Title:        Rifts
Author:       Lovesfox
E-Mail:       lovesfox@rogers.com
Website:      www.geocities.com/fanficcorner
Rating:       R
Category:     Angst, Story, Post-Episode
Spoilers:     Up to and including En Ami 
Summary:      Can they heal the rifts between them?
Archive:      Please ask first

Disclaimer:   Mulder, Scully and The Lone Gunmen do
              not belong to me.  I mean no harm, nor
              will I make a profit from this story.

Note:         Scenes from the episode En Ami have been
              used without permission.

Warning:      Heavy angst, an unintentional act of 
              violence

Thanks:       Nancy, MAL and Mortis 

~~~    

Rifts Part 1 of 2
by Lovesfox


Day 1

Office Building
Washington, D.C.
4:32 pm


Scully hurried up the staircase, pausing momentarily at 
the top, head swiveling both ways, before almost running 
down the deserted hallway, conscious of Mulder several 
steps behind her.  At least he had believed her enough
to come here.  Although it was more likely he couldn't 
pass up a possible opportunity to apprehend or confront
the Smoking Man.

An uneasy feeling swept through her as she neared the end
of the hall.  Her eyes saw it before she reached it - the
place where C.G.B. Spender's nameplate had been.  Her hand 
angrily slapped at the blank brass plate that mocked her 
as she burst through the door for the suite of offices.
Uncaring as it rebounded loudly against the wall.

To find them as empty as the rest of the building.  

The outer office, the office she had presumed to belong 
to his secretary - with its paper-covered desk and its 
potted plants and framed picture - was barren.  No 
furniture at all, no artwork or shelving on its walls.  
She saw that at a glance, bypassed it quickly.

*His* office - Spender's office - was equally barren.  

She spun around in circles, her heart racing, her mouth 
dry.  Feeling foolish and angry.  And sick.  Her eyes saw 
that even the carpet was different, a pale beige like that 
in the hallway, instead of the dark blue she had tread 
upon just days ago. 

The Smoking Man had cleaned house.

Facing Mulder at last, she cried, "He was here!  These 
were his offices.  What the hell is this?"

Mulder leaned against the doorframe, blank eyes studying 
her carefully.  His expression told her he had expected 
the place to be empty.  He replied tersely, his voice 
low.  "He used you."  

"Mulder, he laid it all out for me.  I recorded it.  I 
mailed you the tape."

He merely nodded, his face impassive.

She continued on, nerves jangling, hands gesturing almost
wildly.  "This old woman, Marjorie Butters, I met her.  I 
saw her pictures, her birth certificate..."  Her voice 
trailed off.

"You saw what you needed to see in order to make you 
believe."

Were the words condescending or was she reading more into
them in her dismay?

One hand came to rest on her hip.  "Well, then what about 
the boy?  This boy with cancer?"  She came closer to him, 
stopping when only a foot separated them.  "You can't deny 
that.  That's undeniable proof."  She knew her voice 
sounded desperate.

"Even if we could convince his parents to let us march 
him out, how long before that chip in his neck mysteriously 
disappears?"  He paused, eyes regarding her steadily.  
"This was the perfectly executed con, Scully.  The only 
thing I can't figure out is why you're still alive."

There was just the barest hint of warmth in his words, a
slight show of emotion.  More than she had received since
she had returned.  At least he was looking at her now,
instead of avoiding her gaze. 

"Mulder, I looked into his eyes."  Her voice cracked
slightly, and she knew her own eyes were moist.  "I swear 
what he told me was true."

Mulder's head bobbed in the merest of nods.  "He did it
all for himself - to get the science on that disk.  His 
sincerity was a mask, Scully.  The man's motives never
changed."

"You think he used me to save himself - at the expense
of the human race."  She stated it in sad, soft tones.

"No, he knows what that science is worth, how powerful 
it is," Mulder replied.  "He'd let nothing stand in his 
way."

Scully turned away slowly, both hands on her hips now, 
unable to face him any longer, knowing her very emotions
were shining through.  She walked on slightly unsteady 
legs, deeper into the empty office.  

When she felt a little more in control, she said softly, 
"You may be right...But for a moment, I saw something 
else in him."  She swallowed the lump in her throat, 
hoping her voice would remain steady, and not betray her.  
"A longing for something more than power.  Maybe for 
something he could never have."

Mulder did not reply.  Scully took a long, deep breath, 
and another, before turning around again.

He was gone.

Silently, soundlessly.  Without a goodbye.  

He was obviously still very angry at her - angry at what 
he perceived to be her betrayal of him.  For going off 
with their reviled enemy.

She sighed harshly, one hand coming up to pinch the 
bridge of her nose as her head dropped and her shoulders 
slumped.  Squeezing her eyes tightly shut for a moment, 
her breathing stuttered and then evened out.  With another 
sigh, she slowly straightened and made her way out of the 
office and through the empty building outside to the 
equally empty parking lot.

He hadn't exactly ditched her, for they had driven both
their cars.  She wondered if he had planned to leave her 
afterwards, back at his apartment when he had muttered, 
"I'll follow you there," and walked to his own car, once
again not meeting her eyes.

Scully was tempted to go back to his place, to try and 
talk things over with him, but she felt suddenly bone-
weary.  And angry.  

Angry at herself, and at Mulder.  

Jabbing the key into the ignition, she started the engine 
with a savage twist of her wrist and backed out of the
parking spot, heading home.

~~~

Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
7:45 pm


There was no light blinking on her answering machine when
she finally got home after driving aimlessly for a few 
hours.  Nor had her cell phone rung during that time.

Scully dropped her keys on the little stand, and fought 
the instinct to lift up her phone and dial Mulder's number.

No.  

She would give him time to sulk.  For that was what he
was doing, she knew.  Angry with her for going off without
him, despite her reasons, he needed this time to himself.
She thought it likely he would call later, when he had 
calmed down some.  

Her own anger had dissipated, leaving her numb.

Glancing towards the kitchen, her mind recalled the contents
of her refrigerator, unconsciously frowning.  Energy and 
enthusiasm were required to prepare and partake of a meal 
- she had none.

She headed for her bedroom, tugging off her long suit jacket
as she did.  Hanging it on the doorknob for the time being, 
she kicked off her shoes next, leaving them by the closet.  
Stripping down to her panties, she pulled her robe off its 
hook on the back of the closet door and wrapped herself in
its comfortable and familiar security.  Tying the sash 
loosely, she moved to the bathroom next, desperately wanting 
a long soak.

To wash away the stress and grime of her journey, and 
hopefully the feelings of hurt and shame layered on her 
skin from Mulder's reactions and behavior.

Having selected a favorite scent and poured it into the 
filling tub, she went back to her bedroom to retrieve her 
strewn clothing, putting them into the hamper.  A fresh pair 
of pajamas, men's style two-piece in a navy blue silk, were 
selected from a dresser drawer, as well as a thick, fleece 
towel from the linen cupboard.

The headache that had been hovering while she had been
driving around had blossomed, right between her eyes.  An 
eerie reminder of her tumor, and the unrelenting headaches 
she had suffered from as a result.  

To hopefully ease some of the pain and stress, she lit two 
thick candles and flicked off the bathroom light.  Instantly
plunging the room to a mellowed darkness.
  
Her robe was hung on the hook on the back of the door, and 
after slipping her panties off, they were toed aside on the 
floor to be placed in the hamper later.  Twisting her hair
into a loose ponytail, she secured it with a scrunchie, then
walked over to the tub.

Stepping carefully over the rim, she slowly eased her body 
down into the hot, steaming water with an audible groan.  
Allowing her skin to adjust to the rather drastic temperature 
change, she waited several seconds before reclining until 
the only part of her not immersed was her head. 

Lids fell shut over burning eyes, were dragged up, and fell
again, to remain closed.  She dozed.

And naturally, dreamed of Mulder.  

She was there again in his apartment.  He stood braced in 
the doorway, avoiding her eyes, his face set, while the 
Gunmen attempted to download the CD that had been the fruit 
of her labor.  Her misgotten fruit, as it turned out, when 
they announced the disk was blank.

Scully jerked awake and upwards, gasping.  Her flailing 
arms sent water cascading over the side of the tub, as her 
heart pounded furiously.  Briefly disoriented, she searched 
the bathroom with wild eyes, and then cursed loudly as 
reality set in.  So much for a soothing bath.

Washing and rinsing herself quickly, she then pulled the 
stopper from the tub and climbed out onto the thick bath 
mat, reaching for her towel to dry herself off.  Foregoing 
her usual routine of moisturizing her entire body, she just 
smoothed some lotion onto her face and neck, and slipped 
into her pajamas.

After downing two Excedrin for the headache which had not
lessened in the least with her brief bath, she brushed her
teeth and released her hair from its hold.  A quick finger
comb of the slightly tangled strands, and then she went 
over to extinguish the candles.

The hallway was dark as she made her way to her bedroom 
- she had forgotten to turn on her bedside lamp.  It 
didn't matter.  For she was going to go to bed, despite 
the extremely early hour.

Her sheets were crisp and cool, her pillow a welcoming 
softness for her pounding head.  Tired eyes closed, yet
sleep was a long time coming.  

And when it did at last, it was filled with dreams...

~~~

Hours Later


...She was at the wheel, driving the Bureau fleet sedan
she had requisitioned.  With the Cigarette Smoking Man, 
CGB Spender, in the passenger seat beside her.  An 
ominous, uncomforting presence.

She was so weary, her body tired and sore.

His words eerily echoed her thoughts, startling her 
in both their timing, and their presence.  "You've been 
at the wheel too long.  Would you like me to drive?"

Perhaps this was a chance to find out more about their 
destination.  "I might if you let me know where we're 
going," she replied, striving to keep her voice even,
non-confrontational.  Though her lips twisted wryly.

"Knowing that, you'd feel comfortable?  You'd trust me?"

Scully did not bother to reply, merely flicked him another
quick look, sure he could see the derision in her eyes.

If he did however, he ignored it.  "How long did it take 
for Mulder to win your trust?" he queried.

She answered him evenly, without hesitation.  "I've always 
trusted Mulder."  Spender's question had jolted her, but 
she had hid her reaction.  Or so she hoped.  

He gave a brief chuckle, the sound sardonic.  "You're not
being honest with yourself," he said chidingly.  "Think 
back.  There was a time when you feared for your future, 
for your career when you were first partnered with this 
man."  He paused for a moment, turned reflective.  "I told 
you, I've studied you for years...and if you would permit 
me, I'd like to make an observation."

Such manners.  As if she really had a choice.  She shot 
him a look of challenge - daring him to continue.  While 
at the same time she was trying to ignore the fact that 
she was greatly disturbed by his nonchalant admittance that 
he had watched her.  Studied her.  For years.

He did continue on, undaunted by her look.  "You're drawn 
to powerful men, but you fear their power.  You keep your 
guard up, a wall around your heart.  How else do you explain 
that fearless devotion to a man obsessed, and yet, a life 
alone?  You'd die for Mulder, but you won't allow yourself 
to love him."

She kept her face impassive, though inside she felt stripped
bare, her heart and soul revealed.  She refused to consider
the truth in his words.  The truth she would not allow 
herself to admit.

Rolling her head slightly from side to side, carefully 
avoiding his gaze, she resorted to sarcasm, an old defense 
mechanism.  "Wow," she sighed.  "I'm learning a whole other 
side to you.  You're not just a cold-blooded killer, you're 
a pop psychologist as well."

His voice turned introspective.  "I've been a destroyer all 
my life...destroyer...destroyer..."

Scully awoke with a jolt, her heart pounding.  She sat up, 
running one hand over eyes, and turned her head to check 
the time.  It was only 12:40 am.  Groaning, she flopped 
back down and then rolled onto her left side, facing the 
window.

Less than a minute later she was rolling onto her right side.

Ten minutes after that, she was in the kitchen, making 
herself a cup of tea.

Spender's words played over and over in her head, like the 
ghostly, haunting refrains of a half-remembered song.  
"...a wall around your heart...you'd die for Mulder...won't 
allow yourself to love him..."

Tension thrummed through her entire body, and her fingers 
were clumsy as she retrieved a mug from the cupboard.  It 
thunked noisily on the counter when she put it down, the 
sound making her flinch.

"...won't allow yourself to love him..."

She lowered her head, teeth sinking into her lower lip, and 
grabbed at the edge of the counter with a white-knuckled
grip in an effort to still the trembling of her hands.  She
wasn't ready to deal with these thoughts right now.  Not now,
when she was vulnerable and lonely and wanting desperately
to pick up the phone and hear Mulder's voice.  Hear him say 
her name, say 'Scuh-lee', in those low, sleep-filled, husky 
tones.

Standing there in her robe in the dark kitchen, she shivered,
and willed the disturbing echoes and her equally disturbing
thoughts out of her head.

Yet they were determined.  Stubborn.

She saw Mulder's face as he had been earlier at his apartment,
as he avoided looking at her, and heard again Spender's words.  
"You'd die for Mulder, but you won't let yourself love him."

Did she love Mulder?

It was a question she had asked herself many times, and never 
satisfactorily answered.  

Disturbed by the feelings that the question invoked in her, 
she concentrated on making her tea, adding sugar and a dollop 
of milk.  Then she wandered out of the kitchen and over to 
the window, tea cup in hand.

Looking out at the dark street, faintly lit by streetlamps, 
she sighed heavily.  Her mind, freed of the distraction of
preparing tea, immediately returned to the question posed 
minutes before.  Like curious fingers picking at a scab.

Did she love Mulder?  

Spender had only been partially correct in his assessment of 
her.  Yes, she would die for Mulder, there could never be any 
doubt of that.  But he had been wrong when he had pronounced 
that she wouldn't let herself love Mulder.  

For she did.  

She just had never before allowed herself to *admit* that she
did.  Or to tell Mulder.

Her insides were twisting into knots, so she moved one hand 
to palm the flesh just below her navel.  Rubbing in small, 
soothing circles, she absently wandered her dark apartment,
hoping she'd be able to go back to sleep soon.

Maybe she wasn't ready to deal with those thoughts at all.

~~~


Day 2

X-Files Office
Washington, D.C.
9:20 am


The heels of her shoes clicked busily, sharply, as 
Scully strode down the hall to their basement office.  

A restless night of tossing and turning, and very 
little sleep interspersed with disturbing dreams, had 
thrown her internal clock off.  So much so that when 
she finally dozed off sometime before dawn, she ended 
up sleeping through her alarm.

Hence a much heavier application of make-up, to hide 
the dark circles under her eyes and a wan complexion, 
and her hurried steps.

When Scully arrived at their door, it was open, the 
lights on.  Mulder was not within, although there was 
further evidence he had been in at some point.  His 
chair was pulled out from his desk, a suit jacket 
slung over its back, and his computer was on.  A half-
empty mug of coffee sat on the outside corner.

Sighing a little, she proceeded to her chair, putting 
her briefcase down on the floor.  The laptop she laid 
carefully on 'her' side of the desk.  Next she shrugged 
out of her suit jacket, finding it a bit warm in the 
office, before she picked up her own, clean coffee mug.

She dawdled while fetching her coffee, going all the 
way up to the lounge on Skinner's floor.  After chatting 
casually with Kimberley, Skinner's assistant, who was 
getting her third refill of the morning the woman 
cheerfully announced, she slowly made her way back to 
the office.

To find that Mulder was still absent.

With a small sigh and tensed shoulders, she sat down 
to boot up her laptop, her cooling coffee close at 
hand.  She fielded a call from Skinner inquiring as to 
her health after her "trip", plus a request for a report 
due the day before, and answered her e-mail in the next 
hour, still without an appearance from Mulder.

Another hour had passed before he finally entered the 
office.

Scully heard him as he walked in, and lifting her head 
from her perusal of the case file in front of her, 
turned slightly.  Preparing to greet him.

Mulder strode past her to his desk, his eyes skimming 
over her.  Almost as if she were not there.  He sank 
into his seat, rolled it close, and immediately flicked 
open a file on his blotter, without a word.

A hard knot formed in her stomach, and she automatically
straightened in her seat, her shoulders squaring.  
Resisting the urge to bark at him, she commented civilly, 
"Morning, Mulder."  Forcing his hand.

His eyes flicked up briefly, barely meeting hers, before
returning to whatever apparently had him so fascinated.  
But the manners long instilled in him had him responding.

"Scully," was his only reply however, in a tone as devoid 
of emotion as his face.

His carefully blank face, Scully amended to herself.  
For his hazel orbs had been burning with his suppressed 
thoughts and feelings.  Anger and betrayal.

Pain.

Unsettled, and very uncomfortable - more uncomfortable 
with him than she had been in a long time - she lowered 
her head again, trying to refocus on her own file.

Time dragged, the tension palpable.

Admitting she was getting nowhere, Scully laid the case
study aside for the time being, and began working on the 
overdue report.  Twice she had to ask Mulder for 
clarification on notes he had made, and both times his 
replies were brief, his tone clipped.  

The report completed, her signature affixed, she stood 
and leaned across the desk to place it on Mulder's blotter 
for his perusal and signature, then resumed her seat.  
As she typed up some notes on her laptop, she flicked 
glances at him out of the corner of her eye.  Mere seconds 
passed, too few for him to have read it in full, before 
she heard his pen scratching on the paper and then the 
squeak of his chair as he shifted to toss the report back 
onto her side of the desk.  

She said nothing however.  Instead, she neatly placed it 
within a manila folder and into her out-box for later 
delivery to Skinner's office.  That done, she returned 
her attention to her case study. 

After realizing she had read the same paragraph several 
times, Scully sighed and lifted her gaze from the paper.  

Just in time to see Mulder's eyes slide hastily away 
from his study of her.

At last, she thought.  "Mul -" 

He was up and out of his chair before she could finish 
saying his name, yanking his jacket up so fast his chair
spun noisily into the cabinet behind him.  "Gotta meet
someone," he tossed over his shoulder, and fled.

For that was exactly what he had done - fled the room.  

And her.

Scully slumped gracelessly back into her chair, and bit
back a curse.  How long was he going to punish her with
his silence?  Tears of frustration formed in her eyes, 
and she furiously blinked them away.

The walls of the office suddenly seemed to be closing in
on her.  She had never before suffered from claustrophobia,
but it seemed she was now.  Refusing to let this, or her 
feelings about Mulder's avoidance tactics have her 
scurrying out like a frightened mouse, she resolutely 
straightened, and resumed her review of the folder on 
her desk.

Perhaps another half hour or so passed.  Her head had 
begun a slow, steady pounding.  Although she was far 
from hungry, she knew getting out of the office, perhaps 
into fresh air, and filling her empty stomach might help.

Breakfast that morning, like dinner the night before, 
had simply been beyond her.

Slowly closing the folder in front of her, she bent to 
retrieve her wallet from her briefcase, and then rose 
from her seat.  After smoothing down her skirt and 
ensuring her jacket adequately covered her holstered 
weapon, she strode out of the office with her head high, 
her steps even and sure.

Inside, her nerves jangled and her stomach rolled.

~~~

Day 2 - 1 Hour Later
X-Files Office


Getting out of the office, getting completely out of the 
Hoover Building itself, had done her some good, Scully 
thought as she stepped onto the elevator and pressed 'B' 
for the basement.  Not to mention the bowl of chicken rice 
soup she had eaten at a cafe a few blocks away.

Her stomach was calm, her headache gone, and she was ready
to face Mulder once again.  She refused to use the word
'confrontation' to describe their next meeting.

Exiting the elevator, her walk down the basement hall was 
her normal one, strides even and steady.  Unfaltering.

Still, she was smacked with a disturbing sense of deja vu 
when she entered the office.  Once again, there was no 
Mulder.  The only thing different this time was that his 
jacket was not hanging on the back of his chair.

After tucking her wallet back into the side pocket of her 
briefcase, and putting her bottled water down on the desk, 
she rounded it and sat down in Mulder's chair.  She rolled 
it closer, until her forearms rested on the edge, and 
scanned his blotter.

There were no files.  It in fact was conspicuously bare, 
which meant he had returned while she was out, and cleaned 
up.  She knew it was doubtful he would return.

Her insides churned nauseatingly, and a wave of coldness
washed through her body.  Emotions fluctuated wildly.  But
most prevalent was anger.  Anger at Mulder's callous 
treatment, and utter disregard for her feelings. 

Slamming the palms of her hands down on his desk blotter
with a muttered curse, Scully shoved the chair backwards
and rose.  

With her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face, she 
paced the length of their office, her heels clacking 
sharply and loudly.  Evidence of her extreme frustration.
Her disillusionment.

She just could not stay in the stifling office any longer.
Glancing at her watch, she noted with no small measure 
of relief she needed to leave for her scheduled consultation  
at Quantico.  She would drop Skinner's report off at his
office and leave from there.

Returning to the desk, she packed up the laptop and put
her files into her briefcase.  She automatically began to
jot Mulder a short note reminding him of her appointment,
to explain her absence, before remembering he had not
afforded her the same courtesy.  Balling up the half-
written missive, she tossed it in the garbage and returned 
her pen to its holder.  

On the way out, she flicked off the lights, and then locked 
the door behind her.  

In the parking garage after she made her delivery to 
Skinner's office, her search for Mulder's car was also 
automatic.  But his sedan was not in its usual row.  With 
an inward grimace, Scully pushed thoughts of him aside and 
got in her own vehicle.

Traffic was surprisingly light, and she made good time on
the drive to Quantico.  After displaying her credentials
and signing in, she was soon on her way to the Behavioral
Science Unit to meet with Agents Marks and Cameron.  They 
had set up the consult to discuss her findings on the two 
autopsies she had performed upon their request.  After it
had been approved by Skinner, of course.

The meeting went smoothly, and not quite two hours after 
she had arrived, she was in her car once again.  With 
similar consultations in the past, she had always returned 
to the office to type up her notes on the case, but after 
the events of the day, not to mention her difficult night, 
she had decided to head home instead.  She could finish 
her notes on her laptop.

Once home, Scully deposited her laptop and briefcase on 
the floor by the desk, before making a quick flip through 
her mail.  She then headed directly to her bedroom to 
change into comfortable clothes - a favorite sweatshirt and 
a pair of loose, faded jeans.  Her feet she left bare for 
the time being, enjoying the coolness of the hardwood floor 
after having been enclosed in high-heeled shoes all day.

Her stomach actually seemed amenable to food, so she next 
moved to the kitchen to peruse the contents of her 
refrigerator.  It was dismal; she hadn't shopped for 
groceries in almost a week.  Still, she was able to salvage 
the makings of a salad, though the lettuce was not exactly 
what one would call crisp, and the tomatoes had gone soft.

Seated at the table with her salad, a glass of water and 
her consultation case file spread before her, she only got
half-way through her dinner before her mind wandered into
dangerous territory.

Mulder.

Her fork fell to her plate with a loud clatter, and what
appetite she'd had, disappeared completely.  Shoving her 
chair back, she rose from the table, gathered up her 
dishes, and stalked over to the sink to clean them.

The temptation to phone him, to try and talk things out,
was almost overwhelming.  But her resolve not to be the 
one to make the first move had not wavered.  

Yet.

~~~

Day 2 
A Few Hours Later

Mulder's Apartment
Arlington, VA
9:20 pm


Scully walked steadily down the dim hallway to Mulder's 
apartment.  Her mother would have described the look on 
her face as mutinous, and would have been correct.  She
*was* about to revolt.

It was time to beard the lion in his den.

And she knew this particular lion was home - his car was
in its usual spot, and she had seen the eerie, blue glow
of his television shining in his window.

Three short, sharp raps on his door, which went unanswered.
Scully hesitated, unconsciously leaning closer to the 
wood surface in an attempt to discern if there were any
sounds emanating from within.  There were none.

Frustration and annoyance flickered across her face, and 
with an angry sigh, she retrieved her keys from her pocket.  
Flipping through them, she located the one to his apartment 
and fit it into the lock.

She entered into near-blackness, hesitating once again, 
just inside the door.  Mulder had apparently turned his
television off, most likely after she had knocked.  Despite
this, she closed the door firmly and ventured forth.

Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she easily located Mulder's
still form slouched on his sofa.  Realizing with a huff of
irritation that he was not going to acknowledge her presence,
Scully bit back the sarcastic comment on the tip of her 
tongue, and moved around the coffee table to perch on the
edge of the couch.  Beside him, but not touching.

Before she could even open her mouth to speak, Mulder had
bounded off the couch, and over to stare at his fish tank.

Gritting her teeth, Scully slowly stood, though she did not
move any further.  "Mulder," she said.  "How long are you
going to behave this way?"  Swallowing the sudden surprising
lump in her throat, she continued.  "How long are you going
to give me the silent treatment?"

He did not look at her, or reply.  He just continued to 
study his fish as if he had never seen them before.

She tried again, speaking louder, her hands clenching and
unclenching at her sides.  "Mulder!  Would you at least 
look at me?"

Still nothing.

Irritation mutated into anger.  Stalking over to where
he stood, she curled her hand around his bicep, tugging
none too gently to try and turn him towards her.

He resisted for a moment, his arm flexing beneath her
grasp, before his head whipped around, and she experienced
the full, heated force of his glare.

Startled, she released him, and actually took a step back.
His look turned contemptuous, as if disgusted, or affronted,
that her actions might imply she thought he was capable of 
hurting her, and he turned and brushed past her, heading
towards his kitchen.

"Mulder! Jesus, I'm sorry!" she blurted out, taking a step
after him.  Her voice was jarring in the quiet of the dark 
apartment, otherwise broken only by the bubbling of the 
fish tank.  And the sound of her heart thudding far too 
loudly in her ears.

Scully watched his steps falter momentarily, but he 
continued on, disappearing from her sight as he went 
through the doorway.  Anger warred with her instinct 
to go after him, and she took another half-step forward 
before stopping, biting her lip in consternation.    

The sound of the fridge door being yanked open came then, 
followed by a bright flash of fluorescent light.  Odd 
noises led her to assume Mulder had gotten a drink.  A 
moment later there was a small thud - she imagined him 
slamming the bottle or carton of whatever back onto the 
shelf - and then the thunk of the fridge door closing, 
the bright light gone.  Returning the apartment to its 
previous near-darkness.

When he walked back into the room - or perhaps 'stalked' 
described his stride more aptly - she tried again, keeping 
her voice level.  Calm.  "Mulder, could we talk?  Please?"

That got a response.  Though not much of one.

He flicked a glance very briefly at her face, avoiding 
her eyes, and moved back over to stare at his fish tank 
again.  A second later he did speak though, his voice low 
and gruff.  "Scully, I'm asking you to leave it alone for 
now.  To go home and give me some time."

"But, Mulder-"  she started to protest, moving a few steps
closer to him.

"Scully!" he almost yelled, his head swiveling to pin her 
in place with another hot glare.  His body followed as he 
sucked in a sharp breath, his face twisting in a grimace, 
before he spoke again, with more restraint.  "Jesus Christ, 
Scully..."  Another noisy, deep breath.  "Just.  Let.  It. 
Go."

But she couldn't.  The wound had festered.  "No, Mulder!"
she exclaimed.  "I won't leave and let you sit here and
brood.  We need to talk about this."

"Yes, we do, but not *now*!" he barked back, his upper 
body leaning forward with the intensity of his words.  
"Right now, Scully, I am too angry with you to talk about 
it.  I don't want to say something I might regret."

"Mulder, that's a cop-out!"

His lips actually pulled back in a snarl to reveal his 
teeth.  "Scully, don't push me."  A clear warning.

One she did not heed.  "Or what?" she challenged, chin 
lifting, her eyes narrowed to angry slits.  A part of 
her was hesitant at proceeding this way, at 'pushing' 
him as he had told her not to.  But another part of her,
the stubborn, angry part, was thinking that at last she 
was getting somewhere.

He straightened, his face going carefully blank.  "Fine,"
he said.  "You want to hear it?"  Walking up to her, he
leaned down again, bringing them almost nose to nose.

Attempting to intimidate her, to crowd her, Scully 
thought to herself.  She had to arch back slightly 
in order to nod her head.

He leaned in even further, each word biting.  "You 
shouldn't have gone with him, Scully."

Although that was true, it stung to hear him say the
words.  "Mulder, I can take care of myself," she 
uttered, a bit defensively.  "I'm a big girl."

"Maybe so, Scully, but that man cannot be trusted!"

"Is that what this is really all about, Mulder?" she
whispered, suddenly deflating.  "Trust?"  There was a 
pain in her chest, in her heart.  "You don't trust me?"

"To be honest, Scully," he replied coldly, "right now I 
don't trust your judgment."

Hearing him admit to a lack of trust stirred her anger 
anew.  "Why?  Because I went without asking for your 
permission?"  she asked with a sneering emphasis.

"Yes, damn it!" he snapped back, and then looked 
startled that he had said the words.

Back to the old, tired need of his to 'protect' her.  

"I was *fine*, Mulder!" she hissed.  Her usage of that 
word was deliberate, she knew how he hated it.  She 
refused to think about that morning when she had woken 
up in pajamas she did not recall changing into, in a 
bed she could not recall walking to.  A sardonic voice 
in her head reminded her that she had not been 'fine' 
then.

She watched with some satisfaction as his expression
hardened, then smoothed out to reveal nothing.  "I 
think you should go now, Scully," he said, though his 
tone indicated there was no thought necessary - he 
wanted her out.

"No, Mulder," she responded, shaking her head for 
emphasis.  "We should finish this."

The look he flicked at her was caustic, and then he was
giving her his back, moving away from her.  To grab his 
basketball from where it was lying on his desk.

Scully bent her head and stared down at the neatly tied 
laces of her running shoes, teeth sinking painfully into 
her bottom lip to hold in a scream of anger and 
frustration.  She was so close to walking out of his 
apartment and out of his life, and never looking back.

Only her certainty that this was what he wanted - for 
her to walk out so he could twist it all around and make 
this her fault - kept her there.

Raising her head again, she looked at his shadowy figure, 
watched him spinning the basketball loosely in his hands.
The mindless, *deliberate* activity irked her, and had 
her moving.

At the exact moment he started to dribble the ball.

She lunged forward to grab at his arm, just as he lifted 
it up, his elbow bent and pointed slightly upward, in her 
direction. 

In her sneakers, their height difference was more obvious, 
and her face was level with his upraised arm.  Or more 
precisely, the bridge of her nose was level with his elbow.

They collided solidly.

White-hot pain splintered through her nose, her eyes, her
very skull.  Bending at the waist, she staggered back a 
few steps, her hands flying up to cradle her face.  

Covering her face...containing the sudden flow of blood.

Scully was only vaguely aware of Mulder's curse, and the 
surprise contained in the harshly uttered word, but the 
thud of his basketball hitting the hardwood floor was 
enormously loud, and echoed horribly.  It bounced away, 
each individual rebound mocking in its slow motion 
journey across the floor.

His hand touched her then, gripping her upper arm. "Jesus,
Scully -" he started to say.  

But the pain and shock made her behavior irrational.  She
roughly pulled free of his grasp - actually turned away 
from him - and his voice died off.

This time it was he who followed her.  His hand came back,
more hesitant, lightly touching her shoulder.  "Scully?"

Her body tensed, and she shied from him once more.  Her
response was automatic, and gruffly uttered.  A tired 
standby.  *That* hated word again.  "I'm fine."  With
cutting, deliberate emphasis on each word.

She heard him say something harshly - possibly an angry
expletive - and then nothing further.

Long moments passed.  Scully was aware of no other effort
from Mulder to touch her, or speak to her.

Feeling dizzy, light-headed, she let herself drop to her
knees, barely acknowledging the twin flashes of pain when 
her body impacted on the hardwood floor.  With her hands 
still over her face, covered in thick, wet blood, she lost 
her balance, and fell back on her rear end.

Despite the fact she had spurned his help just seconds 
ago, she fully expected Mulder to bring her a towel.  Or 
to try and help her onto the couch or into his bathroom.  

When no such aid came, she mumbled his name questioningly, 
tasting blood in the back of her throat.  It made her gag.

Fearing she would choke, she coughed.  Once she started,
she could not stop.  Each harsh, forceful expulsion sent
fresh waves of agony throughout her face.  Panicked, she
gasped for air.  Began to hyperventilate.

And still, Mulder did not come.

Scully knew she had to get her breathing under control or
she could pass out.  With undetermined facial injuries,
and blood still flowing, that could be very dangerous.  
She forced herself to breathe more slowly and evenly 
through her half-opened mouth.

When the spasms finally stopped, she lowered one hand to
the floor for support, heedless of the blood, while she 
slid the other one lower to cup over her nose, uncovering
her eyes.  Cautiously opening them, flinching at the 
throbbing that action caused, she carefully turned her 
head to look for Mulder.

The room was empty.  And somehow she just knew he was no
longer in the apartment.  

That he had left her alone and injured.

Mulder had *left* her.  Incredulity and disbelief swept 
through her - that he would abandon her like this.  But 
he had.  

It did not occur to her then that he might not have seen 
her face, might not have realized she was hurt.  That he
had truly believed her emphatic avowal that she was fine.

Shoulders slumping further, Scully ducked her head down, 
immediately regretting doing so when her stomach twisted 
with nausea.  

Lifting her head very slowly, she swallowed the saliva 
that had gathered in her mouth and tasted blood anew.  
Nausea rose higher, until it was touching the back of her 
throat.  Despite the pain it caused her, she moved until 
she was on her hands and knees, head once again hanging 
down, body shuddering with heaves. 

Shivering with a sudden chill, her arms and legs trembling
with the effort of holding herself up, she collapsed in 
a heap. 

Pain ratcheted through her head and nose, and she moaned
softly.  She had to get up, needed to tend to her injury.
Maybe take something for it, and the nausea.

Gathering all her strength, her teeth gritted and her 
right hand squeezed into a tight fist, she managed to 
stagger upright.  Only to take a few steps and crumple 
to her knees again when dizziness had her vision graying.

She needed help.

Wanting only to lie down, she forced herself to concentrate.
Who could she call?  As always, her first instinct was to 
call Mulder.  But not this time.  He was gone, and she had
no idea where.  She could not call 9-1-1, there would be 
too many questions.  Questions she was unwilling to answer.  
Her mother was out of town, and Skinner...Skinner would 
have questions of his own.

The Gunmen.  

Calling them would serve two purposes - she needed help, 
and she needed to find Mulder.

But first she had to find his phone.  She turned her head 
very slowly, bracing herself for the flash of pain she 
knew would come.  The cautionary movement helped, somewhat.  
Searching the room, she spied Mulder's cellular on the 
corner of his desk.  Only three feet away.

Three feet that felt like three miles by the time she 
managed to regain her footing and stagger over to clumsily 
grasp the phone with one blood-sticky hand.  Unfortunately 
she had to release her nose to turn the phone on and dial 
the Gunmen's number, feeling the slow trickle of blood 
oozing down her lips and chin.

Ring.  

The sound was tinny - or was that her hearing?  

Pressing the phone harder to her ear, Scully swayed, 
then fell into Mulder's desk chair.  There were some 
paper napkins from a past take-out meal there, so she 
grabbed them up.  First swiping them over her lips, 
she then held them gingerly to her nose, to try and 
stem the now sluggish flow of blood.

"The Lone Gunmen," she finally heard.  Frohike.

Opening her mouth to speak, she coughed instead.

"Lone Gunmen," Frohike repeated.  Annoyance tinged his 
tones.  She imagined his hand poised to disconnect the 
call.

"Frohike," she croaked out, her voice sounding clogged.  
"It's Scully.  Turn off the tape."  Nasal, and thick.

Instant attention, and concern.  "Scully, what's 
wrong?"

Surprisingly, tears stung her eyes.  She blinked 
rapidly, then winced.  Doing so made them sting 
even more.  

"Listen, can you guys...come to Mulder's place?"  
Scully asked, her voice hitching.  "I need...I need 
a favor."

"We're there, Scully."  Click.

No questions asked.  

Fresh tears rose, and this time she let them roll 
down her cheeks.  She sniffled, and could not help 
the low moan that escaped because of the resultant 
pain that radiated from her nose.  

After one last, careful dab at her nostrils, Scully 
lowered the soiled napkin, noting with relief that 
the bleeding seemed to have stopped.  However, she 
was a mess, with blood drying on her hands, and no 
doubt her face, and liberally covering the front of 
her sweatshirt.  She should clean herself up, she 
didn't want to unduly alarm the guys when they got 
there.  

Slowly, she rose to her feet, her legs shaky.  One 
hand went to the desk for support, as she waited to 
see if her body was going to cooperate, and let her 
walk without falling.  Or passing out.

She made it to the bathroom without incident, having 
placed each step carefully, and with her hands 
outstretched in front of her in case she stumbled.  
Standing at the sink, staring down at the white 
porcelain, she hesitated before lifting her eyes to 
meet those of her reflection.

Despite the evidence of bloodshed, and her medical 
background, she was still startled by her appearance.  
Her nose was already swelling and turning purple, her 
eyes were puffy and reddened, and there was drying 
blood all over her face and the front of her 
sweatshirt.

Wincing, already half-suspecting that her nose was 
broken, she looked down again, unable to see her own 
bruised face any longer.  Holding onto the edge of the 
sink with one hand, she turned on the taps with the 
other, letting her fingers flutter under the flow of 
water, waiting for it to warm.

Surprisingly there was a washcloth hanging on the towel 
rack to the right of the sink, neatly folded next to a 
hand towel.  After soaking the cloth thoroughly in the 
warm water, Scully took a deep, albeit shaky, breath, 
and slowly lifted her head to look in the mirror once 
more.  Somehow managing to study her injuries clinically.  
Dispassionately. 

Avoiding looking herself directly in the eye, knowing 
she would break down if she did, she brought the wet 
cloth up and began at her forehead.  She wiped gently 
at the splatters on her pale skin, noting with a shiver 
that there was even blood in her hair, stiff and tacky. 

Her nose started to throb in spite of the care she took 
in cleaning around her nostrils.  She had to stop for a 
second and wait for it to subside before continuing with 
the rest of her face, and her neck, rinsing the cloth 
out several times in the process.

By the time she had gotten the dried blood from underneath
her fingernails, the Gunmen had arrived.

Mulder had either not locked the door behind him, or they
had their own key - both were possibilities.  Whatever the
case, she heard someone enter the apartment, and her heart 
started to thud, before Frohike's voice called out 
worriedly,  "Mulder?  Scully?"

Just as quickly as that, there was a second face in the 
mirror.  Frohike, his eyes huge behind the lenses of his
glasses.  Noises just outside the bathroom door indicated 
that his partners in crime were at his heels.

"Scully...?" Frohike exclaimed, his face revealing his 
shock.  "What the hell happened to you..." his voice faded
off, and then came back, stronger and louder.  "Where the 
hell is Mulder?"

The other two crowded against his back, so that all three 
were now staring at her with identical expressions of 
dismay, or horror.  

Byers spoke next, before she could reply to Frohike.  
"Agent Scully?" he asked.  Although he was unable to drop 
the formality, the concern was clearly there.  "Are you 
all right?"

"Whoa."  Langly, as astute as ever.  "Um...I'll go get 
some ice."

"I'm fine, guys," Scully answered at last, the soiled 
cloth falling into the sink with a soft, wet plop.  She 
turned towards them, removing her hand from the edge of 
the sink at the same time, and wavered a bit, feeling 
light-headed.

"Scully!" both Frohike and Byers exclaimed at the same
time.  Hands grabbed her arms, held her steady.

Embarrassed and ashamed at the sign of weakness, she 
repeated herself.  Although the words came out as a 
whisper, they were unintentionally spoken with some 
asperity.  "I'm *fine*, guys."

The hands left her, and the two of them retreated back 
a step.

Frohike inhaled with a sharp, whistling breath then, 
as Byers gasped.  "Scully...what...Jesus, who did...
who did this to you?" the shorter man got out haltingly, 
his disbelief obvious.  Two pairs of eyes were focused 
on the blood covering her sweatshirt.

Scully opened her mouth to reply, but could not find the
words.  How could she explain what had happened, explain
the very evident injury?  That it had been an accident?
What could she tell them of Mulder's absence?

Somehow, Frohike intuited that it was Mulder who had hurt
her.  "Scully," he said, now meeting her eyes.  He had
straightened to his full height, his chest swelled with
what she took to be his anger and indignancy.  Or perhaps
his protective instinct at the forefront.  "Where is Mul-
Where the hell did that bastard go?" he hissed.

"I...I don't know," she confessed.  Suddenly overwhelmed,
she struggled not to cry.  Biting her lip, she ducked her
head down, staring at a drop of blood on the toe of one
sneaker.

Frohike barked out an expletive, and her head shot up,
sending a fresh wave of light-headedness through her 
body.  He was leaving, most likely intending to hunt
Mulder down and...she was afraid to think of what he 
might do.  She couldn't let him go without hearing what 
had happened.  "Frohike, wait!" she cried out, and 
stepped after him.

Byers immediately grabbed one of her arms again, and she
flicked him a glance of thanks.  He stepped back another
two steps, and assisted her out of the bathroom, after
Frohike, who was standing a few feet away with his fists
clenched and a scowl on his face.

Langly joined their uneasy trio then, holding up a bulky-
shaped tea towel in one hand.  "Ice," he said unnecessarily.
He looked from her face to her bloodstained chest, his 
eyebrows rising above the thick rims of his glasses, then 
to Byers' hand on her arm, and finally to Frohike.  "What 
gives?"

"Mulder!" Frohike snarled, his lip curling.

"Dude?" Langly uttered.  He gestured at Scully, his face
blanching.  "Mulder did this?"

"It was an accident!" Scully blurted out.  "I moved...just
as Mulder lifted his arm, and..."  her voice faded away
weakly.  Both her voice and her story sounded pathetic in 
her ears.  She had also left out the part about Mulder 
ignoring her all day, and the fact that he had been about 
to dribble his basketball at the time.  And that she 
thought she had been partially to blame, for digging and 
digging when he had told her to leave it alone.  It all 
made the story sound much worse.

"If it was an accident, then where the hell is-"

"Agent Scully, you should sit down," Byers broke in loudly,
cutting Frohike off in mid-sentence.  The voice of reason.  

Scully watched him shake his head minutely at Frohike, 
caught the little man's pained, angry grimace, and then 
Byers was tugging gently on her arm.  She allowed him to 
guide her to Mulder's couch, where she sat down with 
relief.

The other two Gunmen followed them, Frohike swearing and 
mumbling not quite under his breath.  She was able to make
out snippets of his comments.  Heard 'Can't believe he did 
that to her, Mulder wouldn't...' and 'Bastard' and 'How 
could he leave her?'

Langly awkwardly attempted to bring the makeshift ice bag
to her face then, and Scully instinctively flinched back, 
before he could make contact.  "Uh, here," he mumbled, and 
thrust it towards her.  When she had taken the wrapped ice 
from him, he moved back to stand a few feet away, looking 
uncomfortable and ill at ease.

"Thank-you, Langly," she murmured, and gingerly held it
against the bridge of her nose, shivering as goose bumps 
rippled over her flesh in reaction to the icy coldness.  
She tried not to think of the numbing pain from it as 
well, knowing she needed the ice to keep the swelling at 
a minimum.

The silence was heavy, broken only by the occasional foot 
shuffling, and the creaking of Frohike's leather vest.

She was wondering how long they would stand there and wait
for her to speak, when Frohike took the initiative.

"Scully, what do you want us to do?" he asked.

Soft thuds indicated he had walked over to stand closer 
to her.  Lowering the ice pack, she held back a wince and 
opened her eyes to meet his.  "Find him," she said simply.

"Frohike and Langly will go look for Mulder," Byers spoke
then.  "I'm taking you to the hospital."  His tone, while
modulated and even, brooked no argument.

She resisted however.  "That's not necessary," she told 
him.  "I'm fine, I just need to go home and lie down."  
It was a little white lie, she wasn't fine, but she really
didn't want to go to the hospital.  There would be many
questions asked there as well.

"Scully-" Byers said in protest.  Her name was quickly
repeated twice more, once each by Frohike and then Langly,
with equal concern.

"Guys," she said loudly, wincing inwardly at the pain that
shot through her head.  "Really, I'm fine."  To prove it,
she started to rise from the couch.

And promptly fell back into the cushions when her vision
greyed again.

This time her name was chorused in a trio of concern.

Byers then said, "Agent Scully, I must insist that you 
allow me to take you to the hospital."  Earnest, determined.

Unthinkingly, Scully brought her hand up to pinch the 
bridge of her nose, and had to stifle a moan of pain.

"Please, Scully?" 

Hearing Frohike's quietly spoken plea, she acquiesced.
"Let's go," she said simply.

Frohike sprang forward and offered her his hand, while 
Byers came to her other side, hovering uncertainly.  
Langly remained where he was, watchful.

Sliding forward slowly, Scully placed her left hand in 
the little man's finger-less gloved left one, and pushed 
up as he pulled.  With too much force on both their parts, 
as it turned out, for she once again wavered.

His grip tightened as his other hand came up to clasp
her arm, while Byers grabbed the elbow of her other arm,
murmuring, "Easy, we've got you," as if she were a 
skittish horse. 

Scully thought, vaguely, that she should be offended.  
Instead, their attention was strangely comforting.

The tea towel had fallen to the floor, but thankfully 
had not spilled open to deposit ice cubes everywhere.  
When the three of them had shuffled around the coffee 
table, Langly darted in and retrieved the bundle, 
mumbling, "I've got it."

They left Mulder's apartment in an awkard group, Langly
again saying he had it and then locking the door behind
them, to make their way outside.

There was an awkward pause as they stood by the Gunmen's
decrepit-looking van, and then Scully tugged free of 
Byers' grasp to dig her car keys out of her pocket, 
handing them to the bespectacled man.  "You and I can go 
in my car," she said, sounding nasal again.

Frohike released her arm, reluctantly it seemed, and 
muttered, "We'll find him.  Give you a call."

His tone indicated he might do a lot more to Mulder when
he did find him, but she was too tired and in too much
pain to care at that point.  Barely nodding in response,
she allowed Byers to take her elbow once more to guide
her to her car.

~~~

Arlington Hospital
Arlington, VA
12:25 am


Scully had sat for over an hour in the emergency 
department waiting room after registering with the 
triage nurse at the front desk.  Byers had been a 
steady, silent presence at her side the entire time.

When the nurse had called her name, he had been 
quick to rise from the hard, plastic chair.  His 
hand had curled around her upper arm, solicitously 
helping her to her feet, walking with her to the 
examination cubicle where she now currently lay, 
an ice pack over her nose, her body huddled under 
several blankets.  Awaiting the results of the 
x-rays that had been ordered by the ER doctor, and 
completed a short time ago.

Byers had waited with her until the doctor had come, 
and then had stepped out while she had been examined.

Missing all the questions the doctor had asked to 
check her higher mental functions.

Do you know where you are?  What day is it?  What 
year is it?  Who is the current President of the 
United States?  

Her answers had come correctly, and without 
hesitation, her voice steady, if somewhat clogged.  
She had smothered her irritation as well, knowing 
it was necessary.

The questions had become a little more difficult 
then, for she had to explain how she had been 
injured.  She had managed to gloss over the fine 
details, carefully revealing only that a friend 
had been dribbling his basketball and she had 
gotten too close.  

It was true, in a roundabout sort of way. 

The doctor had held her gaze for a moment before 
he nodded, then had informed her he was ordering 
a series of x-rays.

Byers had re-entered the room once the doctor had 
left, to wait with her until the orderly had come
to take her to the X-ray Department.  The lone 
Gunman was currently out in the lobby, trying once 
again to reach Langly or Frohike, to check for news 
on Mulder.

At his last call to them, roughly an hour ago,
there had been nothing to report.  

Fresh out of suggestions for places to check, she 
tried not to let her mind run amok, and imagine
all sorts of frightening possibilities.

The curtain around her gurney swished noisily then, 
and Scully reached up to remove the ice bag, dragging 
her eyes open to see who was there.

It was Dr. Phillips, the ER attending, carrying what 
was presumably her chart and the envelope with her 
films.

Once upon a time, before the X-Files, and before 
Mulder, she might have been interested in such a man 
- amusing, good-looking, with a wonderful bedside 
manner.

But this was now, and she wasn't the person she had 
been back then. 

"Hello, Dr. Scully," Dr. Phillips said, when he saw 
that she was awake.  "I've got your x-rays right 
here," he said next as he moved over to stand to her
left. 

Tucking her chart under one arm, he pulled one of 
the films from its protective sleeve.  Holding it 
up towards the light, he tapped at it with the end 
of his pen.  "It's as you suspected, you've got a 
broken nose.  The orbital bones are fine, however."

Scully shivered slightly as she stared at the scan 
of her face and skull.  Remembering another time 
when she had stared at the very same image.  Only 
then there had been something more to her x-ray.  

Her tumor.

The doctor's voice pulled Scully from her morbid 
melancholy.

"There will be bruising, as I'm sure you are aware, 
and the swelling will most likely remain for several 
days.  Ice is recommended, as is Tylenol for the
pain."  He tucked the film back inside the envelope 
and laid it at the foot of the gurney, then began 
reading her chart over. 
 
"Normally I would advise the patient to remain here
under observation with a concussion, but yours is 
very mild, and your protestations have been noted," 
he said after a moment.  He lifted his head to meet 
her gaze, a slight smile on his lips.  "Your very 
vehement protests, I might add." 

She did not return his smile, merely waited for him 
to continue.  She had expected some form of resistance 
about her not remaining for observation once diagnosed 
with a mild concussion, but was fully prepared to sign 
out AMA if necessary.

Dr. Phillips cleared his throat then, looking somewhat
uncomfortable.  "Uh, well, Dr. Scully, that's it for 
me, then.  The nurse will be in shortly with your
discharge instructions."  He started to turn away,
stopped, then said, "Take care of yourself."

"Thank-you, Dr. Phillips," Scully said, letting her 
lips curve just slightly.  Once he had left, pulling 
the curtain closed behind him, she shoved the blanket 
down and swung her legs around to dangle over the edge 
of the gurney.  

Sitting up had made her feel just a little woozy, so
she remained seated for the moment.

By the time she had carefully eased herself off the
gurney to stand shakily on the floor, the nurse arrived.

Together they got her sneakers on and laced, and then
the helpful woman was handing her two sheets of paper
with post-trauma care for her broken nose and concussion.
The nurse remained beside her as Scully walked out of the
room, ensuring she was stable.

Byers was back at his post, and immediately stepped
forward and offered his arm.

Tired and sore, Scully did not refuse the assistance,
and they made their way slowly through the emergency
department and outside to her car.

Once in the cool night air, Scully murmured hopefully, 
"Anything?"

Byers' voice was solemn and quiet.  "Not yet."

~~~

End Part 1 of 2