From: shoshana1013@excite.com
Date: Sat, 22 May 1999 20:05:58 PDT
Subject: New: Guardian Angel (1/1)Biogenesis post-ep


TITLE: Guardian Angel (1/1)
AUTHOR: Shoshana
EMAIL ADDRESS: shoshana1013@excite.com
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere 
SPOILER WARNING: Biogenesis
RATING: PG-13
CONTENT STATEMENT: VA 
CLASSIFICATION: VA
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST
SUMMARY: Post-ep. Mulder wakes up in a hospital room, Maggie Scully on watch
beside him.  Follows "A Record of This Time" 
DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me.

Guardian Angel
By Shoshana

I wake up in a private room, wrist and leg restraints constricting me.  I
have a headache worse than the worse hangover I ever had at Oxford, which is
saying a lot.  The din of noise seems to have abated some, maybe because
there's only one other person in the room with me now, and that person is
Maggie Scully.

She reads a magazine, unaware that I am fully conscious, attempting to blink
the gunk out of my eyes, unable to reach up with my captured hands and wipe
them.  I finally scratch out a pathetic attempt at her name, my vocal cords
shot to hell by all that screaming I vaguely remember.  Her head snaps up
and she smiles at me beatifically, an oasis in this nightmare of white walls
and fluorescent lighting.

Scully went to the Ivory Coast, she'll be back tonight she tells me.  She
used her power as my next of kin to supervise my medical treatment before
she left.  And she left her 'real' next of kin as the person responsible for
all decisions in her absence.  She's been calling twice a day to check in
with the doctor, her mom, and the Lone Gunmen.  They divide the day up into
six hour shifts, guarding me from unauthorized treatment, medication, or
visitors.

My ranting and raving apparently diminished after Scully saw me in the
padded cell.  They moved me to a private room at her request and prohibited
Diana from the premises.  She couldn't keep Skinner away, but he was only
there briefly, to assess my condition and leave his cell phone number with
Maggie.  I had been asleep most of the last forty-eight hours, finally
knocked out by the barbiturates in my system.

They had found no signs of a tumor, just signs of extremely abnormal brain
function, as yet unexplained.  I am blown away by the grasp Mrs. Scully has
of the situation; she is rattling off every detail with an authoritative
poise that I have only seen in her daughter's demeanor.  I make no attempt
to speak, just nodding my head occasionally to show that I am indeed
listening and comprehending every word of her monologue.

I want her to keep talking, keep talking so that I will not be privy to any
of her private thoughts.  I probably could hack listening to the Gunmen's
mental ramblings, but I don't want to invade the mind of Maggie Scully.  God
knows what she is thinking about Fox Mulder, locked up in the nuthouse
because of some damn African artifact.  I'm not even sure how much she knows
about that.  She just knows that her daughter desperately needs her to do
watchdog duty, to keep the vultures from picking at my brain.

She is running out of steam, apparently out of information to convey or the
energy to express it.  She says, "Fox, we just all want to see you get
better," grasping my hand in a motherly way for a few seconds.  She smiles
and settles back in her chair as I sigh and try to doze back to sleep.
Except now I can hear her thoughts, and I unwillingly and guiltily
eavesdrop, unable to prevent the intrusion, unable to tell her why she
should leave the room NOW.

I can hear her clearly, it's nothing like the cacophony at the university,
it's as clear as a bell.  She's musing that Dana must love me so much to be
finagling all these arrangements, from the private room, to the treatment,
to the flight to Africa in search of God knows what.  She wishes that
everything could be easy for us, that we could just be normal people with
normal occupations and a normal life.  I lie still as a corpse, feigning
sleep, praying that she won't observe tears that exit my eyes and roll down
my cheeks.  I feel so powerless.  I can barely utter two words in a row.  I
can't disguise my grief after hearing her poignant thoughts.  Thoughts I
shouldn't be at liberty to know.

Her mind is quieter now, I can hear her reading a short story from the back
pages of a woman's magazine.  As I drift off to sleep, I hear just a few
more of her reflections:  'Get some sleep Fox, Dana will be back for you
soon. Very soon.  And then she'll take you home, home where you belong.  God
bless Dana for her kind and loving heart.  I wish her Dad could see her
now.'  I finally fall asleep, my surrogate angel at my side.

fin

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