Scully sat by her brother's hospital bed, her hand gently grasping
one belonging to the still form of her brother.  The apparatus
sustaining his tenuous link to life made him look like he was involved
in a Frankenstein-
like experiment, the association heightened with the constant blip of
the 
heart monitor and the sterile atmosphere.  Scully found it hard to 
associate the pale, almost mechanical-seeming figure in the bed with
the
 fun-loving, teasing brother she had always known.  Keenly now she felt

the lost opportunities over the last few years, where conflicting 
schedules had seen them lose touch, where before she had been closer to

him than she had to Bill Junior.  Scully tightened her grip on her 
brother's hand.  Her very personal experiences as she lay similarly
after 
her return from her Duane Barry abduction, had given her a unique view
on 
just how important it was to be surrounded by loved ones.  The
unstinting 
vigil that her mother, Melissa, and Mulder had kept at her side had
helped
 her to find her way back to life.  
  Scully looked over to the sleeping form of her mother.  Margaret
Scully
 lay on the bed next to her son's, sleeping the deep sleep of the 
exhausted.  It had taken the combined effort of Dana, Bill, the doctor
and Father McHugh to make her rest at all, and she had flatly refused
to go 
home.  Mrs. Scully seemed confident that her son would soon awake, and
was determined to be there when he did.
  Looking at the deep creases that had etched themselves onto her
mother's
 face, Scully sighed.  Those lines, even the beginnings of them, had
not 
been there a few years ago.  Scully knew that she was responsible for a

great many of them, and her heart ached at the knowledge.  Her mother
had 
lost a much-loved husband, and now had to look upon the third of her 
children to be within grasping distance of death.  Scully sometimes
felt
the desire to rail against fate, God; anybody, in fact, at the
unrelenting procession of heartache and grief that seemed to visit her
family disproportionately. Yet, her mother's faith in life and God
never seemed
 to waver.  Scully had rarely seen such strength in anyone, and she
knew 
her family anchored themselves to it as to a rock.  
  This strength reminded Scully very much of Mulder.  Mulder's
unshakeable
 faith in his beliefs and his arrow-headed determination were things
she realised she had incorporated into her life as landmarks; they
helped to 
define the aspects of her life that she saw as secure and unwavering.  
  Looking out of the window, Scully wondered how Mulder was.  They had 
called each other a couple of times; Mulder was one of the few people
able
 to say the right thing and be sincere, and even more importantly, he
knew
 what not to say.  Scully gave a little half-smile.  Mulder was very 
eloquent in the way he had of leaving things unsaid.  Scully's smile 
faded as she remembered how they had each avoided telling each other
how 
they were really feeling.  After all they'd been through, they both
wanted
 to spare each other as much as possible.  It annoyed Scully when
Mulder 
kept things like that from her, but she unfailingly did the same to
him.
  Scully's thoughts were interrupted as her mother stirred, and slowly
sat
 up.  Her eyes swung over to her daughter.  "Dana, what time is it? 
How 
long have I been asleep?"  "It's 2pm, Mom.  You were only asleep for
two 
hours."  Her mother looked at her in some consternation.  "Two hours! 
I 
only meant to sleep for about twenty minutes.  Is there any news?  Did
the doctor come in?"  Scully sighed.  "She came in about half and hour
ago.  
There hasn't been any change.  At least he's in a stable condition.  
That's the best we can hope for at this point."  
  Margaret got off the bed and stood beside Scully.  For a few moments,

she looked down at the face of her son, to convince herself that
nothing 
had indeed changed since she last saw him.  Then, placing her hand on
her 
daughter's shoulder, she regarded her.  Scully had dark shadows under
her 
eyes, and was noticeably pale.  Margaret was pretty sure that she had
lost some weight, too.  "Dana, honey, I think you should go home, and
get some rest.  You were in here not so long ago, yourself."  As Scully
opened her mouth to 
protest, her mother forestalled her with a gesture.  "No, Dana, I
really 
mean it.  I don't want you arguing with me about this.  If there's any 
change, I'll call you.  I don't want to see you back here before 
tomorrow."
  Seeing that it was useless to protest, Scully reluctantly rose to go,

kissing Charles on the cheek and telling him that she would be back 
tomorrow.  Before her own experience in a coma, she had regarded the 
widely held belief that coma patients could hear people talking to them

with a raised eyebrow.  Now, however, she regarded it as invaluable to 
recovery.
  Scully hugged her mother tightly, and left her sitting in the seat
she 
had vacated, clutching her son's hand, her eyes already closed in
silent 
prayer.
  
  The man surreptitiously watched Scully's departure from where he sat
ostensibly reading a newspaper, noting her withdrawn appearance. 
"No..." 
he said to himself thoughtfully, "this will not do at all."  His eyes 
followed her until she was out of sight; then he folded up his
newspaper 
and threw it into the garbage bin next to the bench on which he was 
sitting.  He then casually stood up, and walked into the hospital. 
  In the reception area of the hospital, he already knew from previous
reconnaissances that there was a photographic list of smiling staff. 
He 
smiled just a little at that.  It looked like a McDonald's employee of
the
 month list.  Different uniforms though.  He quickly scanned through
the 
photos until he found one that was suitable.  
  With seeming casualness, he then made his way to the closest men's 
bathroom, where he secured himself a cubicle.  He had come prepared in
the correct clothing, so he did what he needed to, waited until the men
that 
had been in there when he came in left, and then quickly opened the
door 
to the cubicle and made his way to the washbasins.  He examined his 
appearance with some satisfaction, washed his hands for the sake of 
appearances, and left the bathroom.

  Margaret Scully didn't look up from her contemplation of her son's
face 
as the nurse came in.  A small corner of her awareness noted that he
did 
the usual nurse things, checking this, adjusting that.  He picked up
the 
chart and read through it.  When he had finished, he let out a quiet
dissatisfied "Hmmm...".  Margaret looked up then, but the nurse just 
smiled at her, put his hand comfortingly on her shoulder, and left.  
Margaret resumed her quiet contemplation of her son's countenance; 
waiting patiently for any sign of consciousness stirring. 

The "nurse" made his way through the halls, exchanging greetings with 
people who thought that they knew him, until he was outside.  He made
his
 way over to a water fountain and bent over it, ostensibly drinking
deeply.  When he raised his face again he quickly made sure no one had
been 
observing him.  He casually made his way to the street, where he hailed
a cab.  As it pulled up, he said quietly to himself "Hmmm, a car
accident...I 
wonder..."   

  Scully closed the door to her apartment and then crossed the room to 
collapse on her couch.  After a few moments she bent down and
laboriously removed her shoes.  She was tired to the very bone with a
numbing 
exhaustion that she had not even noticed until her mother had ordered
her 
home.  
  Slowly, she stood up and padded over to check if there were any
messages
 on her answering machine; she had not been home since the day she went
on extended leave of absence.  The fact that there weren't any made her
feel 
a little odd.  It was practically routine to have a message from her 
mother and at least one from Mulder, telling her the latest
developments 
on a case, asking her to autopsy a body...obviously neither kind of 
message was to be expected now.  Still, the minor detail served to
remind 
her just how great a change her life had gone through recently.  
  Scully felt like calling someone, to talk over the drastic turns her 
life had taken over the last couple of months, but realised she didn't 
really have anyone to call.  She had pretty much lost contact with all
of 
her friends over the last couple of years.  It had become increasingly 
difficult to converse with the people she knew; there was no easy way
to smoothly follow a conversation on how well her friends' children
were 
doing at school, what had happened at the last PTA meeting, who was
having an affair with whom etc. with details of her last escape from a
liver-eating mutant, or what to do if you're ever confronted with a
identity-morphing 
alien bounty hunter. 
  On impulse, Scully picked up the phone and dialed Mulder's number,
but 
only let it ring a couple of times before hanging up.  She didn't feel 
like another conversation of avoiding how each other was really
feeling.  Sighing, Scully stood up and headed for her bedroom, deciding
sleep was 
the best course of action for her.
  Changed into a comfortable pair of cotton pajamas, Scully nestled
down 
in the covers, expecting her tired body to finally seize the
opportunity 
and pull her rapidly down into sleep.  Her mind, however, had other
ideas.  
  Now that she had a brief respite from worry about Charles, Scully
began 
to ponder about her future.  Recently, after the inferno had taken the 
X-Files seemingly forever out of reach, and with separation from Mulder

looming, forced by the Board of Inquiry into the Dallas affair, Scully
had planned to re-enter the medical profession.  Realistically,
however, as 
she had told Mulder, she could no longer be a doctor.  The things she
had 
seen had put that life behind her forever.  Turning over for the
umpteenth time, Scully pursued this line of thought.  As unlikely as
success with such a combination seemed to be, the X-Files had
interwoven themselves 
irrevocably into Scully's life, for better or for worse; broadening her
horizons, where before she could see that she had been narrow-minded by

the careful shaping of convention.  Mulder had a lot to do with that
too,
 she knew.  Instead of taking offense at her determinedly opposite and
scientific opinions, he had savoured them as a challenge, and in turn
had 
shown her how to look beyond the confining walls of conventional
wisdom.  
  Now, with the X-Files seemingly further than ever out of reach,
Scully 
felt adrift for one of the first times in her life.  She had not been 
prepared for how large a wound their loss would inflict.  The first
time 
the X-Files had been shut down hadn't affected her in this way.  In
fact,
 it had really felt like any kind of separation at all; perhaps because

Mulder and she still managed to work together, despite Mulder getting a

new partner in the form of Alex Krycek...Scully shivered.  Another
reason
 the original closure had seemed surreal is because she hadn't had to 
endure it long.  Krycek, Duane Barry and that desiccated, tar-ingesting

son of a bitch had seen to that.  Scully pushed away the disturbing
half-
memories of her abduction.  She dreaded to think what her mom, Missy,
her brothers had gone through.  Mulder, too.  She still remembered how
haggard
 he had looked when he had come to visit her on her awakening out of
her 
coma.  Well, she was having a taste of that now.  Always before, while 
perhaps not knowing exactly what the other was doing, it was still a 
tandem action; each willing to defend each others actions as their own,
 even if privately not entirely approving of them.  Scully missed the 
unique bond they had.  Mulder was quite simply the best friend she had 
ever had, and she knew him better than she had ever known any lover.  
The unspoken feelings between them ran very deeply.  Mulder had
literally 
gone to the ends of the earth for her, and the action had not surprised

her; because she knew she would do the same for him.
  Scully forcibly yanked her thoughts back onto practical matters. For 
the first time, she came to a crossroads at which she had no idea which

way to turn. Although it was in the family, Scully could not envisage 
herself joining the Navy under any circumstances.  After being a
doctor, 
and FBI agent, what?  
  Somehow, these thoughts reminded her of something Mulder, that is,
Eddie
 Van Blundht, had asked her once.  "How different did your life end up 
being from the one you pictured in high school?"  In high school, Dana 
Scully saw her life's path as straight as an arrow.  Medical school,
 marriage, eventually a family...funny the tricks life played on you,
the
 way getting what you want could sometimes change you along the way to
the
 point where you realize that's not really what you want any more...Van

Blundht had had surprising insight.  Or maybe it just seemed that way 
after most of a bottle of red wine.  Her face flushed slightly as her 
heart rate quickened.  She remembered "Mulder" leaning across to kiss 
her...her practical inner protests beaten down by the feeling of 
inevitability that it had had...and the purely feminine part of her
nature that had quietly exclaimed _yes!_ in satisfaction...and then
Mulder had burst 
in, his features registering shock as he took in the scene, seeing the 
fake Mulder just about to make the move on her, and Scully in no way or

form protesting.  Scully had quickly pushed Van Blundht away in
disgust, 
and watched in horror as he morphed back into his true self.  
  Scully's cheeks burned slightly at the memory.  Mulder, to her
relief, 
had spared her feelings by never referring to the incident.  Still, she

couldn't help wondering what he had thought as he had burst in on such
a 
scene.  She thought back to the much more recent memory of what had 
happened in the hallway outside of Mulder's apartment...this time it
had 
been Mulder; there was no question.  Scully remembered the feeling of
electricity that was palpable as they gave in to instinct, those
moments 
when Mulder reached down to kiss her had seemed to last a lifetime,
each 
slowly measured heartbeat pounding out a slow, implacable rhythm...cut 
short suddenly by that sudden sting on the back of her neck.  Although 
fuzzily, Scully could still remember the sound of disappointment in 
Mulder's voice "...it must have gotten in your shirt." as he ran his 
fingers over her hair almost unconsciously.  She remembered her body 
wrenched with her own feelings of gut disappointment.  She didn't
remember
 much after that...Mulder's expression quickly changing to
concern...him 
laying her on the floor of the hallway...the frantic tone of his voice
as
 he spoke to the 911 operator...and the next thing she remembered was 
waking up in unbelievable cold, Mulder commanding her to breathe...
  They hadn't yet had a real chance to talk about what had happened, or

almost happened, anyway, in Mulder's hallway.  The earth-shattering 
sequence of events that had followed quickly on its heels had left no 
time for such discussion.  In fact, Scully hadn't had a chance to talk
to 
anyone about her recent experiences yet, and she felt the need to talk 
them over with someone, to help put them in perspective.  She needed to

talk to somebody objective, who could help her to see a path through
her 
current difficulties.  Scully decided to visit her FBI counsellor, whom

she had seen occasionally since the Donnie Pfaster case.  
  Now that Scully had a course of action to follow, the turmoil of her 
thoughts gradually drifted away to be replaced by a deep sleep,
untroubled
 for once by nightmares or dreams.


Mulder walked down the hallway of the FBI building, towards the new 
X-Files office.  He hadn't seen it yet; somehow it hadn't been a place
he 
was too keen to hang around now that it belonged to someone else.  
  The X-Files office was no longer located in the basement.  Perhaps, 
reflected Mulder, now that "they" had agents they could control in
charge, they no longer needed to make working on the X-Files as
inconvenient as 
possible.
  There were hardly any people in yet - not surprising given the hour
of 
the morning - and Mulder heard the echo of his footsteps fading away as
he
 came to a halt outside of the new home of the X-Files.  Taking a
quick, disgusted look at the two names emblazoned there, he opened the
door and 
stepped inside without bothering to knock.
  Closing the door behind him, Mulder surveyed the empty office, and
had 
to restrain the urge to yawn.  "How can they work like this?" he
pondered 
aloud.  The office looked just like any other FBI office, only neater. 
The two desks sat at exact angles from each other, and were mirror
images.  Items sat at ninety-degree angles to each other on top of the
desks, and the paperclips had been sorted into different compartments
of the desktidy by size.  The walls were completely barren of any form
of decoration, official or otherwise.  
  Mulder crossed over to the filing cabinets and opened the first
drawer.  It was already nearly full, despite all the previous X-Files
having been destroyed in the fire.  Choosing a file at random, Mulder
flipped it open.  Inside, a repeat abductee case was detailed, and
Mulder recognised the name of the victim as one of the more credible he
had come across.  Mulder was surprised to see that the file had CLOSED
stamped over it, and flipped forward to the concluding report.
  "...it is therefore obvious that Mrs. Oppenheimer is suffering from
some kind of delusion; a delusion that in my belief, has been
encouraged in no small way by the previous visits of Special Agents Fox
Mulder and Dana Scully, previously assigned to the X-Files division. 
Their visits have given weight to the fantasy that this unfortunate
woman has created for herself, which will make it even more difficult
for her to reject this fiction and make her way back to reality.  There
is nothing in this case to warrant further investigation by the FBI;
and as Mrs. Oppenheimer has voluntarily entered a mental health care
institution, this case is now deemed to be closed."
  Unsurprisingly, this narrow-minded report was the work of Special
Agent Spender.  Mulder pulled out several other files at random, and
flipping through them, saw that the majority had been classified as
closed.  Angrily, Mulder slammed the filing drawer shut and whipped
around.  The wastepaper basket by Fowley's desk caught his eye and he
strode over and kicked it over; then stomped on it until the
unfortunate basket was rendered unusable.
  His anger slightly sated by this display of violence, Mulder stood
and idly examined the desktop.  Within the neatly labeled "In" tray, he
saw a file.  Not pausing even for a fraction of a second, Mulder picked
it up, and began reading through it.  Absorbed in what he read, he
unconsciously drifted around to the other side of the desk and sat
down, and then put his feet up on the desk and crossed them, as had
been his wont.  
  The file intrigued him.  A young woman, Jessica Maitland, had been
arrested for attacking a perfect stranger at the airport where he
worked.  The victim, John Salinger, claimed Maitland approached him as
he started his early morning shift in the baggage handling area,
somehow managing to evade security.  Maitland, who Salinger said he had
never met, apologised for what she was about to do, and then calmly
drew a knife and attacked him.  There had apparently been no frenzy to
the attack, just an unrelenting effort to kill him, and Salinger
claimed that Maitland seemed to have unusual strength.  
  Luckily for the victim, a couple of workers arriving earlier than
usual managed to prise Maitland off Salinger before she was able to do
any serious damage.  As soon as she was restrained, Maitland seemed to
fall into an unresponsive stupor.  
  On being taken into custody, Maitland was examined extensively by
psychologists and doctors, but they were unable to provide an
explanation.  To muddy the waters even further, her friends and family
described Maitland as a likeable, gentle-natured girl who attended
church regularly.  There was no family of mental illness whatsoever. 
  Maitland had only spoken once since her arrest.  On being questioned,
she remained unresponsive to all questions except when she was asked
why she attacked Salinger.  Her reply was:
  "He must be killed to save the innocent."
  This remark had led to a tentative diagnosis of multiple personality
disorder compounded by religious mania. The girl was admitted into a
high security psychiatric hospital for further observation.
  From which she disappeared.

  Until she attacked Salinger again.

  Somehow, Maitland had managed to leave the hospital grounds without
raising alarm or being caught on any of the numerous security cameras,
and had made her way to the hospital where Salinger had been admitted
with stab wounds, again managing not to be recorded on any security
camera footage.  Maitland then attempted to stifle Salinger with a
pillow.  Luck was again on Salinger's side as a nurse making his night
rounds surprised Maitland, and she was again restrained, and taken back
to the psychiatric hospital where she was now being watched around the
clock.
  "You've made yourself right at home, I see."  Mulder jumped slightly
and he looked up to see Fowley standing in front of the desk.
  Standing up, Mulder tossed the file back into the "In" tray and
walked around to the other side of the desk, allowing Fowley to sit
down.    Mulder shrugged.  "Old habits die hard." he said
unemotionally.  
  Unconsciously, Fowley straightened the file Mulder had just tossed
into the tray.  Looking up at him, her face carefully devoid of
expression (much like his own), "Why don't you take a seat?" she
offered.
  "Thanks, but I don't intend on staying long." Mulder replied.  He
wanted to make sure she knew that his reaction to her yesterday wasn't
just the bitter offspring of a passing mood, and he also didn't want
her thinking that their...past was going to let her skip along a
yellow-brick road to forgiveness.  In fact, the fact that they used to
be married made Mulder even angrier, as it added the sting of betrayal.
 Not that he wasn't used to that.
  "Well, I guess you're wondering why I asked you here," began Fowley,
looking to Mulder's face for confirmation.  Mulder remained impassive,
not moving a muscle.  Clearing her throat, Fowley continued.  "It's no
secret that Agent Spender isn't as...open-minded as a position in this
department would seem to warrant.  I'm sure you could relate to that."
She said, quickly looking up at Mulder's face again.  Still, his face
betrayed no reaction.  "Well, anyway, Spender's attitude has caused
some serious PR problems for the FBI, offending people left, right and
centre.  Not just abductees, but scientists, doctors, and, shall we
say, well-to-do people who have leanings toward the paranormal. 
Unfortunately for him, some of these people have more connections than
he seems to.  The word is that despite his patronage by someone high in
the levels of power, he is on his way out.  I can't say I'm not
relieved.  I think the only reason he used his connections to get this
position was some macho power trip he wanted to have over you."  Fowley
looked questioningly at Mulder, then continued after the half-expected
lack of reaction.  "However, Spender is not the only one
with...connections.  I've made quite a few myself over the last few
years.  What would you say to coming to work again on the X-Files?  You
and me.  It would be just like old times; two like minds striving
towards the same goal."  She smiled.  This should get some reaction.  
  Mulder turned and paced slowly in front of her desk a couple of
times.  Then,  "What about Scully?" he asked, eyes boring intently into
hers.  
  This had not been the reaction Diana had intended.  "Unfortunately,
Fox, the Bureau is stretching its generosity to the breaking point in
still having an X-Files division at all.  They certainly don't see the
need to "waste" any more than two agents on it.  Besides, between you
and I, we have all the experience required; and like I said, we are two
like minds."  Fowley leaned back in her chair.  "I sometimes wonder,
Fox, if I'd stayed...imagine how much further down the track we'd
be...proof positive of colonization, of secret government UFO tests..."
 Fowley's voice faded away as she saw Mulder's face remain impassive,
his eyes dark, and revealing nothing.  Looking straight into her eyes
he said, "Diana, if you had stayed, I would be in some asylum
somewhere.  They would have locked me up and thrown away the key...The
only reason I am here today, and not certified in some secure mental
institution is because they made the mistake of giving me Scully as a
partner.  They thought she would discredit me, but instead she saved
me, rationalized me...I was halfway down to hell with my own personal
demons escorting me happily along the way.  Do you know how many
half-baked, ecto-plasm swilling, gyro-probing tales I would have
swallowed whole, just because I want to believe?  Scully too wants to
believe, although it took me a while to realise it...but her scientific
creed keeps her honest...keeps _me_ honest.  And sane.  And with all
her scepticism, I know her faith in my integrity, her trust has never
wavered for a moment.  In return, I can only give her mine...my
complete and utter trust.  Something I could never give to you."  
  Diana sat in silence, holding Mulder's gaze.  "It was her wasn't it?"
 she asked him suddenly.  "She was the one you were thinking about when
Gibson read your mind..." It was not a question, but for the first
time, Mulder's eyes showed doubt and his posture became less sure. 
Diana dropped her gaze and shook her head, laughing a mirthless laugh. 
"And to think that I thought it was me...So tell me, does she know that
you're in love with her?"   Mulder stared unblinkingly at her in a cold
silence for a full minute before answering.  "I believe I've wasted
enough time here today.  Thanks for the offer, but I'm going to have to
refuse."  With that, Mulder quickly turned and left the office,
slamming the door slightly as he left.  Diana's expression was
unreadable as she watched him leave.