TITLE: The Best News 
AUTHOR: Kestabrook
E-MAIL: Kestabrook@aol.com
DISTRIBUTION: Yep, if you'd like; please tell me
where and do use my name.
SPOILER: During and after "Redux II"
RATING: PG-13 (language)
CONTENT: MSR, M/A
CLASSIFICATION: V
SUMMARY: Ever angered that we never got to see
Mulder learn of Scully's remission? This vignette
provides that missing scene as well as Mulder's
reaction to Scully's second chance at life.
DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and its characters belong
to Chris Carter and co.
COMMENTS: For Lisa because she made me keep going
on this one, and because she's a great friend. And
for the many pages of her invaluable comments.
FEEDBACK: Much appreciated if positive and
helpful, please.

The Best News by Kestabrook

At eleven that night, Fox Mulder entered the
hospital. His eyes were tired from the strain the
past seven hours of paperwork had exacted on them.
His shoulders and back felt as if weights had been
placed upon them for days, bending him down,
trying to break him. Unconsciously, he pulled his
shoulders back and up--as if in defiance.

Working late was not uncommon for Fox Mulder; in
fact, it was his usual nightlife. But today had
been different since Assistant Director Walter
Skinner and a whole team of special agents had
frantically begun investigating cover-ups and
conspiracies, and the surprising and quick death
of Section Chief Blevins, whom Mulder had named as
the FBI mole who'd ordered surveillance of his
apartment and who'd run his own secret agenda for
four years. Agents probably would continue working
on this case into the wee hours and for weeks to
come. But that night at ten-thirty, Skinner had
sought out the refuge of Mulder's office for a
five-minute break--which Mulder secretly suspected
was more of a checking-to-see-if-you're-still-sane
glance at the X-Files agent. Skinner had given him
a brief update and then a request--no, more of a
command--for Mulder to "go home and get some
rest." Mulder had checked his watch, and then
shaken his head.

"I'm not going home," he'd replied sullenly. "Not
yet. I want to see Scully before lights out."

Skinner had gravely nodded his approval and made a
gesture for Mulder to precede him out the door.

And Mulder had, pausing briefly to look back at
the clutter that was his office--his and Scully's.
He could no longer look at that room without
seeing Scully in it or without hearing her voice
chiding him or dismissing his ideas. A faint smile
touched his lips as he thought of her, but it
quickly vanished when he realized there was a damn
good chance she'd never be in that office--or even
in the building--again. He'd turned quickly and,
like a homing pigeon far from its home, stalked
toward his car and Trinity Hospital.

He'd visited Scully that morning, mainly to see
her before he attended a hearing that could have
gotten him jailed, let alone banished from the
FBI. He'd shot Scott Ostelhoff, a D.O.D. assassin
he'd found spying on him and had faked his own
death by substituting that faceless body for his
own. Mulder had needed his partner's
approval--needed her to talk him out of refusing
deals that would save him if he was wrong to not
accept them. She'd looked so frail, though, the
metastatic cancer slowly consuming her. And he'd
left when her priest had arrived--left, asking her
to say "a few Hail Mulders" for him. Maybe she
had--he was still free, wasn't he? Yet free from
what? Only jail and banishment. But his soul felt
imprisoned, locked away behind the torment of his
sister's disappearance and now the agony and guilt
of Scully's illness which had been enforced upon
her because of her partnership with him. The
latter plagued him the most tonight.

As the elevator began its ascent, Mulder shed his
suitcoat and tie, and he rolled up the sleeves of
his white shirt. He hoped Scully would be alone.
He had much to tell her, yet he could easily
shelve it all if she felt too awful. And if
brother Bill was there, it would all be shelved
anyway. Just the brother's presence would be
enough to keep the "FBI business" back in that
basement office. And maybe Bill was right; maybe
Scully didn't need--or want--to hear it. What did
his news matter anyway? All would be meaningless
without her, withouth his partner. Being with her
was all he really wanted. Mulder thought of the
previous night when he'd knelt by Scully's
sleeping, dying figure and had just cried--a
silent scream--catharsis for her, for his guilt,
and for all the other crises engulfing him. Even
though she'd slept through his visit, he'd found,
as always, some solace in her strength, in her
presence. And now as the elevator halted and the
doors slid open, Mulder longed for a healthy
Scully.

Cancer Man...Samantha...Skinner...Blevins...Kritschgau
...Scully...Samantha...Cancer Man...Scully...Scully...
their faces, their words swirled through
his mind. The past few days had been a personal
hell. Cancer Man had tried to recruit him, had
promised him a cure for Scully, had "given" him
Samantha, only to steal her away again. And had it
even been her? She'd spoken of Cancer Man fondly,
referred to him as her father, been surprised when
Mulder had revealed their mother still lived. He'd
learned she'd been told lies, lies which included
his search for her. Cancer Man had never been
known for his truthfulness. And so Mulder
wondered--had Samantha actually come to him in
that diner? Or had she been another of Cancer
Man's cruel tricks? He'd believed for years that
finding her again would relieve his burdens, would
restore somewhat the losses he'd suffered. But
this meeting with her had only raised new
questions, had only made the burdens heavier and
the hurt harder to bear.

And had that microchip which Scully had allowed
Dr. Zuckerman to implant subcutaneously in the
back of her neck really been a cure for her
cancer--or was that another of Cancer Man's cruel
tricks, too? A way to "give" him Scully only to
steal her away? How much more could they take from
him? Scully was it. Without her....

As he reached his partner's door, he tossed his
suitcoat onto the hallway chair. Undoing the top
button of his shirt, he swallowed and steeled
himself. Then, when his personal torture was
buried beneath the surface of his demeanor, he
knocked twice, twisted the handle, and pushed into
her room.

The first thing that struck him was the bright
lights illuminating the small enclosure. Then
Scully, who had been elevated to a sitting
position, looked up with the door's quick opening
to see him. Her eyes and fast, almost full smile
showed her surprise--and welcome. But Mulder's
heart sank as he also noticed Scully's mother,
Bill, Dr. Zuckerman, and Scully's priest standing
around her bed. On their faces--joy? He wasn't
sure. It was late; why were they all here? "God,
no," he thought painfully. "It's the end, and
they're saying their good-byes." Yet, even though
brother Bill wouldn't meet Mulder's eyes, even his
face seemed brighter than it had in previous days.
At any rate, brother Bill and the family were
there. The family. Mulder wasn't part of it.

Looking longingly at Scully, he tried to read her
better, but her face was so haggard, so ravaged by
suffering, he could detect nothing. Mulder reached
back clumsily for the door handle and stammered,
"Sorry. Uh...I'll come back. I mean, I'll wait
until later--I'll go get some coffee or
something..." Feeling the metal in his hand, he
turned to leave.  

Though her tone and volume were soft, Scully
called, "Mulder! Come back here." And as he slowly
faced her, she weakly extended her hand toward
him. "We have things to talk about."

Doubtfully, he stepped toward her, wondering how
Bill would take this. But he realized that with
Scully's illness and the day's events, brother
Bill was the least of his worries. Still, he
glanced at the others in the room: Maggie Scully
smiled warmly, Bill watched his sister, the priest
and doctor watched Mulder, judging him, he was
sure. His gaze returned to Scully whose whole
being seemed to beckon him, her darkly circled
eyes imploring him impatiently.

He took her small, cold hand in both of his,
feeling her doing her best to return the squeeze
of his grip. He stared into her exhausted eyes,
wishing this simple touch could transform her
medical condition as it almost transformed the
heaviness of his mood. How he wished her illness
could travel through their hands and into him
where it belonged, leaving her well. He allowed
himself brief memories of the times their hands
had joined for reassurances, for strengths, for
trust, for companionship where no other existed.
He choked back despair as he thought of those
times--and this--soon becoming memories when he
was without her presence.

"You must have had a marathon session," Scully was
saying, bringing him back to the present. "I've
never known a hearing to last this long."

From past her shoulder, Mulder saw the slight
shaking of Bill Scully's head and his partial
sneer in response to his sister's words. But then
Mulder shut him out. "Yeah, well, we can talk
about that some other time. How're you doing?" He
looked at her terribly thin face and limp hair,
her pallid cheeks. Samantha had been taken from
him quickly; Scully's departure would be slow,
agonized, undignified. He tried to force a smile,
but only managed a slight upturning of the corners
of his lips.

"Actually, you know what?" Maggie suddenly asked.
She stood and placed her hand on Mulder's shoulder
while she looked at the assembled group. "I think
I could use some coffee. Why don't we all leave
Dana and Fox alone for a while? Coffee's on me."
She smiled and walked toward the door, the others
following, though Bill shuffled along behind them
reluctantly. 

"Mrs. Scully--you don't have to--I can come back
later--" Mulder protested, feeling Scully squeeze
his hand harder.

"No, Fox," Maggie replied firmly. "I know Dana
wants to share some news with you, and I think
she'd like to tell you in private." Still she
smiled, almost as if she'd hidden birthday or
Christmas presents within arm's reach.

Mulder felt his heart sink again at her words, yet
her expression kept it dangling. He turned back to
Scully and waited to hear the door close after the
others exited.

Scully sighed, watching the door latch. "You know,
I love them dearly, but they've been here since
six o'clock."

"Since six?" Mulder asked, incredulous and
apprehensive. "You must be exhausted."

"Yes, I am, but I shouldn't complain. It's nice to
be loved." She yawned, her free hand weakly
covering her mouth. Her gaze returned to his.
"Thanks for staying, Mulder. I was really quite
worried about you--I hadn't heard anything. You
could have called me."

He blushed, and his thumb absently, slowly traced
the back of her hand. "You had other things to
wor--to think about."

"Yes, but you were one of them. I thought maybe
they'd carted you away to the penitentiary." She
tried to wink, but gave it up and smiled softly.
"I'm glad to see you." Noting the weariness and
concern in his eyes, she squeezed his hand a bit
harder. "Now, c'mon, tell me everything. You can't
be in too much trouble or you wouldn't be
here...unless you faked your own death again."

He couldn't suppress the grin her joke brought. He
sat beside her on the mattress, then leaned in to
kiss her forehead. Her skin was lukewarm but soft.
"I don't want to talk about all that now. What's
your news? I want to know." Actually, he was
frightened of what she might say. Did she only
have a few days? Or less?

She returned his gaze, then covered their hands
with her free hand. "Well,
Mulder," she sighed, pausing to choose the right
words, "it looks as if you're not going to have to
find another partner for a while." She waited
silently, enjoying the utter confusion playing
across his usually stoic countenance.

Mulder felt as if he'd been slapped. "Scully, I
wouldn't want another partner--" He stopped,
frowning, confused. He bit his lower lip as his
eyes questioned her now impish face.

Her smile broadened. "Doctor Zuckerman did some
tests this afternoon. My cancer's gone into
remission."

For a moment, Mulder just stared at her, mouth
hanging open, eyes widening. Then he shook his
head slightly, not sure if he'd merely imagined
what she'd said, what he'd not even dared hope to
hear.

"Mulder--are you listening?" Scully asked. "My
cancer--"

"How? Why? Is he sure?" Mulder still looked
dumbfounded.

"Nobody knows why for sure," she told him. "My
prayers...my treatment...the microchip...maybe all
three? I do know, though, that I feel a hell of a
lot better."

Mulder suddenly found drawing a breath difficult.
He felt his eyes filling, felt as if he couldn't
scream out his joy loudly enough. He grinned at
her then drew her hands--and her--forward. Being
careful of her IV tubes, he hugged her to him,
careful to avoid hurting her, but enveloping her
in a nearly bone-crushing embrace. "God, Scully,"
he breathed, "that's...that's...."

"A miracle?" she finished for him. Her arms
wrapped around him, too, though she was tired and
lacked energy to spend. She felt tears roll from
her eyes and onto the fabric of his shirt, and she
felt her partner's exultation in his strong hold
on her. She leaned into him, partly from weakness,
but mostly because his embrace offered so much
comfort and strength, and it helped put a physical
end to her fear and suffering.

And Mulder continued to hold her, clutching her as
if letting her go would let her disappear as
Samantha had again. He found trying to hold back
tears nearly impossible. His utter exhilaration at
his partner's news and the pent up emotions of the
last few days threatened to erupt. Scully had her
family, a priest, friends. Mulder had no one...but
her. And how he needed her. He wanted to say so
much now, to tell her everything his heart had
felt since he'd seen her unconscious in that
hospital bed early the other morning. Seen her
suffering. Seen her dying. But he held his words.
Instead, he settled on whispering, "That's
so--so--great."

"And it's great to have you here after your
hearing." She squeezed him as
hard as she could, but found it a feeble attempt.
She gave in to her exhaustion and pushed away,
allowing him to help ease her back to the pillows.
She weakly reached for his hand again. "Now tell
me what happened today, Mulder."

He shook his head, successfully burying his
emotions for the moment. Gently, he smoothed her
hair back from her face, letting that free hand
wipe a tear from her wet cheek. "It's not
important now. Tomorrow. I don't want it anywhere
near what you just told me. Nothing is as
important as that."

Scully leaned her face into his palm. "Tomorrow,
then. Or else."
	
The opening door interrupted them, and Maggie's
voice said, "Wouldn't you know it? The coffee
machine is out of order, and they say the
cafeteria's closed."

Mulder held Scully's gaze, and they shared a quick
smile. "I'll see if I can find some somewhere," he
said to the family without taking his eyes from
his partner.

"Don't go," she whispered.

"I'll be right outside," he told her softly. "I'm
here if you need me."

"I know."

He lingered, considering, and then, deciding, he
leaned to kiss her forehead again. He felt her
hand squeeze his as he rose and turned toward the
door. Maggie Scully stood before him, her smile
now radiant. She quickly hugged him, not waiting
for him to return it.

"Thanks, Fox," she told him, "for all your help.
This remission is wonderful, isn't it?"

He nodded as she just as quickly moved back to her
daughter. Dr. Zuckerman patted his arm next.
  
"*Something* worked, Mr. Mulder," the older man
winked, and he moved on to check Scully's
monitors.

Scully's priest smiled at him and followed the
others.

But Bill Scully Jr., remained at the open door.
Mulder thrust his hands into his pants pockets and
made his way toward the hall. He met Bill's gaze,
and as he left the room, he noticed Bill left with
him, the door closing behind them. Mulder faced
Scully's brother, not wanting a confrontation, but
the elder Scully's face, hard and reproachful,
assured him one was coming.

Mulder sighed, resigned. "I can't tell you how
happy I am--for all of you."

"Thanks," Bill intoned. But his features didn't
change. "Look, I'll make this short. Dana's been
given another chance at life. At *a* life. I'd
appreciate it if you'd let her live it." He glared
at his sister's partner. "How about if you step
out of the picture from now on? Go chase your
little green aliens by yourself. Endanger your
life if you've nothing better to do, but leave her
out of this stupid, sorry quest you're on. She
doesn't need your inane work--she doesn't need you
screwing up her second chance. Frankly, Mr.
Mulder, she doesn't *need* you."

Mulder felt as if a machete were chewing into his
stomach. Scully's tears now rested on his skin as
they'd finally soaked through his white shirt and
T-shirt, but her brother's words marred the
previous moments' joys. He looked into the eyes of
his nemesis and replied non-committally, "I assume
Dana will make her own decision on that."

"I told you she's your big defender," Bill said
icily. "She"ll do what she thinks will make you
happy."

Mulder allowed a mirthless laugh. "You don't know
her very well, do you? Scully does what she wants,
what she feels is right. You should respect her
for that."

Bill sneered. "I do know my sister, you S.O.B. And
I love her. I want what's best for her. You,
obviously, regard that as the least of your
priorities. As I said, from now on, leave her
alone." He didn't wait for Mulder's response. He
again glared, and then he returned to his sister's
room. 

Mulder stared after him for a few moments, and
then he let his head sag to his chest. He breathed
slowly to try to calm himself. Again, his
shoulders and back bore the weight of emotional
burdens that threatened to topple him. And, in
fact, they did stagger him. Mulder clumsily slid
into the middle chair outside Scully's room.
Lacking sleep and food, feeling every death and
affliction caused from affiliation with him, with
his futile quest and naive beliefs, he sat with
his elbows on his knees, his head bowed, his eyes
closed.

When he'd first become involved with the X-Files,
Mulder had sought for Samantha--
as well as to discover the who's and why's behind
her abduction. To learn that she was alive and
safe and healthy was the best news he'd hoped to
uncover.

But so much had happened since then. And so much
of it painful, horrific. He and Scully had both
lost so much--her own life remained
threatened--because of their work.

And in the past few days--how many escaped
him--he'd learned the work had all been for
nought, as Byers would say. Kritschgau's words
made it very clear that the government had used
them--him and Scully--as pawns in its charade.
He'd learned that his apartment had been bugged,
videotaped--his every move and conversation
observed by who knew how many or for how long.
He'd learned his sister *might* be alive and well,
but it wasn't the "best news" as he'd expected
because he didn't know if the Samantha he'd met
really was his sister--or if he'd ever see her
again. He'd learned that Deep Throat's last words
still reverberated as the truest maxim: "Trust no
one." He'd learned that those with power--people
like the D.O.D. and Blevins--and many who claimed
to be his friends were his worst enemies. He'd
learned his only, true, best friend was dying.
Tonight, he'd learned she wasn't. And now
that--Scully's news--stopped him from taking the 
next elevator down--without waiting for the 
elevator. Suicide was a nice way out--he'd even 
thought about it after hearing Kritschgau's 
words--but it was selfish. And besides, if he 
killed himself, too many people would be 
relieved...or laughing.

Yet maybe "selfish" described him well. How else
could one account for the worthless muck of
journeys and struggles through which he'd dragged
Scully for four years? He'd had warning. Her
abduction and disappearance three years previous
had thrown him into such despair. He'd known the
horrid guilt then, known her partnering with him
had caused her to be taken. And since, he'd
learned the terrible ramifications of the
abduction and the experiments, known what terror
and suffering he'd caused his best friend, his
closest friend. Yet he'd never warned her, never
once told her to steer clear. Ol' Spooky Mulder
was poison to everything and everyone he touched.
He'd never told her that--because he didn't want
to lose her. He needed her rationalization, her
opposing viewpoints. He needed her presence to
keep him sane. He needed Dana Scully. And that was
selfishness, pure and simple.

With a further twist of the machete, Fox Mulder
suddenly realized Bill Scully Jr., was probably
right. Dana *had* been given a second chance at
life. And Mulder, in a way, had been given one
more chance to do the right thing, the unselfish
thing. And it made his heart ache worse than all
that had happened in the last few days, in the
last four years. But she was alive, and he grasped
that as the only light now apparent to him.

Mulder lifted his head. Glancing at his watch, he
now found it was midnight. He absently shook his
head, thinking of Scully's exhaustion and of her
entourage's marathon visit. He realized they were
jubilant and, most likely, oblivious to time, but
they needed to think of her well-being...just as
he must.

As he realized he stared, unfocused, at the
opposite white wall, he also noticed a figure
nearing him on his left--a figure not dressed in
hospital garb. He looked up to find Assistant
Director Skinner standing next to him. Surprised,
Mulder exchanged Skinner's silent acknowledgement,
and moved his suitcoat to the chair on his right,
sat up, and looked away in effort to bury his
burdensome thoughts. He sensed that Skinner had
sat down in the now-vacant chair, and felt the
Assistant Director's eyes observe his mood. Mulder
found it difficult to return the glance; the
shame, outrage, and disillusionment he'd felt
since meeting Kritschgau still brimmed. 

"Smoking man is dead."

Skinner's simple statement brought Mulder's eyes
up immediately. His boss sat hunched forward, and
his tone carried a certain amount of disbelief,
authority, and irony. Mulder stared at him,
dumbfounded. "How?"

Skinner glanced at the ceiling a moment before
replying. "Shot through his
window." His gaze returned to his agent to gauge
his reaction.

Mulder held the gaze as he processed this news.
Smoking Man dead? His left hand came to his
forehead, his fingers rubbing it as if the touch
would make this latest information make sense.
Before, he'd threatened to kill Cancer Man
himself, and at many points in Mulder's career,
the Smoking Man's death would have earned his
"best news" regard. But this evil bastard might
have shown him his sister, might have helped to
save Scully. And no matter how fervently Mulder
might think someone deserved to die, he never
found satisfaction in it happening. Still shocked,
he dropped his hand back to his lap and stared,
unseeing, at the ceiling.

He next heard Skinner sigh, and then he felt his
boss place something made of paper in his hand.
Mulder looked down, looked at a vertical
five-by-seven photograph of himself and Samantha
taken the summer before her abduction, the same
photo he kept framed in his apartment. This one,
though, was blood-stained.

"Forensics found it at the scene," Skinner told
him quietly.

Mulder's eyes narrowed, and he bit his lower lip
as he looked at Samantha, remembered her,
remembered meeting her at the diner. He let
himself wonder why Cancer Man had had this photo.
Ugly thoughts of the lying bastard and his own
mother together attacked his mind as he thought of
the speculation of an affair, of paternal genes
that didn't match Bill Mulder's. Of the Smoking
Man looking at the photo with some kind of
parental fondness. 

"We're assuming it's his blood." 

Skinner's latest addition to the story snapped
Mulder out of his shock instantly. Eyes returning
to his boss, nonplussed, he asked, "'Assuming'?"

"Well, no body was found, although there was too
much blood loss for anyone to have survived."

Mulder's stare returned to the wall, and he nodded
almost imperceptibly, a faint smile almost
touching his lips  Too convenient. No one would
kill the Smoking Man, leave evidence, and then
take his body. No. Cancer Man was no better at
faking his own death than Mulder was.
Unfortunately, he'd be back; when--only remained
to be seen.

Skinner straightened and turned slightly more
toward the younger man. He sighed heavily, his
face taking on an expression of guarded curiosity.
"This afternoon, when you named Blevins," he said,
pausing, "how did you know?"

Glad for the change of subject, Mulder flashed a
glance at his boss. Quietly, honestly, he replied,
"I didn't. I just guessed."

Skinner's eyebrows raised in obvious surprise.
"That's a hell of a guess," he observed, his
continued amazment at the intuitive leaps Mulder
made obvious. "Blevins had been on the payroll for
four years of a bio-technology company called
Roush, which is somehow connected to all this."

Mulder took this with resignation. He'd been here
before--on the verge of finding solid evidence,
only to have it disappear. "Well, I'm sure
whatever connections there were, they're being
erased right now."

"Yeah, they're cleaning up," Skinner agreed.
"Taking everything away."

The younger man looked aside, nodding slightly,
thinking. And then he nearly smiled. "Not
everything." When he knew Skinner's interest was
piqued, he met his boss's gaze. "Scully's cancer's
gone into remission."

Skinner's eyes widened, relief and disbelief
crossing his features. His voice was incredulous.
"That's unbelievable news."

Mulder's near smile spread into a restricted grin.
"That's the best news I could have ever heard."

"What turned it around?"

"I don't know," Mulder confessed, thoughtfully. "I
don't think we'll ever know."

Skinner found it difficult to keep the joy he felt
restrained. Like a boy on
Christmas morning, he asked, "Can I see her?"

Mulder watched his boss struggle to keep his
unemotional appearance intact. "Yeah, she's in
there with her family right now, but I'm sure
she'd love to see you."

Skinner, still dazed, rose and opened Scully's
door, pausing. Mulder saw him smile before
entering, and then the door closed.

Mulder's elbows returned to his knees, his eyes to
the photograph--a symbol now of so much suffering.
He let the hushed voices of hidden nurses and the
occasional bell of the elevator envelop his
thoughts, which darkened quickly now that he was
alone. Were Smoking Man really dead, it was
possible that Mulder's last thread to Samantha had
been eradicated. That, and possible help should
Scully's remission cease. And Roush was getting
away with all the death and destruction it had
created. Four years of work to uncover their
diabolical dealings amounted to nothing. Samantha
might have suffered at their hands, and they were
getting away. Scully had suffered at their hands,
and they were escaping. Suddenly, demons rose up
like monsters. Losses. Deaths. Betrayals. Hoaxes.
Futility. The loss of a best friend and partner.
These thoughts clutched his throat, clutched his
soul, clutched his emotions until he felt he could
hold them back no longer.

Mulder's brimming eyes narrowed. His face
contorted with erupting grief as he sobbed
silently, reluctantly. This was grief he coudn't
allow to show here, not in public. Not in front of
Scully's family, nor in front of Skinner.

He sobbed aloud once and then bit his lower lip,
allowing the physical pain to eclipse the
emotional--at least for now. The night before,
those emotions had erupted at Scully's bedside
while she'd slept. He'd been alone, in the dark.
Without her, he'd always be alone, in the dark.
But it had to be. Just as she'd unselfishly
volunteered to take the blame for his shooting of
Ostelhoff, he must unselfishly give up his
partnership with her. A tear rolled from his eye
as he resigned himself to that.
***************************
End "The Best News" (01 of 02)
***************************

The Best News (02 of 02)
by Kestabrook

Suddenly, Scully's door opened again, and Mulder
turned away, gathering
composure as fast as he could. He heard the
entourage's voices calling their love or best
wishes, their promises to return tomorrow, and
Scully's sweet, weak voice replying. He heard two
people emerge and depart toward the elevator. He
heard another cross to the other side of the
hallway and stop. He heard the door close, and
noted that someone remained there, waiting, most
likely for his attention. He slowly looked up and
into the eyes of Maggie Scully.

Her smile faded when she saw his despondent
expression, and then her attitude became one of
concern. He suddenly realized he was still holding
the bloodied photo, and he knew she'd also seen
it. No good trying to hide it now. Instead, he
turned it over in his fingers until it faced the
floor. He tried to smile at Mrs. Scully, but his
grief overwhelmed the action.

"Bill," Maggie said to her son who leaned against
the opposite wall, her gaze not leaving the FBI
agent, "I'm quite tired. Would you go get the car?
Bring it to the front door, please?"

"Don't you want me to go downstairs with you?"
Bill asked, suspiciously.

"I'm a big girl, honey. Please bring the car."

Bill paused, eyeing Mulder with contempt, then
reluctantly sauntered away.

Mulder again glanced at Scully's mother. "I'm very
happy for you, Mrs. Scully. For Dana. For your
family," he told her quietly. "Nothing could beat
this, could it?"

Sadness remained in Maggie's eyes even though she
smiled broadly. "One must always have faith, Fox.
We can never give up. Where there's life, there's
hope."

He felt the photo in his fingers and knew this
woman's words were not only for Scully, but also
for him and his quest.

"May I?"

Mulder realized Maggie was asking to take the
chair Skinner had vacated. He used his left hand
to gesture. "Please." Most times he liked talking
to her, but tonight his emotions were vulnerable,
exposed. And he feared she was about to echo
Bill's requests.

"You know, Fox," she began quietly, "this has been
an emotional roller-coaster for all of us. And
certainly for you, of course. Dana told me a bit
about your hearing, and Mr. Skinner just said
you've had quite a day." She lightly touched his
arm, causing him to meet her eyes. She sighed
heavily, her expression purely maternal. "You look
so tired, so drained. You need to sleep, Fox.
Things--" she paused, her eyes making an
involuntary glance at the photo in his hands,
"will look better to you in the morning, I'm
sure."

Mulder nodded slightly, knowing she wanted to say
more but felt uncomfortable about doing so.
"Thanks. I just--want to say good night to Sc--to
Dana."

"Oh, I know. I didn't mean you had to go right
now!" she chuckled.

"No--I know that," he told her. His finger
reverently traced the side of the photo, and he
bit his lip again. His partnership might be
breaking up, and he didn't want this woman, for
whom he had much respect, leaving his life with
hostilities. "I just--I--I'm sorry, Mrs. Scully.
Sorry if anything I've ever done--has caused you
worry or sorrow--"

"Oh Fox, no. Wherever did you get that idea?" she
asked, her features taking on surprise and even
more concern. "Tonight you look so--defeated.
That's not normal. I am worried--about you."


Before Mulder could respond, Skinner exited
Scully's room. "Mulder?" he asked cheerfully
before he turned toward the agent. "Scully says
not to let you escape tonight without seeing her
again. She sounds pretty forceful for a little
person. I'd go in if I were you."  

"Yeah, I will," Mulder replied softly. He looked
at Maggie and tried to smile, but it still
wouldn't come. "Thanks for your concern, Mrs.
Scully. I'd better go in now; I know she's tired."

"I understand. You get some sleep, though. Dana
will need you to be rested while you help her
recover." She glanced at the Assistant Director
who was now staring at Mulder with anxious
wariness. "Mr. Skinner, Fox looks ill, don't you
think?"

Mulder shook his head, eyes cast down. "I'm fine,
really."

"Mulder, take tomorrow off. You've earned it, and
you might want to do some clean-
up in your apartment," Skinner told him. He tried
to keep his voice light for Maggie's benefit, but
his worry for his agent was obvious.

"I'll be in," Mulder replied, his fingers absently
folding the photo in half and stuffing it into his
shirt pocket.

"But--" Skinner stopped before saying more. His
agent could be the most stubborn person he knew,
and if Mulder wanted to come in to work, he would.

Maggie rose. She'd heard plenty of stories about
Fox from her daughter, and she knew that perhaps
the best thing for Mulder right now would be to
talk with Dana. "Mister Skinner?" she asked. "Will
you accompany me to the ground floor?"

"I'd be delighted," he replied. And when she'd
started away, Skinner glanced back at his agent,
his eyes taking in the guant features and
distressed eyes. "Mulder, you know you did well on
this--case--under the circumstances, don't you? At
least the FBI mole is no longer a threat," he said
quietly. When no response came, he put his hand on
the younger man's shoulder. "If you need to
talk--I mean, why don't you come to my office
tomorrow? We'll talk about updates on this--whole
affair."

Mulder nodded and waited until Skinner turned and
walked Maggie Scully toward the elevator. Then he
rubbed at his eyes and sighed. Rising, he
swallowed hard, finding his throat ached. He'd
been swallowing emotions about as long as he could
tonight. Only a few minutes more, and then he'd be
on his way home--and release could come.

His hand paused on the door handle. He wanted to
see Scully, wanted things to be as they had been
for four years. But he knew what had to be done.

He entered the room, finding her lying back on her
pillows, her eyes closed. And he realized he was
being selfish again. Maybe she wanted out, and
maybe she didn't, but it wouldn't be right to
spring his news on her so late at night when she
was so exhausted. He kept the door in hand, making
sure it closed quietly. This reminded him of last
night's visit, and if she remained asleep, he'd
just stay by her side a while--while he still
could. But as he tiptoed into the room, she sensed
his presence, opened her eyes, and smiled.

"Hey, Spooky," she mumbled lazily. "You tryin' to
scare me, creeping in like that?"

He couldn't deny the faint smile she brought.
"Didn't want to wake you."

"I wasn't asleep. Just waiting for you to get in
here. You sure took your time."

He stayed near the door, his hands in his pockets.
"There was this really cute nurse--"

"Yeah, sure. Look, I've seen the night staff here,
Mulder. If there's a nurse *you’d* call cute out
there, she's either on the wrong floor, or she's
new. And, most likely, she's a former *Playpen*
centerfold."

"You *have* seen her," he joked, but it sounded
empty, even to him.

Scully caught the sound in his voice. "Get over
here, will you? Are you trying to test my
eyesight?"

"Look, Scully, I think it's better that I go. You
need to sleep. I can see you some other time."

Her hand extended toward him. "No. No, Mulder. I
feel tired, but I'm not sleepy. And I've waited
hours to see you."

He knew brother Bill wouldn't approve, but he gave
in to her request and to his yearnings. Taking her
hand, he saw her move over, patting the vacant
portion of the mattress. "I can't," he told her,
then he shrugged. "Not for long, at least."

"My family's been here for hours. You can spare
five minutes, can't you? Sit."

Mulder did as asked. He looked down at their
joined hands, wishing he didn't have to do this,
to separate them.  

"Hey?" Scully's voice had adopted some of her
mother's concern. "What's happening? What's
wrong?" When she got no response, she used her
free hand to lift Mulder's chin. Still his eyes
wouldn't meet hers. She could see his exhaustion,
but she also could see he was badly upset about
something. "You gonna tell me about it?"

He shook his head slightly. "I was going to. Maybe
it should wait."

"No. Let's hear it."

"Scully, it's after midnight. Get some rest, and
we'll talk tomorrow."

"No, Mulder. Now." She wouldn't let him leave her
in his current state. She'd seen him similarly
broken a few times before; she worried greatly for
him when he was this down. Still, he wouldn't look
at her. And yet half an hour earlier, things had
been different. She suddenly pursed her lips,
remembering. "You know, I've got a hunch. I'll bet
I know the problem."

"Scully, let's not--"

"Bill said something to you, didn't he?" The
surprise in her partner's face encouraged her to
continue. She'd noticed Bill following Mulder into
the hallway earlier. She knew her brother, and she
also knew her partner would be the last to tell
her about anything Bill might say. "Which speech
was it?" she asked in annoyance. "The one about
how my work endangers my life too much? Or how it
makes Mom worry? Or does he use a different one
with you?"

Mulder's eyes finally met hers. "I'm not here to
complain about your brother."

"Oh, he let the big bomb drop on you, didn't he?"
she asked, sneering at the absent man. "He blamed
*you* for my illness."

Mulder stood, no longer able to contain the anger
and resentment he felt toward Bill Scully Jr.,
toward the situation, toward himself. He moved to
the window, looking out on streetlights in the
darkness. "He's right, Scully. You know they gave
this to you because you're my partner. You didn't
play nice--didn't debunk my work like they wanted
you to, so they stole you away and did this to
you."

"How's that your fault, Mulder?" she asked softly.

He spun, despair lining his face. "Look at the
record," he implored her, fighting to make her
understand the obvious. "Samantha disappeared when
I was babysitting her. Your sister died--and my
father, my two informants--all because of my inane
obsession. And I almost lost *you*, Scully." He
looked back at the window, and his voice broke. "I
can't bear to let that happen again." He took a
deep breath, trying to calm himself, trying to
make the words come out right. "Your brother said
you've a second chance at life now. I suggest you
take it." He felt some relief for having said
this, though it hadn't gone exactly as he might
have chosen. But it was done. He hung his head,
eyes again closed, as he waited for Scully to
agree. He heard her shift her position, and he
braced himself.

"My brother can also be an ass," she observed
thoughtfully as she watched the forlorn dark
figure at the window. She sighed at his torture
and said, "I didn't realize it's your fault we're
partners. Tell me, Mulder--when, in the last four
years, have you held a gun to my head and made me
agree to stay with you?"

His voice was barely audible. "That's not the
point."

"Yes, it is." She scowled at his stubbornness.
"Geeze, I thought you had more respect for me than
this."

Mulder's eyes came up in shock. "Scully, I do
respect you--"

"Then you should know that if I've stayed with the
X-Files, it's because I've chosen to." She watched
confusion cross Mulder's features as it had
earlier, and she sensed the same sort of relief
and happiness from him as when she'd told him
about her remission. She smiled warmly at him now
as she also made a mental note to tell her brother
how much she thought of his words to her partner.
But in the meantime, she decided to try explaining
her brother's attitude to Mulder. "Bill thinks I
stay with you--because of loyalty, I guess. But
that's not necessarily true. Mulder, you know that
I've had itchy feet on occasion; I won't deny
that. But I've always come back. I was a Navy
brat, for God's sake. I can't begin to count all
the places I've lived or visited. And while I got
tired of it once in a while--and I envied the kids
who had stable lives--my life then was always
different, always exciting. Working with
you--working the kinds of cases we have--is the
same way. I never get bored. I don't know if I
want to do this work forever. Do you? But I know I
can quit or transfer to another unit if I want.
And Mulder--I *don’t* want." She saw his
expression soften, and, relieved, she couldn't
resist a joke. "Besides, you'd look really stupid
in that basement office arguing with yourself."

Mulder slowly grinned. Apprehension and anguish
seemed to drain from him for the moment as he
reviewed her words to be sure he'd not taken them
wrong. But there was no denying it: he'd re-gained
his partner.

She held her hand out to him again, and this time
he took it readily, welcoming the feel of her skin
in his fingers, the feel of her grip in his.
Scully was back; Scully was staying. He sat beside
her and was surprised when she leaned toward him,
waiting for him to embrace her. And he did so
happily. As his arms surrounded her, he felt her
snuggle against his shoulder, and he held her as
close as he could.

Scully languished in the embrace, feeling his
relief and sadness in the taut muscles of his
back. But somehow she seemed to provide catharsis
for him now, and she was glad to do that, glad to
return to him some of his strength and warmth
which had helped her through her struggle with
cancer. She felt him taking shallow breaths,
perhaps sobbing silently, and she held him even
closer, letting her body absorb some of his pain.
"I'm here, Mulder. I'm not leaving you," she
whispered into his shoulder.

Minutes seemed to go by, and then she felt him
move back enough to kiss the top of her head. Her
eyes squeezed close so she could savor that
feeling, so she could relish the physical
closeness of their friendship. And then he seemed
to reluctantly push away.

Mulder hated to let go of her, hated to separate
himself from the person whose presence bolstered
him. But it was late. "Hey, *partner*," he
murmured quietly, letting his lips softly touch
her forehead before he helped her back to the
pillows, "your brother will hate me more if I keep
you awake any longer."

Scully chuckled. "I don't really care." She
reached up to wipe a lone tear from his cheek, and
then she gave his hand a final squeeze. "I hope
he's not waiting to ambush you in the parking
garage."

"Me, too," he told her. "I hadn't thought about
that."

"Well, watch your back," she joked. Then she
noticed something. "What's that? In your shirt
pocket? It wasn't there earlier."

Mulder sighed painfully, taking the photograph
out, wishing he'd thought to leave it in the
hallway.

Scully unfolded it, her eyes flashing quickly at
him when she saw the blood. "Mulder, you're not
hurt, are you?"

He realized what she meant, and shook his head.
"Skinner says that picture was found in Cancer
Man's office. Along with a few gallons of blood.
They *assume* he was shot dead."

Scully's eyebrows raised. "But no body?" When
Mulder again shook his head, she told him, "Sounds
like an X-File. We'll have to get to work on that.
And on why he had this photo in his office to
begin with."

"You have to get some rest first," he replied. He
took the photo from her and stood. "I'll be back
tomorrow afternoon. Some of us have to go to work
in the morning."

"Yeah, and I envy them." She watched him walk
toward the door but noticed his shoulders still
hung somewhat heavily. "Hey, Mulder--that guilt
trip you're on? Don't you ever realize that things
happen--just because they happen? I don't want to
hear you blaming yourself like that ever again.
Got that?"

He turned in the open doorway. "Good night,
Scully. And welcome back."

She smiled at him even after the door closed.

Mulder stood for a moment in the hall, still a bit
off-balance from the whirlwind of events
surrounding his life, days previously. No, this
life never *was* boring. As he grabbed his
suitcoat and started for the elevator, he looked
again at the photograph in his hands, the sight
there once more churning his emotions. But as he
slid the picture back
into his pocket, he decided to worry about burdens
tomorrow.  

At nearly one that night, Fox Mulder left the
hospital, his step lighter than when he'd entered
it. He ignored aching muscles and creeping
exhaustion, and he felt a small smile turn up the
corners of his lips. Once, the best news he could
have received would have been about his sister.
But that had changed. Now, his partner was back,
and that was the best news of all.
**********************		 	
End "The Best News"