From: DA <dee_ayy@yahoo.com>
Date: Tue, 21 Sep 1999 16:23:44 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: xfc: LONG WEEKEND (5/9)
Source: xfc

From: DA <dee_ayy@yahoo.com>

The treatment room was empty when Langly returned; he
guessed he was early. But he didn't have to wait long
before Mulder was brought back--on a gurney, not in a
wheelchair like when he'd left. 

"What happened, Mulder? You okay?" 

The orderly was helping Mulder scoot over onto the bed
in the room. He was clutching something in his left
hand, and as soon as he was settled back into his
left-side curl, he put it against his forehead. It was
a wet cloth. "What happened? Nothing. Nothing."
Mulder's voice trailed off and he said nothing more. 

The orderly offered an explanation as he moved the IV
bag onto the stand in the room. "He's okay. Got a
little woozy when they stood him up for the x-rays,
that's all."

The man left--and Langly noted smugly that he had left
a sheet--a cloth one--over the patient. Nurse Okay
wouldn't be able to blame him for that one. And Langly
found himself alone with a very sick man. He didn't
know what to do. Mulder's chart was lying on the foot
of the bed, so Langly opened it and started to read.
Research for Scully; she'd want to know. Pulse 85. BP
132/90. Temp 102.8. Presented with severe right lower
quadrant pain, blah blah blah, yeah, he knew all that.
But beyond the preliminaries it became gibberish. He'd
have to spend more time at medical sites on the net.
Never know when they'd come in handy. Mulder looked to
be asleep, and Langly felt the cloth on his forehead.
It was barely damp, so he risked another reprimand
from the nurse and took it and ran it under the
faucet. He wrung it out and replaced it. 

As he was putting it back on Mulder's forehead, his
friend mumbled "Thanks Scully." 

Scully? Not this again. "Ummm, not Scully, Mulder.
It's" Before Langly could get his name out, the
patient's eyes shot open. 

"Langly? Where's Scully? What happened to Scully?"  He
tried to sit up, but had barely moved before pain sent
him back into his protective ball. 

"Mulder, you have appendicitis, remember? Scully's
fine. She's back home. We're in LA, remember?" 

Mulder settled back down. "Right. Forgot. Sorry."

"It's all right. Don't worry about a thing."

"Langly?"

"Yeah?"

"I think. . . . I think I'm gonna be sick." 

Oh Fuck. Fucking hell. "Wait. No, don't. Wait a sec.
I'll find someone."  Brilliant, Langly, tell someone
who's about to puke to wait. He ran for the door and
threw it open; there was absolutely no one in the
corridor. In an emergency room? What was the chance of
that? He could hear Mulder begin to retch behind him,
so he turned back and his eyes frantically surveyed
the room. He saw a plastic basin on a counter, grabbed
it, and ran back to the man on the gurney. 

Mulder was wound so tight he was virtually retching on
to his knees, so first Langly needed to unfold him. He
put his hand over the wet cloth on Mulder's forehead,
and pushed his head back. When he did he noticed that
Mulder wasn't bringing anything up at all, he was just
dry heaving. Thank God for small favors. Nevertheless,
he put the basin under Mulder's mouth and waited for
the episode to pass. He hadn't thrown up in a while.
Not since the hotel. Was he getting worse? 

Langly was still holding the basin for Mulder when
another man entered the room. He looked disheveled;
tired. He was in green hospital scrubs, wrinkled
virtually beyond recognition; there was dark stubble
on his face; and his curly brown hair was exhibiting
the telltale signs of bedhead. Well, it _was_ four in
the morning. When the man saw what was transpiring in
the room he perked up, stuck his head out the door and
shouted something down the hall, then came and
relieved Langly of basin duty. To say Langly was
relieved would be an understatement. 

Langly stood back and watched the man push Mulder's
hair back from his forehead kindly. When it looked
like the puking had passed, the man removed the basin
from under his chin. "Done?"  Mulder nodded weakly,
and the man went to the sink and filled a cup of
water. He came back and placed the cup under Mulder's
lips. "Here. Rinse your mouth. But PLEASE don't
swallow--spit it in the basin. Should use ice chips,
but they aren't exactly convenient, and there's
nothing worse than a case of puke mouth, I know." 

Puke mouth? Who was this guy? Mulder rinsed and spit. 

"Okay then, that was an interesting introduction, Mr.
Mulder. My name is Doctor McCarthy, and it looks like
I'm going to be taking out your appendix this fine
morning." To punctuate the word 'morning,' McCarthy
let out a lengthy yawn. 

"Uh huh." It was all Mulder could manage at the
moment. The vomiting had left him spent.

Langly looked at the guy--he didn't look any more like
a doctor than he himself did. He looked at the man's
feet, and he was wearing Converse high tops, too. Only
his were black. This was a surgeon? The guy must have
noticed the look on Langly's face.

"I assure you. I'm board certified and everything.
Quite good, if I do say so myself. I was asleep in the
on-call room when I got beeped. But I clean up real
nice. If your friend here had had the good sense to
get sick during normal hours, you might even have seen
me wearing a tie. It's been known to happen." 

Langly had no idea if this guy was any good, but he
already knew he liked him. A damn sight better than
the guy who'd examined Mulder earlier.

A nurse entered--the doctor must have been calling her
when he shouted out the door. She was carrying
something small in her hand, and when she arrived the
doctor stepped around to Langly's side of the gurney,
but spoke to Mulder. "We have something here, an
antiemetic, to stop that nausea of yours.  It's
actually a suppository, so you stay right like you
are. Perfect." Langly grimaced noticeably, and the
doctor put his arm around his shoulders very
familiarly, turning them both until their backs were
to the patient. "There are some things even the
closest of friends don't need to see," he whispered.
Then he winked and smiled, and turned them back
around. The nurse was already finished; Mulder hadn't
made a sound.

"Okay, on with the show. So tell me, Mr. Mulder, Has
the pain gotten any better or worse while you've been
here?" 

"No. You gave me something, though." 

"Oh, I know. But if your appendix had burst you'd have
felt it. Just checking. I know you went through all
this already, but I really do need to take a look at
your belly myself. You mind?" 

By way of answer, Mulder just slowly rolled back onto
his back. The doctor pulled down the sheet and pulled
up the hospital gown, exposing Mulder's midsection. He
proceeded to repeat every torture that Dr. Santana had
performed earlier. Only this time the doctor looked
genuinely sympathetic and sorry for the pain he was
causing. 

But only Langly was aware of that--Mulder never once
opened his eyes. He answered the questions the doctor
posed, but he never looked. When McCarthy got to the
extremely tender part of Mulder's abdomen, the patient
did his very best to keep it together. But even with
the medication he'd been given, the pain was severe.
As he stood by the bed and watched, Langly felt
something brushing his hip. He looked and saw that
Mulder's left arm had slipped off the gurney, and that
he was frantically grasping the air, looking for
something to grab on to. Langly considered slipping
his hand into his friend's--that was his first
instinct. But for some reason he couldn't do it, and
instead offered up his wrist, which Mulder clasped on
to for dear life. Immediately Langly was glad he'd
thought better of giving his hand--Mulder might have
broken it. As it was, he was sure he was in for some
bruises.

"Okay, almost done. Two more things." The doctor
adjusted the sheet, exposing Mulder's right leg
completely, but only his right leg. He placed his hand
so it was hovering over, and practically touching his
patient's right knee. "What I want you to do is to
lift your right leg up at the hip and push it against
the resistance of my hand." 

Mulder did and let out a slight "aaaah!" It also got
him to open his eyes and look at his surgeon.

The doctor smiled at the eye contact. "Hi there! Did
that make the pain in your abdomen worse?" 

"Uh huh." Mulder let the answer out as a gasp. 

"No kidding. Cool. Okay, one more. Just relax your
leg; let me do the work." The doctor picked up
Mulder's right leg, and held it airborne with the knee
bent. Slowly he rotated the leg inward at the hip,
never taking his eyes off his patient's face. Mulder
clenched his teeth, but stifled any exclamation.

"That made it worse too, huh?" Mulder nodded, and the
doctor put the leg down. "Okay, I'm done. You can
resume your appy ball." 

"What?" Langly exclaimed, but Mulder was too busy
curling back onto his side. 

The doctor laughed and pointed at his patient. "The
appy ball. You know, curled in the tightest ball
possible on your side. Every appendicitis patient
wants to curl up like that. I call it the appy ball."
Langly looked at the guy like he was nuts, but Mulder
didn't. He understood. 

McCarthy walked around to the other side of the
gurney, pulled the long-ago abandoned chair up close,
sat down and leaned forward with his hands on his
knees so he was virtually eye to eye with his patient.
Langly was standing behind him; his eyes went wide for
a second, and he actually had to cover his mouth to
keep from laughing out loud. Mulder watched him
quizzically before turning his attention back to the
doctor.

"Okay, here's the story. You, Mr. Mulder, are the most
perfect textbook case of acute appendicitis I have
ever seen. You have absolutely every indicator. Fever,
anorexia, vomiting, migrating right lower quadrant
pain, rebound tenderness, guarding, positive obturator
and psoas signs, elevated white-blood-cell count ,
everything. Every one of them. They should put a
picture of you in the dictionary under
'appendicitis.'" As he was speaking he watched a tiny
smirk cross his patient's lips. "What?" 

"Just thinking. I never do anything by the book." 

The doctor gave him a broad smile and stood up. "Well,
there's a first time for everything! We've got one
more thing I want to do before you head up to surgery,
but we'll grab it along the way, and I promise it
won't hurt. Not much anyway. I want to get a quick
ultrasound. None of the other signs point to it, but
your fever is higher than we'd like, and an ultrasound
will hopefully confirm that your appendix hasn't
ruptured yet. And it will help us find our way around
in there." He turned and looked at Langly. "Say your
sayonaras here, and I'll come out to the waiting room
to tell you how things look before we get started,
okay?" Back to Mulder. "You relax. We'll have you
feeling tip top in no time. I'll see you in a few." He
left. 

Mulder immediately looked at Langly. "What was so
funny?"  

"It's too perfect for words, Mulder. Too unbelievable.
Worthy of one of your X-Files." 

"What, Langly?" He was in no mood for games. 

"Your surgeon is wearing boxer shorts with little
green aliens all over them!" 

Mulder sighed. "Is that all." 

"Is that all? Don't you see the poetry in it?" 

"Poetry? Frankly all I care is that he's got a steady
hand." 

Langly was immediately sobered. "Good point."  

Nurse Okay came in carrying an IV bag, which she hung
up and connected to the tubing running to his arm.
"We've got some antibiotics for you here, okay? It's
always good to start them before surgery, okay?" She
finished what she was doing and once more surveyed the
room, emitting a satisfied "okay!" when she was done.
"Well, that's it, Mr. Mulder. Take care, and feel
better soon, okay?" She didn't wait for an answer, she
just hurried out the door. 

"Did I bring my gun? If she comes back in here and
'okays' me one more time, I'll have to shoot her." He
was cracking jokes, but Mulder's tone of voice showed
that his heart wasn't in it.

"She comes back in here, I'll shoot her for you."
Langly's wasn't, either. The blonde man shuffled his
feet and toed the tile floor. Shit, he hated this
part. Now what did he do? What should he say? 

"You'll call Scully?" 

Thank you, Mulder. "Oh yeah, yeah, sure. As soon as I
leave. I'll bring her up to date." 

"Good. Thanks." 

"Yeah." 

Shit. Awkward pause number two. Mulder was gazing at a
point on the wall far behind his friend.

"Well, uhhh, look Mulder. You take care. And good luck
and all that. I'll see you in a few hours, okay?" 

"Yeah, Okay." Mulder closed his eyes wearily, which
Langly took as a dismissal. He started to slide to the
end of the gurney and toward the door, but before he
got away he impulsively reached out toward Mulder. His
hand landed on his friend's right calf, so that's
where Langly gave what he hoped was a reassuring
squeeze, and he fled out the door. 

+ + + + +       

"Laparoscopic, Frohike. L-A-P-A-R-O" He cut Scully
off. 

"I know how it's spelled, Agent Scully." Actually, he
didn't, but he didn't need to, either. "But Langly
here says the doctor didn't tell him how they were
gonna do it." 

"Well then get in there and raise holy hell until you
talk to the surgeon again! Don't let them cut him
open. Recovery time is less than half as long with a
laparoscopic appendectomy as with the traditional.
Make them do it that way." 

Frohike was frustrated. How do you make a surgeon do
anything? And were they in any position to be
demanding at 4:30 in the morning? Nevertheless, he
covered the pay phone's mouthpiece and turned to
Langly. "Scully says not to let them do it the
traditional way. Takes too long to recover. Make them
do it the newfangled way with the cameras and things."


"This guy's really cool, Fro. I don't think we have
anything to worry about. He's even wearing alien
boxers." Langly grinned at the memory.

Frohike's eyebrows arched incredulously. "You think
_she_ cares about _that_?"

Suddenly Langly remembered. "Wait. Keep her on the
line. The doc said he'd come out and talk to me one
more time before he went into surgery." 

Frohike spoke to Scully one more time. "If you hang on
the line the doc said he'd come out to talk to us. You
can talk to him yourself."

"Okay, Frohike. Great." 

It was only a minute before the disheveled man
appeared in the waiting room. Byers and Frohike paid
him no attention--no way he could be a surgeon--but
Langly jumped to his feet. "How's he doing?" 

Their friend's voice roused the other two men into
paying attention. "He's here," Frohike whispered into
the phone. 

"Oh, he's doing just fine." 

Frohike heard the words "Where is he now?" whispered
into his ear, and he repeated them into the room. The
doctor seemed startled for a second. 

"Oh, these are two more of Mulder's friends," Langly
offered. "This is Dr. McCarthy. The surgeon."  

The doctor nodded. "Where is he?" He looked at his
watch. "Well, by now he should be safely ensconced in
OR4, getting prepped and waiting for yours truly." He
addressed his answer to Frohike, and noticed the short
man holding the phone out toward his voice. "Am I
speaking to someone on the phone, too?" He smiled. "My
first long distance family consultation. Cool." 

"Yeah, Mulder's partner from the FBI is on the phone.
She's a doctor herself. In fact, she wants to talk to
you about what procedure you're gonna use." Frohike
nervously thrust the phone into the surgeon's hand,
but he needn't have. The doctor seemed more than
willing to take the call.

"Hello?" 

"Hello Doctor. My name is Dr. Dana Scully. Mulder is
my partner. I just wanted to make sure you planned to
perform the operation laparoscopically." 

"Oh absolutely. Why create unsightly scars on a
strapping FBI agent." 

Scully was offended. "It's not a matter of the
scarring, Doctor. If you'll notice Mulder already has
plenty of those." Her tone was clipped. "It's a matter
of recovery time, and the reduced risk of infection
and other complications." 

Dr. McCarthy actually laughed at her. "You're
preaching to the choir, Doctor Scully.  I always use
the lap when I can. But you do, of course, realize
that often we get in there with the scope and find
that the appendix is too fragile to manipulate with
the tools and remove through the tiny openings. Then
we'll have to go in the old fashioned way. I already
explained this to your partner. Or, of course, if it
ruptures before we get in there; then we'll have to
open him up. And the longer I stand here chatting with
you, the better the chances are of that happening."  

"I understand." Scully allowed her professional veneer
to slip away for her last question. "But he is stable,
isn't he?" 

The surgeon dropped his attitude as well, and answered
kindly, fully aware that the question was asked out of
concern, not medical curiosity. "Absolutely. All the
indicators are just where we'd want them to be.  
Nothing to worry about. Maybe I'll talk to you after
we're done." 

"Maybe. Thank you, doctor." 

McCarthy handed the phone back, and Byers took it.  He
addressed the three men one more time. "Okay, I'm off.
Surgery is on the seventh floor of this tower, and
there's a great waiting room up there, so I'd get out
of here as fast as you can. The procedure takes two
hours tops if there are no complications. I don't
expect any, but if there are, I'll send someone out to
let you know what's going on. I won't leave you out
there wringing your hands for five hours. I hate that.
Oh, and the cafeteria opens in a few minutes, at five.
You won't believe the cinnamon buns in there, and they
have a great latte. It's Beverly Hills, after all." He
winked. "See you later," and he took off. 

Frohike looked at Langly. "THAT was a surgeon?" 

Langly was looking after the doctor until he turned a
corner and was out of sight. "Yeah. Cool, huh?" 

Byers realized he was still holding Scully on the
line. "Scully, you hear that end part? He said it
would take two hours." 

"I heard. . . . Byers?" She'd been expecting Frohike
again.

"Yeah, it's me. So what do you want us to do? Do you
still want half-hourly updates?" 

"No, why don't you just call when the surgeon comes
back out. Unless of course there's news in the
interim. What was the doctor's name?" 

"McCarthy." Byers saw Langly mouth the name 'Nick,' so
he added that. "Nick McCarthy." 

"Okay, thanks. I'll talk to you again in a couple of
hours." Before she'd hung up Scully was already typing
Dr. McCarthy's name into the search engine of her
computer. 

+ + + + +     

Mulder just lay there, waiting. The pain was pretty
much gone--they must have pushed something else into
his IV. Maybe a muscle relaxant, he thought, because
he did have that kind of floaty, high feeling. But he
was still wide awake, blithely watching the activity
around him. Either he was really high on something, or
this being-prepped-in-an-OR thing was so routine it
didn't bother him any more. He sincerely hoped it was
the former. 

"Are we ready to rock and roll?" Mulder recognized the
voice of his surgeon, and wondered how this guy got a
job in such a posh place as Beverly Hills. The man
came into his peripheral vision on his right, and
Mulder turned his head to look at him. "How ya doing,
Mulder?" 

Had he told him to drop the "mister?" He couldn't
remember, and didn't much care. "Let's rock and roll,"
he mumbled. Funny, he hadn't meant to mumble. 

Though the doctor's face was already obscured by his
mask, Mulder could see the corners of the man's eyes
curl up in a smile. "Excellent. Again, briefly, we'll
put you to sleep, and then with three small incisions
here" he pointed to a point by Mulder's belly button,
"here," a point on the right side of his abdomen, "and
here," a point on the left side, "we'll use a tiny
camera and instruments to pull that appendix out. Two
hours, tops. When you wake up you'll have three
Band-Aids, that's about it. You want a video?" 

"A What?" 

"A video of the operation. We see everything on that
TV monitor, and can record it. Don't worry, we'll make
ya one. Maybe that lady doctor partner of yours would
like it. A fine souvenir of your visit to Los
Angeles!" 

"Scully?" How'd this guy know he had a lady doctor
partner?

"Yeah. Just spoke to her on the phone a few minutes
ago." 

All Mulder could do was shake his head. Figures. 

"Okay, nap time. Bert, my favorite midnight
anesthesiologist here is gonna put you out like a
light now. I'll talk to you when you wake up." 

Mulder had met 'Bert' in the pre-op room when he'd
introduced himself and briefly quizzed Mulder on his
experiences with general anesthesia. He'd actually
called Mulder a "pro" at it, something the FBI agent
had found mildly disconcerting. Suddenly he felt a
heaviness start to spread throughout his body. They'd
already started the IV stuff. 

"Okay, Mr. Mulder, a couple of deep breaths and when
you wake up it'll be all over, okay?" 

"No counting?" Oh, fuck it. He _was_ a pro.

Bert chuckled. "Waste of time, dontcha think? No one
ever gets past 95. Deep breaths now." 

Mulder saw the shape of the mask as it was held over
his mouth and nose, but it was too close for him to
focus on. No matter. He took a deep breath. 

+ + + + +       

The three men had made their way to the seventh floor
surgical waiting room. The doctor hadn't been kidding
when he said it was nice; it was downright posh. Huge,
with comfortable sofas, and several TVs. Frohike
noticed the plaque on the wall, and pointed out to his
friends that it was the Ozzie and Harriet Nelson room.
Only in LA. One television was on, tuned to CNN, so
they had naturally congregated around that one.
Amazingly, they were the only people there. 

Byers looked at his watch. "It's ten after five. What
do you say we go get some coffee, something to eat?"

Frohike leapt from his seat. "I'm in." Byers stood
also, and they both looked at Langly, who seemingly
hadn't even heard them. "Langly?" 

"Huh? Nothing for me. You go ahead. I'll stick around
here--you know, in case someone needs to find one of
us." 

Byers sat again next to his friend. "They won't need
to find us. This is a very routine procedure, Langly.
He'll be fine. And they certainly won't need us in the
next 20 minutes." 

"Bring me a large black. I'll stay here." 

Byers looked at Frohike quizzically, and the shorter
man just shrugged. He stood up. "Okay, we'll be back
in a few minutes. Do you want anything to eat?" 

"No way. I'm not hungry."

"Okay, large coffee, black. We'll be back," and the
other two men wandered off.  

Langly watched them go and collapsed back against the
sofa he was sitting on. Christ, what a night this had
been. Not one he was gonna forget any time soon. He
was the last person anyone would expect to have done
what he just did. Hell, he'd never have expected it of
himself. And try as he might, he couldn't figure out
what had gotten into himself. 

And all this introspection was making him tired. He
picked up his feet and stretched out on the sofa.
Within a minute he was sound asleep. 

+ + + + +      

"Excuse me? Sir?" Langly heard the voice, and felt
someone poking him. Dammit, he was sleeping. He
swatted the person away. 

"I'm sorry. Are you waiting for word on Mr. Mulder?" 

Mulder. Hadn't been two hours; couldn't have been.
Langly remembered what the doctor said about sending
out word if there were complications, and suddenly he
was very awake. He sat up quickly. "Yeah. Yeah. What's
wrong? What happened?"  He saw an impossibly young
woman in surgical scrubs crouching down by his side.  

"Nothing, nothing. Everything's fine and going well.
But we did have a problem with our camera and had to
move another one in from the other OR. Set us back
about half an hour, though. Dr. McCarthy wanted to
make sure you knew so you wouldn't worry." 

Langly let out a relieved breath. Geezus, she almost
gave him a heart attack. "Oh, that's all. Thanks."

"No problem." The girl looked at her watch. "So we
should be done a little after seven, I'd say." She
stood up. 

"No complications, then?" 

"Nope." She started to walk away, then turned back
with a smile. "Not from the patient, anyway!" And she
was gone. 

Langly sat back and took off his glasses to rub the
sleep from his eyes. He looked at his watch--the guys
had only been gone about 25 minutes. Problem was, that
girl had managed to set Langly's heart racing. There'd
be no more sleep, that's for sure.  

"Langly, are you okay?" The blond man put his glasses
back on to see that Byers was walking toward him,
carrying his coffee. 

He took the cup. "Yeah, sure. I fell asleep and some
girl scared the shit out of me by waking me up." 

"Why'd she wake you?" 

"To tell me that their camera conked out on them, and
they had to replace it, so now they're half an hour
behind schedule." 

"They sent someone out to tell you that?" 

"Yeah." 

"That was incredibly thoughtful." 

Langly considered it. Yeah, it was. "I told you that
doctor was cool." 

Byers put his coffee down and surveyed the room.
"Where's the phone? We should tell Scully." 

"Look, Byers, when that woman woke me up she damn near
scared me to death. We make that phone ring now Scully
will go nuts." 

"But if we don't, and the two hours go by with no
call, she'll get worried." 

"She's a doctor. She knows shit like that happens. I
say we don't call." 

"Well, we don't have to call immediately, anyway, I
suppose." 

"Where's Fro?" 

Byers rolled his eyes. "I have no idea. He said he was
going to 'get the lay of the land.'" 

"You mean he's snooping around." 

Byers smiled. "Uh huh. In the cafeteria he was
wondering if Pamela Anderson had her implants removed
here." 

"He has a one-track mind."  He took a gulp of his
coffee, and he and Byers settled into a companionable
silence. But it only lasted a minute before a
commotion at the doorway caught their attention. It
was Frohike. 

"Umm, uhhh, Thanks. Thanks. Place is so big I got
turned around." He was talking to a uniformed security
guard who was depositing him in the waiting room. Fro
turned and scurried back to his compatriots. 

Byers looked angry. "What did you do, Frohike?" 

"Me? Nothing! I was just looking around. Musta
stumbled onto the superstars wing or something,
because that guy just jumped on me. I told him I was
lost." 

Langly was vaguely interested. "You see anyone
famous?" 

"Well, it mighta been George Hamilton. Or some other
old guy with a great tan." 

"Frohike, that describes half of Hollywood. What would
George Hamilton be doing in a hospital at six in the
morning?" 

"Hey, I dunno. I just call 'em like I see 'em." 

+ + + + +       

Scully looked at her watch. By her calculations the
two hours were up. They'd be calling any minute now.
Any minute. She turned the page of the medical journal
she hadn't been reading for the last hour. 

Ten minutes later. Still no call. She'd give them ten
more minutes. 

Ten more minutes and still nothing. She picked up the
phone, ready to dial the number for the hospital,
which she'd looked up and noted hours ago. But then
she thought better of it--what if they tried to call
her and got a busy signal? She went to her purse and
fished out her cell phone, and dialed the number. 

"Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, may I help you?" 

"Uhhh, yes, I have a friend who was undergoing
emergency surgery tonight, and I was trying to find
out his condition?"

"Name please?" 

"Mulder. Fox Mulder." 

"According to our records Mr. Mulder is still in
surgery at this time." What? He should have been out
half an hour ago, Scully knew.

"Can you please transfer me to the surgical floor?" 

"One moment please." Scully listened to the insipid
music for a moment, her anxiety level rising with
every note. Damn those guys for not calling her with
an update. 

"North Seven." 

"Yes, is this the surgical wing?"

"It is." 

Time for a different approach. "My name is Special
Agent Dana Scully of the FBI. A colleague of mine
underwent emergency surgery tonight, and it is
imperative that I learn his condition. His name is
Mulder, Fox Mulder." 

Scully listened to silence for a moment--though she
could hear the tapping of fingers on a computer
keyboard. 

"Mr. Mulder is in recovery." 

She let out a sigh of relief. That was something,
anyway. "And his condition?"

"I'm sorry, no one has input anything besides his
current location. I really can't say." 

"Is there a phone in the waiting room? Is it possible
for me to be transferred there?"

+ + + + +        






===
"I got game." 
         --Fox Mulder

Frohike was channel surfing, Byers was dozing, and
Langly was surreptitiously watching the four other
people who had joined them in the waiting room not
long ago when they were all roused by someone clearing
his voice. They looked up and all three stood in
unison when they saw Dr. McCarthy coming toward them.
He was smiling, so the Gunmen immediately knew that
the news was good. 

"Everything went perfectly once we got a camera that
worked. Sorry about that." 

Langly wanted more. "Perfectly?" 

"Absolutely. Mulder tolerated the surgery very well.
In fact he's already coming out of the anesthesia,
though of course he's extremely sleepy still." 

"No complications?" 

"None whatsoever." The doctor looked around and
suddenly realized. "No one's holding a phone?"

 Byers was suddenly mortified. They had completely
forgotten to call Scully about the delay. Shit, she
must be going nuts. "Oh, uhh, we do need to call her.
Can you wait here a moment?" 

McCarthy looked at his watch. "Well, my regular day
starts in about half an hour, but yeah, if you call
her now I can wait a minute." 

There was no need to wait. Before any of the Gunmen
could pick up the pay phone in the corner, a hospital
staffer came to the door. "Is there a Mr. Byers here?"


"I'm Mr. Byers." 

"There is an urgent phone call for you. We'll transfer
it to the house phone." It had to be Scully. Shit. 

Within seconds the phone was ringing, and Byers picked
it up. "Byers." 

"What's going on, Byers? What took so long? Why didn't
you call? Where's Mulder?"  She was firing the
questions fast and furious, and Byers could tell that
furious matched her mood. 

"Everything's fine, Scully. We'll explain everything
in a minute. But Dr. McCarthy is here and he has to
leave. Do you want to talk to him?"

"Put him on." 

Byers handed the phone toward the doctor, who took it
with a smile. "We meet again!" he said brightly. 

"Not exactly, doctor. How's my partner?" 

"He's just fine. Great, as a matter of fact." 

"No complications? What took so long?" 

"Oh, they didn't tell you? We had a camera
malfunction. Had to replace some equipment, which set
us back about half an hour. It had nothing to do with
your partner. And no complications." 

"You're sure he's okay?" 

"Came right out of the anesthesia and everything. He's
sleeping." 

"General anesthesia can make him nauseous. I should
have told you that before." 

"Well, that's something to talk to the
anesthesiologist about, but I believe your partner
made us aware of that, and it was taken into account.
He hasn't puked yet, and obviously, I don't want him
to. We're taking precautions." 

"You were able to complete the surgery
laparoscopically?" 

"Yes doctor. I told you--no complications. I'd have
considered having to open him up a complication,
wouldn't you?" McCarthy's tone was gently chiding. 

Scully allowed herself to chuckle at her
overprotectiveness. "I suppose so. But you have no
idea how much trouble he can get into. Even asleep.
How long will he be hospitalized?" 

"I don't think I need to tell you that it depends on a
number of factors. But emergency lap appys generally
are discharged within 24 hours." 

"We'll need to get him home, Dr. McCarthy. When do you
think he'll be able to fly?" 

"Dr. Scully, why don't we take things one step at a
time. He's not even out of recovery yet!"  His tone
was always light, never annoyed. Scully appreciated
that. 

"Of course. You're right." 

The doctor looked at his watch. "Now I really must go.
I have an ulcer repair in less than 20 minutes." 

"Thank you for taking the time to speak to me." 

"Not a problem. Bye bye." He handed the phone back to
Byers and spoke to the three men. "I really need to
run." He started to leave, then looked back at Langly.
"It's still early; really slow back there. You wanna
come back and see him?" 

Langly was taken aback. "Me?" 

"Yeah, sure. Supposed to be immediate family only, but
I figure anyone who'd hold a bowl while his friend
pukes is a real friend. I can get you back there." 

Langly panicked for a moment. This was too much. Way,
way too much. But then, the doc wasn't inviting anyone
else, and this wasn't an opportunity to be missed. He
looked at the other two guys, and they looked as
surprised as he did. Byers had the phone to his ear;
he was listening. Finally he took it away slightly,
and spoke. "She says to go, Langly." 

That decided it. How could he not? "Uhhh, okay." 

"Follow me." 

The two men left the waiting room, and Frohike looked
at Byers. "He held a bowl while Mulder puked? LANGLY?"
Byers shrugged. 

+ + + + +        

Dr. McCarthy pushed his way into the recovery room,
and turned to wait for Langly to follow. There was
apprehension in every step the blond man took. This
whole night and morning was nothing but one surprise
after another for the man. For about the tenth time he
found himself wondering 'what am I doing here?'

He caught up to the doctor, who then led him straight
to Mulder's bed. He wasn't hard to find--he was the
only patient there. Langly barely had a chance to look
at his friend before the doctor was introducing him to
a nurse. "This is. . . . Oh my God, I don't even know
your name!" 

"Oh. Uh. Langly." 

"Nice to meetcha. Suze, this is Mr. Langly. He's a
good friend of Mr. Mulder's, and I figured since it's
early and slooooow, we could let him sit in here. Mr.
Mulder is just visiting our fair city, so I thought a
familiar face when he woke up would be a good thing.
Mr. Langly, this is Suzanne, Mulder's nurse for his
stay here in recovery." The two people nodded to each
other. "Suze, what was his last temp?"

"101.7." 

"Awesome. Okay, I gotta go scrub. Langly, stay out of
the way. Suze, answer his questions, okay? And you--"
he pointed to his sleeping patient with a smile "--get
some rest." He turned to leave, and bid farewell to
the rest of the staff in the room on his way out. "See
ya later, guys!" 

Langly was overwhelmed. Tossed in here and dumped. But
'Suze' was chuckling. "He's quite a character. We all
love him. Great surgeon, too." 

"Uh huh." Langly finally took a moment to check out
Mulder. He looked okay. Pretty good, actually. Not
even pale. The head of his bed was only slightly
elevated--maybe 20 or 30 degrees. There were several
bags of stuff feeding into his IV now, he had the
oxygen thingie stuck under his nose, and he was hooked
up to a heart monitor, but he looked okay. "Why all
the. . . ?" He motioned to the monitors. 

The nurse smiled. "Just a precaution. Any general
anesthesia depresses things like breathing and
sometimes heart rate. We leave that on until we're
sure there won't be any surprises. Let me get you a
stool." She went over to the next bed and came back
with a tall backless stool for him to sit on. "Just a
couple ground rules. Be as quiet as you can, don't
touch anything, and if it gets busy in here and we ask
you to leave, please do so immediately, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. How long will he be in here?" 

"Not long at all, I'd expect. A couple of hours. He's
doing great. I'll be over there working on some
charts. If he stirs, starts to wake up, let me know,
will you?" 

"Uh huh." Langly sat and the woman left. 

Now what, Langly? This was too much. Way too much. He
wouldn't want to be here if it was his own mother, let
alone Mulder. How the hell had he gotten himself into
this? That was the question of the day. He noticed
that Mulder's chart--which was now a three-ring binder
rather than the folder it had been in the ER--was
sitting on the tray table directly in front of him.
She'd said not to touch anything, but surely she
didn't mean his chart, right? What harm could it do? 

He opened the notebook as quietly as possible. The top
page was a page filled with stickers. He studied them
for a moment and realized that they were charge
stickers for medications and supplies. They'd pull the
stickers off the supplies as they were used for a
patient, and stick them in his chart, so he'd be the
one to pay for them. There were stickers for drugs,
for syringes, for bandages. So that's how they kept
track. Langly looked around surreptitiously and gave a
moment's thought to pulling some of them off and
pocketing them. But then he realized what the hell.
Mulder was on government employee health insurance.
Let Uncle Sam pay for them. He turned to the next page
and found that the ER had added hand-written notes
that hadn't been there earlier. He found the one from
Dr. Santana, the first doctor who had seen them. 

Ha! Seen _them._ He couldn't believe he was thinking
that way. The first guy who had seen _Mulder_.

 He tried to decipher the shorthand of the note, found
he could understand only some of it, and that none of
it was anything new. Then he got to the part about the
'pt's'--the patient's--demeanor. 'Though in extreme
distress and pain, pt was cooperative and in
surprisingly good spirits,' it said. He had been?
Langly could barely remember. That seemed like days
ago, and all he recalled of Santana was an
overwhelming feeling that he'd hated the guy. Maybe he
hadn't been so bad? He'd have to remember to tell both
Mulder and Scully that the patient had received high
marks for a good attitude. 

"Mmmmmm." Langly looked up and saw Mulder pursing his
lips. He turned to call the nurse, then remembered and
first shut the notebook. 

On her way to the bed Suzanne stopped at a metal
container. She opened it and stuck a cup inside before
she came over. "Mr. Mulder?" She spoke loudly and
clearly, and Langly saw her pick up his friend's right
hand and give it a squeeze. "Mr. Mulder, can you wake
up for me? Just for a minute?" 

"Mmmmm." Mulder turned his head away from the voice,
and groaned again. Langly stood up and moved closer to
the bed, too. 

"Come on, Mr. Mulder, open your eyes. There's someone
here who'd like to see you." 

Another groan, but Mulder slowly worked his eyes open.
And the face that came into focus wasn't Scully's, but
rather Langly's. Langly? Mulder blinked again and
turned away from Langly to face the nurse. 

"Hi there, Mr. Mulder. Welcome back. How you feeling?"


Mulder cleared his throat, and the nurse immediately
stuck a spoon into the cup she was holding. "Ice
chips, Mr. Mulder. Just let them melt in your mouth
and down your throat." She held the spoon to his lips,
Mulder opened his mouth, and the nurse dropped them
in. They brought instant relief, and Mulder closed his
eyes gratefully. 

Everyone waited a moment until Mulder finally opened
his eyes again and spoke. "Ugh," was all he said. 

The nurse chuckled. "How are you feeling, Mr. Mulder?"


Mulder focused his attention on the woman rather than
on Langly. "Drugged." 

The woman smiled. "Do you remember what happened;
where you are?" 

Mulder's right hand slowly ventured out from under the
blanket until it rested on the lower part of his
abdomen. "Uh huh." 

"Okay, so what happened? Where are you?" 

"Appendicitis. LA. Cedars-Sin..." His voice trailed off
and the end of the word was lost. He closed his eyes
wearily again. 

"That's right. And what's the date?" 

It took a moment, but Mulder finally looked at her
again. "Never know the date without a calendar. It's
Saturday. . . . Morning. October. . . . The tenth?"

The nurse smiled. "Uh huh. Very good. Your surgery
went very well. Are you in any pain?" 

"Feel . . . heavy. Don't feel much of anything." 

"That's the aftereffects of the anesthesia. Speaking
of which, I need you to take a couple of good, deep
breaths for me. Can you do that?" Mulder took one, and
grimaced slightly. "Good, that's good. A couple more,
now. We want to get that anesthesia out of your
lungs." She rested her hand on the middle of his chest
to encourage him. 

Mulder took two more, then stopped. "Hurts." 

"I know, sorry. But you did great. Just relax and
it'll go away. Go back to sleep."  She patted his hand
and left. 

But Mulder didn't close his eyes. Instead he looked at
Langly. "What you doing here?" 

Langly chuckled. "Beats me." He settled back down on
the stool and looked after the nurse. "I wonder why
they ask all those dumb questions," he mused aloud. 

"Oriented to place and time. They gotta check." Mulder
looked as though he was settling back to sleep, but
still he mumbled the answer. And before he allowed
himself to drift off any further, he pried his eyes
open one more time to make a simple request. "Call
Scully?" Then he drifted off again. 

+ + + + +          

"Hey guys, they're moving him to a room." Langly
looked at the number he'd jotted onto the palm of his
hand. "507. Should be there in half an hour." He
flopped down on a sofa next to his two friends. "I'm
beat, but I promised him I'd call Scully." 

"She's waiting to hear from you, that's for sure,"
Byers said. "How'd he look? Bad?" 

"Ya know? No. He looks fine. Better than before,
actually. I only talked to him once, though. He's
sleeping like a baby right now." Langly looked up and
nudged Frohike sitting next to him. "There's the doc."
Dr. McCarthy was talking to another family on the
other side of the room, which was now at least half
full. He looked up from the people he was with, caught
their eye, and smiled. When he finished he wandered
over. 

"What are you still doing here? Is he still in the
recovery room?" 

"They're moving him now," Byers answered. 

"Phew! You had me worried! I won't be by until after
my surgical schedule is done for the day--probably
early evening. But don't worry, they'll alert me if
there's anything I need to know. Catch ya later." 

As the doctor walked away Frohike turned to his
friends. "If anything ever happens to me, I want a
doctor like that." 

"Yeah. he's alright," Langly agreed.

Frohike turned his full attention to his blond friend.
"So, what's this about you holding a bowl for Mulder
to puke in?" 

Langly shrugged. "Didn't have much choice. And that
wasn't the half of it," he offered cryptically as he
stood up. "Where's the cafeteria? I'm starved." 

"Don't you need to call Scully?" Byers reminded.

"Right. Who's got her number?" Frohike recited it from
memory and Langly wrote it on his hand under the room
number. He started for the pay phone then remembered.
"Hey, I need a calling card." Byers offered up his,
and Langly went and dialed the phone.

+ + + + +     

"How's he doing?" Scully didn't even bother to make
sure the call was about Mulder. She knew it would be. 

"He's fine, Scully," Langly offered. 

"Langly? You saw him, right?" 

"Uh huh." 

"And?" 

"And what? He slept most of the time. Asked me to call
you, though." 

"He did?" She was touched. "Tell me everything you
saw, Langly." 

"I saw him sleeping, Scully, What do you want me to
say?" 

"What kind of equipment did you see? What did they do
to him?" 

"Ummm." Shit. He should have anticipated this. He
should have taken notes. "He had oxygen on. The thing
in your nose. One of those clippy things on your
finger. A heart monitor. An IV with all sorts of stuff
hooked into it. That's all I saw. I didn't look hard,
though." 

"Nothing went off, no alarms or beeps or anything?" 

"Nope."

"Good. What did he say when he woke up? Was he in
pain?"  God, she wished she wasn't such a worrywart,
but she couldn't help it. Relying on these guys to be
her eyes and ears was making her insane. If she were
there she'd be fine, she knew. 

"It only hurt when the nurse made him breathe deep to
get the anesthesia out. He said he felt 'heavy'
whatever that means." 

"I know what he means. How'd you think he looked?" 

"He looked good, Scully. Fine. He looked a lot worse
before the operation." 

"I'll bet. So if you're out, does that mean they're
moving him to a room?" 

"Yeah. Room 507. Should be there in a little while." 

"Okay, thanks, Langly. I'll talk to you guys later,
okay?" 

"Yeah, Scully, later." The woman turned off her phone
and breathed a sigh of relief. He was fine. Everything
was fine. She looked at her watch; it was almost one.
What had she originally planned to do with this
Saturday? She couldn't remember. 

+ + + + +     

Frohike wandered into Mulder's room "Hey, guess who I
saw this time?" he started, but Byers quieted him with
a finger to his lips. Not only was Mulder asleep in
the bed, but Langly had crashed on the sofa in the
room.  "Oh," Frohike continued in a whisper, "Brooke
Shields." 

Byers cocked an eyebrow. "You did not." 

"Did too! She was visiting someone, I think. Had a
bunch of flowers. She's really tall." 

"That's what they say." 

"How's he. . ." Fro looked from one sleeping form to
the other. "How're they doing?"  His bearded friend
grinned. 

"They're fine. Langly fell asleep the minute he sat
down." 

"Mulder wake up?"
 
"No." He looked at his watch. "It's been three hours
almost." 

"Yeah, but don't forget he didn't get any sleep last
night. And he's probably drugged to the gills." 

"True." 

Their whispered conversation was interrupted by the
arrival of a nurse. "Can I ask you to step outside for
a minute? I need to take your friend's vital signs.
And check his dressings." 

"Sure," Byers said, then he noticed Langly. "Can he
stay here and sleep? He's exhausted." 

The woman noted the sleeping man with a smile. "Sure.
I'll try not to wake him." The two got up and left,
and the nurse pulled the curtain around Mulder's bed,
creating a barrier between them and Langly should he
wake up. She managed to get his pulse and blood
pressure readings without waking him up, but when she
stuck the thermometer in his ear he stirred slightly
and groaned. She got her reading and was noting it in
the chart when the phone by the bed rang. The nurse
picked it up. 

"Hello?" 

It was a woman's voice, and Scully was surprised. "Oh,
I'm sorry, I may have the wrong room. I'm looking for
Fox Mulder." 

"No, this is his room. I'm one of the nurses. I was
standing right by the phone, so. . . ." 

"Oh, I see. I'm a friend of Mulder's from back home. I
was calling to see how he's doing."

"Oh, he's doing fine. Just fine." The woman looked at
Mulder and saw his eyes fluttering open. "Seems our
patient has decided to rejoin the living." She
addressed her next words to Mulder. "Good afternoon,
Mr. Mulder!" Then back to Scully on the phone. "Would
you like to try to talk to him?" 

"Can I? Ask him if he'd like to speak to Scully." 

The nurse did, and even though he barely had his eyes
open, Mulder nodded. "He would, Ms. Scully, hang on."
She put the phone to Mulder's ear, and he leaned into
it, trapping it between ear and pillow. 

"Hey Mulder. How are you feeling?" Gone was the harsh
tone she'd used with the Gunmen, and the no nonsense
tone she'd tried on the doctor. Replacing it was the
concern she saved only for him. 

"Mmmmmm. Scully?" Mumbling was just about the only
thing Mulder was capable of. His speech was slow and
slurred. 

"It's me, Mulder. You okay?" 

"Where are you?" 

"I'm at home. You're in LA, remember?" 

"Not here?" He sounded confused, and sad. It broke
Scully's heart. Maybe she'd made a mistake not jumping
on the first plane. 

"No, Mulder, I couldn't get there in time. The doctor
says you're doing fine, though." 

"Hurts, Scully," he whined. 

"I know. I know it does. But it will get better. I
promise." Why was he so out of it? She expected his
head to clear as he woke up a bit more, but it wasn't
happening. "Mulder, are the Gunmen there?" 

The patient let his eyes lazily wander around the
room. "Nooooo. Langly. He's been here. A lot." 

"Yeah, I heard that Langly stayed with you. That
surprised me."

"Hmmmm. He was good." 

"I'm glad to hear it. How about the nurse. Is she
still there, Mulder?" 

"Uh huhhhhhh. There's a girl here. Not you, though." 

"I know. I'm sorry. Can you let me talk to the nurse
please?"

"Uh huhhhhh. Bye." Mulder lolled his head away from
the phone and looked at the nurse. "She wants to talk
to you." 

The nurse smiled at her patient and picked up the
phone. "Yes?" 

"Yes, hi. I'm not only his friend, I'm also a doctor.
Can you tell me what you have him on? He seems awfully
disoriented." 

"Well he did just wake up. These are the first words
I've heard him speak since he got here. It will take
some time for his head to clear." 

"I understand that. But I'd still like to know what
meds you have him on." 

"Well, I don't think I should. . . ." 

Scully cut her off with a preemptive strike. "I know
what you are going to say, but let me assure you that
you will not be breaking any medical confidence. If I
were there I'd be reading his chart. We're FBI agents
and I'm his partner, and as such I also have his
medical power of attorney. I assure you, he will not
mind." 

The nurse thought about it for a second. "Well, we're
in the process of weaning him off IV meds. He was on
an antiemetic for a bit right after surgery, but we
finished that a couple of hours ago. We want to see
how he does without IV pain medication, so he just had
his last dose of that. He still has a slight temp, so
he's still on the IV antibiotics. But if you're a
doctor, you know that it takes a while for the effects
of these things to wear off. I wouldn't worry." The
nurse looked at Mulder. "He's asleep again already." 

"Thank you. What's his temp?" 

"I just took it. It's 100.2" 

"But it is going down?" 

"Steadily, yes." 

"Great. Thank you for your candor." 

The nurse smiled "You're welcome. But you didn't hear
any of this from me." 

Scully chuckled. "I understand!" 

+ + + + +       

Byers stretched in the straightback chair he'd been
sitting in for what seemed like hours. He looked at
his watch; just after 3pm. It had been almost 14 hours
since the shit had really hit the fan. He was so tired
his head felt like it weighed thirty pounds. He looked
behind him, at Langly still asleep on the sofa, where
he'd been for almost four hours. He looked to his
right and found Frohike, asleep on the empty second
bed in the room, where he'd been for almost two. And
finally he looked again at Mulder, lying with his head
slightly inclined, still sleeping like he'd been since
he first laid eyes on him at a little before ten.
Everyone was catching up on much-needed sleep but him.
He'd tried; he'd even ventured out into the plush
lounge on the floor--this one donated by the family of
Sammy Davis. Jr.--and tried to stretch out on a sofa.
But within minutes he knew it wasn't going to work. He
wasn't going to get any rest until he knew for sure
that Mulder was okay. Hell, he'd even called Scully
and woken her up from a nap. If she could relax, why
couldn't he? 

"Looks like a goddamn slumber party in here." The
words were coming from the bed directly in front of
him. Byers looked up and found Mulder looking at him
intently. The bearded man smiled broadly. 

"Hi Mulder." 

"Hi." 

"How do you feel?"

Mulder shifted in the bed, and grimaced. "Okay." He
paused a moment to consider his answer, and apparently
found it to be satisfactory. "I feel okay."  He looked
around him. "Is there anything to drink around here?" 

Should he? Could he? "Let me check and see if you can
have anything." 

Mulder grinned slightly. "Langly'd let me." 

"Well I'm not Langly." Byers went outside for a
moment, and quickly returned. "No problem." He poured
a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside
table, and handed it to Mulder. The agent's movements
were slow, but he took the cup and drank from the
straw. He drained the cup and handed it back, "Do you
want any more?" Mulder shook his head.

The door opened and the same nurse who'd spoken to him
before entered. "Hi Mr. Mulder. Welcome back. How are
you feeling?" 

"Okay." 

"Do you feel up to eating anything? We need to get
your digestive system up and running again." 

"Not. . . . Not really. I'm not hungry at all." 

"Are you sure? How about some Jell-O, Italian ice? We
really need to get something in your stomach and see
how you tolerate it." 

Mulder sighed. He knew she was right. But he truly
wasn't hungry--he actually felt full, bloated. Of
course, he also knew the sooner he ate, the sooner he
went home. "Yeah, okay." 

"Great. How about the bathroom? Do you think you need
to go?" 

Mulder looked at Byers briefly, horrified. This was
the second time in as many days his bathroom habits
had come up in front of his prim friend. He quickly
looked back at the nurse. "No. I don't," he lied. 

"Okay, but ring when you do, okay? Don't try to get up
the first time without one of us to help you, okay?"

More 'okay-ing.' What was it about this place? He
willed the woman to go away, and she started to
oblige, but then turned back. "Oh, we need to keep
track of your input and output." Oh, God, don't start
talking outputs again. Mulder tuned her out. "How much
water did you drink?" 

Byers waited for his friend to answer, and when it was
clear nothing was forthcoming from the patient, he
answered for him. "He drank a whole cup. Like this."
He held up the plastic cup. 

"That's about six ounces," the nurse decided.
"Thanks." And she left. 

Mulder and Byers were both drawn to a stirring coming
from the adjacent bed. Frohike yawned loudly,
stretched, and opened his eyes. He smiled when he saw
his ill friend looking at him. "Good morning, Sleeping
Beauty!" 

"You should talk, Frohike. If you spent any more time
in that bed they were gonna admit you." 

Frohike swung his legs over the side of the bed and
sat up. "You wish. How's it hanging?" 

Mulder rolled his eyes. Already he was sick of that
question, even in Frohike's rude phrasing. "I'm fine."
He went to run his left hand through his hair and
noticed the IV imbedded in his forearm. He followed
the tubing up to the stand, and saw the two bags, one
big, one small, hanging there. "Aw, shit," he mumbled.
"What time is it?" he asked to no one in particular. 

Byers looked at his watch. "It's three-thirty." 

"Really? That late?" Suddenly Mulder's eyes narrowed
suspiciously. "Still Saturday, though, right?" 

Frohike laughed. "Sure. You weren't gone that long!" 

"Just making sure." Mulder looked at Langly, still
snoring quietly on the sofa. "What's with him?" 

Byers turned to assess his blond friend. "You don't
remember?" 

"Remember what?" 

"You put him through the wringer last night." 

"Huh?" 

"He was with you every step of the way." 

"Well, yeah, I remember him in the ER with me. Kept
getting into trouble. Then I went to x-ray and he
left." 

"He went back after you got back from x-ray. And he
was with you in the recovery room." 

Mulder's eyes widened in horror. Langly? Oh, shit,
what had he done that he couldn't remember. He
probably made a damn fool of himself. He put his head
back against his pillow and covered his eyes with one
hand. "I don't remember that." 

Byers' voice was kind. "You were in a lot of pain. And
they gave you all sorts of drugs. It's no surprise." 

Mulder separated the fingers over his eyes and peeked
through. "What did I do?" 

Frohike jumped down from his bed excitedly. "You
puked! He held the bowl for you so you didn't puke all
over yourself." 

Mulder took the hand down slowly. "How do you know?"
Please someone tell him Frohike wasn't there, too. 

"The doctor told us." 

Ahhh, shit, so the doctor knew? Fabulous. Just
fabulous. He'd never be able to look Langly in the eye
again. How do you repay someone who lets you barf on
them? And Langly wasn't one to let you forget when you
owed him one, that's for sure. Fuck. 

"Here you go, Mr. Mulder!" The nurse entered carrying
several small items and a spoon. "It's not normal
dining hours, so I had to do a little scrounging. I've
got some red and green Jell-O, and some grape ice. Any
preference?" She held them out to him like they were
prizes he got to pick from at a carnival. 

Mulder looked at the three distastefully, and settled
for the red gelatin. "I really really hate this
stuff," he promised as he started to pull the foil lid
off the plastic container. The nurse took the controls
of the bed and started to raise the head. The sudden
movement took Mulder by surprise, and he quickly put
the gelatin down on his tray so he could bring his
arms to his midsection protectively. 

"Whoa! Whoa!" Frohike exclaimed, putting his hand up
in a motion meant to stop the nurse from moving the
bed further. "You okay?" he asked Mulder.

Even the slight bend at his middle had hurt, but the
minute the movement stopped, the pain started to
dissipate. "Yeah, it's okay. Give me a minute." 

The nurse looked chastised. "Sorry about that.
Shouldn't have moved the bed so quickly. I'll go a
little at a time, but you do need to sit up more.
Better for your lungs, you know. You should be taking
deep breaths as often as you can. And we should get
you an incentive spirometer in here, too." She
continued to raise the bed a bit at a time until
Mulder was sitting up. "Now before you eat, let me get
a temp, okay?" She pulled the thermometer out of her
pocket and stuck it in Mulder's ear. When it beeped
she checked it and smiled. 

"99 even. It's plummeting. Good for you. Now let's see
you eat." She stood back a step and settled her arms
across her chest. 




===
"I got game." 
         --Fox Mulder

Mulder looked at the three sets of eyes trained on
him, waiting for him to perform like some sort of
trained animal. Fact was, he hated Jell-O. Always did.
The very idea of it made him feel queasy. But that ice
stuff was even worse. And while his stomach itself
didn't hurt, it did feel weird. He felt bloated. Like
he had a bad case of gas. He didn't want to eat
anything. He really didn't. He looked up again, and
was again faced with the expectant eyes boring into
him. He picked up the spoon, dug it into the gelatin,
and passed it into his mouth without ever letting the
stuff touch his lips. The one thing it had going for
it was that it slid right down. If he did this right,
he'd barely even taste the stuff. In three huge
spoonfuls, the entire cupful had slid into his
stomach. 

The nurse smiled. "Excellent! That's one. Now which
one?" 

Oh, fuck, he wasn't done? "You don't understand. I
hate this stuff. I mean really hate it." 

"Well I'm afraid we can't give you any real food until
your doctor okays it. So these are your options. Or I
can get you some broth, or some apple or cranberry
juice. That's about it, I'm afraid." 

Mulder crinkled his nose at her options. They all
sucked. "Okay, green," he sighed, and picked up the
green Jell-O from where the nurse had left it on the
tray. As he opened that one, the nurse excused herself
for a moment. Mulder inhaled that stuff as quickly and
tastelessly as possible, and was finished by the time
she returned with several small containers of juice,
both apple and cranberry; Mulder could tell by the
colors. 

"I'll just leave these here," she said as she
deposited them on the tray. "Try to drink as much as
you can, okay? You don't want to be relying on that,"
she motioned to the IV, "to keep you hydrated. Now,
about going to the bathroom." 

Mulder's eyes went wide. During the Jell-O exchange
he'd almost managed to forget that the room was full
of Gunmen. But no longer. He flashed an alarmed glance
at the two men who were awake, and the nurse caught
it. "Can I ask you two to step outside for a moment?"
she offered. Mulder was instantly relieved. 

"What about him?" Frohike nodded toward Langly, still
sleeping. He seemed almost put-out; jealous.

The nurse looked at the sleeping man with a smile. "I
don't think he'll get in the way. Really, it will only
take a moment." 

Byers and Frohike left, and Mulder sighed. "Thanks." 

The woman chuckled. "Really, I don't understand what
the embarrassment is all about. It's just urine; we
all have it.  And YOU, I hope, have it in abundance.
Do you feel the urge?" 

Fact was, he'd been feeling the urge for a while. "Uh
huh." 

"Urgently?" the nurse asked with a grin. She went to
the cabinet in the room, opened the door, and pulled
out a bedside urinal.

"Oh, no, no. I can get up. I want to get up." 

"I'm glad to hear it. But you've been through a great
deal in the last 24 hours or so. You've been very ill,
and you've had surgery. We don't want to have to worry
about getting to the bathroom in time the first time
you get out of bed. Use this, and then we'll get you
up." 

"No, get me up and I'll go to the bathroom." 

The nurse's smile turned steely and set into her face.
This was a battle she'd waged many times. "I don't
think you understand. The first time you get up will
be difficult and painful. You'll have enough on your
mind holding yourself up, let alone holding anything
else, if you get my drift." 

He got it, and took the urinal. He glanced furtively
over at Langly, and again the nurse noticed. She was
good. 

"I can wake him if it would help," she offered.

"No, that's okay."

"Okay." She pulled the curtain around the bed. "That
should afford you some privacy. I'll go out, just ring
the bell when you're done. I'll make sure your friends
don't come back in." She walked around the edge of the
enclosure and was gone. Mulder could hear the click of
the door as it latched behind him. 

He had to go so badly he thought he was going to
explode. Slowly he tried to push himself onto his
right side, but it hurt like hell, to the point where
he gasped. He stopped and reassessed. He lowered the
head of the bed somewhat, tried moving on to his left
side, and found it was better. That was going to work.
When he finally let go he actually groaned with
relief. 

+ + + + +      

Langly slowly started to awaken. He liked to wake up
slowly, and be fully awake before he opened his eyes.
But he heard a gasp, and suddenly his eyes shot open.
At first he was confused--he had no clue where he was.
But one look around and it came back to him. But where
was everyone? He heard a groan come from behind the
curtain in front of him. Was it him?

"Mulder, that you?" he ventured. 

Mulder heard the words and his heart and everything
else stopped. Shit. Fuck. Hell. Langly, of all people.
Again. 

"Yeah, Langly." Please, please, please, don't come
around the curtain, he prayed. 

"You okay?" the blond man asked tentatively. Please
please please, Mulder, say you're okay. Don't make me
peek around that curtain.

"Yeah. Langly, could you, uh, step outside for a
minute? I'm almost done." Mulder felt the blood rush
to his cheeks. Jesus Christ, he was blushing. Too
much. 

Thank you, Mulder, Langly thought. He didn't know how
much more he'd be able to take. "Yeah, sure. I'll be
outside." 

Mulder heard the door close, and suddenly realized
he'd been holding his breath along with everything
else. 

+ + + + +       

The toilet was still flushing when the nurse came out,
still drying her hands. "Everything's right on
schedule, Mr. Mulder. How you doing with that Jell-O?
Any nausea?" 

"No. Just this funny bloated feeling." It wasn't going
away, so he figured he should mention it.

"That's normal after laparoscopic surgery. They
distend your abdomen with carbon dioxide. They can't
get it all out, so your body needs to absorb the rest.
It will, and getting up and getting moving will really
help that. You ready to go for a walk?" 

"I guess so." 

"Okay, so here's what we're going to do. I want you to
roll onto your left side and I'll pivot you up. You're
going to be more comfortable if you stay somewhat bent
at the middle these first few days, so don't even try
to stand up straight right away, okay? 

Mulder chuckled at that. He hadn't been able to stand
up straight before the operation, and now she was
telling him he still wouldn't be able too. Great.
"Yeah, okay." 

"We have you off the IV pain medication already, and
though you should still be under the effects of the
last dose, you may be in some discomfort. If it's too
severe, we'll stop, give you something orally, and let
it take effect before we try again. Just let me know."

"Uh huh." He just wanted to get on with the show. He
looked around the room, and was glad for the timing.
The guys weren't here to see if he fell flat on his
ass or something--not that he expected to. It's just
that this weekend had been embarrassing enough
already. 

Mulder rolled onto his left side and swung his feet
off the bed. The nurse tried to take hold of his upper
arms and sit him up, but he shook her off and pushed
himself upright with his left arm. All she ended up
doing was making sure his IV didn't get tangled. He
needed to grip the bed with his hands on either side
of himself, and he knew without even trying that
straightening his back up would be a mistake, but he
was sitting up. 

"Okay, ready? Put your left foot down first, and hold
on to me." Mulder looked down and noticed his feet
were bare and that the nurse hadn't offered any
slippers or socks. But then he noticed the floor. It
was ten times cleaner than his dining table at home.
He slid his left foot to the floor, but didn't take
her arms as she'd instructed. 

"Uh uh. Hold on to me, not the bed," she admonished.
Mulder left all his weight leaning on the bed, and
transferred his hands to the middle of her forearms.
"I'm just going to steady you now. Just stand up
slowly." 

Mulder got his legs underneath him, and stood, closing
his eyes until the inevitable head-rush passed. His
legs were straight, but he was bent at a 45-degree
angle at his waist, and he dare not try to go any
further. This was painful enough. "Ouch," he offered.
He was still leaning heavily on the nurse's arms. 

"Okay, good. Here we go." She reached for the portable
IV stand and pulled it over, planting Mulder's left
hand on that; she moved herself to his right side.
"Take a few small steps." 

Mulder started to pick up his left foot to move it
forward, but the second he did, leaving his right leg
to bear his entire body weight, pain shot through his
side and he gasped. He stopped without going anywhere.


"That's okay. Your right side will hurt a little.
Don't pick your left foot up all the way." 

"I thought this kind of surgery wasn't supposed to
hurt!" Mulder slid his left foot forward; that was
more successful. 

"Who told you that? It doesn't hurt as _much_, and it
doesn't hurt as _long_. But it still hurts. But you'll
be amazed. You'll be a whole new person tomorrow."
Mulder had picked up his right foot and moved forward
to place it next to his left. "Good."

"So why didn't we wait until tomorrow to do this?" He
shuffled forward another step. The window on the far
side of the room was apparently their destination. 

"Oh, no. Can't do that. Gotta get you moving!" 

"Yeah, yeah," Mulder intoned. But he took two more
steps. It was getting a little easier. 

"Hey look! It's the appy shuffle!" The voice of Dr.
McCarthy caught both nurse and patient by surprise,
and both their heads spun around toward the door. The
motion caused Mulder to catch his breath and grimace.
"Oops. Sorry Mr. Mulder. But let me just say, you look
mahhvelous!" he said in a very poor impression of
Billy Crystal. The doctor had indeed cleaned up nice.
His hair was combed, he was wearing khakis that were
only slightly wrinkled, a white oxford, and a
tie--though on closer inspection, one would see that
the tie was decorated with engineering schematics of
the Starship Enterprise. "How you feelin'?" 

"Better than last night, not as good as two days ago."


"Fair enough, fair enough. Glad to see you up and
moving. Linda here been putting you through your
paces? I can always count on her." Mulder saw the
nurse beaming. Ugh. "How about you shuffle back to the
bed so I can take a look." 

Mulder pivoted in place and started shuffling his way
back toward the bed. By now the nurse was barely
providing any support at all. 

"You're out of bed!" Another voice heard from. Mulder
shifted his focus from the floor in front of him to
the doorway. Not only was the speaker, Byers, standing
there, but the other two Gunmen were peering in from
behind him. Another party. He arched his eyebrows and
gave them a toothy "No kidding" grin, but said nothing
and continued his journey back to bed. He sat down and
shifted himself until he was reclining again. He made
sure he never put full weight on his right leg. It
seemed he was okay as long as he remembered never to
do that. He sat back and let out a relieved sigh. 

"Tiring, huh?" The doctor was flipping through
Mulder's chart. "Wow, look at this. Temp almost gone,
you're eating, you're peeing, you're up. Textbook case
begets textbook recovery. How about a bowel movement?
Had yourself one of those?" 

God, Mulder was tired of talking about this stuff.
"No." 

"Oh well, that's okay. Woulda been asking for too
much." 

"Mulder? Can we come in?" Byers was asking tentatively
from the door. 

Mulder looked at the doctor inquisitively. "Hey, I
promise not to flash anything, but it's up to you."  

The patient looked again toward the three pathetic
souls in the door. It was a huge room. "Yeah okay,
just stay out of the way." As soon as he said it
Mulder regretted that. They certainly deserved the
benefit of the doubt after what he'd put them through.
He watched them file in, and was relieved to see that
it didn't look like any of them were offended. 

The doctor lowered the head of the bed slightly and
pulled the blanket up to cover Mulder's hips before he
lifted the hospital gown. "I'm gonna hurt you. Sorry
in advance."  He palpated Mulder's abdomen virtually
everywhere, but compared to the night before, it was
nothing. A couple of winces, a few gasps, and that was
it. The doctor seemed pleased. He snapped his
stethoscope into his ears. "Now let's take a listen
and see if I should be worried about that BM." He said
it quietly, so only Mulder could hear it, and placed
the stethoscope's diaphragm so low on Mulder's abdomen
that he actually stuck it under the blanket. 

"Wow, that's noisy. Sounds like a convention in there.
Which is good, by the way." He stood up and pulled the
instrument out of his ears. "Speaking of which, I
heard there's a couple of doozies in town this week.
One down at the Hilton woulda been a gas if I wasn't
on call." He wasn't speaking to them directly, but
still Mulder saw Langly get excited. Mulder shot him
down with a steely glare, and Langly settled back onto
the sofa, chastised. "I never did find out what
brought you to our fair city, Mulder. Ahhh, shit, can
I be calling you that?" 

Wow it had taken him a long time to get around to the
name thing. "Actually, yeah. That's what everyone
calls me. How'd you know?" 

The doctor smiled. "Just picked it up. All these
people swirling around you," he motioned to his three
friends, "and never once did I hear the word 'Fox.' So
what brought you guys here, Mulder?" He looked at the
other three men. "If you don't mind me saying so,
you're a pretty motley crew." 

"Close. We're a barbershop quartet," Mulder
deadpanned. 

For half a second the doctor took him seriously, then
realized the joke was on him, and let out a hearty
guffaw. "I'll bet! Okay, here's the deal. Everything
looks, sounds, feels just great. We'll get you a
regular diet dinner tonight, and if you manage to
choke that down successfully, you'll be out of here
first thing in the morning." 

Mulder was slightly crestfallen. "I thought
laparoscopic surgeries went home same-day?" 

The doctor looked at him quizzically. "Where do you
get your information? Okay, that's normally the case.
But when they are done on an emergency basis, as yours
was, that's not always true. In your case your fever
got up there, and I wanted to make sure it was gone.
And with the timing, we'd be releasing you at
midnight, and who wants to do that. Besides," he added
conspiratorially, "you have awesome insurance." He
winked. "Seriously. First thing in the morning
provided you don't do anything stupid in the night
like pop your stitches or spike a fever." 

"What about going home home. Back east?" 

"You mean flying?" 

"Uh huh." 

"Well, technically there shouldn't be any physical
reason to keep you on the ground, except for your own
discomfort. When are you scheduled to leave?" 

"Monday." 

"Morning or evening?" 

Mulder wasn't sure, so he looked at Byers, who
answered. "Morning."

"You know, every hour will help. Think you can change
to a later flight?" He directed the question to Byers,
who shrugged and nodded. "If you have two good days
recuperating out of here, you should be able to make
it home Monday night. We'll talk more about that,
though." 

Dr. McCarthy went into the bathroom and washed his
hands. "So, who can give me Dr. Scully's phone
number?" he asked as he exited. Mulder cocked his head
to one side and looked at him oddly. "I have a couple
of real, honest-to-God _sick_ people to check in on,"
he looked to Mulder and winked as he said that, "but
after that I'd be happy to call your friend and spare
you guys her third degree." 

Byers wrote the number on a page from his pocket
calendar and handed it to the surgeon. "Great. Thanks.
Like I said, I'm on all weekend, so perhaps I'll pop
in a little later and see how dinner went. I think
it's salmon. Only in Beverly Hills! Adios," and he
swept out the door. 

+ + + + +       

Mulder dropped the fork on his dinner tray. It may be
salmon, but it was salmon a la hospital. Still
virtually inedible. And he just wasn't hungry, anyway.


"Come on, Mulder, you barely ate a thing. You heard
what the doctor said."  

Mulder gave Byers, his best glare. He appreciated
their concern, but enough was enough. These guys were
getting on his nerves. "Look, guys, I think it's time
for you to leave." Frohike looked up, startled and
hurt. Mulder could tell by the look on his face. He
looked at Langly, and the expression he saw looked
like relief to him. Poor Langly. 

Byers remained impassive. "If we leave and you don't
eat, you won't be released tomorrow. And then what
will we do? I changed our flight to Monday night, I
don't think I can change it again." Guilt? Byers was
trying guilt on him? He'd have been equally successful
if he'd left it at 'We won't leave until you eat.'
Right now a little peace and quiet and privacy was the
thing he craved most. He picked up the fork and ate
the vegetables, followed by half the salmon. But that
was all he could manage; he was sure of it. 

"Look, that's enough. You guys have been here for
what? Eighteen hours? Go back to the hotel. Raid the
wet bar. Get your money's worth out of the place. Get
some sleep. I'll be fine. Hell, I _am_ fine."

Byers looked like he was skeptical, but he stood, and
the other two followed suit. "You sure? One of us can
stay," Frohike offered, and Mulder saw the look of
panic hit Langly's face. What had he done to the poor
guy?

"No, no way. I don't need a babysitter. I'll see you
in the morning." The three men mumbled their
farewells, and headed for the door, with Langly taking
up the rear. He might not have another chance.
"Langly?" The blond man stopped, but didn't turn. "Can
you hang on for a sec?" Frohike looked back, wondering
what was going on, but he hadn't been invited to stay,
he knew, so he reluctantly left the room. Langly just
turned toward Mulder in his spot by the door, but
didn't approach. 

"Look, Langly, I just wanna. . . ." Shit, how should
he do this? "I think I owe you. . . ." Damn, what
should he say? "I just. Um. The guys. They told me a
little. . . I don't remember a lot from last night,
but they told me what you did. And I just need to say.
. . ." Mulder could see Langly getting increasingly
uncomfortable, too. He was fidgeting in place, and
wringing his hands, which were clasped behind his
back. Just spit it out. "Look, Langly, thanks." There,
he said it.

Langly looked kind of surprised, like that hadn't been
what he was expecting to hear. "Well, ummm, Mulder,
ummm, it's okay. Glad I could help. If I did." Mulder
knew he should assure him that he had helped, but he
seemed frozen, unable to. Instead he just shrugged.
Hopefully that would pass. 

It did, and Langly grinned and turned toward the door.
He grasped the handle but looked back to his friend
before he turned it. "But don't expect me to do it
again. Once was enough, that's for sure." He raced out
the door before Mulder had a chance to respond. 

Mulder laughed slightly and settled back on the bed.
He was exhausted, and glad that he could finally
relax. But then the phone rang. He had to twist his
body to reach the phone, and that hurt, but he got it.
"Hello," he exhaled. 

"Hey Mulder." It was Scully, and quickly his tone of
voice registered. "Are you okay?" 

"Yeah. I couldn't reach the phone, that's all." 

"Oh, I'm sorry. Why didn't one of the guys reach it
for you?" 

"I sent them back to the hotel. Too much
togetherness." By now his tone of voice was almost
normal. 

"I can imagine. You sound good. How are you feeling?" 

"I'm doing okay. Good." 

"Well Nick said you're doing great." 

"Nick?" He knew who she was talking about, but he
wanted to make her say it. 

"Oh. Your doctor. Dr. McCarthy." It was apparent that
she hadn't meant to call him that. 

"You call him 'Nick'?" He was teasing now. 

"Mulder!?" 

"Well, he's MY doctor, and you're going around calling
him 'Nick.' Bet you want me to tell you what he looks
like." 

"Shut up, Mulder. He said you were doing great, and
will get out tomorrow?" 

"Yup. That's what _Nick_ said. You'd like him, Scully.
He's cute." And three thousand miles away.

She ignored him. "Have you eaten dinner yet?" 

So Nick had told her that, too. "Yes, mom." 

"No nausea?" 

"No, mom." 

"Are you up and walking?" 

"Yes, mom." 

"Do they still have you on an IV?" 

"Yes, mom." God, this was getting tiring. 

"Hmmm. Wonder why. What's the label on the IV bag?" 

"Enough, Scully. I'm fine. You're not here, so you
don't get to know all the dirty little details this
time. I don't know what the label is, and I don't
care. I'll be out of here tomorrow, okay?" 

That stung. Scully wasn't sure if he'd said that to
admonish her for not coming, or for being too much of
a worrier. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I really didn't see the
point in racing. . . ."

Mulder cut her off. "No, Scully, of course. You didn't
have to come. I'm glad you didn't. You don't have to
come running after me all the time. I'm a big boy, I
can handle this." 

"With a little help from your friends." 

"Who are driving me crazy." 

"They care, Mulder." 

"Lucky me." 

"They were frantic with worry. Don't let them tell you
anything else. And they performed admirably in a
crisis, I'd say." 

"I'll take your word for it." 

"Don't you remember?" He usually remembered
everything.

"Yeah, most of it." 

"What's that supposed to mean? What do you remember?" 

Mulder wished Scully could see him rolling his eyes.
"I remember being sick at the hotel. I remember
talking to you on the phone. I remember being tortured
in the ER. I remember going to surgery. I remember
waking up in here. I remember what a pest you're
being." 

She ignored the last comment; she knew he didn't mean
it. "That's it? You've got gaps, Mulder." 

"Yeah, so what. I was drugged." 

Suddenly she had a thought, and an idea. "You don't
remember the guys getting you to the hospital?" 

Mulder considered it. "No, not really." 

"Well, you had a high fever. It's no surprise. I
wouldn't worry about it." 

"I'm not, Scully." 

"Okay. Well, I'll let you get some rest. We'll talk
tomorrow, okay?" 

"Yeah, sure. I'll give _Nick_ your best." 

Scully tried not to let her smile be apparent in her
voice. "Sleep well, Mulder."

"Night Scully."  Mulder looked toward the phone on the
table and remembered the contorting it would take  to
hang it up. Rather than do that, he pushed the release
on the side of the hospital bed and actually sat up.
He could easily hang up the phone and did so, and then
decided to get up. Might as well keep moving; things
were going well. He stood, and it was much easier and
less painful than it had been earlier. He started to
take a step, and the pulling on the tubing reminded
him of his IV. There was no portable stand in  the
room, so he unhooked the bag and held it in his hand;
what the hell. He made it all the way to the  window,
to check out the view he had missed earlier. He hadn't
missed a thing, it turned out. A nondescript  downtown
cityscape greeted him. 

Mulder turned back around and contemplated his next
move. He was tired, yes, but he didn't really want to
lie in bed--he'd been doing plenty of that. So instead
he decided to try sitting in the chair that Frohike
had occupied much of the day, one of those hospital
recliners he'd found somewhere and brought in. He
shuffled his way over to it, wondering when he'd be
able to painlessly pick up his feet again, and lowered
himself slowly into the chair. So this is what it felt
like to be 80 years old. Sitting straight was
uncomfortable, so he reclined the chair slightly.
There was a copy of the LOS ANGELES TIMES sitting on
the table next to him, and Mulder picked it up and
started to aimlessly flip through it. It was something
to do, anyway. 

"Showing initiative! Just what I like to see!" Mulder
glanced up from the paper to see his surgeon striding
into the room. He unceremoniously flopped himself down
on Langly's sofa, and tossed something to his patient.
Mulder had to drop the paper quickly, but he caught
the object; it was a videotape.

Dr. McCarthy had obviously noticed something--he was
heading out the door when he said "that's the tape of
your surgery that I promised you." He was gone for 30
seconds and returned with a portable IV stand, which
he positioned by Mulder's chair. He took the IV bag
from Mulder's side where his patient had stuffed it,
and made sure it was hanging properly. After less than
a minute, he had resumed his relaxed pose on the sofa.


"ANYWAY, as I was saying, that's the video of your
inner workings. Picture-perfect technique, of course.
Dr. Scully will probably get a kick out of it." 

"Dr. Scully? Don't you mean _Dana_?" He'd teased her,
so why not him, Mulder figured. 

"Excuse me?" Except the doctor didn't get it. Guess
they hadn't gotten as familiar on the phone as Mulder
thought. 

"Nothing." 

"So, do I need to even ask how you're feeling? You
look good." 

"I feel good. A hundred times better than even this
afternoon." 

"Yup, that's how it goes. Amazing stuff, laparoscopic
surgery. But just because you feel good as new,
remember that you're not. Not for a couple of weeks." 


"Who says I feel good as new?" 

The doctor smiled. "I know. But you will. Just take it
easy. Your partner seems to think she'll have to sit
on you." 

Mulder arched his eyebrows. "Is that what she said?
I'll have to take her up on that." 

McCarthy just smiled. "So, _you_ are an FBI agent." 

Mulder grinned wryly. "_I_ am an FBI agent, yes." 

"Is it as cool as it seems on TV?" 

"Depends on what you're seeing on TV. I once spent
months transcribing wire-tap tapes. Not cool. Flashing
the badge is fun, though. If you're ever in DC give me
a call. I can give you a tour of the basement of the
Hoover Building. Literally." 

The surgeon smiled at the offer, then held his arms
out as if he was holding a gun. "Federal Agent! Stop
right there!" He dropped his arms with a chuckle. "We
used to play FBI in my back yard when I was a kid. I
always got my man." 

"Yeah, in the back yard and on TV you always get the
bad guy."  Mulder was enjoying the conversation. "Not
so in real life." 

"No, I guess not." The doctor sat up and leaned
forward a bit. "So, did a case bring you to LA?" 

Mulder smiled. "Nope. I'm on vacation, believe it or
not." 

The surgeon looked around the room. Nice as it was, it
was still a hospital room. "That sucks. The Beverly
Hills Hotel this ain't." 

"Naah, it's okay. Better I get laid up now than if I
actually was on a case." 

McCarthy was standing up. "Now that's what I call
dedication. Speaking of which, I better get going.
Sick people need me. I'll see you again before you
leave tomorrow. You want some help getting yourself
out of that chair?"  He was holding out his right
hand, and Mulder could either take it for help, or
just shake it. 

Mulder opted for the latter. "No, I'm okay. Thanks
again, though. Sorry I woke you up in the middle of
the night last night." He smiled as he shook his
doctor's hand. 

"That's why I'm here. Don't stay up too long. Get some
sleep." The doctor waved as he swept out of the room. 

+ + + + +       

Mulder was roused from deep sleep by the persistent
repetition of his name. Each time the "Mr. Mulder?"
got louder until he finally woke up enough to respond.


"Huh?" 

"I'm sorry to wake you, Mr. Mulder, but I really need
to take your vitals." 

The agent pressed the thumb and index fingers of his
right hand into the corners of his eyes in an effort
to force himself to full consciousness. "Uh huh."  The
nurse flipped on the light over his bed, and the
illumination was almost painful. Mulder moaned and
spread his hand over his eyes in an effort to keep out
the offending light. 

"Sorry. It won't take a minute." The woman clipped the
pulse oximeter onto her patient's right index finger,
leaving it draped across his face. She waited for and
recorded the measurements it provided. Mulder let his
head flop slightly to the left as he felt the
thermometer go into his right ear. 

"So?" he asked when he felt its removal. 

"Normal!" she replied cheerily. "I need your arm now."
Mulder lowered his arm so she could apply the BP cuff.
"How's your pain? We can give you something if you'd
like." 

Mulder's eyes were still shut. "What I'd like is to be
able to go back to sleep." He dared open his eyes in
tiny slits. "What time is it?" 

"It's almost two." She finished up taking his BP. "So
is that a 'no' to a pain pill?" 

 If she left right away, Mulder figured, he'd be
asleep before he could even register if he was in
pain. "That's a no." 

"Okay. But if you need something just call, okay?" She
flipped off the light and was gone. Mulder gingerly
rolled onto his left side and waited for sleep to
reclaim him. 

+ + + + +      

"Mornin' Mulder. We brought you some clean clothes."
Frohike handed a bag to his friend, who had been
aimlessly flipping channels on the TV. "You are still
getting out, right?" 

"Uh huh. Just waiting until someone says I can go.
Where's Langly?" Mulder didn't really blame him if he
hadn't wanted to come; not really. 

"He's sitting in the car in the discharge parking area
so it won't get towed," Byers explained. "How do you
feel this morning?" 

"I feel great. Really great." 

 



===
"I got game." 
         --Fox Mulder

"But what did I tell you about taking it easy?" Dr.
McCarthy had come in behind the Gunmen, unnoticed by
the three men already in the room. "'Really great' is
just what I want to hear, Mulder, but I warned you.
Take it easy." He turned to the other two men in the
room. "Make him take it easy."  The doctor then turned
back toward Mulder and pointed at his abdomen. "May
I?" 

Mulder answered by pushing down the blankets to his
hips. Frohike and Byers kept a respectful distance
while the doctor examined Mulder's incision sites.
When he finished he sat on the edge of the bed, and
pulled a wad of papers out of his pocket. "Excellent.
Okay, here's the deal. Here's a prescription for
Tylenol with codeine. Don't be macho; fill it just in
case. They're cheap. I hear you refused pain meds this
morning?" 

"Yeah, barely hurts at all. No problem." 

"Nope, nope, nope, nope. While you're laying here you
feel good. But you're about to get up, get dressed,
get in and out of a car--need I go on? I promise you
won't feel fine by the time you get back to your
hotel. Take the pills." To stress his point McCarthy
produced two pills out of his pocket and handed them
to Mulder. 

The agent took them, but protested. "I really hate
taking pills I don't need." 

"Have I steered you wrong yet? Trust me, you'll be
glad. It's just Tylenol with a kick. Should hardly
make you feel hinky at all." Mulder swallowed the
pills. "Good boy. Now, here's what you can do: go back
to your hotel, lie down for two days, and relax.
Here's what you can't do: everything else. Get it?
Particularly no lifting. Get up and move around a bit
every couple of hours or so, but don't interpret that
as permission to go and walk the Walk of Fame. The
sightseeing will have to wait until next time. What I
mean is walk around your room, go out on your balcony.
If you feel up to it, sit by the pool for a bit. But
if you feel tired, STOP doing whatever you are doing."


Mulder had to ask. "Doc, do you give this lecture to
all your patients?" 

"Some version of it, yes. But sometimes I suspect a
patient needs it all spelled out for him." 

"Someone wouldn't have helped you reach that
conclusion about me, would she?" 

McCarthy smiled. "I have no idea what you're talking
about." 

Mulder grinned, too. He'd thought so. "I don't think
you have anything to worry about. Byers over there is
taking notes." 

The doctor looked over at the other two men, both of
whom were trying their best to look completely
oblivious to the conversation. "Think so? They don't
look like the nursemaid type, but I'll take your word
on that. Anyway, to continue. You'll notice that I
don't have a scrip for antibiotics for you. I don't
believe in it. Think they are wildly over-prescribed.
There was no contamination from the appendix, you are
showing absolutely no signs of infection, and we
loaded you up on IV antibiotics. I had a fight with
your partner on this." He grinned. "So I need you to
monitor your temp every four hours. If it goes up more
than a degree and doesn't go down next time you take
it, get your ass back in here, understand?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Okay, last things. Here's the name and number of a
colleague in DC. Works out of Georgetown Medical
Center. He'll take care of your follow-up. You need to
see him in a week, and again a couple of weeks after
that. Make an appointment as soon as you get home. You
changed your flight, right?" 

"Yeah, we leave tomorrow night. Around Nine." 

"Coach?" 

"Just how much do you think I make?" 

"Gotcha. Gonna be a long, uncomfortable night. I can
give you a couple of Valium, knock you right out so
you sleep through the flight." 

"No, that's alright. I'll manage." 

"Seriously, Mulder, being folded up on one of those
tiny seats won't be any fun. Let me give them to you.
You don't have to take them."  He turned to Byers and
Frohike. "He gets the aisle." 

Frohike smiled wryly. "He always does." 

The doctor stood up. "Okay, that's it, I think. Let me
get you those pills, and you can get dressed and get
out of here. Again, don't push yourself. Pay attention
to how you're feeling, understand? Oh, and food. Take
it easy on your digestive system for a week or so.
Stick to easy-to-digest stuff. Soft stuff; not too
much roughage, if you get my drift." 

"Uh huh. Got it." 

"Okay, that's it, then." The doctor stood. "It's been
a pleasure--even if you never told me the deepest,
darkest secrets of the FBI." 

Mulder smiled. "Ahhh, doc, but if I told you those,
I'd have to kill ya." 

The doctor laughed. "Yeah, I'll bet. Get dressed and
get the hell out of here. There are sick people who
need this room." 

"God, Langly was right," Frohike said after the man
had left. "He said that guy was cool." 

+ + + + +      

Mulder slowly climbed out of the car and approached
the hotel doors. He could only walk hunched over, like
he was trying to hide something inside his jacket. His
body just wouldn't go straight. The doorman looked at
him oddly, but wished him good morning and held the
door open. He went through, with the three Gunman
close behind, and had barely entered the lobby when he
heard a woman's voice addressing him. 

"Well, you certainly look better!" Mulder looked up to
see a young woman in a blue blazer smiling at him. Who
the hell was she? He looked at his friends, puzzled. 

"He is," Byers answered for him. "Thank you." 

"Well, we're glad to have you back safely!" 

Mulder just nodded and continued toward the elevators.
Once the woman was out of earshot, he had to ask who
she was. 

"Concierge," Byers offered. "She arranged the limo to
the hospital." 

"Limo?" 

"Yeah, Mulder. You arrived at the hospital in a white
stretch! Don't you remember?"  Frohike couldn't
believe that he'd forgotten that part. 

He shook his head. No, he didn't remember. He didn't
much care, either. He just wanted to lie down.

+ + + + +       

Mulder had tried just about every position, and
decided that on his left side, sort of in the fetal
position, with a pillow in his midsection was the most
comfortable. It entailed laying upside-down on the bed
so he could see the TV, but that didn't matter to him.
And there was football to watch. This wouldn't be so
bad. 

He was watching the third quarter of the Rams vs.
Redskins at RFK Stadium back home when he drifted off.
It was a blowout; the Skins were getting killed. 

+ + + + +       

The sound of mumbling pulled him from sleep. As he
became more aware, he realized it wasn't really
mumbling, but rather some people's poor attempt at
whispering. 

"He doesn't look sick." 

"How do you know? He's asleep, dipwad." 

"I dunno. I thought he'd be . . . bigger in person." 

Okay, that was enough. Who the hell were these people?
He opened his eyes, and saw no one. They had to be on
the other side of the bed. He quickly rolled over, and
immediately regretted it when he hit one of the
incision sites. 

"Ow, fuck!" He looked at the three men standing there
taking him in like an exhibit in a museum. They looked
a little shocked that he'd woken up, but more awed
than anything else. "Who are you, and what are you
doing here?" 

The smallest of the three, a man with long stringy red
hair and a sparse beard, held out his hand. "Frederick
Kornhauser, Agent Mulder. Communications Director for
the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Alien
Abductees. I must say, It is an _honor_ to meet you.
Abductees who have met you say you have been nothing
but respectful. . . " 

Mulder had slowly pushed himself to a sitting
position, ignoring the hand. "Save it. How'd you get
in here?" 

"Well, ummm, we came up, ummmm, Well we were with,
ummm..." 

Didn't matter. Mulder knew. "LANGLY!!!!" Oddly enough
he couldn't get his normal volume, but it was loud
enough, he was sure. 

The first head to peek in the door wasn't Langly's,
but rather Byers'. He was mortified by what he saw.
"Oh my God Mulder. Langly must have. . . . So sorry.
You fellows have to leave. Agent Mulder is ill.
LANGLY!" The three men stayed planted in their spots.

Byers glared into the other room, and Mulder knew
Langly must be approaching. He slowly stepped into the
room, and addressed his friends. "Guys, I _told_ you
not to come in here!" 

One of the other two, a tall gangly man with a
crewcut, answered. "Oh, come on, man. You tell us you
got Fox Mulder up here but we can't see?  That's like
saying you have ET in your closet. No one's gonna
believe you until they see it for themselves." 

The other one, a studious-looking guy with coke-bottle
glasses concurred. "Really, Langly! What did you
expect us to do? You even brought us up here and left
us alone! You were asking for it!" 

Mulder knew he should be furious, but to his surprise
he was more amused than anything. Besides, he owed
Langly big-time. Nevertheless, he couldn't let him get
away with it. "Ummm, hello? Excuse me? I'm right here.
Langly, didn't I warn you?" 

Langly looked genuinely remorseful. "Sorry, Mulder.
You were asleep, so Fro and I went down to the
convention for a bit. Ran into these guys from the
SPCAA, had a margarita or two, you know how it is. Oh,
this is Fred, Alton, and Vega." Alton was the
studious-looking one, of course, and he waved at
Mulder as he was introduced. Vega--surely a pseudonym
since he looked more like a "Stanley"--just nodded. 

"Agent Mulder, now that we're both here, I would LOVE
to get an interview with you for our biannual SPCAA
newsletter. You're somewhat of a hero; a legend to our
ranks." 

Langly smiled proudly. "See Mulder? What'd I tell
you?" Mulder was just sitting there, stunned by the
gall of this man. But how to say "No" without
embarrassing his friend?

He didn't have to; Byers stepped forward. "I'm sorry,
that's out of the question. Agent Mulder is ill. He
just got out of the hospital this morning. He needs
his rest. You'll have to go." He was literally pushing
the three men out the door. 

"I'll leave my card on the table here, Agent Mulder!
Call me!" Fred shouted as he was moved toward the
door. Then there was silence until Langly returned. 

"I didn't think they'd come in here, Mulder. Really." 

"It's okay, Langly. Is that what I am, though? ET in
the closet? Some sort of sideshow attraction?" 

"God no, Mulder! I told you, you're legendary. There
are people downstairs right now who'd probably
volunteer to give you their appendixes if they heard
you'd lost yours." 

Byers had returned and was leaning against the
doorjamb. "I don't know if they'd go quite that far,
but he's right, Mulder. And unfortunately, I betcha
that the entire convention floor will know you're here
by the time those three get downstairs." Langly's eyes
widened and his jaw dropped open; he clearly hadn't
thought of that. 

Mulder just lay back down. "I'm counting on you to
keep the wolves at bay, boys," he sighed.  "I just
don't have the energy."

+ + + + +    

Mulder allowed himself to wake slowly, and checked his
watch. Christ it was past nine in the morning. He'd
slept most of yesterday, and half of this morning,
too. Unbelievable. In less than 12 hours he'd be on
his way home. Once he got there he knew he wouldn't
want to see the Gunmen for a month. When Byers had
tried to wake him last night at midnight to take his
temperature, he knew he'd had just about as much as he
could take.    

He took a moment to assess how he was feeling. Not
bad, actually. Not bad at all.  He took a deep breath.
That didn't hurt. He tentatively felt his abdomen at
the incision sites, pressing on them lightly. He felt
a twinge, but it wasn't too bad. He realized that he
felt almost normal--in a little over 24 hours. Gotta
love the wonders of modern medicine. He scooted to the
edge of the bed, swung his legs to the floor, tried to
sit up, and discovered what he still couldn't do. When
he tried to sit up straight his right side protested
loudly enough to keep him hunched over. It wasn't a
sharp pain, but rather a persistent ache that was bad
enough to keep him bent. It was alright; he could take
that. He sat there for a minute before he stood and
made his way into his bathroom. As long as he stayed
hunched over, he could walk almost normally. So he
looked like a hunchback for a few days. He could live
with that. 

Mulder surveyed his face in the mirror. What he really
wanted was a shower. What had the doctor said about
showering? Anything? He didn't remember. He looked
down at the three large adhesive bandages--Band-Aids,
really. He'd been given replacements. If he was quick,
he didn't see any reason why he couldn't shower, even
if the doctor had said not to. 

He turned on the water, shed his sweatpants, and
stepped in. 

+ + + + +      

Virtually the moment he turned off the water Mulder
heard the rap on the door. 

"Mulder?" It was Frohike. 

"Yeah. What Frohike." 

"You okay?" 

Mulder sighed exasperatedly. "Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Well, you know. Just wanted to make sure." In his
mind Mulder could see his friend fidgeting nervously.
Byers had probably put him up to it. 

"I'm totally 100% fine, Frohike. And you can tell
Byers I said so. I'll be out in a minute." 

Too much togetherness. He realized that he hadn't
brought clean clothes in the bathroom, so he settled
for fastening his towel around his waist and returned
to his room. 

Byers was sitting on his bed waiting for him. WAY too
much togetherness. Mulder stopped in his place and
rolled his eyes. "WHAT, Byers." 

The bearded man held up his favorite instrument of
late, the thermometer. "You haven't taken your temp in
12 hours, Mulder. You know what the doctor said." 

Mulder started moving again, and walked right past his
friend to his bag sitting on the luggage stand by the
closet. "Get away from me with that thing." 

"Mulder!" God, he could whine. 

He turned quickly to face his friend, grimacing
slightly at a twinge of pain. "Look, Byers, do I look
like a man with a fever to you? I feel fine. Great.
Get out of here, I want to get dressed." He turned
back toward his bag. "What happened to those
replacement bandages, though?" 

He could hear Byers stand up quickly; alarmed. "Why?
Are you bleeding?" 

Mulder guffawed. "NO. I'm wet. I took a shower. The
bandages got wet, that's all. And you know what they
say, dampness is a breeding ground for infection!"
He'd turned toward Byers again, and as he spoke he
made clawing motions with his hands toward his friend,
in an effort to convey how ludicrous he thought this
whole conversation was. He stopped, though, and
settled. "You worry too much. Where's the bag of stuff
from the hospital. That's all I need to know." 

Byers stood and approached his friend. "It's in the
other room. I'll get it." He handed him the
thermometer. "Take your temperature, or I'll call
Scully. You wouldn't want me to bother her, would
you?" 

Mulder grinned. "It's Monday, Byers, and lunchtime
back home. She's snuck off somewhere and left her cell
phone in the desk. Been doing that a lot lately."
Nevertheless, he took the thermometer and Byers left. 

+ + + + +     

While he still had the thermometer under his tongue--a
small price to pay to keep Byers happy, he'd
decided--Mulder replaced his bandages. He marvelled at
how small the incisions were. The two on either side
looked like they were only three stitches. Maybe four.
The one in the middle was maybe five. No wonder he
didn't feel bad. He could even button the top of his
jeans without concern about disturbing the incisions. 

He wasn't sure if the four minutes were up, but it was
close enough. He pulled the glass tube from his mouth
and read it. Totally normal. Thank God. He hadn't even
put a shirt on yet, but he got up and walked out into
the sitting room. 

"Hey Quasimodo!" 

Mulder looked over to shoot a glare at Frohike, who
was smiling at his own joke. The half-dressed man
continued on his path until he was standing in front
of a seated Byers. He held out the thermometer, and
when Byers reached out to take it, petulance got the
better of the FBI agent, and he dropped it in his
friend's lap. "Normal, mom." He turned and headed back
to his room. "I'm gonna finish getting dressed. Did
anyone order any breakfast? I'm starved."  

It only took him a minute, and when he returned
Frohike was on the phone with room service. He covered
the mouthpiece with his hand. "What do you want?" he
asked Mulder. 

"I dunno. How about a Western Omelet, some hash
browns?" 

Byers interjected. "Make it a plain omelet, and toast
instead of hash browns." He looked at Mulder. "The
doctor said to take it easy on your stomach,
remember?" 

"Byers, you have GOT to stop this. You're worse than
Scully, and that's saying a lot." Nevertheless, he
heard Frohike giving Byers' order over the phone. He
sat on one end of a sofa, flipping his feet up onto
it, and leaning his left side against the arm. It was
a position that allowed him to remain somewhat bent at
the middle, but still looked somewhat natural.
"Where's Langly?" 

"He met some of our contacts for breakfast before they
went home." 

Mulder loved how Frohike talked sometimes. They didn't
have friends, they had 'contacts.'  He nodded. "How'd
it go last night after I went to bed? Any more
barbarians at the gate?" Three times during the course
of yesterday evening conventioneers had knocked on the
door with some lame excuse or another. Seemed Mulder
was the big attraction at the meeting, and he wasn't
even in attendance. Mulder didn't know if he should be
flattered or terrified. A little of both, probably. 

"Naw. Langly and I went down to the farewell cocktail
party and guarded the door so no one could escape up
here." Figured Byers hadn't gone. He'd been too busy
guarding the patient. The phone rang, and there was an
extension right next to him, so Mulder grabbed it in
the middle of the first ring. He knew who it was. 

"Beverly Hilton. Convalescent Suite." 

"You sound chipper this morning, Mulder." 

"It's a fine morning in the City of Angels, Scully."
He looked at his watch. "You on your lunch hour?" 

"Uh huh. I'm sitting in your chair with my feet on
your desk at this very moment. But I'm not as good at
flipping pencils in the ceiling tiles as you are. How
do you feel?" Everyone's a comedian all of a sudden.

"Chipper." 

"Come on, Mulder." 

"Seriously, Scully, I feel fine. I feel great. Hey
Frohike, don't I look good?" He held the phone out so
if Fro yelled, Scully would hear. 

"You're looking damn fine for a Quasimodo!" Mulder
mouthed the word 'bastard' at his friend, making
Frohike smile mischievously, and put the phone back to
his ear. 

"Can't straighten up, huh?" 

"It's not that it hurts, Scully, I just won't go
straight at the moment."

"That's normal, Mulder. Any redness at the incisions?
Fever?" 

Mulder went for outside confirmation again. "Any
fever, Byers?" Byers just glared at him, but didn't
answer, so Mulder did. "98.6, Scully." 

"That's good. Hey, I'm gonna pick you up at the
airport." 

"You don't have to do that. It's gonna be some ungodly
hour, isn't it? Six, Seven in the morning? And my car
is in long-term." 

"You're on driving restrictions for at least a week,
Mulder. You can't drive yourself. I'll pick you up,
and the guys can take your car home and return it to
you later in the week." 

Mulder saw the method to her madness. "Which, of
course, will make sure I don't go driving when I'm not
supposed to." 

"Unanticipated bonus, Mulder. No, I just want to see
you, and make sure you're settled." 

"Scully, Have you ever considered dating Byers? You'd
be perfect for each other. You're both mother" he
suddenly cut off his sentence when he heard Scully
speaking to someone in the office.

"Yes sir? Yes, I'm speaking to Agent Mulder now sir."
Then she was speaking to him again. "AD Kersh is
requesting an update on your condition, Mulder." 

"Is he? Tell him I didn't know he cared." 

Again Scully addressed their boss. Mulder could tell
that she purposefully was not covering the mouthpiece;
she wanted him to hear what she was saying. "He says
he's feeling much better, sir, and thanks you for your
concern." 

Mulder almost laughed. "His bullshit meter is going
off, Scully." 

She was ignoring him. "Generally home recuperation is
a week, sir. But Agent Mulder may require a little
more time because he needs to fly home. But he should
be back in the office some time next week, I'd say.
And able to return to the field in three or four
weeks." 

Mulder snorted again. "Just what he needs, Scully, a
medical excuse to keep me tied to that desk even
longer!" 

Kersh was apparently gone, and Scully's attention had
returned to her partner. "Shut UP, Mulder, Geez!" 

"ME? He 'thanks you for your concern?' What kind of
crap is that? He knows I'd never say that." 

"It's called being diplomatic, Mulder. Try it some
time."  

Byers was heading toward the door. "I gotta go,
Scully. Breakfast is here." 

"Bland food for a while, Mulder." 

"That's it. Scully. When we get home I'm settin' you
up with Byers. You're a pair of mother hens. See you
tomorrow." He hung up.  

+ + + + +       




===
"I got game." 
         --Fox Mulder

Mulder was bored out of his mind. The thirty minutes
he'd spent eating breakfast with the guys was enough
for him. He'd feigned fatigue and retired to his room
again just to get away from them. But the fact of the
matter, too, was that lying down was more comfortable
than sitting up. But he didn't want them to know that.
He'd run through the gamut of cable channels, and was
appalled by what he saw. Talk shows. Nothing but
clawing talking heads. And ESPN was showing workout
shows; he couldn't even find Sportscenter. He tried
Rosie O'Donnell, and tired immediately of the way she
fawned over her overpaid, over-coifed celebrity
guests; he flipped over to CNN and managed to watch an
hour of news before desperation sent him back out into
the sitting room. 

The room was empty, to his surprise. He half-expected
to find Byers sitting outside his room with
thermometer in-hand. He wondered where they were for a
second, but then realized his good fortune. He was on
his own, able to do anything. The first thing he
decided to do was raid the fridge. He was thirsty. His
attention was on the beautiful day he could see
through the doors to the balcony, so he didn't see
Frohike bent over behind the bar, foraging through the
snacks. 

Frohike didn't see him, either, and just as Mulder
came around the bend he stood quickly, his elbow
making solid contact with Mulder's midsection. The
surprise and sudden sharp pain took the agent by
surprise, and he stumbled backward. He was unable to
keep his balance, and the next thing he knew, he was
landing on his butt on the floor, with both hands
protectively around his midsection. 

"Oh my God, Mulder! Are you okay?" Frohike was on his
knees by his friend's side in an instant. 

"Yeah," Mulder almost gasped it. He was out of
breath--whether from the blow, the pain, or the
surprise, he wasn't sure. "I'm okay. Fuck, that hurt."


"Oh, Christ, Mulder. I didn't see you."

Mulder was getting his breath back. It must have just
been the surprise. "S'alright, Frohike. No harm done.
Help me up, though?" Frohike stood and offered a hand,
which Mulder took and they stood him up. 

As he was rising, Langly entered from his room. "What
the hell?" 

"It's nothing, I'm fine." Mulder was gingerly pressing
on his incisions through his tee shirt to be sure. 

"You fall down, Mulder?" 

Mulder looked at Frohike with a grin. "Not exactly.
Forget about it. It's okay." 

Frohike didn't look convinced. "Are you sure?" 

"ForGET about it Frohike, okay?" He was trying to let
Fro off the hook, to let it be their little secret.
All he needed was for his short friend to take the
offer.

"I accidentally elbowed him in the gut." Mulder rolled
his eyes. The idiot. 

"You what?" Langly approached quickly, alarmed. 

Mulder carefully slid himself onto a barstool, the
nearest seat available. He silently thanked God he was
tall enough that he didn't have to hoist himself up to
sit on it.  "Look, it was an accident, and I'm fine.
See?" He lifted his tee shirt to show them his
midsection, so they could see for themselves that no
harm was done. Except he saw both men look at his
stomach then look at each other. Finally Frohike
spoke. 

"Ummm, Mulder? You're bleeding." The look on his face
was one of pure contrition. Mulder looked down at
himself and sure enough, the middle bandage showed a
spot of blood in the middle. Fuck. 

"It's alright, I'm sure. Probably just knocked a
stitch out of whack. I feel fine. Doesn't even hurt." 

"Mulderrrr!" Langly was using a paternalistic tone
that he'd managed to keep hidden so far during this
ordeal. Mulder didn't appreciate it.   

"What?" 

"You forget? I was on this ride with you, remember?
Blood ain't good. I'm calling the good doctor." 

"For a drop of blood? Are you kidding? I've had worse
than this and you guys know it. And I know this is
nothing to worry about." 

Langly peered at him disapprovingly through his
glasses. "Uh uh. Sorry, not buying it. If it's nothing
to worry about, let HIM tell us that." 

Mulder rolled his eyes and slid off the stool. "He's
gonna tell you you're overreacting, but tell him I
said hello." He went back to his room, making sure his
movement was as fluid and effortless as it had been
before. 

Once back on his bed he peeled off a corner of the
bandage and had a look. It was bleeding alright. But
it would surely stop in a minute.

+ + + + +      

Mulder was on his 10th pass through the 98 channels
offered free by the hotel when there was a knock on
his door. He we go, he thought. 

"Yeah." 

Byers stuck his head in. It had taken him long enough
to get in on this latest drama. "How are you feeling?"


"Absolutely and totally FINE, Byers. It's nothing. I
promise you." 

He dared to step inside. "I don't know, Mulder." 

"What did the doctor say? I presume nothing, since you
haven't tied me up and dragged me back to the hospital
yet." 

"Well, no, not exactly. He did say it's probably
nothing to worry about, that you're probably right,
just a tug on a stitch or two. But he wants someone to
take a look at it." 

Mulder sighed. "I'm not going back to the hospital,
Byers." 

"No, Nick didn't think that would be necessary."
Christ, everyone was calling the guy Nick now. "He
suggested, ummm, he thought," 

"No, Byers, I'm not letting you play doctor again.
I'll look at it myself first."

Byers smiled, almost relieved. "No, no, not me. And
you can't see yourself. No, Dr. Ashman is on his way
up. You remember him?" 

"You mean the guy who told me I had a _stomach_bug-_?"


"Yeah. him. But you know, Mulder, the symptoms are the
same. You can't blame him." 

"I don't blame him, Byers. I blame YOU. He was one
doctor more than I needed, and you're the one who got
him involved in the first place."  

"Look, Mulder, I was just trying to help." 

Mulder hadn't meant to make his friend defensive. "I
know, Byers. I'm just sick of being poked and prodded,
okay?" They both heard the doorbell ring. "And yet,
here we go again." 

"Sorry, Mulder." His friend meant it; Mulder could
tell. He was about to verbally let him off the hook
when the doctor appeared in the doorway. 

"Mr. Mulder. Pleasure to see you again." 

"No offense, doc, but the pleasure's all yours." 

The doctor chuckled and entered the room. "So I
understand you've had an eventful weekend!" 

Mulder looked at him warily. "Yeah, that 'stomach bug'
of yours packed quite a wallop." 

The doctor just smiled. "If memory serves, it was
*our* stomach bug, Mr. Mulder. You sold that diagnosis
with everything you had. And early appendicitis
symptoms masquerade as stomach flu all the time.
Nothing to be done about it." The doctor had taken a
seat on the side of the bed. "So, I hear you've had a
mishap?" 

It was Mulder's turn to chuckle. "That's one way of
putting it. Someone mishapped upon me, actually. But
it's nothing." 

"Like your stomach bug was nothing? Better let me take
a look, don't you think?" 

Mulder just leaned back against his pillows and pulled
up his tee shirt silently, showing the doctor the
three bandages. "Just the middle one?" 

"Yeah. That's where I was elbowed. The other two are
fine. Actually, the middle one is fine, too." 

The doctor donned latex gloves and carefully removed
the bandage. He examined the blood on the pad of the
bandage before discarding it, then he peered at the
incision. After a second he was pulling open a package
from his bag. "I need to clean it to get a good look.
This is gonna sting a bit." He proceeded to wipe the
blood off the area with the pad in his hand. It was
wet, and it hurt like hell, making Mulder gasp.

"Christ! What is that?" 

"Antiseptic, that's all." He finished and discarded
the pad, and peered at the site again. He went back to
his bag and came up with a flashlight and a pair of
very sharp, pointy tweezers. He got in extremely
close--too close for Mulder's taste--and proceeded to
examine every stitch closely. Finally he sat up. 

"Looks like you tore a stitch, but only one. And I
don't see any damage below the surface. Whoever did
this does great work. Probably twice as many stitches
as you actually needed, so popping one shouldn't cause
you any damage at all. And since the bleeding's
stopped, a new bandage and I'll be out of your way."
He peeled the adhesive off a bandage and applied it
over the stitches. "There, my work here is done. Take
it easy, and try not to get that wet for a day at
least. Give it a chance to heal up some, okay?" 

The doctor stood, and Mulder sat up as straight as he
could manage. He swung his legs over the side of the
bed and started to stand, but the doctor put his hand
on his patient's shoulder and kept him seated. "Don't
get up on my account. Take care of yourself." He
patted Mulder on the shoulder slightly and left the
room before Mulder had a chance to say thank you.

Once he was gone Mulder looked pointedly at Byers. "Is
this where I finally get to say 'I told you so?'" 

+ + + + +       

Mulder could hear Byers' frantic tone from his room:
"Langly, come ON! We're going to be late!" It was true
that you learned a lot about someone by travelling
with them. Byers was too uptight, too nervous.
Nevertheless, he figured he could do his part to ease
the guy's mind; he hoisted his duffel bag onto his
shoulder and carried it out into the sitting room. He
was packed and ready to go. 

"Mulder, what are you DOING?" Mulder stopped in his
tracks and looked at Byers, thoroughly confused. He
watched as the man rushed him and pulled his bag off
his shoulder. Suddenly he understood. 

"For God's sake, Byers! I'm fine!" 

"He said no lifting!" Byers took the bag and deposited
it by the door. "Take a seat. We're almost ready to
go." 

Mulder sullenly deposited himself onto a barstool and
made a mental note to never ever travel with Byers
again. 

+ + + + +        

Mulder tried to surreptitiously look at his watch.
They were trapped in traffic, and with every passing
moment they looked more and more likely to miss their
flight. Byers, he knew, was probably flipping out, but
to his credit he was keeping it to himself. Instead he
turned around to look at Mulder. 

"Did you take those Valium the doctor gave you,
Mulder?"

Oh brother. "No, Byers." 

"Are you sure that's wise?" 

"They were optional, remember? For the ten millionth
time: I was fine, I have been fine, I am fine, I will
be fine." 

He could see Byers assessing him skeptically. "Are you
sure?" 

Mulder sighed. "You are trying my patience, Byers." 

Frohike was sitting next to Mulder in the back, and he
decided to stick up for him. "Leave him alone Byers,
will you? Cut the guy a break." Mulder looked across
the seat to deliver a silent 'thank you,' but
obviously Byers wasn't quite ready to let it go. 

"What about Tylenol? Did you take the Tylenol?" 

"Byers, look. It's none of your business if I did. If
I didn't, I'll suffer, and it will be no one's fault
but my own. Understand? I haven't been hovered-over
like this since I was twelve. Give it a rest, will
you?" 

Chastised, Byers turned his attention back to the
traffic in front of them. Mulder looked over and saw a
broad smile on Frohike's face. He was glad someone was
enjoying this.

+ + + + +    

If not for curbside dropoff for their rental, they'd
be goners. And thank God none of them had any bags to
check. The porter at the curb gave them their gate and
told them if they ran for it, they'd probably make it.
Byers steadfastly refused to let Mulder carry his own
bag, so he was lagging behind carrying two as the four
raced through the labyrinthine building.  

For his part, Mulder started out in the lead. Even two
days after surgery, there was no way he was gonna let
this bunch outrun him. He figured he had them
good--until the cramping started. The first one was
small and on the right side, feeling just like the
little stitch in his side that he sometimes felt while
out running. He ignored it and kept going. They still
had a long way to go. 

The second one was worse, so much so that it caused a
hitch in his step. He heard someone behind him ask
"Mulder?" but he didn't know which one it was, and he
wasn't going to acknowledge it anyway.  They weren't
even halfway there, he knew, and he was already
getting out of breath. 

'If you feel tired, STOP doing whatever you're doing,'
he remembered Dr. McCarthy saying to him. Well, that
just wasn't an option. He wrapped his left arm across
his abdomen to give support to his right side, and
kept going. 

"Mulder, you okay?" Christ, Frohike had caught up with
him. Was he going that slowly? He looked at his
friend, and started to say something, but instead
found himself gasping for breath. 

"Whoa, whoa, STOP, Mulder!" Frohike reached out and
grabbed Mulder's right arm. It didn't take much force
to make him stop in his tracks, and he doubled over,
panting. He looked up and saw Byers and Langly
catching up. Langly now had Mulder's duffel, and they
were sharing the weight of Langly's bag between the
two of them, each with a handle. Like a couple of
girls would do it, Mulder realized. 

"What's the matter?" They'd arrived. 

"He can't go any further, Langly--look at him." Mulder
felt Frohike's hand on his shoulder blade, but he
didn't care. They were gonna miss the fucking plane,
and it was his fault. 

"So what are we gonna do? Can you walk, Mulder? Maybe
two of us can run ahead and make them hold the plane?"


"They won't. . ." Mulder was still breathing hard ". .
. .hold a plane. This I know from experience. Fuck!" 

"Well, it's worth a try. Langly, leave your bag and
run for it. Tell them what's going on." 

Langly took off, and Mulder stood up as straight as he
could. "Okay, let's go. I'll be able to run for it
again in a second. Just give me a second. Now there's
four bags and two of you. I'm carrying something." 

Byers looked at him incredulously. "Are you kidding?
You almost collapsed right here in the terminal! We'll
WALK, and Frohike and I will carry the bags." 

Mulder lacked the energy to protest, and his side was
still complaining loudly. He stuck his hand in his
pocket, and was relieved to find the blister packet of
Valiums there. He might be needing them after all. 
And the Tylenol, he knew, was in the zipper pocket on
the outside of his bag. Suddenly the prospect of
oblivion for the duration of the flight was a welcome
one. 

"Hey! Yo! Stop!" Mulder was pulled from his thoughts
by Frohike, flagging down a golf cart coming toward
them. "Look, man, we're about to miss our flight, and
our friend here has been really sick and can't run for
it--show him your surgery scars, Mulder." Mulder just
glared at him. "Anyway, can you give us a lift?" 

The boy driving the cart smiled. "Yeah, sure. What
gate?" 

"77" Frohike said as he threw his two bags on the cart
and climbed on. 

"77? I'm sorry, I can't. That's an American Airlines
gate." 

"Yeah, so?" 

"I work for United." To stress his point the kid
pointed to the United logos plastered all over the
cart.

"So what? So don't drive us as an employee of United,
drive us as a human being, for chrissakes! I'm not
pulling one over on you here. Seriously, he had
surgery two days ago!" Frohike turned to Mulder again.
"Seriously, Mulder, show him the bandage!" 

"We're wasting time," Mulder said, and he started
walking away. He heard Byers get involved in the
negotiation, but he just kept going. Idiots. 

But he hadn't gone ten yards when the kid pulled up
alongside. "Hop in." 

Mulder took the seat next to the kid and inwardly
breathed a sigh of relief. "So what'd they pay you?"
he asked with a smile. The kid smiled back but said
nothing. 

Mulder stuck his hand in his pocket, popped the two
pills from their protective covering, and
surreptitiously brought them to his mouth, where he
swallowed them dry. 

+ + + + +             

When they arrived at the gate Langly was pacing back
and forth in front of the door to the breezeway. The
attendant there was incredibly agitated, but the door
was still open. They'd made it. 

When they got to their seats the other passengers were
glaring at them. Had Langly gotten them to hold the
plane, Mulder wondered? He watched Byers hoist his
duffel into the overhead compartment along with his
own, and take the window seat. Frohike sat in the
middle. Before he sat, Mulder thought he should get
those pain pills. He reached up to open the
compartment again, and the pulling the motion caused
in his abdominal muscles made him wince noticeably. 

"What do you want, Mulder? I'll get it." Langly was
behind him, waiting for his turn to take his seat
across the aisle from Mulder. 

Mulder took his arms down painfully. "My pills. In the
pocket on the end. Thanks."  He sank gratefully into
his seat. Langly got the pills and dropped them into
his friend's lap. The exchange was not lost on Byers. 

"I think we should call Scully." 

Mulder looked over at his overprotective friend. "You
so much as touch that phone, Byers, and I swear I'll
kill you. Frohike, help me out here. What are the
magic words?" 

Frohike looked at Mulder for a moment, puzzled; then
he realized, and turned to the man on his left. "He's
fine, Byers." 

Mulder popped two pain pills, put the bottle in his
pocket, and braced himself for takeoff. As soon as
they were airborne he reclined his seat slightly, and
closed his eyes. He could feel the Valium taking
effect already, and a not uncomfortable heaviness was
overcoming him. He let it, and was asleep before the
flight attendants had even started their first pass
with the drink cart. 

+ + + + +          

"Mulder? Mulder wake up. We're landing." Frohike was
poking him, and it took a moment, but Mulder finally
regained his senses. He felt a dampness on his chin
and reached up. He'd been drooling in his sleep. 

"Yeah? What?" 

"We're landing, Mulder. You slept the whole damn
flight." Frohike leaned in so he could whisper. "You
took those Valium, didn't you." 

"Huh? Uh, yeah." Mulder wasn't coherent enough to lie.
"We're home?" 

"Almost, my friend. You gotta sit your seat up now." 

Mulder did, and concentrated on regaining his bearings
as the plane touched down. Just as it did, Frohike
leaned over again. "We're just gonna sit here until
everyone else gets off, okay?" Truth was, it was fine
with him. 

+ + + + +          

There weren't many people waiting in the arrivals
area--a 6am arrival meant most travelers were on
business--so Mulder saw Scully immediately. Her face
broke into a warm smile when her eyes met his, and he
returned it. As he got closer to her he realized with
humor that his hunched posture was going to make it
much easier to hug her. God, he was glad to see her. 

He opened his arms and enveloped her, and could feel
her apprehension about returning the embrace. She let
her arms circle his waist, but she didn't squeeze,
which Mulder realized disappointed him. Nevertheless,
he placed his mouth close to her ear and whispered. 

"Scully, save me. Get me away from those three."  

Scully laughed into his shoulder and looked at the
Gunmen, standing behind their friend. She broke away
and stood back, as if to survey her partner. "You
don't look too bad, Mulder. How do you feel?" 

"Like I want to go home." 

She smiled at the nonanswer. She was used to it.
"That's why I'm here. Your chariot awaits outside."
She made a sweeping gesture toward where Mulder knew
the curb was. 

"Agent Scully, you didn't pull rank and leave your car
in the dropoff area, did you?" He waggled his eyebrows
at her for emphasis. 

"Nope. Come on, you'll see." They started to walk
away, when a voice stopped them. 

"Umm, Agent Scully?" It was Byers. And Mulder knew
what was coming. "Maybe you should get a wheelchair or
a cart or something for Mulder. He practically
collapsed on our way to the plane at LAX." 

Mulder rolled his eyes and sighed loudly, and Scully
just looked at him quizzically. "Mulder?" 

"You know that airport, Scully. LAX is huge. And we
had six minutes to get to our plane. I overdid it a
little, that's all. I'm okay. Really." He looked at
her as earnestly as he could. He was sure he'd be
okay. 

She studied him for a minute. "You do look tired,
Mulder." 

"I just woke up from a drug-induced stupor, Scully,
that's all." He crossed his heart with two fingers
from his right hand and raised them up. "Scout's
honor." 

Scully didn't look wholly convinced, but she started
walking anyway. "I thought you said you were an Indian
Guide." 

They walked at a leisurely pace, and finally arrived
at the curb. There was a white limo and a bunch of
cabs. 'My chariot is a cab?' Mulder thought.

"Hop in, Mulder." 

Mulder again surveyed the scene. "In where?" 

"Right there!" Scully pointed, and Mulder followed her
finger--to the stretch limo. 

"Huh?" He was confused. 

Scully looked at him, disappointed that her surprise
was not having the desired effect. The Gunmen had come
up beside them, and Frohike spoke. 

"He doesn't remember that part at all, Scully," he
said kindly. "We had to remind him." 

That was all it took to jog Mulder's memory, and he
started to chuckle. "The white stretch. Right. Scully,
you shouldn't have." 

Scully smiled again, relieved that she hadn't had to
explain. "I figure you deserved a fun ride in one of
these. Get in." 

Mulder turned toward the Gunmen and tossed them his
car keys. "I know what my mileage is, so watch it," he
admonished. "And I want it back tomorrow." 

Langly caught the keys. "We'll get it back to you when
you are cleared to drive, Mulder." He was speaking to
Scully more than Mulder, and the male agent noticed. 

"Hey wait a minute. Whose side are you on here?" 

Langly smiled. "Yours, of course. Always yours,
Mulder." 

"Funny way of showing it." He'd approached the car,
and the driver had opened the door in anticipation of
him climbing in. But before he did he turned back to
his three friends. "Thanks again, guys. Sorry things
didn't turn out as planned." 

Frohike dismissed that with a wave of his hand.
"Forget it. We're just glad you're okay. We'll keep in
touch."

Mulder and Scully watched them return to the terminal
to catch the shuttle to the parking lot, and then they
climbed into the limo. 

Mulder looked around chuckled. "Christ, I feel like
I'm going to the prom. Wanna be my date, Scully?" 

"Only if you promise to be a gentleman, Mulder." 

"ME? Always." He settled back into the plush seat and
sighed. "Scully?" 

"Yes, Mulder?" 

"Can this thing take me home? It's been a long
weekend." 

<<THE END>> 





===
"I got game." 
         --Fox Mulder