From: claypotato@netscape.net   
      
   BREATHING ROOM   
      
   by Rae Lynn   
   (claypotato_AT_netscape.net)   
      
   RATING: G   
      
   CLASSIFICATION: V   
      
   SPOILERS: "Brand X"   
      
   KEYWORDS: Post-episode.   
      
   ARCHIVE: Please inquire within.   
      
   SUMMARY: Post-“Brand X” Skinner POV of Mulder and Scully.   
      
   AUTHOR'S NOTES: Just when I thought I was out, they pull me right back in.   
      
   DISCLAIMER: All characters contained within are the property of Chris   
   Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions.  No profit will result from this   
   story and no copyright infringement is intended.   
      
   __________________   
      
   I'm about to enter his hospital room when the sight of them from the   
   doorway makes me pause.  Scully is leaning in close to him, her hands on   
   his arm, speaking softly in his direction; something about "rest" and   
   "home."  I can see Mulder's jaw working like he's trying to nod, but   
   it's obvious from the glassy tint to his eyes that he's only half-aware   
   of what Scully is saying.  Even from the doorway I can hear the sound of   
   his breathing: harsh and guttural, matching the dip and rise of his   
   chest.  They still have him on oxygen, but it doesn't seem to be doing   
   much good.  With great effort his eyes sluggishly track over to me, and   
   I can feel Scully tense as her head swivels around slowly to follow his   
   gaze.  I'm surprised to see her visibly relax as she realizes it's me.   
      
   Without taking her hands off Mulder's arm, Scully half rises out of her   
   seat, jerking her head towards the door in a gesture I can only assume   
   means    
      
   "Mulder, try and get some rest," she says quietly towards the prone man   
   in the hospital bed.  Mulder's eyes are already half-closed, but his   
   lips curve at what I can guess is a familiar refrain.   
      
   Outside in the hallway, Scully seems rigid, tense, as if she is holding   
   her own breath to store it up for Mulder.   
      
   "I thought you were his doctor," she explains.  "They keep popping in to   
   marvel at his recovery and then increase all his meds.  Mulder's in no   
   condition to argue, but I think you can imagine how much he appreciates   
   that."   
      
   "How's he doing?" I ask.  Scully looks down at the floor.   
      
   "Not as well as I would like," she admits.   
      
   "I thought his lungs were clear."   
      
   "They are.  But he's still having some respiratory difficulties."   
      
   "They've got him on a lot of drugs," I observe, looking past her towards   
   Mulder's door.  The truth is, I've never seen Agent Mulder so docile, so   
   still.  I think back to the dozens of reports Agent Scully has written   
   me during her years with the X-Files smoothly categorizing her partner's   
   outstanding array of hospital stays; obviously Scully has.   
      
   She nods.  "His system was severely compromised.  He's very weak," she   
   says, not disagreeing.  She looks away for a moment.  "It hasn't been a   
   good year for Mulder and hospitals," she says finally.   
      
   The resignation in her tone alarms me.  "Are we talking permanent damage   
   here, Agent Scully?"   
      
   She turns toward me, her response a small sigh.  "Mulder recovers   
   amazingly fast," she says.  "Whether it's in his best interests or not."   
      
   Scully looks tired.  Christ, we all do.  "Go get some sleep," I tell   
   her, in a tone that will brook no argument.  "I'll stay with him."   
      
   She turns from me to the doorway of Mulder's hospital room and back   
   again, looking almost wistful.  "Are you sure, sir?" she says finally.   
   "With any luck, he'll sleep for a few hours now."   
      
   "And so should you," I respond.  "Go."   
      
   Scully looks grateful.  "Thank you," she says.  "His doctor is on call   
   if you need anything from him.  And -- "  She hesitates.  "The nurse can   
   give him a painkiller, if he asks."   
      
   "He won't ask," I say grimly.  I may not know Agent Mulder perhaps as   
   well as I should, but I know him well enough to know that.   
      
   I watch Scully head down the hallway before I enter Mulder's room, where   
   he is not sleeping as Scully predicted.  Rather, he seems to be staring   
   towards the window -- wondering, I imagine, what the weather is like   
   outside.   
      
   I cross the room and raise the blinds to let in the daylight.  "Thanks,"   
   Mulder rasps.  He flicks his eyes over towards the doorway, no doubt   
   thinking of Scully even in her absence.   
      
   "How...is she?" he says, licking his cracked lips.   
      
   "She's worried about you," I respond honestly.  "Your heart nearly   
   stopped, Mulder."   
      
   Mulder nods wearily.  He's heard this before.   
      
   "Tired of...saving my ass," he murmurs.  "First it was...the psych ward.   
     Then ...Chicago.  Then...undead.  New Year's Eve."   
      
   I have no idea what he's talking about, but he continues.  "Snakes...I   
   guess maybe...I didn't pass."   
      
   Snakes?  He must be hallucinating.  Although New Year's Eve sounds   
   familiar...Then with a start I realize what he's doing.  He's   
   cataloguing his injuries -- and those are only the ones serious enough   
   to have required hospitalization and thus wind up on their expense reports.   
      
   "Christ, Mulder," I mutter under my breath.  "Is it like this every time?"   
      
   I hadn't expected that he would hear me, but in response he shakes his   
   head and closes his eyes.  "No," he says.  It comes out in a whisper.  "No."   
      
   A soft noise at the door makes me turn.  It's Agent Scully, of course,   
   looking at Mulder with such undisguised tenderness that I feel like an   
   intruder just being in the same room.   
      
   "I'm sorry, sir," she says quietly.  "I left my purse under the chair   
   and..."   
      
   At the sound of her voice, Mulder's eyes flitter open.   
      
   "Hey, Mulder," Scully says gently.  "I thought I told you to get some   
   sleep."   
      
   "You said...rest," he objects.  "I'm...resting."  His tone indicates his   
   unspoken words: that he's been 'resting' in this North Carolina hospital   
   for longer than he cares to think about.   
      
   "By cataloguing your greatest hits for A.D. Skinner?" she says lightly.   
     "I heard your little rundown."   
      
   I can see Mulder's throat work as he swallows.  Scully steps into the   
   room and takes her place at the other side of Mulder's bed.   
      
   "I never get tired of saving your ass, Mulder," she says quietly.   
      
   "And...you never get tired of -- "   
      
   "Don't go there, pal," Scully interrupts warningly, but for the first   
   time some of the tension seems to leave her, and she allows Mulder to   
   see a small smile.   
      
   Mulder is struggling to keep his eyes open, struggling as he has been   
   for days now to breathe, but he reaches for Scully's hand and entwines   
   his fingers with hers.   
      
   "Stay...with me, Scully," he says.   
      
   Scully's smile is genuine and a little sad.  "Always, Mulder," she says   
   softly.  She rubs his fingers with hers as his breathing begins to even   
   out, some of the wheezing sounds gone from it.   
      
   Scully's eyes are somehow apologetic as she turns to me.  She opens her   
   mouth to speak, but I shake my head, fearing that her voice might   
   disturb any chance Mulder has at peace.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)