Kindred Spirits

Sun Nov 17 1996
I did not write this! I am posting it on behalf of the author. Please
send all comments to: phoenix@globalx.net
---------------------------------------------------------------------

After weeks of fighting with my picky new server, I finally--lost.
Anyway, here's the story, and I'm hoping next time I'll be able
to post it under my name!

Any mail is greatly appreciated, and constructive criticism is also
welcome, although I stress the word constructive. Please reply to
<phoenix@globalx.net> I absolutely *love* mail, and will reply to
you as soon as I possibly can.

I wouldn't try to rate this story, though I will say that it deals
with disturbing things like death, coarse language, and bad
hospital food; but no sex whatsoever. Also, this story is
generally spoilerless.

Disclaimer: These characters are NOT MINE! And although I
would like them to be, it's nice to want things. With the exception
of one Mr. Jon Allen, one nurse named Katharine, and various
other people; Mulder and Scully, and all of the rest of the X-File
clan belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen, and the Fox Television
Network. "Days of our Lives" doesn't belong to me either,
but since I'm not a big follower of it, don't blame me when I
say that I don't know who it belongs to. No copyright
infringement was ever intended.

Thanks go out to Karen, without whose encouragement and
outright niceness this story would never have been posted.
Also Valkyrie, whose name and patience has finally won out;
even if she *is* wet<g>!

Enjoy!

Kindred Spirits
by Sara Redren

***

Northwestern Memorial Hospital
Chicago
August 3
11:47pm
The monitor beeped loudly, as if attempting to slice
through the thick silence the hung over the dreary
hospital room like a heavy blanket. Dana Scully sat in
the hospital chair silently: the rise and fall of her chest
being the only distinguishing feature between herself and
a marble replica.

The man across from her showed no more signs of
awareness. His mousy brown hair fell softly against his
brow, but his hands; like dead weights, couldn't reach
up to brush it aside.

The difference between the man and woman was that
his lethargy was far more serious.

Dana sighed suddenly. <Mulder, you brave, valiant
fool.> She stood up, and, glancing down at his still body
laying peacefully on the bed, she thought of how ironic it
was that he could only get a good night's sleep in this
condition. With shoulders hunched, Dana sighed again.
<How could you do something like this to yourself?>

Two days before
36 Roscoe Drive
4:58pm

"Scully, he knows we're here." Fox Mulder said quietly,
not taking his eyes from the house before him.

She looked up at it: nothing much, she thought; a blue
aluminum sided split-level that stood before a large,
overflowing flowerbed that filled the air with a thick
perfume of lilacs. Actually, it was quite pretty: Sort of
like the house she hoped to move in with her husband
some day.

<Some day,> she thought to herself. <All I would need
is a husband.>

Dana glanced at Mulder passively. Maybe someone like
him; the rough good looks, a great conversationalist . . . .
<Yes,> she thought. <I've really got to find someone like
Mulder.>

"Mulder," she started up again, lest Mulder notice that
she had been daydreaming, "Do you honestly think that little
ghost voices are telling this man to kill people, and still have
time to tell . . .," she consulted her notebook, " . . . Mr. Allen
that we're here?"

"No." He pointed to an upstairs window, "He's watching us."

Dana Scully eased herself into the grey velvet seat of their
rented Taurus and wondered for the hundredth time why she
put up with him. <Because you think he's cute! Well, once
you look past that blaring tie . . . .> She scolded herself fiercely
again, but paused: No, it was something more than that;
<Because he's your friend?> No, that couldn't be quite right;

after all, that was a question, not an answer. She just couldn't
place her finger on it at the moment. <You just wait and see
when the dust settles from this case, Dana.> She smiled, <You'll
figure it out then.>

"Scully?"

"Yes?" She snapped from her reverie.

"Why are you smiling?" He had taken his eyes from house,
and now looked curiously at her, mischief gleaming in his hazel eyes.

"Oh," Scully stammered, her mind searching for excuses. "I
was just thinking about how nice it will be to finally finish this case."

Mulder nodded, accepting her wish to be left alone about it,
but he still noted the slight flush in her cheeks before she turned her
head away. "Are you ready?"

"Always." Dana opened up the door, pausing only a moment
as Mulder rose from the driver's seat. Together, they strode
purposefully toward the house.

Scully quietly noted that Mr. Allen had disappeared from view.

Just as she rang the doorbell, she whispered to Mulder forcefully.
"I'm sure that the ghosts would have better things to do than . . ."

Mulder stopped her mid-sentence, "I didn't know you believed
in ghosts, Scully."

Just as she was about to slap that wry grin from his face,
the door opened.

"Good evening," said the man, holding out a welcoming hand.
Mulder recognized him as Mr. Allen from the description
given to them by the woman who had survived one of his attacks.

Why the murderer let Cindy McNeil live when he had killed
so many more was still a mystery.

A week ago, a man that fit Mr. Allen's description had
come up to Cindy in an alley beside a bar. The man had fled
the scene only minutes after slashing the twenty-two year-old's
chest, once lengthwise, and again crosswise: the same way
four others had been slain. He had left the girl near death.
Luckily, others had noticed the commotion and called 911,
saving Cindy's life; barely.

She had kept repeating the same things when the agents
had approached her, mumbling something about the murderer
knowing where and when the killings should take place.
She insisted that the murderer had a "list" of things to do.
When asked if she knew the person, Cindy said that it was
someone whom she worked with: Jon Allen.

Using this information, Scully had deduced that Allen was
in some way mentally unbalanced, "but until she had met and
examined him fully, any assumption dealing with his psychological
state would be premature".

Mulder had other thoughts.

The description had led them to this house, and to the man
who waited patiently at his front door for a response from
the agents.

Without so much as a raised eyebrow to the suspect's
cordial behaviour, Mulder invited himself inside. Scully,
following, flashed her badge with her left hand.

"Special Agents Scully and Mulder, FBI"

"Oooh!" Allen seemed pleased. "They told me that I
would get some visitors today! You must be them!"

"Would you mind if we asked you a few questions, sir?"
Mulder asked politely, stating it more as a fact than a
question.

Allen ignored him, and was eyeing Scully intently. "So . . .
they're letting the ladies into the academy now, huh?"
He circled them, eyes darting from Scully to Mulder and
back again as he went to close and lock the door.

Mulder interjected; "I've found many of the women
who work in the field to work just as hard; in some cases
harder than some of the men."

Mulder caught Scully's glare that was aimed directly for
him. He kicked himself, wondering how he had forgotten
that this was Scully. <She can take care of herself, Mulder,>
he thought.

Mulder paused, wondering how it would sound for his name
to sound on Scully's lips. He had heard it once before, but
hadn't paid attention. After his brief reprimand to her that time,
he doubted that it would ever happen again.

Allen, startled at Mulder's interruption, looked somewhat
annoyed. "I do not remember implying such, Mr. Mulder."

"Mr. Allen, sir." Scully began, making a personal note to
remind Mulder that she could take care of herself, steadily
veered back to the topic. "We are here to ask you a few
questions concerning some deaths in the area . . . ."

"Honey," Allen crooned to her, "You can just call me Jon."

"O.K., Jon," Mulder smiled sweetly, somewhat savouring
the look on Allen's face. "What I believe Agent Scully was
trying to say, is that we believe that you have some valuable
information dealing with the deaths of four people and the
attempted murder of another."

"Yes," was the only word that Allen said.

Or was he even speaking to them?, thought Scully, but
she shook her head. <Sounding like Mulder again, Dana!>

"Please, elaborate," encouraged Scully, taking out a small
pad of paper and a pen from the breast pocket of her green
suit jacket.

"Pardon me?" he asked, obviously not aware that they were
having a conversation in the first place.

Scully wondered who he was having the conversation with,
but she didn't dare look at Mulder; her mind's eye sending her
images of him looking mockingly at her was almost enough to
drive her up the wall already.

"I asked you to please clarify your last statement," she
persisted.

"Oh, yes, of course I can do that," Allen's eyes were quite
wide; unfocused: as if trying to see something that wasn't quite
there.

Mulder cast a glance at Scully, noting the glint of
exasperation that darkened her pale complexion. He knew
that he had better hurry before she decided to shoot first and
ask questions later. Then again; he knew that she would
never do that. Not Scully. She was solid; something to
be leaned upon. Though he could remember times when
she had had to lean on him: he never reminded her of
them if he could at all help it.

"Sir?" asked Mulder.

No reply, just that dazed look.

"Sir?" he asked again, this time more forcefully. When silence
responded again, Mulder reached out and gently shook Allen's
shoulder.

Allen leaped back as if Mulder's hand was make of fire; and
then snapped back into reality. "I'm sorry, Mr. Mulder, Ms. Scully;
I have no information for you. Your source' must be mistaken."
He reached for the letter opener on the littered desk beside him,
but before he could get back to work, Scully reached out to
stop him.

"Mr. Allen," Scully's voice turned ever so slightly icier and
more forceful; her hand on his arm: It was about time that
Allen finally learned that they meant business. "Mr. Mulder
mentioned that not all of the victims had been killed. That
survivor described you as her attacker."

Allen seemed utterly astonished. His face went pale and
both agents wondered if he was going to pass out.

<When his hair turns white, I'm leaving,> Scully thought
apprehensively.

"Now?" he cocked his head as his face turned to one
of great concentration as his gaze wandered once again.
"But he's the one . . ." Allen shook his head violently, as if
trying to uncloud his mind.
.
"Yes," he repeated, straightening his head once more,

"Now."

With a quick movement, Allen's fingers circled around
the base of the opener, which he hadn't let go, as his left arm
reached for the next closest thing to him: Scully.

She barely had time to let out a yelp before the pointed
end of the letter opened was pressed painfully hard against
the pale skin of her neck. He quickly stripped her of her gun,
tossing it across the floor to sit about ten feet from Mulder.

Mulder had only had time to reach for his gun, but before
he could draw, Allen spoke harshly; "Not bright, Mulder."

Fox put out his hands quickly, emphasizing the fact that
his gun was still sitting in its holster, and not pointed at anyone.
As Allen ordered him to slide it to him, Mulder continued
telling himself that he was under control. <It's just the
situation that's a little out of hand.>

First dropping the letter opener, Allen picked up Mulder's
Smith and Wesson that laid at his feet, and balanced it on
his fingers as if pondering its use to him.

Again Mulder groaned inwardly as the gun went to Scully's
head, but he took a deep breath and tried to inaugurate a
conversation; anything to get him to put down the damn gun!
Why couldn't it have been him there? Why was it always her!?

"Mr. Allen," he began, "I believe you misjudge our intentions:
Agent Scully and I only want to help you."

Allen had paused, listening, but hadn't moved the gun.

Mulder ventured deeper, knowing that he was pressing
his luck in doing so. "Sir, do you ever get tired of listening
to those voices?"

Allen nodded.

Would you like then to stop telling you what to do?"

Another nod.

"We can make the voices stop, Mr. Allen."

"No!" he screamed, "They can't stop! I have to avenge
their deaths! They said so!" Allen put three pounds
on the four pound trigger, startling Mulder even more
than his outburst.

Scully, in the meantime, closed her eyes, waiting for
the gun to explode in her face. When Allen had screamed,
his already firm grip across her neck tightened painfully,
sending a sharp pains across her chest. How much longer
she could stay conscious was a significant issue at the moment.

Though through the confusion; through the fear and the
uncertainty, Scully was always steadfast, putting her trust, and
in this case her life, in Mulder's hands one more time.

Mulder tried again, "Mr. Allen; when you said that He's
the one', were you referring to me?"

"Yes," Allen replied, "But they're not sure if you are."

Mulder took the opportunity, "Well, I'm sure they're'
very confused right now. Hey, they're dead, right?"

Allen shook his head slowly, flipping the idea over and
over in his head. "So . . . You think that you are the one,
and that they've gotten you two mixed up."

"Anything's possible. Trust me on that fact."

Scully's eyes opened wide, realizing what he was doing.
<Damn him. Damn him all to hell.>

Mulder persisted, though he did catch the anxious look that
Scully gave him. Why did she always have to be so difficult
about these things?

"Why don't you follow your instincts, Mr. Allen. I'm sure
that they will agree with you later."

"I think that you're right, Mr. Mulder," Allen nodded,
"But how can I get you over here and her over there? I
don't trust you government types."

"You've got the gun, Allen," Mulder made a motion
to it, "Let her go, and if I don't come over there, you
can shoot me." With all his heart, Mulder hoped that his
plan would work. He was almost positive that once he
was over there (with Scully safely out of the way), he
could use his size and training to wrestle the gun away.

Allen seemed to like the idea, signaled his approval
with a wave of his hand, and with a violent shove, Scully
flew through the air and landed on her shoulder at Mulder's
feet.

He rolled her over, gently raising her head to face his.
"You okay?" he asked, knowing that he didn't have much
time.

She nodded, and tried to stand up. Leaning lightly on
the desk, Scully gave Mulder the dirtiest look she could
muster at the moment. "Stupid fool," she muttered
quietly. "Be careful."

Mulder nodded, and just before he turned away,
Scully thought that his eyes looked almost wistful
for a moment; not quite tired, though.

He walked slowly over to Allen, but when he had
only taken two steps, Allen stopped him. "No,"
he said slowly, as if tasting the word in order to see if
it was sour or not.

"If you want me to come to you, Mr. Allen . . ."
Mulder smiled encouragingly.

"You're too close," Allen said softly.

Mulder raised his head.

<Damn.>

The two bullets moved in slow motion, each hitting
their targets exactly. Allen crumpled to the floor,
as Mulder's head hit the ground with a bang that she
thought would resound in her ears forever.

Scully dropped her gun, damning herself. <Only a
split second sooner, Dana. You could have saved Mulder
from that bastard.>

The call to 911 was made in only a few seconds. She
then ran to Mulder, falling to her knees at his still form.
Rolling him over, the wound was revealed. A purple bruise
was swelling on his forehead, but that wasn't what bothered
her: it was the blood that welled up quickly under his white shirt,
painting his chest a sick shade of red. Scully ripped off his
shirt and tie to get a better look at it. Scully cursed under her
breath as she ripped a large chunk of cloth from the stained
shirt and tried to staunch the flow.

<Why was it always him?> she sobbed quietly to herself as
she watched; transfixed, the alarming red seep through the
cloth; staining her hands. Why didn't he have a better partner
who could have figured out a way to stop him from getting shot?
This was all her fault. She should be the one laying there,
battered, broken and bleeding on the floor. Her father would
be so ashamed.

Looking over her shoulder, Dana noticed that Allen still
wasn't moving. She scurried over to him, feeling for a pulse,
and finding none. She had aimed for his gun arm, but guessed
that the backlash of the gun must have moved him enough
to give her bullet a straight path to his chest.

Returning to her injured friend, Scully checked for his
pulse: It was slow, and not very steady. <Oh God,> she
thought, lowering her head and letting the tears fall
freely, <Please don't leave me again.>

***
End part 1/2

From @ Sun Nov 17 18:25:59 1996
I did not write this! I am posting it on behalf of the author. Please
send all comments to: (phoenix@globalx.net).
---------------------------------------------------------------------

See part one for disclaimer.

Hope you like the story so far, and remember to send
any comments to <phoenix@globalx.net>

Kindred Spirits Part 2/2
Sara Redren

August 4
2:21am

The nurse entered Mulder's room quietly, but when she
saw that Scully was awake, she relaxed immediately. "Can
I get you some coffee?" she asked softly, "I just made a pot
for myself, but there's extra."

Dana raised her eyes from her book, "Thank you.
I'd love a cup; if it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all," she paused, and turned so that
Scully could see her nameplate: Katharine. "Pardon me
for asking, but is he your fiance or something?"

Dana paused, lowering her eyes again. "No. He's my
partner."

"Sorry," Katharine apologized, "You two just look
like you belong together, you know? Kindred spirits."

Scully was somewhat annoyed by this nurse. Why was
it *her* business about how she and Mulder got along?
"What do you mean by that?" she asked icily.

Katherine was startled. "Oh, nothing, dear," she
stammered, "Just a single woman's dreams."

She paused again, looking dreamily at Mulder, who was
sleeping peacefully on the bed. "Cute too."

Then, she shook her head. "I'll get you that coffee now."

Scully stopped her before she left, "Does the doctor
know when he'll be coming out of his coma?"

Katharine stopped in her tracks, turning slowly before saying
anything. "I'll be perfectly honest, Ms. . ."

"Scully. Dana Scully."

" . . . Ms. Scully. He could wake up in an hour, he could
wake up in a year," she patted Dana's arm. "He's a strong one.
Anyone who could get this far after a bullet that close the
heart would have to be." Giving Scully an encouraging
smile, she left.

Dana shuffled her chair closer to the bed, taking Mulder's
limp hand in hers. "Keep going, Mulder. I need you to."

She paused for a moment, debating the issue that had
begun violent combat in her head.

"Fox," she started, ironically enjoying the fact that he couldn't
contradict her, "There's something about you that I need to
keep me going. I don't know what it is yet, but I need you to
come back so I can figure it out."

There. She had said it. Didn't she?

She paused, he was in a coma, right? There was no way
that he could hear what she was saying. Maybe it would
be good for her too: it was true that she had been waiting
for a perfect time to say it. Could it be considered
practice? Practice for a time when he would really hear
her? Practice for when he could tell her that he loved her
too?

"Fox?" she began again. "I think I'm in love with you."

With that, Dana began to weep, resting her head on
Mulder's arm.

*
August 6

"Hi Mom," Dana said, as she sat down in one of the cheap
hospital chairs outside of Mulder's room.

"Dana, honey, are you alright?" asked her mother.

Margaret Scully was very concerned about her daughter.
Ever since Fox had been shot, she just hadn't been the same.
Maggie was probably the only one who could see that
it wasn't the brush with death that was bothering Dana.
No, she was stronger than that. It wasn't even the idea
that her partner had been shot, though that, she supposed,
was partially right. Actually, it reminded her of when she
had first been in love with William. Maybe it was only a
hopeless dream of hers; to get Dana married to a man like
Fox; but she was so sure that she was right.

"I'm fine, Mom," Dana replied robotically into her cellular
phone, saying the first thing that came to mind. She had been
saying that so much lately. So many times that there was
no time to wonder if she really *was* fine.

<No!> Her mind screamed. <Can't think about that!
Mulder's the one in trouble! Not you!>

"Honey, come over to the house tonight, get a good
night's sleep . . ."

"Sorry Mom," she replied. "I need to stay with Mulder
tonight."

"Tomorrow?"

"I'll see if I can, okay, Mom?" Dana said, hoping that
her mother would forget, she was supposed to feel badly.
After all, it was her fault, wasn't it?
*
A few hours later, Scully lay sleeping, her head resting on
Mulder's bed, when a gentle hand lifted strands of wet hair
from her face.
Dana woke, eyes fluttering as she attempted to
figure out where she was. The first thing she saw was
Mulder's hand, and she lowered her head again in despair.

Before Scully could rest her head again, that same
hand was lifting her head, making her look into the most
beautiful hazel eyes that she had ever seen.

"Hey there," she choked through her tears, not noticing;
not caring, that there was a confused look in his eyes.

"Who are you?"
*
She watched him from the doorway; quietly, so he
wouldn't turn away from the window and see her. She
wasn't ready to discuss anything with him yet.

For the last week, Dana's life had been riddled with
bullet holes. The papers and explanations being the least
of her problems, although they were the most time
consuming. What bothered her, was that they took up
the precious little time that she needed to make sense
of what else had happened.

After Mulder had awoken from his coma, Dana had
discovered that he had lost his memory due to the
seemingly innocent bump to his head.

Her heart had broken in a great explosion of billion
glittering parts with those first three words he had spoken.

"I'm Scully!" she had sputtered,
"Who do you think I am?"

"I dunno," he squeezed his eyes
shut tightly, taking a hand to his head.
"Who am I?"

There had been no more time for talking then, for
Katharine had come in with Dana's mug at that moment.
The coffee would have splashed all over the floor if
Scully hadn't caught the falling cup. "Well hello there,
sleepyhead!" Katharine grinned, "I'm sure there are
going to be a lot of people that are going to be happy
to see you awake!"
She was hustled out of the room then, to make
room for the doctors and nurses.

This was the first time that she had seen him since
then, and though the encounter was needed desperately,
Scully didn't know if she was ready.

Ready for what?

That thought took her by surprise, and she
struggled to answer herself rationally. <Because he's
the only one who can tell me if it was my fault he got
shot.>

Strike one.

Strike two.

Ball.

Ball two.

And it's out of there!

She tuned out the little voice in her head, all the time
wondering if it could be true. <No, it can't be . . . .
I can't . . . . Can I?> She needed to get out of there *now*!
Her head was spinning, scattered thoughts piercing
her mind like grapeshot.

"May I help you, Miss?"

Dana paused, looking at Mulder, who now stood before
her, as if ready to catch something.
She blinked, "Yes, I'm fine, Fox, I mean, Mulder . . ."
Scully stammered.

"No," he smiled, "You can just call me Fox. Aren't
you that woman who was with me when I woke up?
Dana Scully, right?"

Dana felt a smile spread slowly across her face, "You
remember now?"

He shook his head, "No. My Mom said that you had
been here earlier and she gave me sort of a description in
case you came by," he grinned. "You really *do* have
blue eyes."

Dana was in shock. This wasn't Fox Mulder, at least,
not the vexing, irritating, and unexpectedly charming Fox
Mulder that she knew. She just had to ask the question,
"What *do* you remember?"

"Not much of anything, actually," he offered her a small
hospital chair that had been crammed into his new room
in the Medical ward. "The first thing I remember is waking
up to see you sleeping at the side of my bed."

"Oh," she frowned.

"C'mon, Dana, the food here's not *that* bad. I'll get by."

The tears were threatening to burst open the dam that
Dana had so painstakingly constructed. She didn't miss
the fact that he had called her Dana. Though it meant
nothing so long as he couldn't remember what it meant.

"I'll be back later to check on you," she faltered. "Goodbye."

With that, Dana Scully walked quickly out the door.

<Why do I stay with him?> she asked herself for the second
time; but meaning it differently. <He's too full of life to spend
what little time he has with someone like me.>

Fox was confused. Why had she seemed so anxious
all of a sudden? Surely the comment about the hospital
food hadn't bothered her. Yes, he had lied; it really *was*
awful, but after he had a few sunflower seeds from the
vendor down the hall, his hunger cravings usually went
away.

"She likes you, Fox."

He turned to the man in the cubicle next to himself.
Nice old guy; only in for a few days while he got his
knee replaced. Amazing how someone could be so
insightful and still have no idea what he was going
through. "Fred, she's my partner."

"So?" Fred's deep blue eyes sparkled as he chuckled
to himself. "She's got a kind heart, or whatever's left of it.
This is probably hurting her more than you think."

<Damn the old man.> he thought.

"Fred," he started, "It's just that I can't remember where
my apartment is, who I love, who I don't love, or even
what I believe in!"

"You believe in her. She believes in you too. Isn't
that what's important?"

"And why do you say that?"

"You risked your life for her, no?"

Mulder paused, mouth hanging open. Could it be? He
just couldn't remember what his opinion of her was! His
mother would have told him if he had had any relationships or
anything like that, right? But then again, maybe she didn't know.
Maybe *he* didn't even know.

"You two were destined," Fred said soothingly,
knowing that this young man before him was suffering
turmoil. T'was a pity, actually. Those two were so love
struck with each other that they couldn't see a foot in
front of their own feelings. Reminded of him of "Days
of our Lives", actually. Yes, that was it! What were their
names? Marlena and John. Couldn't see they both loved
each other till Stephano came in there . . . .
"I'm sorry, Fred." Fox mumbled, "I just need to sit
for a moment . . ."

But the chair had been moved earlier to accommodate
Scully.

Just as Dana approached the open doorway, she heard a
powerful "Thud" that sent her mind into overdrive.

She rushed over to his fallen figure, feeling his head for
injury. With the exception of a good sized bump on
the back of his head, he seemed to be alive.

Mulder opened his eyes and looked at Dana quietly,
not saying a word.

Scully was confused, had he lost what little memory
he had just had of her? Not again! "Fox?" she asked.
"Please don't do this to me again!"

Fox looked at her a few seconds more. Attempting to
piece together what had happened after he had passed out
from being shot. He remembered something about a man
older than him, telling him that Dana liked him. Saying that
he believed in her. Telling him that *she* believed in him:
Fox Mulder.

Now there was a first, he thought to himself. Someone
believed in him. He supposed that of all people it should
be her, but why was that again? As he looked into those
exquisite sapphires that were Dana's eyes, noticed the tears
and worry lines that threatened her attractive young face like
storm clouds can intimidate the sunniest and warmest day of
the year; as he observed her fiery red hair that didn't seem to
have its usual life and gleam to it, Fox Mulder at last fell apart.

And he remembered.

"Dana?"

Her smile at his calling her name wasn't so quick this time.
"Yes?"

He grinned lopsidedly. "I sort of like it when you call me
Fox."

Scully's eyes cleared over; the worry lines were replaced
by an immense smile that made Mulder want to hug her
right then and there.

"Fox," Scully smiled through her tears as he held her close.
"Never scare me like that again."

Mulder lost his devious grin, and replaced it with a shining,
tender one that Scully basked in.

"Never leave me again," she said, choking through the
tears that were now streaming down her face.

"Never again," he replied solemnly, holding her closer.
"Never again."

*
Fred was wheeled down the hall by his attendant,
Katharine.

"So, Fred," Katharine started, "Do you think that they'll
figure it out?"

Fred smiled. "That Fox Mulder's a smart one. Then again,
I'd betcha that she figured it out before he did. I'm sure that
He's got some more stuff planned for them."

Katharine nodded, turning her attention back to wheeling
the man down the hall.

And with that, the two disappeared in a soft white light.

End?
***

Well, what'd you think? Sequel material? Send all
comments and constructive criticism to <phoenix@globalx.net>.

--Sara "I'm not too short, you're too tall" Redren

--If we learn from our mistakes, I ought to be a genius.--
-Anonymous

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All Done
Bye-Bye