~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm lying in bed holding her hand. Her skin is warm and
silky, and her smile is utterly dazzling. I am floating,
buoyed up by this slice of vitality, this moment of knowing
that completion is merely at arm's length.

She is safe and secure, right beside me. I feel drawn closer
to her with every tense thread of my being, so that her
delicate fingers might weave me into her life. A fiery
auburn halo surrounds her face as she tilts her head. I wrap
my arms around her and pull her close, because this time
will never come again. Every second is invaluable. Her
warm breath dances across my stubbled cheek. I feel a slow
ache low in my pelvis, and her eyes are lit with the same
impetus. An urgent question shoves its way past primitive
limbic urges to the forefront of my mind. I must know her
feelings, gain a sort of permission, although I barely
possess the faculties to speak right now.

"Scully, is this forever?"

She parts her lips to reply. As I search her eyes, we meet.
For an instant we breathe the same air, and I blissfully let
myself be assimilated. She is mint and citrus and searching
taste buds. She controls my next gasp, and she holds my
willing mouth hostage until my lungs burn and my head is
swimming. My vision becomes hazy.

I could live here for eternity, in this surrealistic snapshot of
perfection, and melt into her. I offer her my life, fractured
and worn as it is, and she gives me this in return. She is
amazing, and I have the incredible power to make her
happy.

As I begin to feel the rush, the exodus of blood away from
my brain, she pulls back. Her eyes reflect fear. We are
falling now, hopelessly entwined together. A dull wave of
motion sickness steals my sense of orientation, and I am
suffocating. The pressure leaves my lungs. I can't breathe at
all. Dead weight settles slowly within my chest, and my
muscles lunge for air.

"Damn it, Mulder, don't give up now!"

Suddenly, time slips out of its trance and springs forward
like a trap. My grip on Scully's hand becomes more
tenuous. I sense myself growing weaker. The force is
pulling her away from me. She looks frightened, and I have
no means to console her. God, this is so sickeningly
familiar.

Time is driving a wedge between us. Scully screams as it
tugs on her. We're barely able to maintain our fragile
connection as Chronos flaunts his power. I lie still, bone-
weary and sore. She needs me, but I can offer nothing.

"Mulder...my God, what's happening to you?"

Scully's eyes grow with alarm, and I feel her hand turn
cold. She reaches out and touches me, rubbing her thumb
across my cheek. I bring my free hand up to cover hers, and
my fingertips brush against my face. I explore, finding new
wrinkles, bumps, lose folds of sagging skin, crow's feet,
and withered, papery surfaces. Scully's creamy complexion
has not changed. It is not her being pulled away, but me. I
have grown old and left her behind. My heart sinks, and my
hands fall empty to my sides. The force continues to draw
me in. I become immensely dizzy and hot.

"Mulder..."

The sheets beneath me stick to my back and legs. I fight to
raise my head. I'm naked, pale gray, my skin draped over
protrusions of bone. Scully pushes my head back and stares
into my eyes.

"Breathe, damn it!"

But my lungs are caved in, useless. I want to tell her that I
love her, but I can only gurgle. My heart is slowing, and I
marvel at the general lack of pain. Scully presses her ear to
my emaciated chest. It is slightly disappointing, that I must
whither away, that I will sink quietly into the darkness.
Scully touches my throat.

"Oh, no you don't."

She turns and swings a leg over me, so that she is
straddling my hips. I close my eyes briefly, trying to blink
away the encroaching fog. I bite my lip until it bleeds. Even
as I fade, I want her badly. She winds her hands together
and shoves rhymically on my chest in a futile attempt at
resuscitation. How lucky I am that my doctor is the
pathologist who never says die.

She leans forward and seals her lips against mine once
again. Her warm breath catches in my throat. It has
nowhere to go. She sits up and continues to drive my heart,
pumping sluggish blood through my body. The black edges
are crawling in on me, even as Scully works frantically to
salvage what precious time I have. I'm not sure why,
because I'm no good to her now. I am tired, beaten and
helpless, yet she does not stop. My chest cracks beneath the
frenetic pumping of her hands. She shoves through my
shattered ribcage. There is a gaping hole.

Scully removes her hands and leans close to say something,
but I hear only the roar of death. As my vision is
enveloped, I drink in every detail of her. I gulp one last
time, and she kisses me deeply. I close my eyes. Warm
water drops to my face one, two...three times. It runs into
my mouth, and I can taste the bitterness of the moment.

Oblivion leaves me with only a tiny, round field of vision,
and at last, I see her rest one hand over the empty gap in
my chest and plant a kiss on my lips. Then I am sucked into
the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I snap to consciousness with the oddest sensation. It is a
panic, but I can't recall what prompted it. I float largely
carefree, satisfied with the fuzzy notion that all is going
well, and I have only to sleep to keep it that way. As I drift
back into the haze, a niggling thought enters my mind:
there is something important I should be considering. No,
some*one*.

Scully.

And then I know what has happened, how everything has
gone horribly wrong. The last I remember, we were both
deteriorating, fallen victim to a wormhole created by the
military. She looked horrible, not only as a result of the
rapid aging, but because of the vacant gaze of hopelessness
in her eyes. I have to go back to her. This realization seems
to dissipate the thick cloud of false contentment in which I
was hiding. Feeling creeps into my arms and legs, sending
pinpricks and signals of pain to my fingertips. The loud
clamor in my ears resolves to the sound of air whistling
through a small opening. There is a weight on my chest,
although it still seems to be rising and falling.

The scents of bleach and plastic assault my sinuses. I have
the vague impression of being inflated. My body feels
puffy, and the air is a powerful cocktail, pulling me slowly
out of the gray drudge of unconsciousness. I can feel a
cannula in my nose, providing extra oxygen. I try to move
my fingers. They seem to meet resistance, like swimming
in thick gel.

A dull pain grows inside me, centering in my flanks and my
fevered brain. I groan, but I can't manage to form words
just yet. I hesitate to open my eyes, as the dark claws of the
nightmare are still lodged firmly in my mind. What if it is
real? What if I've failed her, and we are now both alone?
This fear grips me for some time. No matter what the truth
is, though, I must face it. This is one thing I have learned
for certain. It does me no good to ignore and pretend
otherwise.

My left eye pries open, and then the right. I see Scully
scrutinizing my chart, her eyebrows furrowed together.
Suddenly, I remember. I've been here, at Bethesda Naval
Hospital, for three days of which I'm aware. Endless
dialysis, IV fluids, hormones, and blood tests have
improved my prematurely aged appearance, but I still feel
damned old. My vision a little blurry, but I can tell that
Scully's wearing a hospital gown. They must be detaining
her for observation, I guess. Her face is drawn and a bit
hollow-looking. The room behind her is blue, white, and
steel. Scully isn't the radiant savior of my dream, but she is
still beautiful to me, not to mention how adorable she looks
in her gown. I watch surreptitiously for a while, and then
she finally notices that I'm awake.

"Hey there, sleepyhead."

Scully smiles at me, and instantly her entire face brightens.

"How are you feeling?"

Her words are quiet and tinged with the slow inflection of
relief.

"I..."

My throat rasps horribly, and I fall into a coughing fit. She
produces a cup of ice slivers. A couple of chips slide into
my mouth and soothe the dryness.

"I feel really sore and...puffy."

"Yeah. You're a real Michelin Man," she says dismissively.
Then, with more concern, "How bad is the pain? I can
probably sweet-talk another round of morphine for you..."

"It's, uh, manageable," I lie.

I say this only because I know she won't believe it for a
second. My face has been set in a wince since I woke up.

"Where is it the worst?"

"Um..." I wait for the sensations to resolve, "my back's
killing me. And my head."

I groan and roll it to one side for emphasis. Scully pats my
chest, where her hand has been resting. I flash back to the
frightening image of the gaping wound there. A few
uncomfortable, silent seconds pass. Time to change focus.

"So, how are you feeling, good-lookin'?"

I waggle my eyebrows at her, and she blushes, hiding the
lingering paleness in her face.

"I feel like shit, Mulder. It's hard work keeping up this
look, you know. I do it all for you."

Scully stands up and circles, holding the corners of her
hospital gown like a runway model's dress. Her standard-
issue paper booties make shuffling noises. The view when
she turns nearly causes my heart monitor alarm to sound.

"It's the latest fashion. These gowns are all the rage in
ICU."

I smile, probably in a goofy way.

"I can't wait to get out of these hospital duds," I complain,
very aware of their particular limitations.

"That could be arranged," she says with a decidedly guilty,
pensive look.

"Hey, now."

My leg jerks, pulling on the sheet.

"Don't get so excited, Mulder. We have an audience."

"And that bothers you?"

I am, of course, aware that our room is far from private, but
it's fun to push her buttons. Just to prove the point, a young
man in blue scrubs pokes his head in the door from the
main hallway. He looks around for a moment, finally
focusing on Scully. She waves at him, and he promptly
nods and disappears. Very strange. She must be up to
something. My leg jerks again and starts itching.

"This is getting annoying."

"I know, but it's a common symptom of kidney disease.
You'll have to tolerate it until your renal output is back up
to par."

I sigh.

"I wish everyone would quit discussing my renal output. It
puts a cramp in a guy's style."

Scully pats my hand in mock sympathy. The intercom
speaker over my head comes to life, spewing forth the
customary assault of static that is indicative of an
inexperienced operator. I seal my hands over my ears and
frown.

"Someone should pull the plug on that thing."

Scully is bemused. I can tell by the raised eyebrow.

"Just wait, grouchy. I arranged for a surprise."

"Oh, really?" I ask, intrigued.

"I think the hormones are getting to you. I *told* Dr.
Laskos that the estrogen was a bad idea..."

"Ha. Ha."

Just then, the static falls silent. I tentatively expose my ears,
awaiting whatever "surprise" Scully has seen fit to bestow
upon me. There is only silence. I glance at her suspiciously,
and she just grins, looking entirely too proud of herself.

"What the..."

Scully presses her index finger against my lips, my cue to
shut the fuck up. The speaker overhead begins to emit a
soft string of familiar chords, and then the introductory
lyrics follow. I am impressed. No, shocked.

"Ssscully...how did you manage to tahk dem into pphlaying
the Beadles? I try to ask around her fingertip. She moves it
away.

"It wasn't too difficult. It's Sunday, the CO is gone, and
we're the only...guests."

"Sergeant Pepper's is a great album. You kick ass."

"I know it."

She sits on the edge of my bed and carefully reclines next
to me, rocking slightly back and forth to the eclectic music.

"Mulder?" she nearly whispers.

"Hm?"

"Please don't do this to me again. You scared the shit out of
me."

Her plea reaches me, but it is distorted in my mind by the
disturbing idea of becoming only a burden to her. Perhaps I
already have.

"I can't very well promise not to grow old, can I?"

"Hm..."

She glances down at the dialysis needles in my arm.

"Just promise me that you won't hurry the process."

Scully swallows hard, her eyelids fluttering. I feel like dirt
now for causing her this pain. I search for the magic words
that will undo the damage, but I have to settle for my gut
reaction.

"All I can promise is that I will jealously value every
minute of your company."

I cringe at my cheesy wording, but she smiles and snuggles
against my shoulder. Fortunately for me, women are
suckers for cheese. The door opens again, and the same
man in scrubs interrupts my hard-won moment of Scully
contact. Then I get an idea. I motion him over and whisper
my request into his ear. He smiles and shakes his head, and
he disappears behind the door again. Scully sits up and
shoots me an inquisitive, brows-knitted expression.
Turnabout is fair play, and I grin smugly.

"Wha..."

"Wait for it," I instruct, feeling entirely too clever.
"Um...do you suppose that I could stand up for a little bit?"

She surveys my various medical equipment connections,
still dubious of my intentions.

"I think that's doable. Are you sure that you're up to it?"

Am I ever.

"Sure."

Scully helps me maneuver the IV pole to her side of the bed
and untangles my dialysis tubing. The large, gray machine
continues to whirr, so I sit up and start to swing my legs
over the side of the bed.

"Hold your horses, cowboy," she says, stopping my
progress.

She points down to the side of the bed, near the foot. Points
to the damned urine bag.

"Oh, yeah. That."

I fiddle with the clip for a few seconds before Scully
decides to take pity on me and remove the bag from the
frame. She holds it up.

"Your bag, not mine."

Fair enough. I accept it from her and try not to show my
disgust at the warmth of the contents. It's nothing I can't
handle, though. I loop some of the catheter tubing in the
same hand to keep it from snagging. What a pain in the...

"Okay. I think you're all set."

She supports my other elbow and peers at me in that
intimidating way as I wobble to my feet. I am dizzy for
only a moment, although my legs are incredibly weak. I let
Scully support a little of my weight, because I don't want to
wear out too quickly. I'm beginning to wonder if my plan is
going to ever take shape when the first verse of "Getting
Better" is interrupted. The irony is not lost on me.

After a brief interval, a polka-esque, tuba laden beat begins.
I wrap my right arm around Scully's waist and hold up my
left in an invitation. She laughs in spite of herself, placing
her hand on my wrist rather than touch the bag I'm still
holding. Her other hand alights on the back of my neck. I
shuffle my feet back and forth on the cold tile floor, and
she follows my lead with her paper booties as Paul
McCartney serenades us. I clear my throat, summon my
fortitude, and vocalize my concerns.

"When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now..."

I am so incredibly out of tune that I can't continue. We both
have a snicker at my expense. As we sway from side to
side, Scully rests her head on my chest. We continue to
dance slowly to the deceptively desperate request for
commitment. Or perhaps merely reassurance.

"Mulder..."

"Hm?"

"We're being watched."

I turn us both so that I can see the door and adjoining
hallway. There are indeed five people standing at the far
end of the room, watching us, their tasks momentarily
suspended.

"It's okay."

For once, I really mean it. I close my eyes and lower my
chin on the top of Scully's head. I inhale the sweet scent of
her hair and instantly forget that we are not the only people
on the face of the earth.

"Send me a postcard, drop me a line stating point of view,"
I sing, if the term could be applied. "Indicate precisely what
you mean to say, yours sincerely wasting away. Give me
your answer, fill in a form, mine forever more. Will you
still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty four?"

My voice cracks, but this time it's not due to my lack of
musical skill. Scully's muffled voice finds me.

"Forever, Mulder. Forever."

We continue to dance long after the music has fallen silent.

The X-Files and related entities belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox. I write only for the profit of feedback, not money.