Title: Old Photo
Author: babos
Date: July 10, 1998
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to the all powerful Oz, I mean, Chris Carter and FOX television. I mean them only the utmost respect. They also belong to the talented and wonderful actors of the best tv show in the galaxy-- Gillian Anderson, Mitch Pileggi and the wonderful and sexy David Duchovny, without whom there would never really be such a great show. Many thanks to them and also to all the other fan fic writers and the archivists out there. Special thanks to Rachel, my cyber pal and supporter across the miles. Thanks, Dudette!

Summary: Mulder winds up in the hospital and Scully is doing some thinking.

This story contains Scully-angst and Mulder-torture (implied). It is my very first attempt and came to me at 3:00 a.m. in a spurt of jet lag-inspired creativity. Hope it is ok. Please let me know what you think. e-me at br_osen@hotmail.com

OLD PHOTO

She held his hand from between the rails of the hospital bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. She didn't let herself think about the bandages underneath the sheet that covered his torso, encasing the broken and bruised ribs. She couldn't even bear to look at his face. The right side of which had several butterfly bandages holding together the cuts. The line of tiny stitches below his eye was almost reached by those long dark lashes that would be the envy of any woman. (Why did men always get the natural long lashes?) She tried to avoid letting her vision rest on the left side of his face or above to the white bandage that encircled his skull-- hairline fracture.(My God, Mulder.) Her eyes involutarily lit on the left side of his face. Could this even be his face?

This side was so swollen and purpled that it would be days before he'd be able to open that eye when he did awaken. She tried to convince herself that it would be when, not if. (Who did this to you, my friend? Who could treat the man I respect, trust and love more than any other in the world so inhumanly? How could anyone do this to another human being?) She felt a tear trickle down her cheek.

His left arm was in a soft cast until the swelling went down and could be reset. The bones had been broken in two places. She could see angry red lines and small cuts around the wrist. He had been tied while he was beaten! Tortured would be a better word for it. The marks around his wrist matched those of the hand she was now holding with a grip she hadn't realized. It was as if were she to let go so would he. He may just give in and drift away from her forever. Drift away from his painful, frustrating, hurtful existence.

She had often silently marveled at him. How could a man who ran into so many roadblocks and brick walls in his life manage to continue? How could he persevere and still maintain dignity, compassion and that wonderful strange sense of humor that set off a sparkle in those gorgeous hazel eyes. ("He had a slight overbite." "Don't say I never did nuthin' fer yeh!" "Do you believe in the existence of extra-terrestrials?")

She unconsciously gripped his hand tighter. If he were awake he would be grimacing. (Please wake up and grimace for me, Mulder. Tell me to release your hand or squeeze it back to let me know you are still in there.)

These were the times she wished she wasn't a doctor,wished she didn't fully understand the ramificatoins of skull fractures and being in a coma for days. Her mind kept replaying snippets of her conversation with AD Skinner. "found in a reststop off the interstate, hands and feet bound with picture wire" "soaked from the early morning rain" "pneumonia could be a problem".

When she'd arrived at the hospital that early morning after he'd been found, Skinner had been outside the hospital room door talking with the doctor. He had seen her come flying around the corner in the sweats she'd thrown on in her haste. He could tell she'd not even taken time to comb her hair, just quickly pulled it back into a pony tail. He had grabbed her before she could enter Mulder's room. "I have to see him!" she'd screamed. He'd held her with such strength, perhaps hoping some of his would seep into her as they spoke. She would need it upon seeing her partner. The AD had wanted to prepare her for what she would see when she entered the room. Even with her medical background it couldn't keep her heart from dropping to her stomach at the sight of him. It dropped then it stopped. The tears had flowed without thought. The man on the bed covered in bandages and tubes and wires was her partner, her best friend, her man-child, ... her love.

She'd approached the bed slowly and quietly- as if he might shatter at the sound. Skinner was very close to her, probably afraid she might collapse. His tough, strong Agent Scully was suddenly so frail, so tiny, so fragile. He'd scooted a chair up behind her and she settled into it. She hadn't consciously known it but had sat down on Mulder's right side and gently wrapped a petite hand around Mulder's much larger one, carefully avoiding the cuts on his wrist. It was amazing to Skinner when he saw how her hand was lost in Mulder's own. These two partners who were so equal on the working field were so unequal in actual size. Mulder was a full foot taller than Scully, she could completely stand behind him without being seen. But, of course, that never happened. They were equal partners, standing side-by-side against all odds. The respect they had for each other was always evident even, and perhaps especially, when they disagreed.

Scully had hardly remembered that Skinner was in the room as she very gently brushed a few strands of Mulder's soft hair off his damp forehead. She loved his hair, no matter how he wore it. It was so thick and soft. She had always been so tempted to run her fingers through it. She especially loved it when it was disheveled. He always looked so sexy when his hair was tousled and messy. Like a little boy just coming in from playing with his friends. It made her wonder how he'd looked as a ten year old. She never saw any childhood pictures around his apartment. There were pictures of Samantha along with a couple from his days at Oxford. He looked so happy in those college photos, a look she rarely saw on him. A look he probably rarely wore between the ages of 12 and 17 when he left for England. She closed her eyes and visualized a photo she had seen of him when she had fallen asleep in his apartment after his "death" in the boxcar in New Mexico. She had wanted to feel closer to him that night as she mourned. She had wandered around his dark place, looking at his few personal momentos and wondering about the life he had never really told her about. She had found a framed photo on the wall of his rarely used bedroom. At first look she had some trouble recognizing a familiar face in the 5"x7" shot of his rugby team at Oxford. They all looked so young and enthusiastic holding a large trophy and several beers which some of the team were pouring over their teammates. Then she spotted a handsome young man with a dirty face and torn, smudged, striped rugby shirt. He was in shorts, of course, his long muscular legs scraped and dirty, one knee sock bunched around his ankle. But she recognized the grin he wore more than anything. A big silly toothy grin, a smile of pure joy, exhilaration and accomplishment.

She had only seen that grin once or twice. ("I'll be back soon and we can build a tower of furniture!") Scully vowed then and there that she would do anything in her power to help the man in the bed feel happy and free enough to wear that smile again.

As she looked down at the battered face and prayed she would have that opportunity she clenched his hand again and felt the tears roll down her cheeks. She spoke so quietly that it was almost a whisper, "Mulder, please open those beautiful eyes of yours and let me help you become that happy young man in the rugby photo again. I love you so much. Give me the chance to show you."

She lowered the bed rail and laid her head near their joined hands and wept. She heard a small groan, barely audible. She listened more closely and heard it again. Then she felt the fingers in her hand twitch. She looked at his bruised face and saw his right eyelashes fluttering. He was coming around! Another groan. She spoke again, a bit louder, coaxing him. "Come on, Mulder. It's me. I'm here for you."

With that, he managed to open his right eye and attempted to focus in on her face. She could almost see the recognition return to his expressive eyes.
"Scu...Scully" he rasped then gave her half of his sexy lop-sided grin with bruised lips.
"Well, it's a start!" she smiled as she reached for the water pitcher.

the end???

Well, thanks for hanging in there with me. What did ya think? need a prequel or a sequel? Please e-mail me! br_osen@hotmail.com