolled back, her breaths 
coming in short gasps. It was not long before she felt herself nearing the 
edge.

Mark, too, felt the pressure building, almost ready to burst. He thrusted 
even faster, their hot, sweat-slicked skin sliding together with each movement.

"Oh God oh God," Dana was moaning over and over, her head now lolling 
forward, fiery tendrils falling over her face. He could tell from the way 
her voice was rising in pitch that she was almost there. At that moment, he 
wanted nothing more than to hear her reach climax, to watch her face as she 
lost control.

Gritting his teeth, he lunged harder, trying to increase the exquisite 
friction. Dana was now reduced to unintelligible gasps and groans. Mark 
pushed himself faster, hoping to help her the rest of the way, to drive her 
over the edge. Almost there. He could feel it. She was almost--

Dana cried out loudly, throwing her head back as the powerful ripples of 
pleasure crashed through her, nearly blinding in their intensity. Mark 
smiled at the look of absolute ecstasy that filled her flushed face as she 
rode out wave after luxurious wave; that sight alone was nearly enough to 
send him plunging after her.

It took a few more thrusts, but he felt the pressure inside him mount, 
culminate, and then suddenly release. The spasms rocked through him, 
pleasure flowing through his veins, euphoria spreading through every cell 
of his body, even as her name exploded from his lips. Feeling as though 
every single nerve ending was on fire, he held her close to him as he 
finally found release.

It was a long time before he could remember which end was up. Slowly, 
reluctantly, he pulled back, still breathing heavily. Her chest was heaving 
as well--the motions making her perfectly round breasts bob like little 
apples, his mind thought mischievously. She slowly cast her eyes upward to 
meet his.

He silently took her face in his hands and kissed her, soft and gentle. One 
hand remained on her cheek, and she nuzzled against the palm of his hand.

Then a large, satisfied grin slowly erupted across her face.

He smiled back at her. "See, I told you I'd do anything to see that 
beautiful smile of yours."

She gave him a playful punch on the arm before kissing him again. "C'mon, 
help me down from here, Big Guy. We've gotta hurry, or Eric and Carly will 
wonder what happened to us."

"One look at your face, Dana, and they're gonna know," he said, taking her 
by the waist to help her to her feet.

"Well, that's why I need a few minutes to make myself presentable."

Catching sight of her tight little ass as she bent over to retrieve her 
scattered clothing, he bit back a laugh. "I hate to break this to you, 
Dana, but you keep that warm afterglow for hours."

"Well, then, we can blush discreetly together. They'll wonder throughout 
dinner, but the details will just have to remain our little secret. Now, 
get a move on, soldier," she said, whipping his ass with her bra before 
heading for the bathroom. "Double time!"

"Yes, ma'am, right away, ma'am!" he replied, giving her a formal salute 
before gathering his own clothing and following her into the other room.


End Part One


*****

On A Day Like Today
by Jennifer Sorowitz
sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu or jis3@yahoo.com


Part Two


free is all we gotta be
dream dreams no one else can see



As Mark killed the engine to his bike, Dana extracted herself from the 
seat. Pulling off her helmet, she shook out her hair. Windy as it was, she 
was glad she had opted to change into jeans and boots before they left.

She glanced at her watch. Just after 7:15. Only fifteen minutes late. They 
made good time, considering their late start.

"I told ya I'd get us here in no time," Mark said, removing his own helmet. 
He glanced up at the sign to the restaurant: 'Melting Pot' was illuminated 
in fluorescent orange. He sighed. "Why we couldn't go to a steak house, 
like normal people. . . ."

"Mark, you told me that Carly's a vegetarian. Why would we go to a steak 
house?"

"Yeah, but I can't believe she chose this place. I mean, fondue? This trend 
died about twenty years ago."

"It'll be fun. Just keep an open mind," she said, biting back a smile at 
the irony of her uttering those last words. "What happened to your sense of 
adventure? The chance to try new things?"

"I just figure that if I'm dishing out all this money for dinner, I 
shouldn't have to cook my own food."

Dana laughed. "C'mon, Big Guy, let's not keep them waiting any longer." She 
slipped her arm across his back, and they headed into the restaurant. As 
Mark checked their coats and helmets, Dana glanced around, looking for 
their dinner companions.

"Mark! Dana! Over here!"

Looking over to the right at the sound of the familiar voice, they saw 
Robbins sitting at the bar. They quickly made their way over to him.

"Hey RB. Long time no see," Robbins said, holding out his hand.

"You're looking great, kid," Mark replied, shaking it and clasping the 
younger man on the shoulder. "Could use a hair cut though," he teased.

Mark's initial assessment was right, Dana realized. Considering all the 
young SEAL had been through in the past couple of months, he was looking 
remarkably well rested. Since he had been on medical leave, his dirty 
blonde hair had grown out a bit past the regulation buzz cut. He was also 
sporting a new moustache and goatee. Apparently, the baby-faced SEAL was 
trying to look a bit older. The look fit him, and seemed to do the trick, 
Dana thought. Though it was obvious that he had lost weight from his 
lengthy hospital stay, Robbins nonetheless seemed to be maintaining good 
physical condition: he filled out the burgundy sweater he wore quite well. 
And the baggy khakis did a great job of covering up the external fixator 
that was attached to his left leg from knee to ankle; the only hint of the 
device's presence was the sock-clad foot that bore no shoe.

"Hi, Dana," he said, embracing her warmly. "It's great to see you."

"You, too, Eric."

"I'd like you both to meet Carly," he said. The woman who had been sitting 
next to Eric rose and leaned against him, and he slipped an arm around her 
waist.  About five-seven, she was dressed in a forest green ribbed 
turtleneck and a black fitted skirt, both of which accentuated her ample 
curves. She was a very attractive woman with long, straight chestnut brown 
hair and emerald eyes. "Carly Matthews, this is Dana Scully and Mark Riskey."

"Hi, Dana, Mark," she said, shaking each of their hands in turn. "Eric's 
told me so much about you. I'm glad to finally meet you both."

"I'm so sorry we're late," Dana apologized. "I hope we haven't kept you 
waiting long."

"Not at all," Carly said. "We're kind of slow ourselves these days."

"Gave us a chance to get some drinks," Eric added, pointing to his beer. 
"But you guys are gonna give me a bum rap. I told Carly you two were the 
most punctual people I know. You tryin' to make a liar out of me?"

They all laughed.

"We had a little hang up at Dana's," Mark started to explain. "You see--"

"Mark neglected to inform me that we'd be taking his bike to the 
restaurant," Dana quickly cut in, hoping the dim lighting hid the warm 
flush she felt slowly creeping up her cheeks. She did not quite trust Mark 
not to say anything that might sound incriminating. "I needed to change in 
order to face the elements." She gave him a warning glance.

Mark ignored the glare she was shooting at him. "And you know how long it 
can take women to get ready."

Eric laughed. "These days, I'm the one who takes forever getting dressed."

"How's your leg doing?" Dana asked.

"Much better. Navigating on crutches is an art in and of itself, but 
hopefully I'll be able to ditch one and start putting more weight on my leg 
soon. Though I don't think I'll ever get used to this contraption," he 
said, indicating the fixator that lay hidden beneath his pant leg.

"What type is it?" Dana asked.

"An Ilizarov," Robbins replied.

"That's a ring fixator, right?"

He nodded. "You wanna see it?"

"Sure, if you don't mind."

"Brace yourself," Eric warned with a grin as he carefully pulled up the 
fabric to knee-level. "It's not a pretty site." Four metal rings encircled 
his shin, connected to one another via metal rods. There were a number of 
wires attached to the rings that penetrated his skin and that were 
implanted into his tibia above and below the fracture site. "I think I've 
scared a few kids when I've walked around the street without it covered," 
Eric told them. "But I just explain that I'm in the process of being 
transformed into a cyborg, and then I'm the coolest thing since Pokemon."

Everyone laughed.

"So Mark said you ended up having additional surgery?" Dana asked.

Just then, they heard the hostess call their party.

"Why don't we go sit down, and I can give you all the gory details." After 
pulling his pant leg back down, Eric carefully stood up and reached for his 
crutches, which were leaning against the bar. "Carly, can you grab our drinks?"

"Sure thing, hon," she replied with a smile.

The two couples followed the hostess to their table--a booth in a far 
corner. The table surface looked like kitchen tiles, and in the center were 
two rectangular metal heating surfaces, each with a matching metal fondue 
pot. On the outer sides of the pots were two candles. Most of the soft 
illumination, however, came from the light hanging above the table: it was 
composed of a wooden shade and a dozen green bottles that hung down from below.

Eric and Mark each slid into the seats closest to the wall, and the ladies 
sat down next to them.

"My name is Cal, and I'll be you server this evening," their waiter said as 
he handed them their menus. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"We're good," Carly said, indicated the half-finished drinks in front of 
her and Eric.

"Heineken," Mark told Cal.

"Make that two," Dana added with a precise nod of her head.

"Sure thing," Cal said before leaving to fill their drink orders.

"So, Eric, how many operations did you end up having?" Dana asked.

"Four so far."

Beside her, Dana noticed Mark shift uncomfortably. She arched an eyebrow in 
his direction.

"We're having dinner," he replied simply.

"Hey, I've listened to you and Socks discuss the ten best ways to disable 
an opponent using only a pocket knife. Over lunch," she added for good 
measure. "I think you can stomach some medical terminology." Dana turned 
her attention back to Eric. "I'm sorry, Eric, you were saying that you had 
four operations?"

"Yeah, there was the initial surgery, where they cleaned the wound out, 
repaired the arteries, set the bone, and applied the fixator. Within a day 
or so, my leg started swelling. What's that condition called, Car?"

"Compartment syndrome," she replied.

"That's right. Compartment syndrome. So, anyway, they were worried that the 
increased pressure would prevent blood from getting to my foot, so they 
performed a fasciotomy. That's usually left open a couple days. Once the 
swelling went down, they went back in to close it up. While they were 
there, they also took a muscle-skin flap graft from my calf to cover the 
soft tissue defect of the initial wound. That procedure was performed to 
lessen chances of infection and encourage continued growth of healthy bone 
at the fracture site. From the get-go, the doctors were worried that the 
defect in the bone was too big and that the two pieces wouldn't grow 
together properly, if at all. There's a special term for that too, right, 
babe?" he asked Carly.

"Delayed union," she supplied, taking a sip of her drink.

He nodded. "So, anticipating this delayed union, they knew it was gonna be 
a problem, only they had to wait until all the muscle and skin completely 
covered my leg, to avoid infection and ensure proper healing of the bone. 
So, about a month ago, they performed a bone graft. Harvested it from my hip."

"The iliac crest," Carly clarified.

"Don't you just love the way all that technical medical terminology rolls 
off her tongue like honey?" Eric remarked, smiling flirtatiously in Carly's 
direction. "I can never remember all those names."

"Well, I can't tell a handgun from a hand-grenade, so we're even," she 
replied, reaching to give him a quick kiss.

Smiling, Dana and Mark exchanged a glance. "So, how long do they expect 
until bony union occurs?" Dana asked.

"Well, the x-ray I had taken one month after the graft showed signs of 
solidification. I'm supposed to have 'em taken every month. If all 
continues to go well, they estimate anywhere between 30 and 50 weeks till 
the bone consolidates. In other words, a hell of a long time."

"Well, be that as it may, I'm just glad that your recovery is going so 
well," Dana said. "From what I remember from med school, Grade III open 
fractures are not without their share of complications--like disruption of 
the normal blood supply."

"Luckily, the vascular supply to Eric's leg and foot was not severely 
damaged," Carly told them. "There wasn't any nerve damage either, thank 
goodness."

"No signs of osteomyelitis?" Dana questioned.

"Osteo-whatsis?" Brow furrowed, Eric looked from Dana to Carly.

"Infection of the bone," Carly explained with a smile. "No, they put him on 
IV antibiotics from the get-go, and he's continuing with an oral dose 
long-term. That seemed to do the trick."

"Yeah, they pumped all sorts of stuff into me--blood, fluids, antibiotics, 
steroids, and my personal favorite, morphine."

"Steroids?" Mark interrupted. "What, they thought you needed to bulk up 
some more?"

Dana chuckled. "Not anabolic steroids. Corticosteroids."

"Methylpred," Carly clarified. "It's a prophylactic measure to prevent fat 
embolism syndrome. It's a very small risk factor with a long bone fracture. 
You can throw a clot to the lungs and develop ARDS--Adult Respiratory 
Distress Syndrome. Basically, your body doesn't get enough oxygen and you 
can die."

"And here I thought the biggest problem was that they might have to 
amputate," Mark said.

"Mark!" Dana exclaimed, appalled.

"What? It's true. From what I remember the docs saying in Hawaii, Eric is 
lucky to still *have* the leg, not to mention full use of it," Mark pointed 
out.

"That's exactly right," Eric agreed. "And that's on account of Dana here," 
Eric pronounced. "She patched me up but good."

"For which I'm quite grateful," Carly said with a wink as she slipped her 
arm through Eric's. "But don't forget about Mark, sweetie. I thought you 
told me he's the one who saved you from the ravine. Didn't you say he freed 
your foot so they could pull you to safety?"

"The one and the same. These two, they're a couple of heroes."

Just then, the waiter returned with their drinks. "I'll be back in a couple 
minutes to take your order," he told them.

"Well, then, a toast to the heroes," Carly said, raising her glass.

"To the heroes," Eric echoed, raising his own.

"This isn't really necessary," Dana muttered, blushing.

"Don't be rude, Dana," Mark gently chastised. "If they want to sing our 
praises, I say let 'em."

Unappreciative of being patronized, Dana shot him a look. But then she saw 
Mark wink at her, and she realized that his comment was made in only in 
jest. Perhaps she had over-reacted. She quickly returned his grin, trying 
to forget about her annoyance.

They all clinked glasses and drank.

"So, what's good to eat here?" Mark asked, opening his menu.

"Ask Carly. She's the fondue expert," Eric replied.

"Well, you usually start with a cheese fondue. It comes with bread and a 
few vegetables. Next is the salad. Their house dressing is to die for. Then 
the main course. You have your choice of cooking styles--vegetable broth, 
canola oil, or wine sauce. You can get various meats--chicken, sirloin, 
shrimp, lobster tails--and an assortment of vegetables. They come with 
different breadings, and lots of sauces. So you can mix and match. Then 
there are the desserts. . . ."

"Does she get a cut of the profits, or was she just a waitress in a former 
life?" Mark whispered to Dana from behind his menu.

Dana gave him a swift kick to the shin under the table. "It all sounds so 
delicious," she said, perusing her own menu.

"It's very yummy. I think you'll all enjoy this. It's a lot of fun."

When their waiter returned a few minutes later, they placed their order. 
They opted to start with a cheddar and a fiesta cheese fondue. Carly 
ordered a vegetarian selection to be cooked in the vegetable bouillon 
style. Mark and Dana decided on the classical for two, which had an 
assortment of chicken, sirloin, and seafood. Eric chose the French 
Quarter--chicken, meat, shrimp, and Andouille sausage all rolled in a Cajun 
spice blend.

"I should warn you, that one's quite hot," Cal said to Eric. "I've seen 
many people sweating over their meal."

"The hotter the better," Eric replied.

"Don't worry, I think he can take it," Mark told Cal.

"I believe it." Collecting their menus, he left to place their order.

"So how did you two meet?" Carly asked Dana and Mark.

Dana smiled, even as Mark sat back and draped his arm across the back of 
the seat behind her.

"It was actually during the same mission where Eric was hurt," Dana 
explained, leaning back closer to Mark.

"You're kidding! I thought you two had known each other previously."

"Nope. Actually, before the accident, we weren't getting along too well," 
Mark added. "I think the crisis acted as a sort of catalyst. Made each of 
us sit up and take notice."

"In other words, they impressed the hell out of each other," Eric translated.

"Well, there's nothing quite like being caught in a cave-in and stranded 
alone with a person to help you get to know them better," Dana said wryly. 
"Mark not only saved Eric's life. He saved mine as well."

"I think it's safe to say we saved each other's," Mark amended from beside 
her. He moved his arm onto her shoulders and gave her a little squeeze.

"True. We worked together closely to get out of that cave alive."

"Closely being the operative word?" Carly suggested, reading into Dana's 
statement.

Dana smiled at the memory: climbing up Mark's body to reach a ledge. 
Falling asleep while huddled in his arms for warmth. Regaining 
consciousness with his face mere inches above hers after he had given her 
CPR. "I'd say that's a pretty safe bet."

"Well, I think we know how working together in close proximity can flame 
the initial spark of attraction," Eric said, placing his hand over Carly's.

Dana raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Oh? How did you two meet?"

Carly looked down, smiling demurely.

Eric gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Carly's my physical therapist. She's 
been helping me during my rehabilitation."

"He's an excellent patient. Making leaps and bounds every week." Her eyes 
locked with Eric and she smiled, the gesture lighting her entire face.

"I've only come this far because of your encouragement, hon," Eric said, 
bending closer and giving her a soft kiss.

Dana felt Mark's hold on her tighten slightly. She moved her hand from her 
lap onto his thigh, stroking it slightly before settling on his knee.

"It's all about your hard work, sweetie," Carly insisted. "Your dedication 
to making yourself well."
Dana smiled. The two were obviously very much in love. It was evident in 
the way they sat together closely, the way they talked, the way they looked 
at one another. They seemed to be in the early infatuation stage where they 
could hardly get enough of one another. It was sweet to watch. And for once 
in her life she did not mind seeing a couple so madly in love--because for 
once she was not overcome with jealousy. Right now, she was pretty head 
over heels herself.

Why was it, though, she wondered, that she and Mark were not constantly 
making googly eyes at one another?

*Because we're a good ten years older than they are,* she realized. Older 
in years, wiser to the ways of the world and the workings of the human 
heart. Jaded to some degree.

*That's why we don't act like a couple of moonstruck teenagers,* she told 
herself.

Which, of course, would explain why less than an hour earlier they had 
practically ripped off each other's clothing and jumped each other's bones 
on her kitchen counter, she thought with an ironic grin. *Guess we both 
prefer to save our displays of affection for the privacy of our own home.*

". . . seems your little accident had some benefits for everyone here," 
Mark was saying. "It brought us all together."

"Yeah," Eric laughed. "I think it's safe to say that breaking my leg was 
the best thing that ever happened to me--or all of us."

"I think that requires another toast," Mark said, raising his glass. "To 
Eric breaking his leg."

"To Eric," they all toasted.

The shrill ringing of a cell phone abruptly cut through the air. 
Automatically, Dana reached for her purse at the same time Mark retrieved 
his cell from his belt. A moment later, they both realized that the ringing 
phone belonged to a patron at a nearby table. Recognizing their mistake, 
they looked at one another and chuckled.

"Sorry about that," Dana said sheepishly as she put her purse back down. "I 
forgot I turned it off." She hesitated a moment before looking over at 
Mark. "You're not on call tonight, are you?" she asked him.

"No, I'm off duty for the weekend." He paused a moment before asking her 
softly, "You did tell him not to bother you tonight, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," she whispered back.

Eric snorted. "Observe, Carly, if you will, two prime examples of 
modern-day workaholics. Before they met, much of their evenings and 
weekends were spent devoted to their careers. There was no such thing as 
downtime. Work was not just a means of employment, but a way of life."

Dana ducked her head, smirking.

"Luckily," Eric resumed, grinning, "they realized that if they were to 
continue with their self-imposed grueling schedules they would never have 
any time to see one another."

"Yeah, we finally decided to see how the other half lives," Mark deadpanned.

"And . . . ?" Eric prompted. "Well? What's the verdict?"

"I'm embarrassed to admit that I'd nearly forgotten what I'd been missing," 
Dana replied. She looked up to meet Mark's gaze. "But I do know that 
there's no going back."

Smiling, Mark reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Ditto."

"I think we need another toast," Eric announced, lifting his glass. "I hope 
tonight is the first in what will become many carefree, work-free, 
worry-free evenings for all of us! To good friends, good food, and good beer!"

"Here, here!" Mark agreed as they all clinked glasses once more.

"Look, here comes the first course," Carly announced happily as Cal arrived 
with the appetizers.

They all watched in fascination as he prepared the fondue. The cheddar one 
was composed of a beer base, shredded cheddar cheese, garlic, mustard 
powder, Worcester sauce, and pepper, all mixed and melted together until 
smooth. The fiesta fondue was mixed together similarly, except that its 
seasonings consisted of Mexican herbs and jalapeno peppers. He deposited 
two baskets full of bread squares, carrots, celery, cauliflower, and 
tortilla chips for their dipping pleasure. "Enjoy, folks."

They all started to unroll their napkins. Inside, in addition to 
traditional silverware, they each found two long-stemmed pokers for dipping 
and cooking their food. Each setting's pokers had a different color handle 
to facilitate telling their utensils apart.

"So," Carly asked as they each sampled the fondue, "what do y'all think?"

"Mmm-mmm!" Eric said happily as he chewed on a huge chunk of bread and 
cheese. "Great choice, babe." He gave Carly a peck on the mouth. "Oops. I 
think I got some on your chin," he said with a grin.

"That's okay, hon," Carly replied with a giggle, using her napkin to wipe 
it away.

"It's delicious," Dana agreed. She looked toward Mark expectantly.

He slowly and deliberately poked a piece of bread with the spicy cheese and 
popped it into his mouth. By then, all eyes were upon him as he carefully 
chewed, getting the full flavor and effect.

"Well?" Dana prompted. "What's the verdict?"

Slowly, a smile crept across Mark's face. "It's good. Very tasty."

"You like?"

"Yes, Dana, I like it," he sighed. "Go ahead with your 'I told you so'."

"Do I really look like the kind of person who gloats?"

He smirked. "I'm gonna plead the fifth on that one," he replied. Catching 
sight of her arched eyebrow, he quickly bent to kiss her. "Seriously, Dana, 
I'm glad you convinced me to try something new."

"Mmm," she said, licking her lips while holding Mark's gaze. "I think I'll 
try that fiesta blend." She reached for a nacho and dug in.

"I'm so glad you all like it," Carly said, beaming happily. "Thanks for 
agreeing to come here, Mark. I know you're more a meat and potatoes kinda 
guy, but I really do appreciate your making some accommodations. You'd be 
surprised how in this day in age, in some restaurants it's still quite 
difficult to find a decent vegetarian selection."

Mark was struck by the sincerity and appreciation of her words. "Hey, no 
big deal, Carly. If we're all going out to enjoy ourselves, then we should 
go to a place that everyone will like."

"In other words, thank Dana for dragging his ass in here without 
complaint," Eric translated.

Dana nearly choked on her food as she laughed. "You know him too well, Eric."

"Hey, don't be so hard on him," Carly insisted. "It's difficult for any of 
us to change our ways and habits. It takes a big man to be willing to try 
something new. Isn't that right, Mark?"

"That's right, Carly," Mark agreed, smiling in her direction. "I'm having a 
great time. And I will continue to do so--just so long as you don't make us 
go sing karaoke when we're done."

Carly laughed, her voice light and melodious. Dana suspected that if Carly 
ever did attempt karaoke, her singing would knock all their socks off. 
"Actually, I was going to suggest we go shoot some pool afterwards. There's 
a billiards cafe a couple blocks away."

Mark grinned even wider. "Robbins, you've found yourself one hell of a 
woman. Keep this one happy. She's a keeper."

Carly blushed.

"That she is, Skipper," Eric agreed, taking Carly's hand. "That she is."


*****


Part Two continued


*****


The food seemed to just keep on coming. They had not even finished the 
cheese fondue when the salads arrived. Carly was right again: the dressings 
alone were scrumptious. It made them feel guilty filling up on mixed greens 
when they knew there was so much more good food to come. Then the waiter 
brought the main course.

Along with the oil and the meats and vegetables, there were many different 
accessory items: batters to dip the meats and vegetables in before cooking, 
sauces to dip the cooked products in. Cal explained what each bowl 
contained in turn. He also went over the basics of fondue cooking: 
Generally, meat took about a minute to cook in the hot oil, vegetables more 
like thirty seconds; however, if you were to add a batter, cooking time was 
closer to two minutes. Having received their crash course in Fondue 101, 
the two couples were ready to give it a go.

After a couple of false starts, they quickly got the hang of it. Mark 
teased Dana for being anal enough to time each of her cooking attempts, 
while Eric ribbed Mark for constantly dropping his food in the pot. Mark 
taunted Eric, in turn, that he would not be able to handle his spicy meal. 
Eric proved him wrong, however--much to Dana's amazement, for when she 
tried a small piece of Cajun shrimp, she had to down half a beer and 
several pieces of bread just to get the feeling back in her tongue. They 
were all amazed at the huge volume of food Carly was able to pack away; one 
would never have expected that a woman with such a slim figure had such a 
healthy appetite.

They had all slowed down significantly and were picking at the remains of 
their entrees when Cal brought them the dessert menu. "They take a little 
while to prepare, so it's best to make your selection now," he explained. 
They chose two different small chocolate fondues and coffee.

"Oh my God," Dana moaned, leaning back in the booth. "I'm stuffed."

"Well, you'd better make room quick," Carly warned her. "You definitely 
don't want to miss out on these desserts."

"Chocolate is involved," Dana stated simply. "I'll make room."

"Yeah, you'd sooner purge yourself than pass up a chance for chocolate," 
Mark teased.

He was rewarded with a hard punch in the arm. "I don't know why I put up 
with you sometimes."

"Because of my charming personality and my rugged good looks," he stated.

"Funny, I always thought it was because you're so good in the sack," Dana 
replied simply.

Mark nearly inhaled the beer he had been drinking. He never would have 
expected such a ribald comment to come out of Dana Scully's mouth--at 
least, not outside of the privacy of the bedroom, anyway.

Eric stared at her wide-eyed, while Carly just chuckled softly behind her 
napkin.

"How many drinks have you had tonight, Dana?" Mark asked.

She looked up at him smugly. If she did not know better, she could have 
sworn he was blushing. "I'm sorry, Mark, did I embarrass you?" she asked in 
a playful tone as she reached up to stroke the hair at his temple.

"Dana, c'mon," he whispered, moving her hand away and placing it down on 
the seat.

She promptly moved it onto his thigh. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I was just 
teasing you."

Mark tried not to react as her hand moved up toward his crotch. "I'm 
beginning to think that ordering that Bailey's might not have been such a 
good idea."

"Depends on what your plans are for later tonight," Eric remarked suggestively.

"I don't know about you guys, but I think I need to stretch my legs and 
walk some of this off a bit," Carly announced. "Dana, want to take a walk 
with me to the ladies room?"

"Sure thing."

"If you two gentlemen will excuse us," Carly said as she slid over to the 
edge of the booth.

"Be back soon," Dana added, blowing Mark a kiss.

Carly whispered something to Dana, which prompted another peal of laughter. 
The two women continued conversing in hushed tones as they made their way 
to the restroom.

As soon as the women were out of sight, Eric whistled loudly. "Man o man, 
RB. She was all over you!"

Mark sat back heavily and sighed. "I don't know what's come over her."

Eric smiled knowingly. "A couple beers'll loosen anyone's inhibitions up a 
bit. Hell, Carly's been playing footsies with me under the table all night. 
Besides, Dana isn't the only one who seems a little loose."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What it means, boss-man, is that you seem uncharacteristically relaxed 
tonight. You're usually so uptight, always on guard, even when we're 
supposedly cutting loose and having some downtime. And it's obvious that 
it's because of Dana." He leaned his elbows on the table and glanced around 
to make sure no one was in earshot before he spoke in a low tone. "You 
score tonight?"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't play all innocent with me. You're mellow, Mark. Like a man who's 
recently been laid. So, what was it? A quickie before dinner? That why you 
two were so late?"

"I can't tell you that. I respect Dana too much to sully her name in 
association with such a lewd suggestion."

"No use denying it, RB. You *did* get some. It was plain as day as soon as 
I saw Dana's face."

Mark allowed himself a small smile. "I told her it would be, too."

"Curse of the fair-skinned." Eric leaned in closer. "Care to share any of 
the details?"

"Not really."

"Aw, c'mon, man! It's me, Robbins! One of your buddies. You were never shy 
about giving us all a play-by-play before."

Mark gave that statement some thought. There was definite truth to it. In 
years past, he and the other SEALs did not hesitate to share any and all 
aspects of their sexual escapades for the entertainment of the rest of the 
team. Now, however, for the first time, Mark had no desire to do so. In 
fact, the very notion seemed indecent, improper. For once, he preferred to 
keep his private affairs just that: private.

"Well, maybe that's because Dana is the first woman I've dated who I don't 
consider just another notch on my belt. I mean, don't get me wrong: she's 
an incredibly beautiful woman--but there's so much more about her that I 
find attractive. She's smart, she's sassy. She's one of the kindest, 
considerate, most compassionate women I've ever known. I won't air our 
private affairs like I used to with other women. I've come to truly care 
about her--I respect her too much to ever think of demeaning her--and what 
we share--that way. She means too much to me."

"Wow." Eric sat back, shaking his head in disbelief. "Wow! Who would have 
ever thought it possible? Ole RB, Commander Riskey Business himself, 
suddenly walking the straight-and-narrow. Say it ain't so!"

"'Fraid so, Robbins. Meeting a woman like Dana Scully, falling for her . . 
. it's enough to make me consider settling down."

"Damn, RB, the other guys are never gonna believe it when I tell 'em the 
words that just came out of your mouth. You're a changed man!"

"Well, you'd better get used to it. This is the new me. And I kinda like 
him. I don't think there's gonna be any going back."

"Truth to tell, RB, I think I know exactly how you feel. What you said 
about finding the right woman--that's just how I feel about Carly. She's 
kind, she's caring, she's supportive. She's bright, she's beautiful. We've 
got so much in common. When we get together, the hours just fly by. We can 
easily talk for the whole night. And you know me, RB--I'm not the biggest 
conversationalist around. But somehow, when we're together, there's so much 
I want to say, so much I want to share with her. It's like I've found my 
other half. My--what's it called?--my soulmate."

"Carly's a great lady, Eric."

"The best. I love her, RB. More than anything. I've never cared about 
anyone this way before--hell, I've never known anyone like her before. And 
I can't imagine my life without her in it. I want to be with her forever. I 
want to make lots of babies with her. I want to grow old with her."

Mark let out a loud breath. "Christ, Robbins, you've only known her a 
couple of months."

"That's about as long as you've been seeing Dana."

"Yeah, but I'm talking about dating her exclusively--not about marrying her."

"Well, maybe you two haven't gotten as close as Carly and me. All I know is 
that I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

"You're serious?"

"I've never been more serious about anything in my entire life."

"And she feels the same way?"

"I hope so, 'coz I already blew most of my savings on this." He reached 
into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He opened it, revealing 
a small but respectable diamond solitaire.

"Shit, Robbins! You *are* serious!" Mark stared down at the ring. "Holy shit!"

Eric grinned. "I'm planning to ask her tonight, after we drive back to my 
place," he said as he closed the box and re-pocketed it. He took a shaky 
breath, suddenly nervous. "God, I hope she'll say yes. . . ."

"After watching the way she looks at you tonight, even a blind man could 
see how much she loves you."

"You really think so?"

"I know so. Don't worry, Eric. Come tomorrow morning, she's gonna be 
showing off her new jewelry to all her friends and family."

"I hope so, RB. I really hope so. I don't want to even consider what my 
life would be like without her in it."

Mark shook his head. "You've got it bad, man. You're starting to talk like 
one of those actors in those romantic movies Dana drags me to see."

Eric laughed. "Just you wait, RB. Before you know it, you're gonna be 
talking the same way. You practically are already."

"I'm not quite as far gone as you, kid. It takes us old dogs a bit longer 
to learn new tricks."

The sound of laughter preceded the ladies' return to the table.

"Welcome back," Mark told them.

"Miss me?" Carly asked as she slid back into her place beside Eric.

"Terribly," he replied, kissing her softly.

Dana sat down next to Mark. "Sorry about before," she whispered while their 
companions were otherwise occupied. "I'll try to restrain myself the rest 
of the night."

"Forget about it," Mark replied, taking her hand and kissing it. Then he 
leaned in close to her ear. "Besides, I like you better unrestrained when 
we're home alone."

Smiling, Dana stroked his cheek before giving him a quick peck.

"Ooo, here comes dessert!" Carly announced, clapping her hands.

Cal brought over a full tray. "Four coffees." He placed a steaming mug in 
front of each of them. "One Bailey's Irish Cream Dream," he said, setting 
up one fondue pot. "And a Flaming Turtle." He put down a second pot filled 
with milk chocolate, to which he added caramel and chopped pecans. He then 
produced a lighter, which he used to flamb the concoction. They all 
watched, mesmerized, as a soft blue flame swirled around the pot for 
several long moments before gradually dying out. Finally, Cal put down two 
plates, each containing a piece of cheesecake ringed with small pieces of 
brownie, poundcake, nut-covered marshmallows, strawberries, and bananas. 
"Enjoy folks!"

"I think I've died and gone to heaven," Dana declared.

"Just wait till you taste it," Carly told her.

"Allow me," Eric said. Spearing a strawberry, he dunked it into the 
chocolate and Bailey's and held it out for Carly. She slowly moved her head 
closer and took the fruit into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed as she 
chewed. "Mmm," she all but moaned.

Laughing, Dana picked up her own fork and sampled a piece of banana and 
chocolate. She was not disappointed.

"So, Dana, how did you go from being an MD to a federal agent?" Carly 
asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

Dana wiped her mouth. "Well, partly because of my interest in forensic 
pathology. And partly because I couldn't see myself in private practice."

"Oh?"

"Pathology was one of my favorite courses in med school. I always found it 
fascinating having to work backwards after being left with the end result 
of an intricate yet systematic series of changing physiological events. To 
have to use one's medical knowledge and experience to discover clues, 
formulate a theory, test it, and try to solve a puzzle. It's one thing to 
look at the cardiovascular system and learn that a person died of a heart 
attack, or to recognize a cirrhotic liver and know that the person drank 
himself into oblivion. But applying those skills in a forensic capacity, 
when the cause of death is often not so cut and dried--it makes the task 
that much more challenging. That extra layer of mystery, of trying to 
determine how and why one person would deliberately harm another 
being--discerning that information in order to bring a killer to justice . 
. . when I'm able to accomplish that task, the end results are so much more 
rewarding. I enjoy testing the extent of my knowledge, pushing myself to 
find the right solution. So actually, the transition from forensic 
pathologist to field agent was surprisingly simple."

"Wow," Carly said. "I never really thought about pathology that way before. 
I always figured it would be depressing, having to deal with the people 
whom medicine couldn't save. But the kind of work you do, Dana, sounds just 
as important as the medicine doctors perform on the living."

"I like to think so. Although it can be a little disheartening at times 
when, despite the fact that I've used my medical training to the best of my 
capabilities, the case remains unsolved."

"How often does that happen?" Carly asked.

"Mote often than I'd like. The cases my partner and I work on aren't 
exactly what you'd call mainstream. They involve unusual circumstances, 
bizarre manners of death. Sometimes even coming up with a believable theory 
as to what we're dealing with is challenging enough, let alone having any 
hope of actually making an arrest."

Dana paused, reminded of her aggravation from working the dead-end case 
earlier that afternoon. "There have been times when Mulder--that's my 
partner," she explained to Carly, "has come up with such an outlandish idea 
regarding the true nature and motive for the crime that I really have to 
wonder if we were looking at the same evidence. Cases like those--like the 
one we were working on today, in fact--are incredibly frustrating." Her 
tongue darted out to lick the corner of her mouth.

"Then there are those cases where you know perfectly well who the 
perpetrators are, but you're unable to touch them because they're above the 
law. There are only so many brick walls you can come up against before 
something has got to give. There have certainly been days where I've 
questioned my choice to join the Bureau rather than pursue a career in 
medicine."

"We all have days like that," Eric pointed out, feeling the need to lighten 
the suddenly dark mood that had fallen over the table. "Nothing like 
smashing into a stone cliff and nearly snapping your leg in half to make 
you wonder if perhaps you should think about changing professions."

His joke seemed to do the trick; the tension suddenly dissipated as they 
all laughed.

"Where did you do your residency, Dana?" Carly asked.

"At Quantico. The Bureau recruited me right out of medical school."

"Carly wants to go to med school," Eric told them.

"Really? That's great," Mark said.

"Yeah, I'm going to night school to take the required classes. I just think 
I'd be able to help people so much more as a doctor."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short," Dana said. "Physical therapy is a noble 
profession. You do so much to help people--to get them back on their feet, 
to reclaim their lives. There's nothing small about your contribution."

"That's what I keep trying to tell her," Eric said, holding out a piece of 
cheesecake for Carly. "Look at all you've done for me already."

"I know that, sweetheart. But becoming a doctor is something I want to do."

"If that's what you want, then go for it," Dana told her. "Study hard and 
become the best doctor you can."

"So what's it like being a field agent?" Carly asked. "Eric said you work 
for some sort of special department, investigating weird cases. And you 
just said they weren't mainstream. What are they, then?"

"They're called X-Files," Dana explained. "Unsolved cases dealing with 
unexplained phenomena."

"You mean like magic? Or psychic powers?"

"Sort of. Some of our cases have more mundane explanations. Psychotics, 
sociopaths, serial killers, genetic mutants."

"Mutants? Wild! What sort of cases have you worked on recently? Or are you 
not at liberty to talk about it?"

"Oh, I can discuss them. Hmm, let's see . . . Well, Mulder and I just 
finished a case involving a man who sucked out other people's brains and 
ate them."

"And I thought the play-by-play of Eric's surgeries was bad. Here, honey, 
have another brownie," Mark said, dunking it and practically shoving it in 
her mouth. As it was, he misaimed, and some chocolate dripped down her lip 
onto her chin.

"Mark!" Dana cried. "You know, if you shoot a gun with that kind of 
accuracy, you're in big trouble."

"Here, let me," he said, using his finger to wipe the chocolate off of her 
chin. "Oops, I missed some. Hold still." This time, he used his mouth to 
take care of what remained on her lips.

Watching them, Eric quickly gained inspiration. He quickly ate another 
piece of cake, being sure to drip some chocolate onto his own mouth. "Hey, 
Carly, I could use some help over here."

"Why don't you ask Mark, hon? He seems awfully good at damage control."

Mark puckered his lips at Eric and made kissing noises.

Unfrazzled, Eric did not lose a beat. "Only if Dana gets to help you clean up."

"Sorry, fellas," Dana told them. "But I'd need a couple more beers first."

"So, Dana, you were telling us about a brain-eating mutant?" Carly prompted.

"Who wants more cheesecake?" Mark offered, holding out a chocolate-covered 
piece in each hand.


End Part Two

*****

On A Day Like Today
by Jennifer Sorowitz
sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu or jis3@yahoo.com


Part Three


but ya never know what might be comin' round your way



"So, are ya gonna rack 'em up, or what?" Eric asked from his perch on a 
stool. He picked up his mug of beer from the small table beside him and 
took a long gulp.

"Hey, babe, ya got some froth there," Carly said, gently wiping a small 
dollop of foam from his upper lip. "Oh, wait, missed some," she amended, 
giving him a long kiss.

"Something tells me *we're* gonna be waiting for *them*," Mark grumbled as 
he began to arrange the pool balls in the triangle rack.

"What's the matter, Big Guy--jealous?" Dana asked, leaning her hip against 
the pool table.

"I don't need to make a spectacle of myself to know how I feel about 
you--or you me."

"Aw, c'mon, Mark. I think it's sweet. They're obviously crazy about each 
other." She glanced over, saw that Carly was now sitting in Eric's lap, his 
arms wrapped around her waist as he whispered something in her ear.

"They're young and they're in love, and I'm very happy for them. But some 
things were not meant for the public to see. Some things are better left to 
the privacy of one's own bedroom."

"Or kitchen," Dana corrected with a wink. She regarded him for a moment and 
saw the sudden rise of color to his face. "Why, Mark Riskey, I never 
realized it, but you're a prude!"

"I am most certainly not a prude, Dana--as our little encounter earlier 
this even should have proven. I just don't believe in sharing one's 
personal affairs with the rest of the world. Some things were meant to 
remain private."

"Weren't you ever young and in love?"

"I suppose. But I was also in high school. No guy is mature in high school. 
Eric is twenty-five--"

"Twenty-five? You're kidding me! He's that old?"

Mark nodded. "He's baby-faced. Which is why I suppose he's opted for the 
goatee."

"It does put a few years on him."

"Yeah, I guess. Are you trying to change the subject?"

"Who, me?" Dana asked, batting her eyelashes innocently.

"You just can't stand to be losing an argument."

"You call this an argument? Believe me, I've had more than my share of 
arguments, and this is not one of them."

"A friendly discussion then."

"That's right, a discussion. But who says I was losing it?"

He walked closer to her, placing an arm on either side of her, pinning her 
against the pool table. He bowed his head, moving his face closer to her 
own. "A draw, then?"

"A draw it is." She reached up and kissed him.

"Are we gonna play pool tonight, or what?" Eric asked with mock irritation.

Smirking, Mark turned his head to look at the younger man. "You ready now 
to get your ass whupped?"

"Excuse me, old man, but I believe it is *you* who will be having your ass 
handed to you tonight."

"That's no way to speak to your elders. Care to put your money where your 
mouth is, youngster?"

"Hold on, wait a minute," Dana interrupted. "I thought this was just for 
fun. No one said anything about any money being bet."

"Just a friendly little wager, Dana, that's all. That is, if little Eric's 
got enough pennies saved in his piggy bank."

"Funny, I was worried my winnings might cost you next month's social 
security check," Eric retorted.

"Well, before you both start cashing in your savings, how about a practice 
round?" Dana suggested. "I'm a little rusty on my form. It's been quite a 
while since I've played."

"Sounds fair to me. Go ahead and give her a refresher course, Mark," Eric 
said, reaching for his mug. "I'm gonna finish my beer."

"Have another while you're at it--on me," Mark told him.

"Now, now, Mark, you know another brew won't do anything to my game. They 
don't call me Six Pack for nothing."

Mark snorted. "Yeah, well, in any case, I'm getting me some spending cash 
this evening." He picked up a cue and began to chalk it. "We playing eight 
ball?"

"Sure," Eric nodded before returning his attention to Carly.

"So," Mark said to Dana as he removed the rack, "I assume you remember the 
basics?"

"I think so," Dana said. "You don't want to sink the eight ball--that's the 
solid black one, right?--till all your others are in, or else you lose the 
game."

"You've got it. Why don't I break, to show you proper form, and then you 
give it a try?"

"Sounds good to me."

Mark lined up the cue ball on the spot across from the stack of balls. 
Leaning over the table, he arranged his cue, aimed, did a few practice 
swings, and then hit the ball. The cue ball went flying into the stack, 
scattering the balls around the table. Several went in: the first was the 
four in a corner pocket, then the eleven in a side pocket.

"The four went in first," he told her.

"So you'd be solids?"

"Right. Normally, I'd keep going at this point until I missed a shot, but 
why don't you try? Any ball. How 'bout the two over there?" he suggested, 
pointing. "It's close to the corner pocket."

"Okay." Dana moved around to the side of the table. She started to lean 
over the side to line up the shot.

"Wait a sec. You're holding the stick wrong. Here." Mark came up behind 
her, leaned against her back, and reached over her arms to manipulate her 
hands. "I find it easiest to slide the stick between my middle and index 
fingers, like this," he said, showing her. "Just let it glide. In and out, 
gently back and forth." Dana slowly moved the stick as he suggested. 
"That's it. Until finally, you just pull back--" they both retracted the 
stick-- "and let 'er rip."

Together, they hit the cue ball. It flew across the table, smacked into the 
two, and sank it in the corner pocket. Unfortunately, the cue ball went 
with it.

"We did it!" Dana beamed.

"Yeah, but it scratched. The cue ball went in too."

"That's not good?"

"No. The other team would get to go now, set it up wherever they want on 
the far side of the table."

"Oh." Her smiled vanished.

"But you did great, Dana. Here, why don't we try it again? Let's go for the 
fourteen this time."

For the next fifteen minutes, Mark coached Dana on her technique. More 
often than not, he would help her set up the shots, and adjust her form 
before she attempted them. This often required taking her by the hips to 
adjust her stance, or spooning against her to get a better reach at her 
hands. For the most part, she did rather well. She sank quite a few balls, 
only scratched on a couple. Not bad at all for a beginner.

When only three balls remained, Dana decided she had had enough practice. 
"Okay, I think I'm warmed up. Why don't we get to the real game now?"

"You two ready?" Mark called to the other couple. "Or do we have to pry you 
apart?"

"We'll be right there," Eric replied, arms still wrapped around Carly's 
waist. "Go ahead and rack 'em up."

Carly hopped off of his lap. "You feeling okay, hon? You're looking a 
little pale."

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine. I've just got a bit of a headache. Nothing another 
brew won't cure." He downed the last few sips of his beer before rising.

"Well, why don't you just sit here and take it easy till it's your turn?" 
she suggested. "You shouldn't be putting more than touch-down weight on 
your leg anyway."

"So, Robbins, you ready to rumble?" Mark called to him.

"Bring it on, Riskey. Bring it on."

"I've got a suggestion," Dana said as she chalked her cue. "How about guys 
versus gals?"

"I don't know, Dana, that's giving Carly an awfully big handicap."

Dana shot Mark a look.

"Twenty bucks says we can beat you," Carly said.

"Make it fifty," Dana amended.

"Fifty bucks?" Mark looked at Eric, his expression relaying the notion 
'easy money.'

"If you two wanna give us your cash, fine by me," Eric said. "Like candy 
from a baby."

Mark nodded in agreement. "Ladies, you have got yourselves a deal."

"All right. Let's play ball."

"Uhm, Dana, honey, that's baseball."

"Whatever. You gonna break, or shall we?"

"Ladies first," Mark said, giving them an exaggerated bow.

"Would you like the honors, Carly?"

"No, Dana, you go ahead."

Nodding, Dana took her position behind the cue ball. She made a big 
production of adjusting her stance. Mark and Eric sniggered amongst 
themselves, admiring the view as Dana bent over the table.

"You can do it, Dana," Carly whispered.

With a couple of practice runs, Dana hit the ball. It quickly rolled across 
the table, scattering the others. Three balls sank in the two far corner 
and right side pockets, the first being the seven.

Carly jumped up in the air, clapping her hands emphatically. "Go Dana!"

"Solids," Dana called.

"Holy shit!" Eric gasped.

"Beginner's luck," Mark reassured him. "At the most, she'll scratch on the 
next one."

But Dana did not scratch. Far from it. A sudden change seemed to come over 
her. She no longer dilly-dallied with each set-up, trying to arrange the 
shot. Rather, she would glance over the table, taking in the possibilities, 
step up behind the cue ball, aim, and shoot with little to no hesitation. 
And she made each shot on the first try, one after another. She would stop 
now and then only to chalk her stick or high-five Carly.

In less than ten minutes, all the solids had been sunk. All that remained 
was the eight ball for the ladies to win the match.

Mark was still hopeful. He had forgotten to remind Dana about one important 
rule: calling the pocket for the eight ball before shooting for it. It 
would be a technicality on which they would win, of course--but hell, fifty 
bucks was fifty bucks.

Dana took several long moments to study the table. There was no clear shot. 
Finally, she decided upon a risky venture. She bent over the table, 
prepared to shoot.

Mark and Eric held their breath.

"Eight ball . . . corner pocket," Dana called a split-second before hitting 
the cue ball. It struck the thirteen, which careened off of the side wall, 
smacked into the eight at an angle, and sent it sailing toward the corner 
pocket. For a moment, it looked like it was going to just miss the hole. 
But then, at the last possible second, it went in.

"Game!" Dana called, slapping her cue down on the table and leaning back 
against the side with a satisfied grin.

Carly started cheering and clapping loudly.

Mark and Eric just stared at Dana, dumbfounded.

"Did she just--?"

"Yes," Mark replied.

"She just--?"

"Yes."

"But how--?"

"I don't know."

"Beginner's luck, my ass!"

"Well, guys, you gonna pay up or what?" Carly asked as she and Dana 
approached the table where Mark stood beside Eric's stool. Silently, the 
women each held out a hand, palm-side up.

Sighing, the SEALs reached into their wallets and slowly, reluctantly, 
produced the cash.

"Thank you," Dana said, folding the bills and stuffing them into her bra.

"Great game, Dana," Eric told her. "You're a fast learner."

"And you're awfully dense, babe," Carly told him.

"Huh?"

"You don't really think Dana learned all that tonight, do you?"

He looked up at Dana expectantly.

Smiling, Dana shook her head. "I was a tomboy, and I grew up on a Navy base 
with two brothers. Of course I know how to play pool. Hell, I was a Physics 
major in college. I used to play every weekend, and use my winnings to pay 
for books, laundry, and pizza."

"You're a hustler!" Eric exclaimed.

"And a damn good one at that," Carly added.

Smirking, Dana looked up at Mark, who had been studying her expression 
carefully. "I'm just surprised Mark didn't figure it out," she said.

"One question," he said. "Did you fake all that just to get our money?"

"Oh no," Dana assured him. "That was just an added bonus. After you and 
Eric did all that male posturing and decided to make a wager, I figured I 
might as well cash in on it while I was at it."

"Why, then?"

"That's two questions, actually, but I'll tell you anyway, Big Guy." She 
walked closer to him, until she was practically standing on top of him, and 
had to look up at his face.

Instinctively, he bent his head closer to her own.

"I faked it . . ." she placed her hands on his chest and slowly ran them 
down past his rib cage and up again, "because you're such an attentive 
teacher, paying such close and personal attention to your student. I just 
wanted the private lessons," she purred, just as she reached around behind 
him and slapped him on the ass. Laughing, she stepped back and returned to 
the table to retrieve the balls. "How about double or nothing? We'll even 
let you guys go first this time."

"You're on," Mark agreed.

"You go ahead and start," Eric told him, carefully getting to his feet and 
balancing on one leg as he reached for his crutches. "I gotta go take a whiz."

"I'll bet, after all that beer," Mark teased, slapping him on the shoulder. 
"Hurry back, gimpy."

With a wave, Eric made his way toward the bathroom.

"Be nice, Mark," Dana chided.

"That *is* nice--for me. That's a sign of my affection."

"I'd hate to see what you're like when you're angry," Carly muttered, 
helping Dana to rack up the balls.

"You ladies just don't understand the way the male mind works."

"You can say that again," Carly agreed.

"You ladies just do--oof!" he gasped as Dana elbowed him in the ribs. "What 
was that for?"

"For being a smartass. I have to deal with one all day, I sure as hell 
don't want to have to deal with one during my time off."

"Anyway, I was saying . . . that women just don't seem to understand the 
way men communicate. For us, a few well-placed punches or verbal jabs are 
perfectly cool--tender, even. While you prefer hugs and kisses, handholds 
and flattery, we favor physical violence and name-calling, pain and 
insults. It's a perfectly natural biological difference in communication 
and interpersonal skills."

"Ah, yes, a clear example of human sexual dimorphism at its finest," Dana said.

"Definitely," Carly agreed, nodding. "Ranks right up there with leaving the 
toilet seat up."

"Mock me if you must, but deep down, you know it's true."

"What's true?" Eric asked, heading back over to the pool table.

"Mark was just educating us about some of the essential biological 
differences between men and women," Carly explained.

"Oh, you mean like the fact that when we were at the restaurant, you and 
Dana went to the bathroom together, but just now Mark left me on my own?"

"Good example!" Mark said.

"I've never understood that one," Eric continued. "Are you afraid one of 
you is going to fall in?"

Dana crossed her arms and raised an incredulous eyebrow in their direction.

"Are we gonna play pool or what?" Carly asked, planting her hands on her hips.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Eric said.

"Yeah, we'd better quit while we're ahead," Mark agreed, chalking his own 
stick.

"Do I need to remind you who're the ones who are out fifty bucks?" Dana 
pointed out.

"Don't worry, Li'l Red, we'll make it back--and then some."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you," Dana said, removing the rack.

"I suggest you watch and learn," Mark told her as he took the first shot. 
He hit the cue ball with tremendous force, scattering the balls all across 
the table, sinking three of them in the process. "Stripes," he called.

"Well, RB, it looks like we're gonna show these ladies a little action 
tonight," Eric said, leaning his crutches against the table and reaching 
for his cue.

Dana caught Mark's eye. "This, Commander Riskey, is war."

"Let the battle begin."

Just over an hour and three games later, they were tied at two games 
apiece. It turned out that Mark was quite the player himself. "You weren't 
the only one who hustled for spending money in college," he informed Dana. 
He and Dana constantly tried to one-up the other, setting up challenging 
shots that even the most seasoned of hustlers would have had trouble 
executing. Eric and Carly were far from amateur players, but nowhere near 
their companions' league. Still, they managed to hold their own during the 
friendly competition.

"One more game to break the tie?" Mark asked as he retrieved the balls.

"One more, and then I think we need to call it a night," Carly agreed.

"Well, just so long as I get my money back," Mark said.

"If by some miracle you actually win, you're going to have to come and take 
it," Dana warned him.

He grinned suggestively. "Now that's a prize I'm already looking forward to 
collecting."

Eric laughed. "Go ahead an rack 'em up, RB. I'm gonna go hit the bathroom."

"Again?" Mark asked. "All that time in the hospital must have messed with 
your bladder. Ole Six Pack is losing his endurance."

"Hey, you gotta fire a few shots before you can reload," Eric replied. "Be 
right back, babe," he said, giving Carly a kiss before he left.

Carly sighed. "The way he's been drinking tonight, you'd think he was 
over-anxious about something, and trying to calm his nerves."

If Dana noticed the knowing smile that curled Mark's lips, she did not 
remark upon it. "You know how these Navy men are, Carly," she said.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that one," Mark said with mock sternness. "Now, 
I believe you ladies go first this time. Whose turn is it to break?"

"That'd be me," Dana said, walking to the front of the table and bending 
down to take the first shot. "Better get your wallet handy, Mark. I'll try 
to make this as quick and painless as--"

Her voice was drowned out by a large crash from across the room. They all 
looked over toward the source of the noise. A small table appeared to have 
been up-ended, its contents scattered. A glass lay shattered on the floor, 
the liquid it once held spilling across the wood toward a crutch and a 
prone form.

  Carly walked around the pool table to get a better look. "Oh my God!" she 
gasped, dropping her cue. "Eric!" She hurried across the room, with Dana 
and Mark only a few steps behind.

Heedless of the shards of glass, Carly knelt down beside Eric's head. 
"Eric! Oh God, Eric! What happened?"

"He just took a spill," a waitress said, walking closer. "He seemed to lose 
his balance, tried to grab onto the table for support, and then the next 
thing I knew, he was on the floor."

"Did he pass out?" Mark wondered as he squatted beside Eric's feet.

"He seemed fine a few minutes ago," Dana said, kneeling down next to Carly. 
"He gave no indication that he might collapse." She felt his neck for his 
carotid.

"He complained of a headache earlier tonight," Carly said, smoothing the 
hair from his pale brow. "His skin's clammy."

"His pulse is thready," Dana said. She gently slapped Eric's cheek with the 
back of her hand. "Eric! Can you hear me? Eric, wake up!"

He gave no response.

"He's unconscious," Dana said.

"Could he have tripped, hit his head on the way down?" Mark suggested.

Dana was about to reply when Eric started to stir. His eyelids fluttered, 
but did not open, and his mouth began to move.

"I think he's trying to speak," Dana said.

"What is it, sweetie?" Carly asked, leaning closer. "What are you trying to 
say?"

His low whisper ended in a gasp. For a brief moment, his body went rigid. 
Then suddenly it began to shake erratically, limbs flailing at his sides.

"He's seizing!" Carly gasped.

"Quick, help me turn him onto his side, so he won't choke on any saliva or 
in case he vomits," Dana said, already reaching for Eric's torso. Together, 
she and Mark turned him, while Carly gently guided his head as his body 
continued to convulse.

"Do we need to restrain him?" Mark asked.

"No. Just make sure he doesn't bang his head or cut himself on any glass," 
Dana instructed.

"Somebody call 911! Get an ambulance!" Mark shouted to the growing crowd of 
people.

"Already on it!" the waitress called back.

"Everybody, stand back!" Dana yelled. "Give him some room!"

"Why is this happening?" Carly asked, her voice laced with unshed tears.

"I don't know," was all Dana could say.

After several long moments, the spasms slowed in intensity and frequency, 
until only the occasional twitch shook an arm or leg.

"Is it over?" Mark wondered aloud.

"Eric, sweetie, can you hear me?" Carly asked, stroking his cheek. "Baby, 
please wake up."

"Mark, help me put him on his back again," Dana said. Together, they gently 
moved him. She lifted Eric's eyelids one at a time, and found that his 
pupils were dilated. Brow furrowed, she watched him for a moment. "Oh 
shit," she muttered, looking closely at his chest.

"What is it?" Mark asked, his anxiety level rising.

Dana bent down over Eric's face, placed her ear to his mouth. "Dammit! He's 
not breathing!"

"Oh God!" Carly cried.

"We'll have to try CPR," Dana said, feeling for a carotid pulse, but to no 
avail. She placed a hand on Eric's chest, but could not detect a heartbeat. 
One look at Carly, who was now on the verge of tears, and she knew the 
other woman's aid would be useless. "Mark, you handle compressions, and 
I'll do mouth-to-mouth."

"I'm on it," Mark replied, moving to kneel beside Eric's chest.

After making sure the airway was clear, Dana tilted Eric's head back and 
pinched his nose. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled into Eric's mouth.

She nodded to Mark, and he pressed on Eric's chest five times.

Dana listened, ear to Eric's mouth. She shook her head. "Nothing." She 
tried breathing again.

"Don't do this, Eric!" Carly wailed. "Don't you give up on me!"

Mark tried five more compressions.

"Still nothing," Dana muttered. "Goddammit!"

"I don't know what you're trying to pull, Robbins, but this is totally 
unacceptable!" Mark snapped in his best pissed-off commander tone as he 
watched Dana continue mouth-to-mouth.

"You've got to fight, Eric!" Carly sobbed. "Come back to me! Don't leave me!"

As Mark finished five more compressions, Dana listened carefully. "I think 
I hear a breath!" She quickly felt for a carotid pulse. After a moment, her 
eyes closed and she sighed in relief. "Pulse is faint, but it's there."

"Oh thank God!" Carly gasped, tears streaming down her face. "That's it, 
baby! Hold on! Just hold on, Eric. It's going to be okay."

Dana continued to monitor Eric's vitals to make sure he was breathing. 
Several minutes later, the paramedics arrived, pushing a gurney over to the 
scene.

"What happened?" one of the EMS workers asked as she and her teammate 
started to pull out their kits.

"He collapsed about ten minutes ago," Dana informed them as she got to her 
feet. "He was unconscious, completely unresponsive. He then experienced a 
seizure that was approximately sixty seconds in duration, after which we 
determined that there was no pulse and he was no longer breathing. We 
administered CPR, and he resumed breathing. He's been 
tachycardic--approximately one-sixty for the past couple minutes--with 
faint pulses."

"You a doctor?" the other medic asked Dana as he prepared an IV catheter.

"Yes," Dana replied, helping Carly up to get her out of the way.

"Lucky for him you were here. Any history of epilepsy?"

"None," Carly said.

"And other medical conditions we should know about?" the female medic 
asked, noticing the crutches.

"He broke his leg a couple months ago," Dana told them. "Open fracture of 
the tibia and fibula, which was repaired with an external fixator."

"He on any medication?"

"Oral antibiotics for his leg," Carly replied. "He's also been prescribed 
some pain killers, but I don't think he took any today." Sniffling, she 
swiped at her cheeks.

"Has he been drinking tonight?" the male medic asked as he hooked Eric up 
to oxygen.

"A beer with dinner earlier tonight, and a couple more here over the past 
couple hours," Mark told him. "He's always had a damned high tolerance."

"Any allergies?"

"Penicillin," Mark replied without losing a beat. "And his blood type's AB 
neg. Are you gonna stand around asking questions all night, or get him to 
the fucking hospital already?"

"Mark, calm down," Dana said, placing a soothing hand on his arm. "They 
have to stabilize him before they can move him."

"I will not calm down, Dana! A perfectly healthy man does not just collapse 
and start seizing for no good reason! He needs to have a CAT scan or MRI or 
whatever the hell kind of fucking tests they do on people's brains nowadays!"

The paramedics ignored Mark's outburst as they moved Eric onto the gurney. 
"You ready, Bobby?" the female medic asked as she fastened the straps to 
secure Eric to the gurney.

"All set, Kim. Let's move out."

"What hospital are you taking him to?" Dana asked.

"County General," Kim said as they wheeled Eric toward the door.

"We'll meet you there," Dana told them. "Carly, you have your keys?"

"Th-they're in my purse," she stammered. "Let me grab it."

"Here," Mark said, pulling out his wallet and handing a nearby waitress 
several bills. "That should cover our tab."

"I'll drive," Dana said, bending down to pick up the discarded crutches.

"I've got it," Mark insisted, shrugging into his own jacket before handing 
Dana hers. "Just make sure Carly gets to the car okay."

Nodding, Dana slipped on her coat and shouldered her purse before turning 
to watch the other woman rummage through her handbag.

"Dana?"

"Yeah, Mark?"

"Is Robbins gonna be okay?"

She turned back to look at him, met his gaze. For the first time she could 
remember, she saw something she had never seen in his eyes before: fear. 
The sight unnerved her completely.

"God, I hope so, Mark. I hope so."

"Found 'em," Carly said, holding out her keys.

"Great," Mark said, snatching them from her. "If we hurry, we should be 
able to follow the ambulance to the hospital." With that, he was sprinting 
toward the door.

"C'mon," Dana said, taking Carly's hand. "Let's go."


End Part Three

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