From: Laadolf@aol.com Date: Thu, 16 Mar 2000 00:19:49 EST Subject: xfc: NEW: Cursum Perficio by LAAdolf (12 of 58)(PG-13) Source: xfc From: Laadolf@aol.com Cursum Perficio (12 of 58) by LAAdolf X Mulder was walking, alone and toward a distant light. A field stretched out before him, vast and empty. It was ethereally quiet, there was no sound--not the rustling of grass or of bird song--to disturb the stillness. It seemed he walked in day, but not in bright sunlight--instead the half light of dawn or dusk. It was peaceful and walking felt good. He was removed from the constant pain that had been his companion for so very long. His body felt light, almost insubstantial, but he was still connected to it. It wasn't like that other time, when he had looked down and seen his body and willed himself away.... "Mulder?!" The voice drifted to him over a great distance. He paused, listening. He knew the voice only too well--those same vocal tones had echoed through some of his most desperate moments as well as his deepest joys. The sound of it recently had created an aching emptiness in his soul, a dawning realization, denied and rejected--but slowly accepted in the end--that he must attempt to close it out of his life forever. Not for his own sake, for that action would level a heavy toll on his spirit, leave him an incomplete half of a greater whole--but for hers. Now, he must try to shut that voice out, pretend that he did not hear it. The way before him rose, he was now climbing a hill. The light that he had been following was just beyond the incline, he knew that when he reached the crest it would reveal itself and beckon him to join it. And there was nothing he wanted more. He was tired. So very tired. His quest had been long and arduous, fraught with so much danger and hurt--perils directed at those who had no vested interest in the outcome. He had made his bargain long ago, regretted nothing of his part. But he had not reckoned that other lives would be so profoundly influenced by his search, so irrevocably changed. It was time for it to stop. The light would reveal the Truth and then he could rest at last. "Mulder! No!" The voice reached him once more and the fear and grief it held bade him pause. He'd thought he could shut out the sound, but he was wrong. He was consumed by a sudden desire to look, to see her one last time. Mulder turned and saw her then, running to catch up to him. Dana Katherine Scully, the incandescent better half of his own soul, who had suffered so very much. Because of him. All because of him. The light at his back beckoned, trilling a silent siren song, bidding him come and rest. There was nothing he yearned for more, and yet he found he could not turn away from the glowing, achingly radiant vision of his partner. She was close now, reaching out to touch him, taking his hand in her own. He should break the contact, turn and run away toward the light.... Toward safety and oblivion..... He felt her cool, slender fingers entwine with his. As ever she was the force that grounded him, who made sense of the confusing jumble and put the pieces right. The light at his back flared, burning him with its heat. He concentrated on the tenuous contact of the cool hand that clasped his own. He could not leave. Not yet. x Dana was startled by the gentle touch of a hand on her shoulder. She turned to face her mother. "I got your phone message, I came as soon as I could," Margaret Scully said softly, enfolding her daughter in a quick embrace and kissing her cheek. "How is he?" Dana turned back to look at Mulder, her hand still clasping his firmly. "Holding his own so far. But its early...." She said softly, her voice little more than a whisper. Her mother noted the strain and edge of defeat in Dana's voice. Coming to stand at her daughter's side, she resumed her embrace and laid her cheek against the top of Dana's head. "I brought the clothes you asked for. Why don't you go put them on and I'll sit here with Fox for a while? And you should eat something before you come back. Mr. Skinner says you haven't yet this morning," Margaret Scully suggested gently. Dana was torn. Instinct told her she should not leave her partner's side, but common sense told her that she would be stronger, better for a shower, a change of clothes and something to eat, "I don't know. I---" "If he wakes up I'll come find you. I promise," her mother soothed. Reluctantly, Scully broke her contact with Mulder, laying his lax hand regretfully on the bed as she stood up. As she vacated the chair she had pulled close to his bed, her mother slipped into it. As Dana watched, Maggie Scully reached for and clasped the hand she had just let go. "He came to me, you know, when you were missing." Maggie reminisced, "And he kept telling me that I shouldn't lose hope, that it was too early to give you up. He's got a very sensitive soul, Dana, but he also has a strength I think will see him through this." Mrs. Scully cradled Mulder's hand between both her own, "We've just got to have faith. Its too early to give him up." "Thanks, Mom." Dana bent to embrace her mother warmly, tears starting in her own eyes at the vision her mother presented, holding vigil over the bedside of her daughter's partner just as she had more than once for her own children. Scully blinked them back, lingering for a moment before reaching for the small bag of clothing her mother had deposited next to the chair. Margaret Scully watched her daughter reluctantly leave, then she turned her attention back to the silent figure on the bed. She had had a fairly long and intense conversation with Assistant Director Skinner before she had entered the Intensive Care unit, and knew precisely the precarious condition of her daughter's partner, as well as much of the story of how he came to be here alive at all. "Fox, Dana will be back in a little while," she said quietly, "I'm going to stay with you until she does. I know you've been terribly hurt and that you're tired, maybe too tired for this fight you face. But you've got to try. It would hurt Dana terribly if you didn't, you know. She would never forgive herself that she didn't find you sooner, didn't do more to help. You are very special to her. And you mustn't feel alone, because you aren't. We won't let you be." Margaret subsided to silence, unsure of what else she could say. Instead, she held Mulder's limp hand, stroking it gently, and tried not to lose herself amongst the sounds of the room -- the sibilance of the respirator, the steady rhythm of the heart monitor, and the various beeps and whirs of the other machines in the room. Finally, closing her eyes, she began to pray. X end of Cursum Perficio (12 of 58) From: Laadolf@aol.com Cursum Perficio (13 of 58) by LAAdolf x "Mr. Mulder has been found. Alive." The Cigarette Smoking Man announced to the assembled group, studying the faces before him with an incisive perception. Only one face showed the slightest reaction--at least a reaction that held the slightest interest. Cigarette Smoking Man was not surprised. "Of course, that could change hourly. He was recovered from the bottom of an abandoned elevator shaft, near death. His condition is still quite precarious and is likely to remain so for the near future." The men in the room regarded each other, their superior's interest in their reactions not having gone entirely unnoticed. "The Syndicate is quite willing to let nature take its course at this point in time. Without any outside aid, I might add. The circumstances of Mr. Mulder's disappearance and his rescue indicate that this was not a fortuitous accident. Any further implication of ourselves in this situation will cause repercussions that we cannot afford at this point in time. I hope I make myself understood." There were nods and murmurs of understanding from all the men in the room. Save one. x "Mrs. Mulder," Dana walked up to her partner's mother, her hands extended in greeting. The white haired woman had just turned away from Walter Skinner and was walking toward the ICU as Scully approached. Her features lightening in recognition, she accepted the younger woman's gesture, first clasping her hands in return, then, with a rare impulsiveness, enfolding Scully in a brief embrace. There was silence between them for a long moment, the older woman's eyes brimming with tears. "How is he?" she asked in a voice hardly above a whisper, the pain and grief evident in her voice as well as in the lines of her face. "He's holding his own right now," Dana responded gently, "he's very ill, I won't lie to you, but he's receiving the very best care. I'm so glad you're here." Teena Mulder glanced down and away from Dana Scully's steady gaze. "I wish I knew how glad he would be to know I am here," she admitted quietly as the two women continued toward Fox Mulder's intensive care unit. Dana squeezed the hand she still held in her own, remembering the bitterness of Mulder's last meeting with his mother, a meeting she had been a sometimes reluctant witness to as well. Mulder, wracked by vivid memories unlocked by an unsafe, drug enhanced repressed memory recovery treatment, had gone to her and accused her to her face of infidelity to her husband. He had even questioned his own parentage. The meeting had ended disastrously--and there had been a distance between the two surviving Mulders ever since. It had been a distance that Mrs. Mulder, Dana knew, had tried to breach on more than one occasion, and that even Mulder himself regretted and grieved over. No matter how unreliable--and how nearly tragic--his memory recovery treatment had been, there was a part of Mulder that would not let go of the suspicion, and Mrs. Mulder had never been able, apparently, to bring herself to address the issue directly. "You're his mother. He has never stopped loving you," Dana spoke quietly, but with conviction. They were standing now, outside the glass enclosed ICU cubicle. Mrs. Mulder looked into the room with a horrified fascination, her eyes slowly taking in the daunting display of machinery within. Gently, Dana began an explanation of each piece of equipment and its necessity, explaining in turn how the complex and bewildering array was helping her son. Finally some of fear left the older woman's face, and she turned to face Dana, gratitude in her eyes. "Mr. Skinner told me how you never stopped looking for Fox, never gave up hope of finding him alive. I remember how you came to me once before and told me not to give up, that he was alive. He's so lucky to have someone like you, I'm so grateful that he does." Teena Mulder's gaze drifted back to her son, "I knew I had to come, my son. But I'm not sure what I can offer him. What I can do to help him.." Dana looked closely at the other woman, compassion limning her own features, swelling her own heart. "I was very ill myself not long ago, and I drew strength from having those people around me who loved me. You can definitely offer him that, and he will know, no matter how sick he is right now. And there is something else that only you can give him. It won't be easy--it might even be the most painful thing you ever have to do, but you can't allow unfinished business to stand between you." Mrs. Mulder turned to look at Dana, her gaze locking with the younger woman's, a question in the eyes that were so like her son's. You are his only family now, his only link to a past that he has incomplete and possibly confused recollections of. He has dedicated his entire life to a pursuit of the truth, not knowing how much of his own life has been a lie. You must find the strength to tell him those things that only you know, the entire unblemished, unvarnished truth, no matter how much pain it causes you personally. Because if you don't, and he dies, you will never be able to forgive yourself." "Even if it causes him to hate me, for my weakness?" Mrs. Mulder responded, a look of hopelessness on her face. "He won't hate you. He isn't capable of that. He will respect the courage it took you to tell the truth, and he will forgive you--if there is anything to forgive." Teena Mulder gave Scully a long appraising look, "You're a very perceptive young woman. I can see why he admires you so." Dana glanced down at the floor, inexplicably abashed. It was very likely she had crossed the boundary in so counseling her partner's mother, but she could not truly regret having done so. She knew the importance of settling accounts, of having no regrets. She knew she had to find the courage within herself to do just as she was telling Mulder's mother to do. Scully watched as Mrs. Mulder entered her son's room, bent low over him to kiss his cheek, then take a seat next to his bed. She watched with tears in her eyes as Mulder's mother took her son's hand and began to speak. It was then that she turned and walked away. It was important now for Mulder and his mother to make their peace. Her time and his would have to come later. x end of Cursum Perficio (13 of 58) From: Laadolf@aol.com Cursum Perficio (Part 14 of 58) by LAAdolf x Dana returned to Mulder's unit to find Mrs. Mulder gone and Frohike seated in the hall outside. "Skinner's taken her to a hotel. She was very upset," Frohike confided, casting a glance into Mulder's room. "She spent a long time with him," Scully remarked, "she must have been exhausted." Frohike looked at Scully closely, "How are you holding up, Agent Scully?" "I'm fine, Frohike, really. Why are you out in the hall?" Scully replied, her own gaze drifting to the ICU's occupant as she spoke. "Byers, Langly and I have decided to t take shifts. I got the short straw." "Shifts?" Scully turned her head to look at Frohike questioningly. "Guarding Mulder. The men responsible for this might be looking to finish the job," Frohike explained, his eyes sweeping the corridor expertly. Scully nodded distractedly. In the worry and confusion she had allowed herself to forget the circumstances that had led to Mulder being in the condition he was, and that while a paid assassin appeared to have been responsible and was dead, the people behind the murder attempt were very much alive and at large. While the Lone Gunmen might have preternaturally high paranoia levels, this was an instance where their vigilance was more than warranted. "Did you mention any of this to Skinner?" Scully asked. "Yeah. He said he was taking measures of his own, but he didn't elaborate." "Good. Thanks Frohike. I appreciate this," Scully said, laying a hand on the man's shoulder. "You go in and sit with him. I've got it covered out here," Frohike urged. "Let him know we're pulling for him, okay?" Scully managed a small smile, "I will." She turned her eyes once more toward her partner, and made ready to enter the room. Not much had changed in her partner's room since last she had entered it several hours before. She had kept her distance during Mrs. Mulder's vigil, allowing the older woman the privacy she needed with her son. She had found it increasingly difficult to exercise that restraint, something deep within her told her that she needed to be here at Mulder's side. She reached for her partner's chart, reading the latest notations, glancing at the current readings on various machines around the room, assessing the raw data presented there. The reason for her disquietude was not readily apparent here, the readings should have been reassuring, indicating improvement on several fronts. In fact, Mulder was responding quite well post-surgically and it was in the realm of likelihood that he would soon be regaining consciousness. Scully rehung the chart, studying her partner carefully for a moment, drawing close. She reached out to smooth his hair away from his brow, her fingers lightly skimming across the bandage, just below the hairline, that covered the now closed gash above his eye. "Frohike is outside keeping guard," she said quietly "all the Gunmen are pulling for you, Mulder. And Skinner too. Your mother will be back as soon as she can. I'm here now, I'm not going anywhere." Subsiding to silence, Scully sat down in the bedside chair, and clasped her partner's hand in both her own. x He was once again in the red-rocked quarry, staring down into the hatch of the buried box car. He was hot, baked dry by the sun, the merest breeze stirring around him a warm zephyr that offered no relief from the unrelenting heat. He looked up, into the wise, aged eyes of the tribal elder, Albert Hosteen. There were no words that passed between them, only a depth of feeling. Albert nodded and turned away. Mulder climbed down into the box car, into the cool darkness. The bodies were gone now, and the dimensions of the boxcar had changed. It was no larger than an elevator shaft. Looking up, he could see a patch of blue. He was on his back again, laying brokenly in the cramped area that had been his prison for so many days. He was thirsty again and the heat that he had sought to evade had somehow found him. He must have dreamt escape, imagined a surcease of pain, fantasized that Scully had come to him and taken him by the hand. Mulder closed his eyes. He had never imagined that Death was a trickster god, giving relief and then snatching it away, taunting with its nearness then dancing just beyond reach once again. He was tired..... So tired..... All he wanted was to rest. x Scully started awake. Sleep, a quiet thief, had stolen up on her in the depths of the long night, and somehow she had laid down her head and fallen into a deep slumber. Mulder's hand was beneath her cheek as sleep released her from its bonds, her own hand rather awkwardly positioned beneath his. Coming back to herself, she knew suddenly why she had awakened. His hand had moved spasmodically, not with consciousness and purpose, but with a mindless restlessness. Heat was radiating, not just off the flesh beneath her cheek, but from the body laying next to her. Mulder's temperature had been slightly elevated following the surgery, but far lower than it had been when they had found him in the elevator shaft, body heat regulation irregularities being a consequence of the type of head injury that he had suffered. It had seemed hopeful at first that the topical and intravenous assaults by antibiotics had scored a victory and the sepsis had been contained in its early stages. But now, the first domino in the elaborate pattern was tumbling, free-falling inexorably toward its neighbor. Scully straightened and stood, reaching out to touch Mulder's face. He was afire with fever and no longer peacefully unconscious. His sleep, no longer narcotized, was fretful. "Oh God, Mulder. No," Scully breathed. "No." x End Cursum Perficio (Part 14 of 58) From: Laadolf@aol.com Cursum Perficio (Part 15 of 58) by LAAdolf x John Fitzgerald Byers stood next to Dana Scully, both watching the activity in the intensive care unit before them. "What's happening?" Byers asked anxiously, sparing Scully a brief glance before allowing his eyes to be drawn back to Mulder's room, "Can you tell?" Scully spoke without moving her gaze from the well ordered bustle in the room beyond. "They are adjusting the medications and nutritional support....administering corticosteroids and adjusting his insulin and glucose levels. Probably also introducing another antibiotic group as well," she said distractedly. Byers nodded, "Trying to maintain high cardiac output, and get the infection back under control, to give him a fighting chance." Scully smiled in spite of herself, the Lone Gunmen and the breadth of their accumulated knowledge were a never ending source of surprise at times. "Yes, exactly. Controlling those factors gives him the best chance at a complete recovery--the infection is the most worrisome thing right now--if they can't control it...." She faltered, finally breaking her gaze away meeting her companion's calm regard. Byers looked at her, his eyes brimful of compassion, "Mulder will die." The words were delivered quietly and with concern for her reaction that was infinitely touching. "But that would be letting the bastards win. He won't let it happen." Scully considered Byers for a minute. His expression was full of faith in his friend Mulder, a confidence that will alone could overcome the obstacles that faced the FBI agent. It was a faith that Dana found herself increasingly unable to share. "I hope not," he said softly, watching the activity within once more, straining for the opportunity to take up her position at her partner's side again. *I hope not......* x Walter Skinner rubbed his eyes, squinting at the harsh light in the hospital waiting room. He'd been awakened just a few hours earlier by a phone call from Langly, who had just arrived at the hospital to relieve Byers in the Gunmen's self-appointed guard rotation outside of Mulder's room. Langly had filled him in on the details of the crisis that Mulder had weathered during the night. Sleep banished, Skinner had dressed and driven over to find Scully once again at her partner's side, and Mulder, still feverish and restless. The circles beneath Scully's eyes had informed him of the gravity of the situation better than any long winded medical explanation might have. Skinner had tried to get Scully to take a break, to rest, offering to keep vigil in her place. But Dana had made her intention to stay where she was inarguably plain. Skinner might have returned home, were he a more professional man. But the fact was that his relationship with these particular agents in his charge had long since crossed a prudent professional distance. Instead, he had checked on his own security detail, less obvious than the Lone Gunmen guard but just as dedicated to the mission, paced the hospital corridors for many long minutes, until finally his truncated slumber started catching up with him and he felt the need for a few minutes of quiet if not actual rest. He was close to dozing when a familiar shape came into view over the rims of his glasses. At first he thought he must be dreaming, for the last person he had expected to see in this place was Albert Hosteen. "Albert?" Skinner said aloud, full awareness snapping back, chasing away his lethargic haze. "What are you doing here?" The Navajo tribal elder, former Allied Code Talker and healer nodded a greeting at Skinner and repeated words that he had said to the assistant director once before, on the occasion of their first meeting--at the bedside of the mortally wounded Melissa Scully. "I was asked to come." x End Cursum Perficio (Part 15 of 58) From: Laadolf@aol.com Cursum Perficio (Part 16 of 58) by LAAdolf x Albert's father had taught him many years ago that listening was something one did with all of one's senses, not merely one's ears. So it was that Hosteen quietly entered the hospital room that held the FBI Man, listening carefully with every fiber of his body and spirit. As he entered he noted that he FBI Woman was sitting dozing near the bed, just as her mother had done when he had come to offer his services to the FBI Woman's wounded sister. He had not been able to help then, the spirit of the sister had been too weakened, her fate decided long before he had been summoned, far beyond the ability of even the Holy People to make well. Hosteen approached the bed silently, reaching out a hand palm down and touching the FBI Man's forehead with gentleness. The warmth of fever greeted his touch, and beneath that he sensed the wounded spirit of the slumbering young man. Albert frowned. What he perceived did not bode well. Hosteen passed his hands over the FBI Man's body, feeling the curative energy which coursed through the prostrate body. It was a worrisome paradox. The injuries the young man had suffered were, Albert sensed, no longer the central problem. Neither was the poison of the blood which had caused so much worry to the FBI Woman-- who even now dreamt fearfully of the consequences of that infection. The white man's medicine was conquering the toxins in the young man's bloodstream, his fever slowly, but steadily reducing. That was the contradiction. The FBI Man's body was growing stronger at the same time that his spirit was steadily weakening. Albert had seen this before with this young man, when he had performed the Blessing Way chant two years ago. At that time the FBI Man had faced a vital decision: to choose life and continue his quest for the Truth; or to choose death, know the Truth and give his soul the rest it had long yearned for. Ultimately, the FBI Man had chosen life and Albert had seen his spirit reborn to a new and stronger purpose. Hosteen recognized that the two years now gone by had been full ones for the FBI Man. The marks left on the young man's soul spoke of changeable and tempestuous winds that had buffeted his spirit time and again during his difficult quest. Listening carefully with his heart, Albert comprehended the pain that more than ever before had become part of the FBI Man. Once that pain had been focused on the loss of his sister, the death of his father. But now that focus was wider, the anguish deeper, strongly colored with a profound sense of responsibility and guilt. Albert listened as the FBI Man's spirit communicated to him the focal point of its burden, the reason for its sorrow. He looked away from his unconscious charge and across to the sleeping features of the FBI Woman. In that moment he knew and understood. Hosteen moved his hand to place it over the FBI Man's heart, his own heart pained by the suffering he could feel within. Albert nodded, his brow drawn. Yes, it was here that the wound was the greatest, it was here that a despair had been created that was almost beyond bearing. It was one thing to accept for oneself the risk of death-- the ultimate sacrifice for the Truth. It was quite another thing to face unflinchingly and embrace that risk for someone else whose life you hold so very much more dear than your own. Hosteen closed his eyes momentarily against the anguish in which the FBI man was now lost. Albert regretted that the Holy People could not be coaxed to approach this place of the white man's strange medicine, that they could not be beckoned to come to the succor of the FBI Man as they had once before. If the Holy People could not come to the young man, perhaps the FBI Man would find them along the way that he had to follow, the path that he had traveled before. If he could do nothing else, Albert could pray and through that prayer try to guide the FBI Man, just as he had done once before so far away. Albert Hosteen began to chant softly, his voice barely a whisper. The FBI Man had summoned him here in a dream because some part of his soul yet yearned for life. The road was long and the way would be difficult, but it was long past time that the journey was begun. x End Cursum Perficio (Part 16 of 58) From: Laadolf@aol.com Cursum Perficio (Part 17 of 58) by LAAdolf x Teena Mulder drew the hotel room door shut behind her. She had slept long and much too late. She had wanted to get to the hospital early, and instead she had slept until well past noon, waking only then when housekeeping had come calling, hoping to clean her room. She had, she knew, not always been emotionally accessible to her firstborn when he had most needed her. She was now determined that this was a circumstance that would have to change unless she was willing to give up her beloved son to the forces that would see him dead and buried alongside his father. Yet she had let her first opportunity to act upon her new resolve evade her, another mark against her self image as a good mother. Mrs. Mulder hurried to the elevator, head bent, distracted by her musings and her memories. The voice when it came startled her so profoundly that she dropped the key to her hotel room that she had been halfheartedly attempting to stuff in her purse. "Teena," the enigmatic man her son knew only as Cigarette Smoking Man stood a few feet in front of her, blocking her access to the elevator. Gallantly, he stooped and retrieved the fallen hotel key, and handed it to her. "What do you want?" Teena Mulder's eyes narrowed in fear and suspicion, "Have you come to gloat over my son's condition?" "You should know better than that. I would not cause you pain. I like Fox, he is a worthy adversary. Besides, I promised Bill years ago that I would protect his son, and I have. Time and again." "When it served your purposes. Get out of my way. I have nothing to say to you. I'm going to be with my son." Teena attempted to move around the man, to gain access to the elevator controls. "I know who is responsible for this, Teena..." the Smoking man began, "I will deal with him." "The man who did the dirty work is dead. I'm looking at the man who's responsible." Mrs. Mulder spat out the accusation with all the venom of which she was capable. That she had shared a past with this man, a past that had come close to destroying not only her relationship with her son, but his very life sickened her. In that instant all the pain and rage that she had felt building up over the long months of her estrangement with her son boiled over. Mrs. Mulder put all her strength into the blow she delivered, a stinging open-handed slap to the unprotected face of the man who stood before her. Her eyes bright with anger, Teena Mulder finally strode around him, stalking into the elevator with a regal dignity that belied her inner disgust with not only this man, but with herself. She stabbed the button that directed the elevator to the lobby, looking through rather than at the man who had tormented her. The man himself did not turn around, or otherwise acknowledge her departure. Instead he stood, his eyes sightlessly gazed down the hotel corridor, away from the now closed elevator doors. For a brief moment, a look of supreme sadness crossed his features, then once again, the mask of impassivity he wore so frequently descended once again. He turned and walked down the corridor, toward the stairway at the opposite end of the corridor. He had an appointment to keep. x End Cursum Perficio (Part 17 of 58) From: Laadolf@aol.com Cursum Perficio (Part 18 of 58) by LAAdolf x The sound of whispering penetrated Dana Scully's slumber, breaking into and banishing her unpleasant dreams. The sound was soothing, like water running over pebbles in a mountain stream. The sound carried the last vestiges of her nightmare away, bringing her a profound sense of peace. "You must be open to extreme possibilities," a voice said., its origin ambiguous, uncertain. She looked about, searching for the source of the words. It sounded like something Mulder would say, but the voice was not his. The face of the Navajo Code Talker, Albert Hosteen coalesced before her. "Dreams," he spoke again, "can be powerful magic. They have led you this far, do not abandon them. Remember your dreams...." Scully awakened slowly, loath to give up the feeling of peace that had enveloped her in her slumber. When finally the sleep cleared from her eyes and she was able to focus on the man bending over her partner in his hospital bed, she was somehow not surprised. Albert looked up at her and smiled. "He is resting more comfortably now." "I should be surprised to see you here," she said softly. "But you are not." Hosteen stated calmly, "The FBI Man came to me in a dream and summoned me here. Of course I came." Scully accepted his comment on face value, focusing her attention instead on her partner. She rose from her chair and approached the bedside, reaching out a hand to touch Mulder's forehead and then his cheek. He was still warm--warmer than she would have hoped--but true to Albert's word, Mulder was once again in restful slumber his fever finally reducing. Dana cast a look around at the various monitors and indicators, seeking tangible evidence of more progress, hoping for signs of significant improvement on all fronts. The readings that greeted her were ambiguous at best. She moved to peruse his medical chart, glancing over it hungrily before returning it to its place and moving to her partner's side. "There should be more improvement," she commented, unable to take her eyes from Mulder's face, "Why won't he wake up?" "His body is recovering, gaining strength, but its progress is hampered by the distress of his spirit." Albert asserted. "I don't understand," Dana admitted. "In white man's medicine is there not an understanding that when it comes to surviving and healing injury that the body and the spirit cannot be separated from each other?" "It is not fully understood or accepted, but yes, there is evidence that emotional states do affect physical conditions. There is something called a 'failure to thrive' where in spite of clinical survivability a patient declines and dies. And many people have attributed survival in serious illness to having a positive attitude or a strong faith." Scully paused, "I've had some experience with that myself." "Yes. So the FBI Man has told me in my dream. It is this knowledge which burdens his spirit now, with guilt and self blame. And it is why he would sacrifice himself to spare you further risk." Dana looked at Hosteen, dumbstruck, then she looked down at Mulder as if seeing him clearly for the first time in a long time. It was an assertion she could not reject out of hand, as she otherwise might have. What Hosteen was saying unfortunately made too much sense. *I have come to say good-bye and to say that I am sorry.....* They were words from her dream, the one she'd had the night before Mulder had been found. They had foreshadowed the words that the Mulder had spoken in those few lucid moments in the elevator shaft-- just before he had gone into respiratory and cardiac arrest. Dana felt chilled to the very core of her being. "No...." She whispered, putting a hand beside Mulder's face and gazing at him penetratingly. "He feels all things deeply but you know this. You are connected, here," the elder touched his own heart, then reached up to tap his temple, "as well as here." Albert looked at her, a kindly expression on his face. "To feel profoundly can be a strength, when the body and spirit are strong and well. But in sickness, when the body demands so much, the soul begins to yearn for nothingness and looks for justification to embrace it. This is the danger. But you have the connection, and it gives you power. Power you must not be afraid to use to help the FBI Man." Dana looked from the Navajo elder to her partner and back again. "I'm not sure I know how...." She said quietly. "I would tell you a dream." Albert persisted, his eyes never leaving Scully's. "Seven nights ago, I dreamt that I was an eagle. But I was an eagle which had lost the ability of flight. I was falling into darkness, unable to make my wings work. I fell into blackness and pain and knew no more." Recognizing her own dream in Hosteen's words, Scully stared at the elder, her eyes wide in surprise. "You know this dream, I see it in your face. There are things he must hear and understand. These are things you have said before, but he has chosen not to hear. You must try again. His spirit must join his body in wanting to be healed." Unfinished business. Dana had counseled Teena Mulder against continuing not to deal with the unfinished business she had with her son. Somehow now Scully must find a way to do the same. x End Cursum Perficio (Part 18 of 58) From: Laadolf@aol.com Cursum Perficio (Part 19 of 58) by LAAdolf x He came to awareness at the touch of cool hands on his brow. He remembered this part of the dream, he had been here before. "Melissa?" Mulder was determined to get it right this time, opening his eyes, he expected once again to see the ghost of Melissa Scully, who had come to him before offering comfort in his isolation. "No, Mulder. It's Dana." He forced his eyes to focus on the pale face that loomed over him, framed by luxuriant red hair. It was Scully. He was still in the elevator shaft, but it was his partner who bent over him now, touching his face, his hip, his leg, taking away the pain. "Scully, I dreamt you came....but I woke up and I was alone again...." Scully looked at him, her eyes stern, "No Mulder, this is the dream. We did find you. You're in a hospital. You're dying." Mulder was confused. He knew where he was, he had been here long enough to recognize the place. Was this nothing more than one more hallucination, was this really not Scully? She seemed so real.... She put her hand to his chest and he felt his labored breathing easing, the pain that had greeted each intake of air was finally gone. "You can leave this place, Mulder. Nothing is holding you here anymore. Take my hand, I'll help you," Scully extended her hand to him expectantly. It was then that he knew. How like Death to send a messenger in the form of his partner. A final irony. "I want to leave," he said softly. It was better after all to embrace the process and get it over with. This dying business had already taken long enough. Mulder reached for Scully's hand. As their fingers touched a bright light filled the space around them. When its glare died away, they were standing, alone in the middle of a vast field. It was twilight, and there was no sound. The light that had seemed to envelope them moments before now glowed distantly on the horizon. Suddenly, Scully was gone, as though she had never existed. Mulder turned toward the horizon and began walking, once again, toward the light. x Dana Scully sat at her partner's bedside, staring intently at the various pieces of medical machinery, glancing at the readouts and displays, assessing the information. She remembered a dream in which she watched as Mulder walked away from her, drawn inexorably by a distant light. He was taking that walk now, she knew, turning his back on her. On life. Dana took a deep breath, stood and moved to Mulder s bed. She sat down on its edge, reaching for her partner's hand and taking it in both of her own. "I know what its like, Mulder. To be tired, so tired of fighting that you just want to give up and rest. I've been there, I understand. We've both been through so much--more than anyone should have to endure. But we've survived, Mulder. When we haven't had anything else to depend on, we've been able to depend on each other, draw strength from each other. "I'm not ready to give up on you. Do you hear me, Mulder?" Dana paused, drawing another deep breath, studying for a quiet moment the hand she held in her own. He had such nice hands, artistic hands, with such long, slender fingers. She curled her own hand around his, feeling its warmth. "...Do you hear me, Mulder?" The voice, as it had once before, drifted to him over a great distance. He paused, listening in spite of himself. He knew the voice so well, associated so much joy--and yet so much pain-- to its musical tones. He must try to shut the voice out, pretend that he could no longer hear it.... "Albert tells me that you feel responsible, somehow to blame for things that have happened--to me, as well as to others. I can't speak for anyone but myself Mulder, but you have to know that nothing that has happened has been your fault. You didn't abduct me, you didn't give me cancer--you weren't to blame that I was infected by the virus--but I do owe it to you that I survived all those things. I remember being as you are now, and hearing your voice telling me it wasn't my time, urging me not to give up. You gave me the strength of your convictions. You were there lending me that same strength when I was at my weakest point fighting the cancer. And it was you I saw standing in front of me when I woke up in that pod, urging me to breathe, carrying me to safety. No matter how any of these things came about, for whatever reason, by whatever design, that is what matters. You were there, you saved me. I owe you my life Mulder." The way before him rose again, it was a well remembered path. He was climbing the hill that would take him to the light--the light that was already beckoning him onward. Trilling a siren song that he would no longer be able to resist. "I tried to tell you after the final OPR hearing. But you didn't seem to want to hear me. One of the things I've always admired and appreciated about you, Mulder, is your ability to listen and respect another point of view. Even when you end up not acting on that input, you always at least listen. I don't understand why you wouldn't listen to me then, why you aren't listening to me now. I've stayed with the X-Files because it was where I wanted to be, because I feel now, as you do, that the answers to so much that affect us all are in there. The files themselves may be destroyed, but it is not that easy to destroy the truth--the answers are still there, waiting for us to uncover them. But I can't do it alone." x End Cursum Perficio (Part 19 of 58) From: Laadolf@aol.com Cursum Perficio (Part 20 of 58) by LAAdolf x Mulder paused again in his progress. He was tired. So very, very tired. His quest had been long and so difficult, fraught with so much danger and hurt, perils directed at those who had no vested interest in the ultimate outcome. He had made his own bargain long ago, regretted nothing of his part. He had intended to make his quest a lone one, to cut himself off from all ties but the one that bound him to the truth. He had not reckoned that in spite of his best efforts, other lives would become involved, would be so profoundly influenced by his search and so irrevocably changed.... He hadn't wanted that.... Scully searched Mulder's face, hoping against hope for a sign that her words were reaching him. There was nothing. "Know that in the past I accused you of dragging me along on your crusades, past all reason and sanity. But that is in the past. I didn't understand then. I don't think I truly began to understand until my sister was taken from me, just as yours was taken from you. You at least have the hope of being reunited with Samantha, Mulder, but Melissa is gone forever. The reality of that is what made me see that your crusade for the truth is my crusade as well. Losing her in that senseless way made me realize that the people behind all of this don't care who they hurt to achieve their ends. No one is safe--not the most innocent, nor those of us directly in pursuit of the bastards. I accept the risks to and for myself, just as you have always accepted the risk to your life. You are not responsible if that makes me a target. I accept that reality for myself, do you understand me Mulder?" *Do you understand me Mulder?* Her voice reached him again, its conviction resonating about him. He had thought he could shut out the sound, but he was wrong. He was consumed by a sudden desire to look at her, to see her for one last time..... Mulder turned and beheld her then, so close he could almost touch her. Dana Katherine Scully, the incandescent better half of his own soul... Dana felt her throat start to constrict as long pent up emotion began to clamor for release. She cleared her throat, trying desperately to keep her voice well modulated and controlled. She never knew how miserably she failed. "Why did I try to quit after Dallas, if I am so committed to this search for the truth? It's simple really, Mulder. I couldn't bear the thought of continuing to work in the FBI if it meant no longer working with you. They were going to break us up, send us off in opposite directions after all their fine promises of keeping us together after the X-Files were closed down. How could I begin to consider staying in the Bureau after that--after all you and I have seen and done? Duty in some god-forsaken field office, alone--I couldn't tolerate the idea. That was why I wanted out. That and because I couldn't bear to watch them continue to destroy you bit by bit and know that I wouldn't, couldn't be there, to put a stop to it." Dana's voice broke. She stopped and took in a ragged breath. The light at his back beckoned, bidding him to come and rest. He had thought that there was nothing he yearned for more. But he was wrong. He could not turn away. In Scully's voice he could hear a pain that matched his own, an aching emptiness that corresponded to that in his own soul. "And for all my fine intentions, look at what has happened. Someone has tried to kill you and where was I? If you feel responsible for what has happened to me, don't you think that I feel responsible for what has happened to you? I was here and I couldn't stop it. I was here and I couldn't open myself up to extreme possibilities enough to allow my own intuition to lead me to you sooner. Don't you see that if I lose you now, I will have to accept that I am as much to blame as the person who threw you down that elevator shaft? I'm your partner--partners keep each other safe and I didn't do that for you. I'm sorry Mulder, I'm so sorry....." A ragged sob escaped Dana's throat, in spite of her best efforts at control; the first was quickly followed by another. A week's worth of stoic effort aimed at keeping her emotions under tight control crumbled to ruins in a few brief moments. She found herself unable to stop the flow of tears, now that they had begun. He could feel her cool, slender fingers entwined with his own. As ever she was the force that grounded him, who made sense of the confusing jumble of his life, who put all the pieces right. The light at his back flared, burning him with an angry heat. He concentrated on the tenuous contact of the cool hands that clasped his own. He could not leave. Not now. Scully gave herself over to the tears, too tired, too emotionally spent to care any longer about her total lack of control. Her life had been a series of losses, her father, her sister, Emily -- the darling child of her body who should never have existed, but miraculously had. She didn't remember crying for any of them--had she? But she could cry now, for them and for Mulder. For all that had been and for all that now never would be. Lost in her misery, Dana had all but forgotten the hand that she held in both her own. She laid her cheek against the cocoon of her hands, heedless of the tears that washed over her fingers, splashing down on Mulder's lax hand. Forgotten, the fingers trapped between her palms stirred like a butterfly within a chrysalis. Slowly, weakly, they curled around her fingers, exerting a weak but steady pressure. Startled, Scully was snapped back to instant awareness. She stared, wide eyed first at the hand unmistakably clasping her own, then up into Mulder's face. Hazel-green eyes were open and looking at her with a solemn, sad empathy. He shook his head slightly, unable to speak because of the ventilator breathing tube. For a long minute, there was only the steady pressure of his hand in hers. Then he pulled that hand from her clasp, and reached up to touch her cheek, tracing a line along her jaw, then gently drawing her head down towards him. Scully allowed herself to be drawn down until her cheek rested on Mulder's chest, her ear placed lightly just over his heart. Its beat was steady and strong, and the hand that stroked first her cheek and then her hair communicated silently what she had hoped for all along. Mulder was back. x End Cursum Perficio (Part 20 of 58) From: Laadolf@aol.com Cursum Perficio (Part 21 of 58) by LAAdolf x The muted sounds of anguished tears drew Melvin Frohike out of his surveillance mode reverie. He cocked his head, listening carefully for a long moment, then stood up and peered anxiously into Mulder's intensive care unit. As he had surmised, it was Agent Scully who was crying, her head bent low over the cradle her hands made around Mulder's. Frohike's anguished first thought was that surely, Mulder must have died, for little else could have cracked the stoic facade that Dana Scully had presented to the world all this last week. There was, however, a curious lack of chimes and alarms -- and there was no indication of an imminent stampede of medical personnel responding to a code alert. As Frohike stood, transfixed, his attention fixed empathetically on the bereft young woman within the room, he saw Scully react in startled shock, her head jerking upward and swinging around to regard Mulder with amazement. At almost the same moment, Frohike was himself astonished to see Mulder's hand pull out of Scully's grasp, reach up to touch her cheek, then gently draw her head down to his chest. Abashed, Frohike turned away, feeling an unwelcome intruder into a profoundly private moment. A huge grin spread itself over the Lone Gunman's elfin face and he reached for the pager attached to his belt. First he'd spread the good news, then he would do what all the machinery in the intensive care room failed to do, and alert the medical staff to the reality of yet another Scully inspired miracle. x Walter Skinner was dozing in the intensive care waiting room, his head nodding toward his chest. His slumber was interrupted abruptly by the sound of a satisfied grunt. Skinner roused himself, fixing his focusing eyes on the figure of Albert Hosteen who sat a few feet away. As he Watched, Albert smiled broadly and nodded his head in obvious pleasure. "He is awake," Hosteen announced aloud, chuckling softly. Skinner favored the former Code Talker with a confounded expression, not quite trusting that his hearing was in working order. "Mulder?" Skinner asked, bewildered, glancing around. There was no one who could have imparted the news while he had catnapped, they were alone in the waiting room and surely he would have heard. "How do you know?" Hosteen smiled. "I have good ears," he said, enigmatically, his dark eyes sparkling with sly mischief. Skinner reacted with perplexity, then unaccountably found a chuckle rumbling in his own throat, his mouth arranging itself into a smile almost as broad as that on the face of the Navajo elder. It was, after all, hardly the most improbable event in a week of singular occurrences. x John Fitzgerald Byers jumped involuntarily as the pager on his hip vibrated. He had stopped off in the hospital cafeteria to grab something to eat before he was due to relieve Frohike from his shift outside of Agent Mulder's room. Instead he had done little more than push the food he'd selected around on his plate, lost in his own anxious musings. Byers reached for the pager, laying down his fork and rubbing his tired eyes with his free hand. He brought the electronic device up to eye level and focused narrowly on the pager display. This model was programmed for both numbers and short messages, and one word was flashing frenetically at him. That one word cause Byers to grin from ear to ear, and to leap up from the table, his food finally and irrevocably forgotten. AWAKE!! x Ringo Langly had just switched off the power on his computer terminal and was reaching to do the same to the lamp beside the p.c. when his pager beeped with loud insistence. He gazed at the small device where it lay on the desk in front of him for a long moment, suddenly loath to respond to the alert. It could only be Frohike or Byers, and something deep within him sensed that any word coming this hard upon the heels of Mulder's last crisis could not be good, especially since the reports from Frohike over the last few hours had not been glowing with progress. In spite of Skinner's assurances and the findings of the FBI forensic team, Langly still held himself largely responsible for Mulder not being found sooner. The image of the FBI agent sprawled brokenly at the bottom of an elevator shaft he had pronounced unoccupied was still burning in his brain. Gathering his courage, Langly lifted the pager up, unconsciously squeezing his eyes shut as it approached eye level. Cautiously, he opened only one of them as he looked apprehensively at the electronic device. The display flashed with a happy rhythm and Langly could almost envision Frohike bouncing up and down with delight as he had punched in the letters: AWAKE! Langly, feeling somewhat giddy with relief, tossed the pager ceiling-ward and let out a loud whoop of triumph. x End Cursum Perficio (Part 21 of 58) From: Laadolf@aol.com Cursum Perficio (Part 22 of 58) by LAAdolf Teena Mulder walked wearily down the hospital corridor. She wondered distractedly how her son would look today, if the frailty that had so shocked her upon seeing him at first would be just as evident, or if she would find herself somehow getting used to it. She had lost everyone else in her life that she had ever cared about, had long ago learned to hide away her feeling self to insulate her from further loss and pain. It was a bitter kind of justice that the perfidy of her past should be punished by this one last loss---and this the most profound of them all. The flurry of activity that emanated from the Intensive Care ward immediately caught Mrs. Mulder's attention, sending a stab of fear through her heart as she realized that focal point of the commotion was her son's room. Had Fox slipped away as she had made her slow way from hotel to hospital, lost in a fog of recrimination and self pity? Would she ever be able to forgive herself for not staying by his side and more vitally, for not having tried hard enough to seal the breach of months of estrangement? Teena's heart clenched painfully, her breath catching in her throat. No clear view into her son's room presented itself as she drew near, and white coated staff members entered and exited the room with determined alacrity as she approached. Teena saw Agent Scully emerge from the room, pausing, her back turned, as she spoke briefly with the man who sat guard outside Fox's room. Mrs. Mulder paused, trying to read the young woman's body language. As though sensing the scrutiny, Dana Scully turned, her face lined by the tracks of fresh tears. Teena brought a shaking hand to her mouth, stifling the anguished cry that threatened to escape her lips. Agent Scully seemed to sense her distress instantly, and the young woman closed the distance between them swiftly, her arms reaching out to steady the older woman as she wavered. "No! Mrs. Mulder! Its not what you think. He's awake!" Dana was saying, a soft smile illuminating her features. "He's n-not dead?" Teena Mulder stammered. "No, they are evaluating him right now, it looks as though he might be ready to come off the respirator. He's doing much better." "But will he be all right? Do they know yet?" Mrs. Mulder persisted, not quite able to process what the young woman had told her. "He's still got a lot of healing to do, and the infection isn't quite gone yet. But he is much, much better. Yes, I believe he is going to be all right." For the second time in as many days, Teena Mulder reached out and enfolded Dana Scully in an impulsive, but heartfelt embrace. "Thank you," she breathed into the halo of red hair. "Thank you." x "Latest word from the hospital is that Agent Mulder is much improved. He is going to live." The Cigarette Smoking Man leveled his gaze at the Lean Faced Man who sat on the other side of the massive office desk. The Lean Faced Man's face was impassive, betraying neither thought nor emotion. "An amazingly resilient man, Agent Mulder. He must never be underestimated," Cigarette Smoking Man continued, lighting up one of his signature accessories and taking a long drag. The Lean Faced Man shifted slightly in his chair, but the steely eyes never wavered in their regard of his titular superior. "You are, of course, not the first to have made that mistake with Mr. Mulder. I suspect that you will not be the last. He has the quality about him that belies his true nature. And it is his true nature that makes him formidable adversary. Of course, ambition can blind one to even the most obvious. Can it not?" Cigarette Smoking Man paused, taking several long draws of smoke into his lungs, savoring them, his attitude that there was all the time in the world to discuss Mulder or any other subject he might fancy. "Ambition is not altogether a bad thing, of course. When it is channeled toward a common goal, it can be quite useful. But when ambition is misdirected, it can be very destructive." Cigarette Smoking Man leaned forward, and ground the butt of his smoke into a large, ornate ashtray which dominated the corner of the desk on which it sat. Exhaling, he stood, turned his back on the Lean Faced Man, moving to the window behind the desk. He looked out into the oppressive night at the lights of the nation's capital. "Do you know how the Syndicate rewards individual initiative?" he asked quietly. The man who sat behind him made no response, but then, Cigarette Smoking Man had expected none. The only sound that could be heard was the strangled gurgle as the garrote was slipped over the head of the Lean Faced Man and tightened expertly and efficiently. The assassin had slipped into the room unnoticed at Cigarette Smoking Man's signal -- the extinguishing of his smoke. "No, I thought you did not." Cigarette Smoking Man mused philosophically, listening as the sounds of struggle continued for a few moments, then subsided. "Dump the body in the parking lot of the hospital Mulder is in. Make sure the photo is found nearby." "Yes, sir," came the quiet reply. Cigarette Smoking Man did not turn, but listened distractedly as the body of the Lean Faced Man was removed from his office. He continued to gaze out into the night, searching out the general direction of the hotel he had visited earlier in the day. "I said I would deal with him, Teena," he said softly, remembering the fire in her eyes, the hate that had burned there. It had not always been so. "And I have. For you." x End Cursum Perficio (Part 22 of 58) From: Laadolf@aol.com Cursum Perficio (Part 23 of 58) by LAAdolf x "If you keep this up," Dana Scully said, making a conscious attempt to keep her voice light, "you'll be in your own private room by tomorrow." Her gaze lifted from Mulder's chart, which she had been studying intently for some minutes, up to the patient himself. The respirator was gone now, replaced by a less cumbersome nasal cannula delivering supplemental oxygen. He was as yet, still connected to various pieces of machinery, monitors and IV lines, but the sight of him, alive and awake made all else pale to insignificance. Scully had hung back, allowing Mulder's mother time alone with him. She had watched from the corridor as Albert Hosteen, AD Skinner and then singly, the Lone Gunmen had paid brief but warm greetings to her partner. She had waited until Langly had taken up Byers' watch at the corridor post before venturing into his room. Mulder had made no comment in answer to her observation. He was, in fact making a distracted study of the bank of machinery upon which his life had depended for the past few days. "Mulder, are you in pain?" Scully ventured cautiously. She had been hoping to elicit one of his signature quips with her earlier comment, wanting--somewhat selfishly she knew -- the reassurance that her partner had weathered his unimaginable experience with his quintessence intact. It was, perhaps, too much to hope for, given the circumstances, but she found herself needing to hear his voice, aching to hear a characteristically dry remark. "No...." Mulder spoke without turning away from the objects of his fascination. Scully approached the head of the bed, reaching out to touch the hand that had, not so very long ago, touched her face with tenderness. She felt a small stab of fear. Something wasn't right. At her touch, Mulder finally turned to look at her, but the green eyes were hooded, enigmatic, offering no reassurance. "No...one...." He spoke again, his voice raspy, his throat expectedly raw from the abuse of several days of invasive tubes, "will...tell...me...." Scully reached for a cup of ice chips which had been placed near the head of the bed, spooning a few out. "Here, these will help," she soothed, deftly slipping the chips into Mulder's mouth. "Tell you what?" It was a moment before her partner ventured to speak, clearing his throat experimentally, "How long....?" Scully dropped her eyes to the cup she held in her hands. "You went missing a week ago tonight. This is Sunday. Late Sunday evening. We found you Friday night." Scully raised her eyes up once more. Mulder was regarding her, green eyes widening in a kind of subdued surprise, "F-five days....?" "Yes," Dana forced the word out between lips that were threatening to tremble. Mulder nodded fractionally. "Frohike.... Says...I have you to thank...for being found at all..." "Not really. He was looking for you Monday before anyone realized you were missing, he had Byers and Langly calling and hacking into systems all over town. It was a team effort. Skinner even defied the brass a couple of times. We were very lucky--you were very lucky. Mulder, its really a miracle you were able to survive that long, so badly hurt....no food....no water." Mulder was looking at her searchingly, as though weighing her words against known facts. He reached out a hand to touch hers, squeezing weakly before letting it drop back to his side. "Didn't seem that...long. I-I don't seem to remember much...." Scully enveloped his hand with one of her own. "Retrograde amnesia isn't uncommon in cases of trauma... she began, hating the clinical sound her voice seemed to take on. In the midst of the struggle for Mulder's life, she had avoided thinking of the ordeal he must have been through before they had found him. Now suddenly, the reality of being trapped, hurt and immobilized in such a lonely place loomed large in her imagination, stirring memories of her own that she had desperately avoided remembering. Abruptly, she decided on a change of subject. "Are you sure you're not in any pain?" she asked, studying his face minutely. "No pain.....m' just tired, "Mulder admitted. Scully favored him with an indulgent smile, "You've had a busy couple of hours. Go to sleep, I'll stay right here." Mulder's eyes, which had been close to drifting shut, opened wide again, regarding her with a strange intensity. For an uncomfortable moment, she was reminded of watching as her partner had--in the middle of a regression session--spoken hauntingly of a life lived over 130 years in the past. *My soul is tired....* "No, Scully," he said with surprising force. Dana favored him with a bewildered look, startled. "You go home. I'm fine now. Go home. Rest." The green eyes were uncharacteristically stern in their regard of her, and bore the expression of someone who would brook no argument. It was an impressive performance for someone who otherwise still looked painfully frail. But more than that, the world-weary aspect that shadowed those eyes made her suddenly uneasy. "I'll stay until you fall asleep, then I'll go home." Scully countered, hoping that her lie would not be too detectable. "No. I won't sleep. Not until you go." Mulder announced stubbornly, backing up the threat with a wide-eyed truculent stare. Scully might have called for a neurologist, had not the intractability she was faced with now not been so familiar. Dana weighed her options. She could call his bluff and stay right where she was. The exhaustion plainly stamped on his features told her it would not be long before he lost the pointless battle to stay awake. But her own need to reassure herself and to, she had to admit, massage her own increasingly guilty conscience paled against her knowledge that his reserves of strength were finite, precious and not up to a battle of wills. "Okay, Mulder, I'm going. I will be back first thing in the morning," she promised, pausing to smooth his hair away from his forehead. Mulder wasn't moved by the action, if anything his expression took on a more determined cast. Admitting defeat and strangely affected by the sudden flaring of her partner's will, Scully made her way to the door of Mulder's room. She glanced back briefly, before continuing on. Mulder was already asleep. x End Cursum Perficio (Part 23 of 58) From: Laadolf@aol.com Cursum Perficio (Part 24 of 58) by LAAdolf x Assistant Director Skinner was striding down the hall toward her when Dana emerged from Mulder's room. "How's Mulder doing?" he asked as he approached. "Well enough to kick me out and tell me to go home. He's come through this with his stubborn streak intact at least," Scully remarked irritably. Skinner chuckled, "and his eyesight. You do look as though a small breeze would knock you over. You need the rest as much as he does." "I'm going home, sir," Scully emphasized. "Spare me just a minute before you do. I was seeing Albert and Mrs. Mulder into a cab a while ago when Frohike and Byers came running back toward the hospital. Seems they stumbled across a body on their way to their van. And this was under the windshield wipers of my car." Skinner handed a manila envelope to Scully. "I already have a forensic team going over everything. That's been dusted for prints. It and its contents are clean." Scully opened the envelope and slid out a photograph. The 8 x 10 had the grainy quality of a telephoto surveillance photo, but the subjects were unmistakable. The figure to the left of the photo was the image of the man who had been found, dead, so close to Casey's Bar. Scully did not recognize the second man. She looked at Skinner questioningly. "He's the man we just found in the parking lot. He'd been garroted. We're running his prints, although I don't hold out a lot of hope that we will find out much from them." "He ordered this done to Mulder? Can we be sure the photo is genuine?" "I'll be handing this off to the forensic team for the lab to look over. My guess is that we are meant to think so, even if it isn't." "The Syndicate?" "That would be my guess. Maybe this guy thought he'd do a little housekeeping and work his way up the ladder faster. They mean to close the book with this." "Or it could be a trick. They want us to drop our guard and leave Mulder unprotected. I'm going to stay here after all. He's asleep now, he won't need to know....." "No, Scully. Langly is here and so are my people. I'm going to see that you go home, you do need the rest. I just thought you should know about this sooner rather than later." "That's an order, sir?" Scully queried, slipping the photo back into its envelope and handing it back to Skinner. "Only if it has to be." Skinner admitted. Dana Scully looked to Langly, who sat a few feet down the hall, having heard the entire conversation. From the expression on his face, she would find no ally there, either. She was, suddenly, very, very tired. It had been a grueling week of too little sleep and too many long hours. The fight draining from her, she allowed Skinner to lead her down the hall, out of the hospital, and to escort her home. x Langly's attention was captured by the approach of Frohike and Byers. "I was wondering if you guys would be coming back," he commented as the two men drew close. Frohike nodded grimly, "We can sleep in the waiting room as well as anywhere else. This is no time to be letting down our guard, not when Mulder could be more vulnerable than ever." "Skinner have to pull rank to get Scully to leave?" Byers asked, "we passed them on our way back in. She didn't look very happy." Langly shook his head. "Not really. She said she was going to go anyway after Mulder kicked her out of his room and told her to go home. Skinner just applied a little pressure when she changed her mind again after hearing what you guys found in the parking lot." Frohike gave a small grin, "Mulder kicked her out? That's our boy, alienating his friends just an hour or so after waking up." Langly's response was not the expected jovial retort. Instead, he tossed Frohike an uncharacteristically stern look. "She's exhausted--that would be the first thing that Mulder would notice. He did the only thing he could to get her to go home and rest is all." Frohike exchanged a quick but meaningful look with Byers. Normally Langly would have let the comment slide for what it was, a truly harmless dig at their favorite Fed. All was still not well in Langly-land if the defensiveness in his tone was any indication. Their companion was obviously still wrestling with a case of the guilts where Mulder was concerned. "You're right," Byers soothed, "it's just good to see things getting a little more normal where Mulder is concerned is all. That is all Frohike meant by it." "Yeah, man, that IS all I meant," Frohike echoed. Langly hung his head briefly, then looked up at his companions, pain evident in his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses. "I know. I just keep seeing him at the bottom of that elevator shaft and wondering why I couldn't see him. I know what Skinner's people said, but it just doesn't make sense to me." He hung his head again. Byers reached out to put a hand on Langly's thin shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. "He's gonna be okay now, man. You've got to let it go." Frohike said quietly, mirroring Byers' action. Langly shook his head sadly, "I just wish I knew how." X End Cursum Perficio (Part 24 of 58) From: Laadolf@aol.com Cursum Perficio (Part 25 of 58) by LAAdolf Mulder started awake in the half light of his room, the pain that had been with him since he had awakened to see Scully crying at his bedside suddenly increasing in intensity. He clenched the hand that was free of IV shunts and telemetry leads, attempting to ride out the spasm by force of will. Through the pain the image of Scully's tear-streaked face haunted him. She had looked so haggard, so worn, the circles under her eyes emphasizing their size unnaturally. Looking at her, he had been uncomfortably reminded of how she had looked when cancer had nearly killed her. He had sworn to himself then--at her bedside-- that if somehow she survived, he would never let anything touch her in that way again. Not only had he repeatedly failed at that vow, he was no directly responsible for the stress that had left her looking so worn and frail. Bill Scully had been right, he was one sorry son-of-a-bitch.... He had done what he had to, sending her away to rest, as hard as it had been. When she was present he could bear almost anything, when she was gone he was lost..... Another wave of pain coursed through his body catching him unaware. Without meaning to, Mulder cried out. The cry carried through the open entry of the intensive care cubicle and reached Frohike's ears first. The elfin man straightened and spun in the direction of the sound. Langly l ooked startled and abruptly stood up, while Byers, standing the farthest away, followed as the other two forged into the room. "Mulder?" Frohike queried worriedly as he rounded the entrance and moved to the fallen agent's bedside, Langly and Byers close behind. The sight that greeted the three was a startling one. Mulder was doubled over in the bed in obvious distress, his face whiter than the bedclothes. "He's in pain. I'll go get a doctor," Byers announced moving toward the doorway. "NO!" Mulder's shout was abrupt, the force of his voice a surprising contrast to the utterly helpless picture he presented. "Hey man, you're in the land of the free and legal high--you don't have to go through this! Go on Byers, go and get someone." Frohike said as he jerked his head toward the exit. "Langly, get back out in the hall. Be just like those bastards to take advantage of something like this." Langly, who had seemed rooted to a spot just inside the doorway and who had been looking at Mulder with horrified fascination, did what he was told with no protest. Frohike turned his attention back to Mulder, gripping the other man by the shoulders, trying to ease him back into a recumbent position on the bed. "Try to relax, Mulder. Breathe. That's it. Help is on the way," Frohike soothed, worried by the sheer pallor of Mulder's face and the beads of perspiration standing out on the younger man's forehead. "I'm gonna have Langly call Scully-" "NO!" Mulder hissed between clenched teeth, gripping Frohike's forearms with a surprising strength. "Not Scully! You understand me?!" Frohike hid his confusion at Mulder's reaction, seeking to calm him first and figure out the illogic of his reaction later. "Okay! No calling Scully. Never mind she'll have our skins for not letting her know--" "Doesn't need to know anything about this," Mulder replied truculently. Whatever had caused the agony seemed to have abated somewhat, he was relaxing back into his pillows and regaining a bit of the color--such as it had been--that he had lost in the attack. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about.... when we met...at Casey's." If the two statements had little direct connection to each other-- understandable under the circumstances-- Frohike was less worried about that and more riveted by Mulder's mention of the meeting that had never come to pass. He recalled once again the FBI agent's mysterious phone call the evening of his disappearance, his insistence on meeting at Casey's Bar almost immediately, and his refusal to say why he wanted to see the Lone Gunman at such an odd time and at that particular place. "Not telling Scully? Telling her what? I don't get it." Mulder, reclining against his pillows, breathing raggedly, gave a short, mirthless laugh. "That I got drunk, you had to pour me into a cab and deliver my sorry ass back to my apartment." "But that never happened---" Frohike began, then the light began to dawn. "Wait a minute. You're telling me you were going to meet me just to get drunk? And I was supposed to keep Scully from finding out about it? That was why you took a cab to Casey's. Was that also why you left your cell phone in your apartment? We've been trying to figure that one out all week." Mulder executed a tight nod, avoiding Frohike's fascinated stare. "Didn't want any unauthorized calls-- going out or coming in. Also wanted you to stop me from making any unwise side trips. Last one didn't turn out too well..." The special agent's tone was melancholy. Frohike nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. In vino veritas...." "And all that...." Mulder murmured, his eyes hooded, his expression one of chagrin. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe. From Scully and everyone else." Frohike offered. "Anybody asks, I'm still in the dark and you can't seem to remember." The expression on Mulder's face as he turned his head to look at Frohike directly for the first time in several minutes was one of surprise and sincere gratitude. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but Frohike waved him to silence. "You'll owe me. But don't worry. I won't make you pay too high a price." Further conversation was preempted by the arrival of white coated medicos who shooed Frohike out of the room while they set about checking vitals and readouts and performing a quick but thorough examination of the patient. When Frohike was allowed back into the unit a few minutes later, the agonizing attack had been pronounced the result of muscular spasms, an apparently not altogether unexpected consequence of the dislocated hip. The abuse the joint had taken, exacerbated by the length of time the injury had gone untreated, had produced unusual pressures on the muscles involved. The spasms were the direct result of the temporarily deformed muscles returning to pre-injury alignment. As Frohike entered and approached Mulder's bedside once more, a nurse completed the rigging of traction on the agent's abused limb. Before long, the Lone Gunman found himself alone again with Mulder. "Thanks Frohike," Mulder said finally. His eyelids were growing heavy under the effects of the medication he had just been given. Frohike pulled up the chair where Scully had kept her vigil for so long and sat in it, watching as, after a few quiet minutes, Mulder drifted off into peaceful sleep. It wouldn't be easy, keeping the night's events from Dana Scully, but Frohike would consult with Byers and Langly and make sure that all that could be done would be done. As for the other--Melvin Frohike was a man of his word. The aborted meeting had been his own personal mystery for this past week, and so it would stay. x End Cursum Perficio (Part 25 of 58) From: Laadolf@aol.com Cursum Perficio (Part 26 of 58) by LAAdolf x Sleep did not come easy that night for Dana Scully. As exhausted as she was, she found herself tossing and turning, her mind racing with a myriad of thoughts, her emotions churning into high gear well into the early hours of Monday morning. Skinner had brought her directly home as promised, but had not told her that he had ordered a security sweep of her apartment before they reached it. The FBI team the assistant director had dispatched was just finishing up as they pulled up in front of her apartment. She had waited impatiently as the team leader had reported an "all clear" to Skinner, all the while glaring at her superior's turned back with an intensity that should have scorched holes into his suit jacket. Intellectually, she realized that Skinner, in light of the evenings cumulative events, was being cautious, and she might, at any other time have been grateful and touched by his concern. But this evening, coming hard on the heels of Mulder's summary dismissal of her from his room, it was just one more emotional irritation that she might have lived without. Even more frustrating had been Skinner's total lack of reaction to her burst of temper when they were alone, after the team had piled into its van and driven off into the night. He had simply escorted her into her apartment, extracted a promise that she would eat a little something and then turn in, and had vanished into the night himself after ascertaining that she had locked and bolted her door. Rebellious at being treated as she had been by both males---and Langly had been no support either, damn him, Dana had bypassed the kitchen, opting instead for a long and hopefully relaxing shower. As the hot water had coursed around her, soothing her frayed temper and her tense body, she had begun to realize that she was being unfair. Skinner was just being cautious -- as he had mentioned to her more than once, the safety and health of his agents was his responsibility, and the Syndicate was predictable enough to have a secondary plan, having failed once again to kill their primary target--Mulder. And she really couldn't have expected poor Langly, who was, as she knew, wrestling still with his own conscience over not having spied Mulder in the elevator, to have stood up to Skinner and supported her desire to stay one more night in Mulder's hospital room. Mulder, Mulder, Mulder! She still could not believe--well, she could believe, she should really not have expected anything else from him--that he had behaved as he had, straining the fragile reserves of his strength, just to order her from a place that she had occupied for two nights already and had a perfect right to stay in if she so chose. She should probably have not given up without more of a fight..... Dana had stepped from the shower then, wrapping one towel around her wet head and wrapping another around her body before turning to wipe a hole into the condensation that had collected on her medicine cabinet mirror. The sight that greeted her--almost unrecognizable as her own reflection at first glance--suddenly chased away the last of her anger at her partner's reaction to her announced intention to stay by his bedside for yet another night. She had not paid the usual attention to her appearance, she knew, while the frantic search for Mulder had been underway --and even less so since he had been found and been so ill -- but the gaunt lines, shadows and hollows of her own face were still a substantial shock. No wonder Skinner had been treating her like a frail exotic hatchling and the Lone Gunmen had been casting worried glances in her direction when they thought she wasn't looking. And no wonder that even in his condition, Mulder had voiced such a strong reaction to her plans to stay on with him. She wouldn't have thought it possible, but she did almost look worse than he did. And she knew better than she ever had how little it took to bring out Fox William Mulder's maddening protective streak these days, especially since the events in Texas and....the Antarctic.... Well, it was nothing a couple good meals, a decent night's sleep and troweling on make-up would not take care of--and she would make sure that she looked presentably human when she returned to the hospital the next day. Her anger suitably spent, Dana had climbed into her pajamas and robe, had padded into the kitchen and fixed herself a mug of warm milk before retiring to her bed. There should have been nothing to prevent her from surrendering to the exhaustion that was pulling on her, making her limbs feel like dead weights and her eyelids heavy. But no sooner had she laid down than she felt the familiar sense of unease that had been her companion for this past week, the tiny voice of fear that insisted on her attention, and which banished all possibility of quick and deep slumber. Mulder.... There was something wrong. She had been right to want to stay, and while she understood the reaction of those around her, she should probably have insisted on it. Mulder was back, alive and progressing towards being well again--that was, as Albert had said, no longer the problem. But he was not himself. Under other circumstances, she might have feared that his head injury was to blame, that there had been damage undetectable by even the most sophisticated neurological tests. But something elemental told her that that was not the case--it was not anything physical this time. It might be that his recollections of his near week of tortuous isolation and near death were not as incomplete as he claimed--somehow, even when he had been denying it aloud, she had felt the conviction that that was the case. She could help him through that, she knew, her own counseling sessions after her abduction and her brush with cancer had shown her the benefits of working through these things with professional assistance. The worst part would be persuading Mulder to seek the aid of a therapist, as she had, but she would see it done--he did not have to suffer alone any more. But what if--whatever trauma he had endured in his isolation--this was, as Albert had hinted, a deeper and more complex problem? Mulder had been different, ever since the final OPR hearing--after which she had withdrawn her resignation from the Bureau. She had chalked up his adamantine refusal to accept her decision as just another expression of the protectiveness that had been a more pronounced part of their relationship since the cancer diagnosis. But what if it was something else entirely....what if he had decided that they could no longer continue working together.......? Dana Scully finally fell asleep, her exhaustion a debt that could no longer go unpaid. But her dreams expressed themselves with the symbology of a quest that continued relentlessly, and which filled her unconsciousness with such a sense of utter emptiness and futility that in the morning she woke up with the tracks of tears once again on her cheeks. x End Cursum Perficio (Part 26 of 58)