Title:       Erroneous Equation
Author:      Lovesfox
E-mail:      lovesfox@rogers.com
Website:     www.geocities.com/fanficcorner
Rating:      PG
Category:    Post-Ep of sorts, Story
Keywords:    Mulder/Scully UST
Spoilers:    Mild ones for Two Fathers/One Son

Summary:     Tension and miscommunication lead Mulder to
             an incorrect assumption.

Archive:     Gossamer and Ephemeral, yes.  Others please
             ask.

Disclaimer:  Mulder, Scully and Skinner do not belong to 
             me, they belong to Chris Carter and 1013 
             Productions.  I mean no harm.


Thanks:      As always, to Nancy



Erroneous Equation
by Lovesfox

***

X-Files Office
Thursday, 2:15 PM


In the two long weeks since El Rico, and the subsequent 
disappearance of Mulder's former partner Diana Fowley, he 
and Scully's partnership had taken a downswing.  Scully was 
distant and cool, and had been offering her services to 
Forensic Pathology and the VCU on a frequent basis.  Very 
frequent.  Here it was mid-afternoon on Thursday, and aside 
from a terse phone call on Monday advising him she was once 
again on loan to Quantico, he'd seen her just once, briefly 
early Tuesday morning.  And that encounter had been by 
chance as she had been there only to drop off a report for 
AD Skinner.

Still smarting himself over the entire situation, including 
the Lone Gunmen's vociferous and somewhat unexpected support 
of Scully, Mulder had not gone out of his way to attempt a 
reconciliation.  He had allowed things to remain as they 
were, awkward and stagnated.  But it felt now as though they 
might begin to fester.

Chair tipped back, contemplating the ceiling and his artwork 
of stuck pencils, he let out a disgruntled sigh and abruptly 
sat upright.  Sitting in the empty office with only the 
companionship of the ticking clock, a stack of potential 
X-Files not worthy of his attention and his brooding thoughts 
would get him nowhere.

Resolved to finding some action, even if it meant volunteering
to assist the VCU, he lurched out of his seat.  Scooping up 
his jacket from the edge of his desk, he strode with 
determination out of the office, shrugging into the garment 
as he walked down the hall.

He took the stairs instead of the elevator, and in no time at 
all he was approaching Skinner's office.  Scant feet shy of 
his destination, he encountered one of his many least favorite 
Hoover Building employees.

"Spooky Mulder, as I live and breathe!"

Larger than life, and twice as loud, Tom Colton had hardly 
changed in the five plus years since Mulder had been blessed 
with an introduction.  The Agent's face was still pudgy and 
youthful, his eyes still sly and mean.  And his artificial 
jocularity was as stale as the old 'Spooky' joke.  It was a 
wonder he was still an Agent, though Mulder had heard Colton 
excelled in the ass-kissing department.

What a weasel.  Heads turned, naturally.  Wincing inwardly, 
Mulder ignored the attention and presented his well-perfected 
bland face, replying with an equally bland, "Colton."

"Haven't see you in a long while," Colton continued, false 
smile patently obvious.  "I don't get much call to go down 
to the basement."

For which Mulder was eternally grateful.  In lieu of a reply, 
and the only ones coming to mind were rather uncomplimentary 
and would make a bad situation far worse -- even though he'd 
enjoy saying them -- Mulder merely nodded.  Hoping against all 
hope that Colton had grown bored and would move on.

It was a fruitless hope.

"Soooo," the other man continued, deliberately oblivious to 
Mulder's discomfort, or perhaps relishing it, "What have you 
and Dana been up to lately, Mulder?  Catch any little green 
men...Wait, you said they're grey, right?"  His horse-like 
laugh startled more than Mulder, who leaned back from Colton, 
though Mulder caught a faint snicker or two from the fringes.
And a few head shakes he knew were directed at Colton.

The agent didn't give Mulder a chance to respond, continuing 
with, "Speaking of Dana, I saw her a little while ago."  His 
expression changed, became one of concern, though Mulder knew 
it was false, and his voice lowered slightly.  "She was with 
Mark Connelly...you know the new wunderkind with VCU?"  A
meaningful pause preceded his next comment, "They looked 
pretty chummy." 

Mulder's brain supplied him with a brief synopsis of Mark 
Connelly, wunderkind of the VCU -- top of his class, the 
highest solve rate in the department, clearly on the fast 
track.  Considering Scully's association with that department, 
he wasn't surprised she had made new acquaintances, so he 
couldn't quite determine yet what Colton was aiming for.  His 
casual shrug said as much.

He clued in when Colton's voice became needling.

"I heard them making lunch plans for that trendy new eatery 
a few blocks away."  Another pause, clearly for dramatic 
effect, and then Colton added, "I take it you didn't meet 
them there?"

Even knowing he should answer lightly and not give Colton the
satisfaction, Mulder was unable to prevent his short and 
abrupt reply.  "No."

Colton smirked out his insinuating comment, "Well, you know 
what they say...two's company, three's a crowd.  Right, 
Mulder?"  The last was said with an up-and-down motion of
his eyebrows, in case Mulder hadn't picked up on his meaning.

His ears felt hot, his tie constricting.  Maintaining his 
bland expression was becoming a challenge.  Gritting his 
teeth, Mulder replied, "Right, Colton."

The man's smug and knowing smile showed he was aware of his
success.  With a cheerful bob of his head, he loudly voiced 
his farewell.  "See you around, Spook...Mulder."

Asshole.  

Muttering, "Whatever," Mulder walked past the other agent 
and stepped into Skinner's outer office.  Kim was there, but 
appeared to be in deep conversation on the telephone.  She 
looked up and acknowledged him with a small nod, and he 
nodded in return before turning to peer out into the hallway 
as he waited, standing just inside the doorway.

A commotion just down the hall outside one of the conference
rooms caught his attention.  As did a flash of bright red 
hair.  Hair that could only belong to his partner.

Engrossed in a discussion with a male agent Mulder had not 
met, Scully did not appear to have noticed him.  He eased 
back slightly, ensuring she would not, and continued to 
observe, wondering if he was looking at the wunderkind of 
the VCU.

When another male agent called out, "Connelly," and Scully's
companion turned to reply, he had his answer.  After a brief
conversation with the other man, Connelly returned his 
attention to Scully, taking hold of her elbow with an 
unexpected propriety.

The two began walking in Mulder's direction, and he took a
further step backwards, watching as Connelly lowered his 
head to say something to Scully.  Something that made her 
smile and shake her head.  Seeing that familiar expression 
and gesture shared with another sent a twinge of hurt -- and 
anger -- through Mulder.

As the pair passed Skinner's office, he heard Connelly say 
very clearly, "So, I'll pick you up at six?"

Scully responded with an affirmative, and to Mulder's ears,
anticipatory, "I'll be waiting."  

This indication that she had plans for the evening with
Connelly deepened the twinge and gave him an uneasy feeling.
He and Scully had not spent any personal time together since 
El Rico, though he had been fighting an admittance that he 
missed those occasions.  And it now seemed apparent she was 
not suffering from a similar problem.

In an effort to rid himself of unwelcome thoughts, he wryly
and with some regret acknowledged that he and Scully were not 
lovers, they were merely partners.  Friends, if currently on
uneasy terms.  She was free to see...to date...whomever she 
pleased.

The effort did not work.

The sound of her heels and their voices grew fainter, and 
Mulder judged it safe to exit.  He strode away with rapid,
angry strides in the opposite direction from Scully and 
Connelly, having forgotten his intention to speak with 
Skinner.  Bypassing a return trip to the X-Files office, he 
instead headed straight to the parking garage.

Driving aimlessly for several hours with no particular 
destination in mind, he eventually ended up at Casey's.  His 
cell phone rang once, and he turned it off without checking 
the identity of the caller.

***

Scully's Apartment
Thursday, 5:55 PM


Scully frowned as her call abruptly ended in mid-ring, and
lowering her cell phone from her ear, quickly pressed 'end'
and then Mulder's programmed number to re-dial.  This time 
there was no ring, just the automated voice message, and she
assumed that his phone was now off.

She disconnected, her frown deepening.  Annoyance flickered
at the edges of her consciousness.  She hadn't been able to 
reach him at the office earlier either, and was currently 
unwilling to question AD Skinner's assistant as to whether 
Mulder had been assigned a case.  She was also unwilling to 
admit to any feelings of desertion if he had and hadn't seen 
fit to inform her of it. 

Seeing Agent Connelly's questioning look, she held up one 
finger in a gesture that asked him to give her a moment, and 
headed down the hall to her bedroom.  Sitting on the edge of
her bed, she reached out to lift the landline phone off her
night table.  She had decided it might be prudent to leave a
message for her partner at their office, seeing as he seemed
to have turned off his cell phone.  

Connected with the X-Files office voicemail, she explained 
her new temporary assignment with the VCU and that she would 
basically be incommunicado later that night while on a 
stakeout.  To cover all bases, she left a similar message on 
Mulder's home machine as well.

Though it was doubtful Mulder would be trying to reach her, 
Scully thought wryly as she placed the portable back down
again.  He had been a different person these last few weeks 
since the El Rico incident, one she was increasingly 
uncomfortable with.  Morose and uncommunicative, occasionally 
bordering on surly.  There had been no late-night calls or 
visits, no lunch dates, no friendly banter...very little 
conversation at all.

She knew she hadn't been the ideal partner lately either, 
which had probably only served to exacerbate the entire 
situation.  But she wasn't ready yet to come to terms with 
what exactly had gone down, and with her feelings regarding
all that had transpired.  Nor about Diana Fowley.

"Agent Scully?"

Agent Mark Connelly's voice pulled Scully from her thoughts, 
and she looked up to see her temporary partner standing at
her bedroom doorway.  He wore an expression of curiosity 
and impatience, which was tempered by his eagerness for their 
case.

With a small smile of apology, even though Connelly had been 
fifteen minutes early, she rose to her feet and approached 
him.  "Is it time to go?"

Connelly nodded, his tall, rangy body a study of coiled 
energy waiting to be released.  A facet that reminded Scully 
vividly and even fondly of Mulder, thereby leaving her 
tolerantly amused by the younger agent's excitement.

One of the VCU's current quarries, a forty-two year old drug 
dealer and ex-convict named Indigo Rodriguez wanted on 
suspicion of murder, was the focus of their stakeout.  Five 
two-agent, co-ed teams were to be set-up around a reported 
'hang-out' of the quarry and his associates over the next 
week or longer for observation, and if they were lucky, 
apprehension of Rodriguez.

She and Connelly had been assigned a location across the
street and down one block, parking in an abandoned lot.  If 
necessary, they would pose as a couple pulled over for a 
little fun.  The neighborhood was blue collar, thus their 
very casual attire -- Connelly in faded jeans with a rip in 
one knee, a black tee shirt, black leather jacket and boots, 
and she his mirror image though her jacket and boots were 
brown and her jeans unblemished.

Leaving a small lamp on, Scully opened the door and gestured
Connelly out ahead of her.  Following behind him, she locked
the door and they were on their way.

The walk to the car, a battered, late-90's Chevy Cavalier 
more suitable for a stakeout then the standard and easily 
recognized Bureau issue vehicle, was silent, as was a good 
portion of the drive.

Once in position, parked partially out of sight next to a
gutted parking booth, and having reported in via their 
walkie-talkie, Connelly turned around and began rummaging at 
the floor behind her seat.  Scully watched his contortions 
with idle curiosity and some amusement, and raised her 
eyebrow when he straightened with a victorious, "Voila!"

He then revealed a large silver Thermos.  "Coffee?" he asked.  
"My wife made it for us, and some sandwiches too."

"Not just yet," Scully told him, having eaten dinner before
showering and dressing.  "We could be here a while," she
advised him, smiling a little.  "But, thanks."

Shrugging good-naturedly, Connelly's voice was sheepish as 
he replied, "Didn't think about that."  He tucked the Thermos 
away, down by his feet, and then spent the next few minutes 
getting comfortable.  This included turning the radio on and 
flicking through several stations until he found one that 
seemed to satisfy his needs, another action that reminded 
Scully of Mulder.

Pushing thoughts of her partner aside, Scully concentrated on
the view from the front windshield.  The limited view, she
amended a moment later.  With only one working streetlight 
situated roughly twenty feet from their car, and none in the 
lot itself -- both an asset and a liability -- there really 
wasn't much to see.

Despite the fact that the face of Indigo Rodriguez was 
imprinted in her memory, she reached for the case file and 
flipped it open, looking for the pictures contained within.  
Typical mug shots, of course, from his most current arrest 
of three years ago.  Released on a technicality, Rodriguez 
had disappeared, gone underground, until he had been spotted 
by a local detective's informant eight days ago.  Hence the 
grainy surveillance photos she now struggled to make out in 
the faint light from the streetlamp.

She tried not to think of how Mulder would have offered his
mini-Maglite, teasingly chastising her for the strain she 
was putting on her eyes.

Their first hour passed uneventfully.  She checked in via
the walkie-talkie at seven thirty, reporting the lack of
any activity whatsoever, and Connelly again offered up the 
coffee, which she declined once more.

It was mid-way through the second hour when things got 
interesting.

Team Two, Agents Nancy Grayson and David James, cut into the 
radio silence, announcing a potential sighting of Indigo
Rodriguez.  Moments later Team One confirmed it was indeed
their quarry.

Straightening up in her seat, her heart rate accelerating,
Scully glanced over at Connelly and saw that he too had gone 
into a state of alertness, his gaze focused intently through 
the windshield.  She knew each and every agent involved in 
this operation was waiting for the call that would spring 
them into action.

Several tense minutes passed, and then pandemonium.

Voices screamed updates over the walkie-talkie, high-pitched 
and excited, and in the heightened emotion of the moment,
Scully wasn't able to identify every voice.

"He's moving, he's moving!"  That was Agent Tony Dilillo of
Team One.

Agent Rob Flynn of Team Four reported, "We've got him in
sight."

"SHIT! I think he's spotted us!"  And a second later the same
unknown voice, "We lost sight of him."

There was a lull in the clamor, and Scully imagined the agents 
on the street scanning frantically for their prey.  Calm and 
cool under fire, SAC Teresa Maclean's words cut through the 
sudden silence.  "All agents be advised, suspect is on the 
move."

Agent Kris Michaels crisply reported moments later, "Suspect
is now in a late-model, black Mercedes sedan traveling 
westbound."

In reaction, Connelly reached out and cranked the keys in the 
ignition.  The engine roared to life and he shot it into drive, 
the car moving forward several feet just as another female 
voice shouted, "Team Five, he's almost on your position."

She and Connelly were Team Five.

Scully had to brace herself, exhaling loudly as she slapped 
her left palm down on the dashboard when the car lurched 
forward another ten or so feet.  She straightened, fumbling
for her seatbelt as Connelly muttered, "Sorry, I..."

His voice trailed off and then he sucked in a breath.  "Shit,
that's the car!"

Connelly shot out of the parking lot, probably in an attempt
to create a roadblock, and she had to abandon the unbuckled 
seatbelt to bring her hands up to the dashboard once again.  
The black Mercedes swerved to avoid them, clipping their front 
bumper on the passenger side in the process.  The speed of the 
luxury sedan was enough to send their smaller two-door spinning 
towards a parked car at the opposite curb, slamming then into 
it on the passenger side.  Scully's side.

There was a squeal of tires, the sound of metal crunching into
metal, and then pain.  Pain, followed by darkness.

Later Scully would think to herself that Connelly had probably 
misjudged the distance in the excitement, the adrenaline surge, 
but all that went through her mind at that moment was, 'Oh my 
God, look out!'  

She may even have screamed it.

***

Mulder's Apartment
Thursday, 9:45 PM


The darkness was comfortable.  

Familiar.

As was the silence.

Mulder sat slumped on his couch, feet crossed at the ankles
and propped on the coffee table, and head thrown back.  Still
wearing his suit, his tie was askew and his shirt collar 
undone.  He stared unseeing towards the ceiling, his body 
uncharacteristically tense despite his relaxed pose.

He was tired.  Mind, and body-weary.

Numb.  Or was he?  Numb was defined as 'having no sensation; 
without feeling'.  On second thought, he decided numb wasn't 
entirely accurate.  He had feelings.  At the present time
however, they were dark and ugly and jumbled.

He wasn't drunk, was far from it actually.  He'd nursed one
Scotch on the rocks all evening at Casey's while half-
heartedly munching on stale pretzel sticks and peanuts, the 
alcohol bitter and unwelcome on his tongue.  Fortunately the 
place had been deader than a doornail, and his bar stool had 
not been in demand.

The bartender had seemed to sense his mood, and had left him
alone.  Alone with his brooding thoughts.

Which, when left unchecked, wandered into the dangerous 
territory of Scully.  Of Scully and her date, to be more 
precise.  

Not wanting to go down that road again, he shoved Scully out
of his head.  She was replaced by another woman, one who had
also left him confused and stressed.  And angry, he could
admit that now.  Diana Fowley.

Yet he had been so certain Diana had been trying to help him,
help the X-Files.  Until she had disappeared after the deaths
at El Rico Air Force Base.  She and CGB Spender.

A noise penetrated, coming from the outside hallway.  The 
sound of a fist pounding on his door, Mulder realized.  For 
a brief moment, hope that it might be Scully fluttered in his 
heart.  Reality crashed in as he recalled their current 
situation, and the fact that she was out on a date.  With the 
new wunderkind of the VCU, information gleefully provided by 
Tom Colton.  That now familiar and confusing wash of anger 
and hurt filled him, and he gritted his teeth to bite back a 
curse.

"Mulder!" 

The male voice that had boomed his name was AD Skinner's.

Mulder frowned and rolled his head in the direction of the 
door without lifting it from the back of the couch.  What the 
hell was Skinner doing here interrupting his self-pitying 
ruminations?  Then he remembered that he had turned his cell 
phone off, and had ignored the flashing red light on his 
answering machine upon his homecoming.  

His thoughts whirled, but foremost was one.  Had something 
happened, was there such an important case that the AD himself 
had come to fetch him?

His apathy faded.  Surging to his feet, he hurried to the door,
yanking it open through another spate of fist-pounding.

Skinner hurriedly arrested his motion, fist inches from Mulder's
face, a mixed look of surprise and pique on his countenance.

It was that glimpse of Skinner's irritation, combined with the 
man's tone of voice as he repeated Mulder's name that brought 
out another trait in Mulder -- belligerence.

"What?" he said rudely, body blocking the doorway, barring the
AD from entering.

Skinner's nostrils flared and a dull flush rose along his 
cheekbones as the muscles in his jaw ticked.  "Where the hell 
have you been, Mulder?" he demanded.

Several inappropriate and job-endangering responses came to 
mind, but Mulder squelched them all and responded with a lip-
curled and uninformative, "Around."

The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable.  Jaw still
ticking, Skinner grimaced and then asked with evident sarcasm, 
"Cell phone not working -- again?"

Mulder shrugged nonchalantly, shifting to lean against the
doorjamb.  "Couldn't find a date, Sir?"

There was a flash of anger, of something dangerous, in Skinner's
eyes.  His mouth opened on a snarl and then closed, and the AD 
shook his head.  With one last glare, he turned and started to
walk away.

He only made it a couple of steps before he stopped, visibly 
stiffening his shoulders beneath his dark navy trench coat, 
and spun around to catch Mulder's gaze.  "Despite your lack 
of interest, I thought you might like to know that your partner 
was taken to George Washington Hospital."  That said, the AD 
turned once more and stalked off.

It took the words several seconds to sink in.  Scully was in 
the hospital?  A stone dropped like lead into the pit of 
Mulder's stomach and a cold sweat broke out on his brow.  
Despite his current and disturbing mixed feelings about his 
partner and the fact that she had gone out on a date, he was 
concerned.  Concerned, and frightened.

Scrabbling for the doorknob, Mulder yanked the door shut and
hurried after Skinner, nearly tripping in his haste.  The AD 
seemed miles away as he awaited the elevator, his back to 
Mulder.  

"Skinner," Mulder yelled out as he dashed down the hall, 
unconcerned about his neighbors and his now unlocked door.  
"Wait, damn it!"

Skinner's expression was one of barely-veiled impatience, and
perhaps a hint of satisfaction.  "Is there a problem, Agent
Mulder?"

Biting back a rude retort, Mulder forced himself to take a 
deep and hopefully calming breath.  "Is she all right?" he
managed to get out evenly.  Meanwhile, his mind was busy
supplying him with horrific scenarios involving his partner.

The AD shook his head, shrugged with what Mulder interpreted
to be a helpless frustration.  "I don't have many details, I 
just got the call on my way home," he explained tersely.  
"The stakeout car she was in was hit by the suspect's vehicle 
as he was fleeing the scene.  She and Agent Mark Connelly were 
taken to the hospital."

Stakeout car?  What was Scully doing on a stakeout car if she 
was on a date?  Mulder blinked rapidly and opened his mouth to 
question Skinner further, only to be interrupted by the ding 
that announced the elevator's arrival.

In a daze, his feet rooted to the floor, he watched as the AD 
entered the elevator.  Skinner eyed him with that same 
impatience and gruffly asked, "Are you coming?"

Mulder nodded jerkily and stepped into the elevator car, mind 
still whirling.  Finding his voice, he asked, "What stakeout?"

A puzzled expression crossed Skinner's face, and he frowned.

From this reaction, Mulder surmised that the AD had been 
operating under the assumption Mulder was aware of the details 
of Scully's current assignment.  Apparently he and Scully were 
fine actors -- their disagreement, for lack of a better word, 
remained private.  He kept silent, and after a moment Skinner 
spoke again.

"VCU received some information they considered reliable
regarding an open case, and Scully was part of a five team 
stakeout tonight, partnered with Agent Connelly."

The elevator arrived at the ground floor, signaling as its 
doors opened, and Skinner paused as they exited.  He continued 
once they were outside and walking towards his Bureau sedan. 

"From what I gather, surveillance was spotted and the suspect 
attempted to flee.  Scully and Connelly were the closest 
vehicle and gave chase, which is when they were struck."

Mulder could only hope their injuries were minor.

***

George Washington University Hospital
Thursday, 10:55 PM


The waiting seemed interminable, though Mulder knew that in 
reality it had only been thirty minutes or so.  

Upon arrival at the hospital, he had rushed into the busy 
Emergency Department with Skinner at his heels, waving his 
badge and demanding answers about Agent Dana Scully.  Only 
to be told by the admitting nurse, a tall, large-boned woman 
with an implacable expression and stern demeanor, to have a 
seat and that he would be called when the doctor had finished 
his examination.

So he had sat, and now continued to sit.  And worry...and 
wait.

Skinner had quickly located the SAC of the stakeout and spent 
several minutes conversing with her before rejoining Mulder
in the waiting area.  Some good news had been imparted by SAC
Maclean -- Indigo Rodriguez had been apprehended while 
attempting to flee the accident scene and was now in lock-up, 
and the EMT's at the scene had stated that neither Scully nor 
Connelly's injuries were life-threatening.

The last had brought a small measure of relief to Mulder.

Beside him, Skinner cleared his throat and shifted, startling 
Mulder from his thoughts.  He looked up expectantly, rising 
just slightly out of his seat.  But no one was there.  Letting
himself fall back into the worn padded chair with a sigh of 
resigned frustration, he fought the urge to go to the nurse's 
station and ask about Scully again.  

Mulder could feel Skinner's gaze upon him, but did not turn 
his head to look at the AD or acknowledge him in any way.  
Despite this, Skinner's tension was palpable.  Skinner was
as concerned about Scully as he was, Mulder realized.

His mind wandered back to that moment when Skinner had told
him of Scully's accident, the scant details that had been 
all the AD had been able to garner.  His frustration had been 
clear, but now Mulder could see beyond it, to Skinner's worry 
and fear.  Mulder had long harbored an unvoiced suspicion that 
Skinner held a soft spot for Scully, if not an attraction of 
some sort.  He wasn't willing to explore how a scenario that
consisted of Scully linked romantically with Skinner might 
make him feel.  Uncomfortable with this line of thinking, he
tamped it down, mentally shaking his head.

After another quick glance at Skinner and then an anxious and 
unproductive survey of the nurse's station, he resumed his 
reverie.

The drive to the hospital had been a silent and awkward one.
Neither of them had spoken.  Both lost in their thoughts, 
Mulder knew.  For himself, foremost had been his guilt over 
the less than charitable ones he'd been having when he had 
assumed Scully was out on a date.  

His guilt was still present, as were the same churning and
confusing feelings, even though he now knew Scully had 
actually been on an FBI-sanctioned stakeout.  Another matter 
he'd have to deal with, once he had a chance to talk to 
Scully.  That, and the current status of their partnership 
and their friendship.  They were all related somehow.

"Sir?"

At the sound of the female voice calling for attention, *his*
attention, Mulder jerked up and off the chair, his heart
pounding.  "How is she?" he blurted out to the young-looking
nurse in a pale pink uniform standing just before him.

The woman's face remained calm; apparently she was accustomed
to all kinds of outbursts and emotional responses.  "If you'll 
come with me, Sir, I'll take you to see Agent Scully."

Mulder spared a swift glance for Skinner, who had also risen
from his seat, and received an acknowledging nod in return.

"I'll find out about Agent Connelly," the AD said.  

Leaving Skinner without responding, Mulder followed the nurse 
across the crowded waiting area and through double doors 
labeled, 'DO NOT ENTER.  HOSPITAL PERSONNEL ONLY'.

He was taken down a quiet but bustling hallway and around a
corner, where the nurse stopped before a closed, imitation 
wood door.  She knocked once and then pushed it partially 
open, standing to one side for Mulder to enter.

Swallowing heavily, he brushed past her and into the dimly 
lit room.  The curtain was drawn around the bed, blocking his
view of its occupant, so he hesitated uncertainly.  Behind him 
the door swooshed shut as the nurse left, and he looked back 
over his shoulder before taking another step forward.  

"Scully?" he stage-whispered.  "You awake?"

There was a rustling noise, as if someone had perhaps turned
over in bed, and then Scully's voice, weary and scratchy, and 
with none of the strength he had come to recognize and admire.
It made his gut clench.  "Is that you, Mulder?"

He nodded, and then realized she could not see him.  "Yeah,
it's me."  Taking the last couple steps necessary, he reached
out and grasped the edge of the curtain.  With a deep breath, 
he yanked the flimsy cotton aside.

Perhaps he had been mentally bracing himself for the worst --
to see wires and tubes, to hear machines beeping -- because he 
had not been given word of her condition.  Thus he was 
surprised, visibly so, when his gaze finally took in his 
partner.

There were no machines, no wires and tubes.  There was just
Scully in a faded hospital gown, lying on the bed partially
propped up by two pillows, a small, square white bandage at 
one temple and an elastic wrap on her left wrist.  Admittedly, 
she was porcelain pale, and there was a red, raw scrape on her 
jaw line, but she was not in the condition he'd imagined -- 
and anguished over.

"That bad, huh?" she said wryly, in response to his reaction.
Her unhindered arm came up and fluttered near her temple,
before smoothing down her hair.

"No, no," Mulder hastened to correct her, coming closer to 
the bed, one hand lifting to barely touch the bedrail.  He
wanted to touch her, to offer comfort, but at the same time,
he found himself unable to do so.  He hated that feeling, the 
uncertainty and the awkwardness that was still between them.  
"Better than I expected."

One eyebrow lifted.

"I didn't..."  He stopped, realizing how his comment could be
interpreted.  Rubbing his hand over his jaw, he took a deep 
breath and started again.  "No one would tell us anything," 
he told her.  "I didn't know how badly you were hurt."  At 
Scully's questioning look he added, "Skinner is here, and the 
SAC of the stakeout.  A couple other agents, I think."

She nodded and then looked down at her bandaged wrist, laying
across her stomach.  There was a heavy, awkward silence and
then her head shot up, concern plain on her features.  "Mark?  
Is he okay?"  Her frown turned into a cough, and then she 
asked, "Did anyone call his wife?"

Seeing that concern for someone else, someone who was not
*him*, Mulder could not help but feel a tiny spurt of 
jealousy, misplaced as he knew it was.  A split second later, 
her other question registered, and he felt like a heel.  
Forcing the thought away, Mulder blinked and then shook his 
head.  "I don't know, Skinner was going to check on him."  He 
took a step back, jerking his thumb up and towards the door, 
half-turning to leave already.  "Do you want me to go ask?"

The look on her face said 'yes', but she shook her head.  "I 
can find out later."  Her gaze dropped again and she returned
to her contemplation of her wrist.

Trying to avoid another awkward silence, Mulder queried her
about her injuries, realizing he still did not know their
extent.  His hand slowly regained its perch on the bed rail,
sliding back and forth a few inches as if it were her hand
he was stroking.  "So what's the prognosis?"

"A bump on the head and a sprained wrist," was her evasive-
sounding reply.  Further proof of this evasion was the fact 
that her gaze didn't quite meet his.

It reminded him of her infamous 'I'm fine' statements, and 
stirred up a hint of resentment and anger in him.  "Oh, so 
you're free to go then?" he asked sarcastically.

Anger flashed briefly in her eyes and then her shoulders 
slumped as she looked away.  "The doctor diagnosed a mild 
concussion," she conceded.  "Twenty-four hour observation."

His anger deflated just as quickly as it had arisen, and
further study of her wan face rekindled his guilt of earlier.  
Reminding him he had intended to offer Scully an apology, not 
attempt to pick a fight.

"Probably a good idea," Mulder said mildly, his mind working 
to find a way to ease the conversation to new ground.  When 
he could think of nothing else to say, and it seemed yet 
another uncomfortable silence would reign, he decided that 
now was as good a time as any to proceed with his apology.

So he stated, without preliminaries, "I owe you an apology, 
Scully."  The words actually came easier than he had expected 
and though there was much more to say, he felt relief at 
having spoken them.

Her head lifted to regard him with surprise, her brows drawn
down in puzzlement.  

When she opened her mouth to speak, Mulder forestalled the 
inevitable question by continuing on.  "I was harboring some 
rather unkind thoughts about you today," he told her.  Her 
face went carefully blank, but not before he saw something 
in her eyes, something that told him she was not surprised 
by his revelation.  And that she was hurt by it.  It served 
to reiterate his earlier decision to straighten out matters 
between them.  All matters.

She said nothing, maintaining that blank expression as she
regarded him almost unblinkingly, and he took a deep breath 
before starting again.  "Due to an error in judgment, I made 
an incorrect assumption," he said slowly, choosing his words 
carefully.  "I listened to someone I shouldn't have, and 
then went on to add two plus two and mistakenly got five."

At that, Scully showed a reaction as one of her eyebrows 
lifted slightly.  Silently asking a question.

He stated the name baldly.  "Tom Colton." 

"Mulder."  That was all she said, but her dismay, and her
reproach, were crystal clear.

It wasn't anything Mulder hadn't already thought himself. 
Several times, in fact, since he had learned about Scully's 
true plans for the evening.  All set in motion by a few 
words from one man.  In hindsight, the bearer of such 
unpleasant tidings should have sounded an alarm, loudly.  
But in his funk, he had allowed his own dark thoughts to 
triumph.

Mulder shrugged exaggeratedly, trying to lighten the 
situation, knowing his expression was sheepish.  "I know,"
he said, when Scully didn't smile.  Though her eyes did not
seem as dark, and her brow had smoothed out.

Perhaps sensing his difficulties in proceeding, Scully
prodded gently.  "So how did you get five?"

This was the part he had subconsciously, or perhaps quite
consciously, hoped to avoid.  Clearing his throat, he said,
"I was upstairs in Skinner's outer office after my encounter
with Colton, and I overheard you and Agent Connelly making 
what I assumed were plans for a dinner date."

Her eyebrow arched again, though she said nothing.

"It...bothered me," he told her, and then stopped, again
searching for the right words, uncomfortable with further
revelations.  "With the way things have been between us 
these last couple of weeks, hearing that didn't...sit well,
for lack of better phrasing."

"Oh."  She stiffened slightly at the reminder of El Rico
and their current status, looking down at her lap, and 
nodded once, a short jerk of her head, before meeting his 
gaze once again, her expression inscrutable.  Her next words 
told him she'd obviously done some arithmetic of her own.  
"Is that why your cell phone was off?"

It was his turn to nod.  He didn't explain, because he wasn't 
certain what impulse had driven him to turn it off.

Whether the subject was one she did not want to broach at
this time, or maybe ever, or simply because she wasn't ready
to share her thoughts or feelings with him, she chose to 
take the conversation on another track.  "How did you hear 
about the accident?"

In a way, Mulder was relieved.  Avoidance thy names are 
Mulder and Scully.  Though he knew they should finish it, 
eventually.  

"Skinner," he told her.  "He came and got me at my apartment
after SAC Maclean called him."  Although nothing of the El
Rico situation had been discussed or resolved, Mulder sensed
there had been a start, that the rift between them was
beginning to mend.  Thus he felt comfortable in touching her
at last, a semi-tentative, gentle poke of one finger to her
shoulder as he teased, "The Big Guy was worried about you,
Scully."

The response he received was an equally semi-tentative smile
and a slight coloring of her cheeks.  She rallied past her
embarrassment with a tart, "That's because he knows he needs
me to keep you in line, Mulder."

He had missed their banter.

Just as he was about to tell her exactly that, there was a 
knock at the door, followed almost immediately by the nurse's 
entrance.

"Agent Scully," the young woman said as she approached the
bed, chart in hand, "I just need to take your vitals."

Mulder figured it was time he made his exit.  It was late, 
and he knew Scully needed to get some rest.  Lifting his
hand, he stroked his thumb very lightly along her cheekbone.  
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said and turned away after Scully
nodded.

At the door he paused and looked back.  "We'll talk when you
get home."

She echoed him quietly, "Tomorrow." 

***

The End

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