thanx to Amber
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NYU Medical Center
Mulder hated hospitals. He hated them because he was constantly
in them.
But it was usually his partner and not himself who was laying in a
bed.
And that made him hate hospitals all the more. He entered Scully's
room
and immediately took her hand. The dance of their fingers showed
the depth
of their bond and the gratefulness they felt for having avoided once
again
the ultimate inevitability of life.
"The coroner's report came back on Fellig. It says he died of
a single
gunshot wound. That's all it said." Mulder sat down on
Scully's hospital
bed, placing one hand on either side of the bed, holding her in place
without actually touching her. It was obvious that she was still
in pain
from the gunshot wound in her stomach. "Oh, yeah, I talked to
your doctor
and he says you're doing great. You're making the fastest recovery
he's
ever seen." He smiled at her good fortune, hoping that she would
smile,
too. She didn't.
"Mulder, I don't even know how I entertained the thought. People
don't
live forever."
"No, I think he would have. I just think that Death only looks
for you
once you seek its opposite." Scully considered this for a moment
before
responding.
"What if you don't seek its opposite, but you find it anyway?"
"What do you mean, Scully?"
"I guess I was thinking about my cancer, Mulder. I thought I was
going to
die then. I was so close . . ."
"And you think Death is looking for you now, trying to claim what it
couldn't then?"
His words were serious, and so was his face. Maybe they were too
serious.
Because when Scully heard them, heard the complete improbability of
his
words, she smiled.
"When you put it like that, Mulder, it just sounds crazy."
Mulder couldn't help but smile himself, seeing her own smile, which
she
used too seldom, and hearing the amusement in her voice. He replayed
what
he had said to her in his mind and realized that there was no chance
of
Scully accepting his theory.
"I don't know, Scully. I've seen a guy who looks a lot like Brad
Pitt
hanging around the hospital this week."
"And you didn't bring him with you?" She was glad that he was
joking with
her. While she knew that he wanted to hurt the man who had shot
her, she
also knew that he blamed himself in some way for what had happened
to her.
She never knew what to say to him at times like these because he never
accepted her words of absolution.
"I didn't think he was your type, Scully."
"Oh, really? What /is/ my type, Mulder?" She unknowingly
raised an
eyebrow in anticipation of his response.
For a moment, Mulder didn't know what to say, he didn't know what the
right
answer to this question was, but he decided to just go for it: "Uh
. . .
how about tall, dark, and seriously troubled?" He looked at her
a little
sheepishly, but she held his gaze to hers. And she smiled again.
And she
placed her left hand over his right one and squeezed it reassuringly.
"So, Mulder, when do I get to leave this place?"
"Your doctor said he wants you to stay for a few more days. Getting
restless, huh?"
"I've been laying here for a week; I'm going stir crazy." She
paused,
thinking about all of the work that must be piling up on their desks
in
D.C., and then remembered their boss. "What's Kersh saying about
all of
this?"
"He's been surprisingly civil. He hasn't chewed me out yet.
He probably
feels sorry for me, my partner being in the hospital and all . . ."
"He's probably waiting to chew me out, to tell me that I should have
reported your involvement in the case."
"Well, you /are/ his favorite, Scully." She smiled faintly, suddenly
feeling overwhelmed with exhaustion.
"Mulder, can you stay for awhile?"
"What exactly do you have in mind, Scully?" As he expected, she
ignored
his comment; this made him feel safe in a strange way.
"Until I fall asleep? I don't want you to leave yet, Mulder."
She meant
these words. She had missed his physical presence during her
time in New
York.
"I'm not going anywhere, Scully. You sleep." He got up from
the bed and
moved to a nearby chair.
"Thank you, Mulder." She closed her eyes and was asleep within
a few
minutes.
"Thank /you/, Scully." His voice was low and whispered. And he
was more
grateful than she could know for having been asked to stay. He
watched her
sleeping from his chair and wondered what was going on inside her head.
He
watched her sleeping until the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest
led him
to his own dreams.
El fin.