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   TITLE:    Friends (1 of 3)   
   AUTHOR: Wylfcynne   
   E-MAIL ADDRESS: Wylfcynne@aol.com   
   SPOILERS: this is a post-ep for Beyond the Sea   
   RATING: PG-13 CLASSIFICATION: Story.   
   SUMMARY: Mulder is still flat on his back recovering from   
   the gunshot wound.  We wouldn't want Scully to be bored,   
   would we?   
   DISCLAIMER: They certainly aren't mine; if they were, they'd   
   be having more fun, and I wouldn't have to save up for a new   
   car! Mulder, Scully, Skinner and the rest belong to FOX   
   Networks and 1013; I'm just borrowing them for a little fun   
   and games...I promise I'll bring them back on time and   
   unharmed... and they won't remember a thing...   
   FEEDBACK: The Wylf howls at the moon for feedback...   
   DEDICATION: Overall, all my X Files work is dedicated to   
   my writing partner, Ravenwald, without whom I would still be   
   doing all this using a ballpoint pen, who introduced me to   
   fandom on the 'Net, and awakened the Muse, who had been   
   sleeping for a VERY long time.  This piece is for the Sisters   
   Spooky, for mink roses and homemade candy, nifty   
   Christmas cards and fresh-burned CDs, for grins and   
   giggles and healing candlelight...for being the sisters I never   
   had in Real Life.   
      
   = = = = = =   
      
   "I'm afraid.  I'm afraid to believe."   
      
   Mulder moved his IV line away; the movement she had   
   made, to come and sit this close, thrilled him in ways that his   
   body was currently in no condition to notice.  Her words   
   stunned him; he could not imagine her being truly afraid.   
      
   "You couldn't face that fear?" he asked hesitantly.  "Even if it   
   meant never knowing what your father wanted to tell you?"   
      
   She smiled that amazing smile that always made his toes   
   curl. Right now, he couldn't even feel his toes, but he blamed   
   that, and his utter inability to engage her in witty repartee, on   
   the morphine flowing so lazily through his bloodstream from   
   that very IV that she had nearly pulled out of his arm.   
      
   That was his best clue that she was severely shaken.  Earlier   
   in the week he had seen her scold two different nurses for   
   sloppy technique and thoughtlessness.   
      
   She let her eyes drop.  "But I do know."   
      
   He was awestruck.  She looked so utterly serene that the   
   only analogy he could find was a portrait of a medieval   
   Madonna that he had seen in Oxford.   
      
   "How?" he had to ask, helpless before her composure.   
      
   She gave the impression of a shrug without actually moving   
   that much.  "He was my father."   
      
   Mulder was actually grateful to hear the ever-so-slight break   
   in her voice; it reassured him that she was really human and   
   not an angel.   
      
   Then the words she had said registered, and he could only   
   stare at her, touch her shoulder in rote response, speechless   
   before such faith.   
      
   She was so totally confident in her father's love that she did   
   not need his message from The Other Side.  Mulder had no   
   personal referent for that.  His own relationship with his father   
   might superficially have resembled Scully's with her father,   
   but qualitatively they were obviously worlds apart.  If their   
   roles had been reversed here, he would have declined to   
   hear his father's message; he would have known it would be   
   scathing and recriminating.   
      
   The silence between them was as comfortable as always; it   
   reassured him that even if she thought he had been an idiot   
   to get shot like this, she was probably going to forgive him   
   for it.   
      
   So he was dismayed when she stood up, avoiding his eyes,   
   and brushed at her suit, straightening it.   
      
   "I should go," she said softly.  "You need to rest."   
      
   "I've been asleep for days," he protested weakly.  "Don't go   
   so soon..."   
      
   She smiled at him gently.  "You need to rest, Mulder."   
      
   Then he remembered his plans.  "Can you do me a favor,   
   first?"   
      
   She was puzzled.  "Possibly.  What did you have in mind?"   
      
   "Sign those papers on the table?"   
      
   She moved over there and read the cover sheet swiftly.  Then   
   she turned to face him, frowning.  "Mulder, are you serious?   
   You want to grant me your Medical Power of Attorney?"   
      
   He nodded, studying her expression desperately, trying to   
   read her, to understand her.   
      
   "Why?  Your parents are easily reachable..."   
      
   He shuddered.  "They're on there if you're not available; I just   
   want you on there as the primary.  My father and I haven't   
   spoken civilly to one another for years, Scully.  My mom likes   
   to chemically deaden her personal pain.  I can't really trust   
   either of them.  I know I can trust you."   
      
   She was studying him as intently as he was staring at her.   
   Time seemed to stretch... and he had time to wonder what   
   would happen if it broke.  Then she picked up the pen.   
   Suddenly he could breathe again.  "Thanks, Scully.  Wait till I   
   get a witness in here."  He pushed the call button.  The shift   
   nurse hurried in.   
      
   "Mr Mulder?  What's wrong?"   
      
   He grinned at her weakly.  "Nuthin', Kesta.  She agreed;   
   would you witness it?  And then log it in my chart?"   
      
   She smiled at him.  "I certainly will.  And congratulations.  I   
   think you're going to be very happy together."   
      
   "I know someone who can treat you for those delusions of   
   yours, Kesta," he retorted.  But he watched them both   
   carefully as Scully signed the form and then Kesta added her   
   signature under Scully's.  Kesta dated it, and then moved to   
   the counter on the left side of his cubicle.  There she opened   
   a large looseleaf notebook.  She logged the incident and   
   tucked one copy of the form into a pocket inside the front   
   cover.  She gave the original back to Scully.   
      
   Mulder let himself go limp with relief, sighed and closed his   
   eyes.   
      
   "Mulder?"  Scully sounded worried.   
      
   "'M okay," he slurred.   
      
   "You're exhausted," she observed.  "Go to sleep.  I'll be back   
   in a few hours."   
      
   He could not fight it; she was correct.  He was barely aware   
   of it when she took the control and laid the bed out   
   not-quite-flat, and then tucked the blankets in snugly around   
   him.   
      
   He never heard her leave.   
      
                                 *****   
      
   Dana Scully lay in bed in her hotel, still marveling at what had   
   happened.  He seemed awed that she had not needed to   
   hear Ahab's message.  His relationship with his own father   
   obviously contributed to his inability to truly understand the   
   one she had had with Ahab.   
      
   She wished, suddenly, that she had invited Mulder to dinner   
   that last day.  She would have loved to have watched Ahab   
   and Mulder stalk stiff-legged around one another, sizing one   
   another up, evaluating one another's strength and worth.   
      
   "I think you would have liked Mulder, Ahab," she whispered.   
   "I know he would have made it difficult, but you would have   
   liked him."   
      
   Satisfied, she settled back into the pillow.  She was just   
   dropping off to sleep when the phone rang.   
      
   It was the hospital.  She was dressed and in the car again in   
   seven minutes.   
      
   *****   
      
   Four days later, Dana Scully was exhausted but cautiously   
   pleased.   
      
   The phone call had been from Kesta, who had sworn that   
   Mulder had waited until she was safely away before   
   revealing a raging infection in his leg.  His fever had spiked   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)