SHOULDERING RESPONSIBILITY (1/2)

By dee_ayy@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and 20th Century Fox. Don't sue me.

RATINGS: PG-13 for language (Mulder does tend to swear). Fair share of MulderAngst and Pain, but nothing life-threatening. MTA Rating? Maybe a 4. You decide.

THANKS: To everyone who sent encouraging responses to my first attempt at this fan fic stuff, particularly Shirley Smiley herself (even though she is a Red Sox fan), Debbie Goldstein (that first scene with Skinner is for you!), and especially Vickie Moseley, who brought me over to the dark side. I really, really hate you, Vickie. ;-)

ARCHIVE: Sure. Anywhere. Send it along. I don't care.

SPOILERS: Mention is made to events in END GAME and ANASAZI.

SUMMARY: A followup to PAIN IN THE NIGHT, but you should be able to follow this without having read that. Mulder is forced into elective shoulder surgery, and tries to take it like a man.

_________________________________________________________

SHOULDERING RESPONSIBILITY

The sun coming in the window woke Mulder up and he smiled. It was the first decent night's sleep he'd had in three weeks, since he'd been forced to wear that damn shoulder immobilizer. Popping his shoulder out in his sleep had definitely thrown him for a loop, and he'd actually _worn_ the damn thing like he was supposed to--unlike with past slings after past dislocations. But three weeks was up yesterday, and he'd gotten the okay to discard the thing from the staff doctor at work. Discard the thing? No, he'd learned _that_ lesson, too. The contraption was stuffed on the shelf in his closet, but he was keeping it. Just in case.

He could _finally_ go running again, and that was his first order of business.

* * * * *
Skinner's secretary Kimberly was not at her desk, so Mulder knocked on the office door.

"Come in."

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Come in and sit down, Agent Mulder. How's the arm?"

"Good as new, sir. What's up?"

"I received an interesting piece of information from Staff Health Services this morning."

Mulder blanched. This sounded like trouble.

"When you were in there yesterday, the doctor you saw went through your records. You have suffered this particular injury six times in the last three years. I'm sure you are aware of this?"

"Well, to be honest I haven't been keeping count."

"Doctor Brown was alarmed enough to notify me, and make a recommendation."

Mulder shifted uneasily in his chair. He knew what was coming next, and his mind was racing ahead to come up with a response.

"I was not aware until now of the dangers posed by an agent in the field with an unstable shoulder socket. I am ordering you to have this problem surgically repaired. And until it is, you are out of the field."

"But sir! It's a minor injury! Inconvenient, sure, but easily fixed! I do _not_ need surgery!"

"Agent Mulder, did I mistakenly give you the impression that this matter was open for discussion? Your shoulder is unstable enough to come out in your sleep. What if it came out when you were in the field, following a suspect or backing up your partner? Your condition puts you, Agent Scully, and anyone else out in the field with you at risk. The matter is _closed_ agent. Here is a list of orthopedic surgeons who have worked with the members of the Bureau in the past. Choose one, make an appointment, and keep me apprised of when you will be taking medical leave. That is all, Agent Mulder."

Mulder knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't help it. He also couldn't think of a thing to say. He'd been ambushed. He just took the proffered list from Skinner, got up, and walked out.

* * * * *
Mulder knew Scully would be in their office, so despite the incredible urge to slam the door as violently as possible, he just walked in quietly.

"Hey, look at you. Back among the two-armed again! Where have you been?"

"Huh? Oh, right, yeah. Got sprung from the sling last night. I was up in Skinner's office."

"What did he want?"

"What? Oh, nothing. Just to see how the arm was."

While returning to the basement Mulder had decided not to tell Scully. He knew she'd want to take care of him if she knew, and he didn't want her to have to do that. Not this time, when it wasn't an emergency, when he was doing this by choice. <Ha! Some choice!> He'd take care of this himself, during the upcoming holidays. She'd go to her mom's, he'd tell her he was going . . . somewhere . . . and get it fixed then. By the time she got back to work it would be a done deal, and his partner would have been spared another trip to a hospital at his expense.

"So, what's on the agenda, then, now that you are sprung from the desk? Surely there's some case you've been dying to get out and investigate."

"Well, actually, that's what Skinner wanted. I'm on the desk until after the holidays. He said it was 'Just to be cautious.'" Mulder slumped into his chair dejectedly.

"I'm sorry Mulder. But it's not a bad idea, and it's only two weeks until Christmas. It's not forever. You should use the time to go over to the gym and work on strengthening your shoulder. Maybe that would keep this from happening so often, since I know I'll never get you to have the surgery."

Mulder almost laughed at what she said. Little did she know! <You know, this will probably be a nice Christmas gift for her. She'll be able to stop nagging me about it.>

* * * * *
"Scully, it's me. I'm gonna be late. I ran my dishwasher before going to bed last night, and something went wrong. I have water all over the kitchen floor. I'll be in as soon as I get it mopped up and get the super up here." He hung up, guilty not only about the blatant lie, but about chickening out and leaving a voice mail rather than talking to her directly. He hated lying to her. He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. He was going to be late for his doctor's appointment.

* * * * *
Mulder waited in the examination room nervously. He'd been offered a seat, but decided to stand. Something about the dynamics of the patient on the exam table and the doctor standing always made him uncomfortable. This was too weird for him. He was well-acquainted with the medical profession, but hardly ever this side of it. A nice suburban office, with a waiting room, and well-appointed exam rooms. He chuckled when he realized he'd probably be more comfortable, more in his element, in an ER.

"Agent Mulder? I'm Doctor Sumner. Nice to meet you." Mulder noted that the doctor wasn't much older than he was. He wasn't sure whether or not that was comforting. The two men shook hands. "You have some x-rays for me?"

Mulder handed over the large envelope he'd picked up from the hospital that morning. "These are from three and a half weeks ago."

"And I understand that was the sixth time you'd dislocated the left shoulder?"

Mulder smiled slightly. "I see my reputation precedes me?"

Dr. Sumner also grinned. "You may work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Agent Mulder, but you aren't the only one with sources! Actually, the Bureau health office sent over what they had in their records. It was pretty sketchy. I'm still going to need a lot of information from you, and we're going to have to track down the rest of your x-rays. It will determine what surgical approach we will take."

The doctor snapped the x-rays on the light board and flipped the switch. Mulder was fascinated. He realized he'd never actually _seen_ the pictures of his dislocated shoulder before. It was easy to see the problem. There was a space of black nothingness where his humerus should be, and instead the arm bone was a little below and to the left. _Clearly_ where it shouldn't be. "Shit, no wonder it hurts so damn much."

"No doubt, Agent Mulder, it's an excruciating injury. The muscles, tendons, and ligaments in the shoulder are generally very tight, to allow the great range of motion of the joint. So when the ball pops out of the socket, it really wreaks havoc in there. There's no room for it outside of where it belongs. But we'll discuss the whole mechanics of the thing later. I understand this particular injury occurred in your sleep?"

"That's right. I woke up and it was out. Much to the amusement of the folks at the hospital. But I've been told it's not _so_ freaky."

"No, not at all. It happens. But you achieved a complete dislocation in your sleep, which is pretty rare. Most are only partial, where the ball is only partially out of the socket--what we call sublexations. This is a clear indication that the joint is completely unstable. It is the dead giveaway that it is time for surgical intervention. I suspect that's why you are here?"

"Well, to be honest, I'm here because I've been ordered here by the Bureau."

"They're right, Agent Mulder. You need to do something about it. Once it's over you'll be thankful. Why don't you take your shirt off, and I'll do a quick exam of your shoulder, and then we can reconvene in my office so I can get the rest of your history."

Mulder removed his jacket, shirt and tie, and sat on the dreaded exam table.

"How old is this bullet wound?"

"Ummm, it's a few years old. It was a through-and-through. Nothing serious." Mulder twisted around to show the doctor the exit wound.

"God, I just love working with FBI agents! 'Nothing serious!' I assure you, Agent Mulder, in the rest of the world any bullet wound is something serious! Did your shoulder dislocate when you were shot?"

"No, it didn't. Not that I am aware of, anyway. I'm sure someone would have told me, though."

"Well, your records didn't indicate it. But they failed to mention the bullet hole altogether. It was a line-of-duty injury, I trust?"

"Well, yes and no. It's a _long_ story, Doctor Sumner, one you definitely don't want to hear. I am sure my shoulder did not dislocate. My partner is a medical doctor. She . . . ummm . . . was there when it happened, and I am positive she would have told me if it had."

"Okay, I'll take your word on that. I'd still like to get a look at the hospital records from the shooting. It could be important. Where did it happen?"

"Ummm, there are no hospital records. I didn't go to the hospital. I told you, it is a very long story. I couldn't go to the hospital, and my partner took care of me."

"Well then, I'll speak to her."

"Ummm, you can't. I mean, I don't want you to. I don't want her to have to be involved in this. It's yet another long story."

"I didn't realize I was dealing with a _secret_ agent, Agent Mulder! We'll finish that discussion later. Let's get on with this. What I am going to do is manipulate your shoulder in various directions. I want you to tell me the second your shoulder feels unstable."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Tell me when it feels like it's about to go out. You'll know it when you feel it."

The doctor started by placing Mulder's upper arm against his body, with his forearm straight out in front of him. He rotated it away from his body at the elbow, keeping the upper arm in place. He got to about 50( when Mulder suddenly pushed his arm back forward, alarmed.

Dr. Sumner smiled. "See, I told you you'd know when it happened. These are controlled motions--not things you would normally do in life. But it gives me an idea of how much ligament damage there is--of just how unstable it is."

"And?"

"Well, watch this." The doctor performed the same test on Mulder's right shoulder, and the arm rotated to a full 90(, even a little beyond, until his forearm was pointing straight out at his side, away from his body. "That's what normal looks like. We only got about half-way there on the other side before the stability was compromised. The tendency toward dislocation is probably already robbing you of significant range of motion in the shoulder, and you don't even know it."

"But I have never felt anything like that, like if I kept doing something it would dislocate."

"Well, that's not uncommon. I imagine you are very active?" Mulder nodded. "Well, you probably aren't paying close enough attention to the signals your body might be giving you. Or it happens too quickly, and it is too late by the time you have processed the warning. Also, you are right handed?" Mulder nodded. "Well, since this is not your dominant arm, you don't use it as much, and you don't pay it as much heed. If the injury was to your right, and kept you from writing or pulling your weapon, you probably would have been in here three dislocations ago."

Mulder suddenly found himself wishing Scully _were_ there. She'd know the right questions to be asking. Instead Mulder just found himself nodding, blindly accepting whatever the doctor was telling him.

Sumner finished his exam, rotating Mulder's shoulder in various positions, and noting the results on a chart. He performed each of the same ministrations on the right arm as well, for a point of comparison.

"Okay, that does it. Put your clothes back on and join me in my office. It's right across the hall."

As Mulder buttoned his shirt he decided that this guy was okay. Probably because he hadn't been _too_ snotty about the abuse Mulder had put his body through. If there was one thing he hated it was holier-than-thou doctors who gave him those "Your body is your temple, respect it" lectures. This guy was matter-of-fact, without being judgmental. He could handle that. He went across the hall, and knocked.

"Come on in and sit down, Agent Mulder."

The guy hadn't yet suggested he call him "Fox," and Mulder decided to head off the inevitable. "Why don't you just call me Mulder, Dr. Sumner. Only my boss calls me 'Agent Mulder,' and I only let about three people on the planet call me 'Fox.'"

The doctor smiled. "Okay. You have a fairly unstable shoulder, Mulder. But from the results of the exam, and the one set of x-rays we have here, I would bet that every dislocation has been anterior--or toward the front. When it is out of the socket, does it feel like there is a tennis ball in your armpit?"

"Well, it actually feels like it hurts like hell, but yeah, that's a fairly good description of the sensation, pain aside."

"It's never been anywhere else? Toward the outside, or toward your back?"

"Umm, no, not that I know of. But a couple of times I have been unconscious, so I couldn't tell you about those."

Dr. Sumner looked up incredulously at that. "Okay, I think it's time to get the entire history of your shoulder problem, Mulder. Tell me what you were doing each time it went out. "

"Each time?"

"It's vitally important that I know the circumstances surrounding each injury."

"Okay. But I'm going to give you the abridged versions! The first time was in 1995. I was in Alaska, chasing a perp. We were handcuffed together, I had the cuff on the left wrist. I was, ummm, exposed to a virus, and became violently ill, totally incapacitated, thus allowing the suspect to escape, provided he could get the cuffs off. I don't remember much, but I do remember him dragging me up and down stairs by my arm, and I remember falling a long distance into the snow once we were separated. I don't know when exactly the shoulder dislocated, but when I woke up at a military hospital I was told I had dislocated my shoulder. I'd been in a coma from the virus, so by the time I was up and around I was told the shoulder had healed."

Dr. Sumner's eyes had widened as the story had progressed. "So you don't know if the arm was pulled out of the socket, or if the fall caused it?"

"I really have no idea. But my shoulder was the least of my worries at the time."

"And you had no physical therapy on the shoulder, were not given any strengthening exercises to do?"

"No."

"Well, no wonder you're here. Okay. That's one. Two?"

"Playing basketball, three-on-three. I was blocking Agent Smith, who is a good four inches taller than me. Had my arms up to guard him, and he gave my left arm a good whack backwards, and out it went. A blatant offensive foul, but I never did get to take those free throws. He still apologizes when he sees me!"

"Okay, now THAT is a scenario I am used to hearing! Three?"

"Ummm, don't remember that one, either. I was hit by a car. A van, actually. On Pennsylvania Avenue, no less. The tourists must have LOVED it. Dislocated shoulder was on the long list of injuries when I regained consciousness from that little incident."

"Any other injuries to your left arm from the accident?"

"Nothing aside from pavement rash."

"Four?"

"Ummm, I fell. I was in Syracuse, in a foot pursuit. It was raining, and I slipped on the side of the road and fell down an embankment. When I stopped rolling down the hill, it was out. But my partner caught the guy, so all was well."

"Five?"

"Playing basketball again. And another fall. I put my hands out to break the fall, and it popped out."

"That's very common. And that brings us to six, the sleeping one."

"Yup, that's all of them."

"Anything else relevant? Any other injuries to your left arm or shoulder that you can remember? Tell me anything. It might be important, it might not."

"Nothing much that I can think of. A sprained wrist or two. Oh, and I broke the small bone in my forearm once when I was a kid--hit by a baseball bat. And the gunshot wound, of course."

"Speaking of that, there's no way I can talk to your partner about it?"

"I'd really rather you didn't, doctor. I want to give her a break here. I'm a complete pain in the ass when I'm injured. She always gets caught up in it. And she's going home for the holidays, anyway. She's not around." Lying was becoming natural where this procedure was concerned.

"Okay, I'll let it go for now. First we need to collect as many of the x-rays as we can, and I want to schedule you for an MRI of your shoulder. That will give me a clearer picture of what's going on with everything in there. How many of these injuries happened locally?"

"Ummm, four of them. And the other two were Alaska and Syracuse. But the Alaska records have to be here somewhere. I was still ill when I came home, and all of my records came with me. But I'm not sure where they ended up."

"Can you find out?"

"I can try. I know who would know where they are."

"Do. Being able to see the exact presentation of the injury in each case is invaluable in deciding how to proceed. Jot down the hospitals you visited for the others, and we'll have you sign a request for release of medical records for each one, and get the x-rays." He called the front desk and asked that the forms be prepared.

"So, how soon do you want to proceed? After the holidays?"

"Well, doctor, I was kind of hoping we could do this OVER the holidays. It really is the perfect time, work-wise. Even the bad guys seem to take time to celebrate."

"Well, no hospitals do elective surgery right before Christmas. They try to give their staffs a break. But Northeast Georgetown gets back on schedule on the 26th, and I have privileges there. I'm not going away for the holidays, and this is a short procedure. How would that be? In a week and a half we should be able to get most of your records."

"That would be perfect. Exactly how short will the procedure be?"

"Well, until I get the rest of your records, I can't say for sure. But I suspect you'll be needing the standard Bankart's repair. It is the most effective for recurrent anterior dislocations, and you retain 99% of your range of motion, which I know will be vitally important in your line of work. The procedure only takes about an hour. But I really don't think we need to go into it until I get the MRI and your x-rays, in case I do need to do something different. I'll go through the whole procedure step-by-step the next time we meet."

"How long of a hospital stay am I looking at?"

"Well, some doctors actually do surgical shoulder repair as an outpatient procedure, but I refuse to do that. No matter what procedure we decide on you will be in considerable pain when you wake up, and I have found that patients just cannot manage that pain at home on their own. Ideally I like to do the procedure first thing in the morning, and keep you over night. So you're looking at 24 to 36 hours in the hospital, barring complications."

Mulder cursed silently. He'd picked the wrong doctor after all. But if he told Scully, maybe he could get out in the same day, with her to manage the pain. No, he wasn't going to do that to her over Christmas. It was just one night. No problem. Then the last thing Sumner had said sank in.

"Complications?"

Sumner smiled. "Hey, I have to say that, don't I? I'll go over the whole thing when we meet to discuss the procedure. It's a simple surgical procedure, Mr. Mulder. I do as many as three or four a week. Nothing to worry about." He stood to signify that the meeting was over. "On your way out, sign the records release forms that should be waiting for you. And have the receptionist set up an MRI appointment for you this week. We'll call you for an appointment next week when we have all the records from the other hospitals. And you try to find those Alaska records. Pictures of the _first_ dislocation are the most helpful."

"Will do, Doctor. Thanks." The two men shook hands again, and Mulder headed out toward the receptionist's desk.

"I'm Fox Mulder. You have something for me to sign?"

The receptionist looked up and smiled a big smile at him. "Sure do, Mr. Mulder. Several somethings. These are standard legal requests for release of medical records. We need one for each hospital that has x-rays. Just fill in the name of the hospital on the top, and sign the bottom. We'll fill in the rest. I didn't know how many you'd need, so there are a bunch there."

Mulder did as he was told, and didn't even bother to read the form. Scully would have a fit if she knew that. In the end, he had three forms. If he'd known that they'd want all of the x-rays, he could have gotten two more sets this morning when he'd picked up the ones he'd brought. He handed the forms back to the receptionist. "Umm, I need to set up an MRI appointment?" Scully would be proud to see him handling this whole thing so responsibly.

Mulder had to chuckle to himself. He was determined to spare Scully this little drama, yet here he was, anticipating what she'd think or say if she WAS here. There was just no way of escaping his partner. None.

"Mr. Mulder??" The receptionist was trying to get his attention. She had the phone to her ear.

"Ohh, sorry. Daydreaming. Yes?"

"How is tomorrow at 2pm for the MRI? You're lucky. They had a cancellation."

"Oh, right. That's fine."

He took the appointment card from the receptionist, pretended to listen to her directions to the radiologist's office, and raced out the door. This had taken much longer than he thought. He was _late_.

* * * * *
Scully looked up when her partner came in. "Hey, how's the kitchen?"

"What?"

"The dishwasher! Is it fixed?"

"Oh, right. Yeah, it wasn't serious. The drain was clogged, or something like that."

"You should scrape the plates before you put them in the washer, Mulder." He just shot her a look, and she smiled.

"I tried to call you about an hour ago, but the machine picked up."

"Oh? Ummm, I was probably downstairs talking to the super." <Keep it up, Mulder. More lies. White lies. >

They both worked quietly for a while, or at least that's how it looked. Mulder was actually hard at work trying to figure out how to get on the subject of his medical records from Alaska. Finally he just brought it up.

"Scully, whatever happened to all my medical records from Alaska?"

"WHAT? They are with the case file, I think, Mulder. The retrovirus certainly qualified as an X-File. Why do you want to know? What's up? The virus hasn't surfaced again, has it?" She was definitely alarmed.

"Ohh, no. Nothing like that. I was just thinking about my shoulder. The first time it went out was up in Alaska. I was wondering what the records said about it. That's all."

"It's very unlike you to show interest in your medical condition, Mulder. What's up?" She paused. "Are you thinking about having the surgery!?"

God, she was good. "No, Scully, are you kidding? It's nothing, really. I was just reading something about shoulders the other night, and it got me thinking. And it is totally untrue that I have no interest in my medical condition. I have interest. But then, I have you, so I don't have to worry about it, do I?"

"You do have me, and you're damn lucky to, Agent Mulder."

"I know, Dr. Scully."

They continued working quietly for some time. Then Mulder spoke again.

"How much time are you taking for the holidays, Scully?"

"Just the usual. Week between Christmas and New Years. But since Christmas is on Tuesday, that means it will be a good 11 days before I'll be back in the office."

"You gonna be at your mom's this year?"

"Yeah, the baby is one now, so they're coming east. I'll be around the whole time. You know you are invited to Christmas dinner. You always are."

"I know, Scully, thanks. I'm actually thinking of getting out of Dodge for the holidays this year. Maybe visit my mom, maybe go skiing, maybe go to New York and OD on Knicks games. I dunno." More lies.

"I think that's a _great_ idea, Mulder! What brought this on?"

"Well, thanks to Skinner if I stayed here I'd just be riding this desk. May as well get out of here."

"Very true. Wait a minute. You ski?"

Mulder looked conspiratorially at his partner. "There are many things you don't know about me, Agent Scully."

"Maybe so. But we have had PLENTY of opportunities for you to strap on skis, and you have never done it. You _don't_ ski!"

"Okay, I don't ski. But it's never too late to learn. And what about all those little lodge bunnies you hear so much about?" Scully rolled her eyes, and smiled at her partner.

"Well, let me know what you decide to do."

"Why, so you can check up on me?"

"Someone needs to."

* * * * *
Mulder entered the doctor's office in a rush. He was late.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Mulder!" The cheerful receptionist remembered him a week later? <Oh, wait, she has the appointment book. Who else would you be?> "Dr. Sumner will be with you in just a minute."

"I'm late. Sorry."

"No problem. He's running a few minutes behind schedule himself. Have a seat."

Mulder stood. Paced, actually. running his fingers down the crease of the x-ray envelope he had with him. It took him the better part of a day, but he had found his x-rays from Alaska, misfiled in the Staff Health Services records department. The medical records about the virus had been in the X-Files; Scully had been right. But the pictures were elsewhere. And he hadn't been about to risk making Scully suspicious again. He'd tracked them down himself.

He finally had Scully convinced that he was going to spend Christmas with his mom in Greenwich, then head up to Vermont for some R&R and skiing lessons. It was perfect. He'd be in a sling when they got back to work, and she would assume it was the result of a skiing accident. Perfect. But why was he lying to her? Really? Sure, he wanted to spare her. That was a huge part of it. That really was the main reason. And he wanted to take care of this himself. This aspect had become increasingly important to him, he had realized, as he had weaved his way around insurance forms, doctors' appointments, tests, and the like. Scully always took care of this stuff, and he always let her. It gave him some level of comfort to think he could maneuver the maze that is the health care system on his own. And he had to face it, it was also a matter of pride. She'd been telling him for years that he was going to need to do this. She'd never actually SAY "I told you so," not while he was in pain. But every time he looked at her, that's what he'd see: "I TOLD YOU SO" written right across her forehead. He didn't need that.

"Mr. Mulder?" He'd zoned out on the poor receptionist _again_.

"Oh, sorry."

"Dr. Sumner is waiting for you. Shall I show you to his office?"

"I remember where it is. But thanks." He headed down the hallway. The office door was open, and he peeked his head in.

"Hi Agent Mulder, come on in."

"Just Mulder, remember?"

"Right. Sorry. I see you have something for me?"

"Yeah, here's the Alaska x-ray. I'm told it's not very good, and there's only one."

Sumner put the x-ray on the lighted board. "Well, you were told right. It's not very good, but good enough. That's 5 out of 6 dislocations, all presented in exactly the same location. That's good news. Makes the repair fairly straightforward."

"Five? What about the sixth?"

"Oh, your Syracuse x-rays were destroyed in a flood in their records department. But I'm sure it would have looked exactly like the rest." He sat down behind his desk, where he had a plastic model of a shoulder joint sitting in the middle of the desk. "So, everything is all set for the 26th. You're on the surgical schedule for 9am. Let me tell you exactly what we'll be doing in there." He picked up the model. "Basically, the idea is to reattach torn ligaments to the glenoid portion of the scapula. . ."

Mulder felt his chest get tight. What the hell was he doing? Tests and forms were one thing. Now it was getting a little too real. Reattach? He took a breath, swallowed, and forced himself to pay attention. Scully wasn't here to pay close attention and ask pertinent questions, allowing Mulder the luxury to phase in and out of the conversation. As Dr. Sumner's descriptions got more technical, Mulder began to seriously question his decision to leave the doctor in his life out of this equation.

"Wait a minute, what is the glenoid?"

"It's the name for the socket part of the ball and socket joint. The ball of the humerus should be centered in the glenoid."

"Can you do me a favor and just call it the socket, then? Socket I understand. Glenoid sounds. . . well, alien."

Dr. Sumner smiled. "Sure, sorry. We doctors tend to do that. Anyway, as I was saying, in a normal shoulder the ball is centered in the _socket_. You'll notice in the model that the socket is much smaller than the ball of the joint. Roughly speaking, it's like a billiard ball resting in a teaspoon. This allows the great range of motion you normally have in a shoulder. Around the socket bone is cartilage, which further supports the joint. That's called the labrum. And the two bones themselves are connected with ligaments. What you suffer from is traumatic anterior instability of your left shoulder, which means that the ligaments and perhaps even the labrum--I mean the cartilage--have been forcibly torn away from the socket bone. Consequently when you put your shoulder joint into certain positions, the humerus is in a position to slip out of the socket and into the area where the ligaments are torn and therefore can't keep it in place, The torn area is called a Bankart's lesion. Do you understand?"

"I think so. Lesion?"

"Just a word, Mulder. Every one of your dislocations has been complete, where none of the ball of the humerus is still in the socket, which indicates that the area is pretty well torn up. The MRI indicates that, as well."

Mulder realized he had been holding his breath. "Okay, so what do you do?"

"It is a simple procedure, really. We reattach the ligaments to the bone."

"Simple for you, maybe!"

"Very true. I'm not making light of this, Mulder, believe me. What we do is make about a three-inch incision starting basically at your armpit and going up toward your shoulder."

Mulder cringed. "You can't do this with those little cameras and things?"

"You mean arthroscopically? No, we can't. People have tried it, but it just isn't effective yet. It's just too tight in there. You need a better field of vision than you can get with the camera. We have to open you up. Have you had surgery before, Mulder?"

"I have. You don't want to see my left leg. I was just hoping maybe I'd luck out here."

"Sorry. Anyway, Once inside, we assess what is torn, and reattach it. 90% of the time it is nothing more than reattaching the capsule of ligaments to the socket bone. This we do by drilling tiny holes in the bone, and suturing the ligaments back in place through those holes. Sometimes we have to reattach the labrum cartilage in the same way. It's called the Bankart suture repair, if you are interested."

"You DRILL?? _Holes_?"

"Very small ones, Mulder, and your body fills them in over time, and the ligaments become stronger over the sutures. It is 95% effective with excellent results. You should regain full range of motion and strength within about six months."

"MONTHS?"

"Oh, absolutely. This takes time to heal, and it is imperative that you give it that time. Otherwise you could undo the repair, and be right back where you started. But after about eight weeks you should be able to function in your day-to-day life with no problem."

Mulder took another deep breath. What WAS he getting himself in to? That thought was crossing his mind a lot. "Okay, so tell me what happens after surgery." Surgery. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation.

"Okay, assuming there are no complications--and I do not expect any--you will be released from the hospital the day after surgery. Your arm will be immobilized for four weeks."

"You mean with that thing that straps around your chest?"

"Oh, you're familiar with it? Yes. that's it. This time allows the surgery site to heal--the work inside and the incision as well. I won't kid you. You'll experience discomfort during this time. But it should get better each day, and you will have pain medication. During this time you will also be doing some physical therapy, to keep the rest of your arm strength, and to keep your shoulder from freezing."

"Freezing?"

"It'll never happen, Mulder. That really is only a risk for the very old."

"But I take it that is a complication? What else?" Scully always asked about complications.

"Well, as with any surgical procedure, there are inherent risks involved. Adverse reactions to drugs we use, hemorrhaging requiring blood transfusion--though this surgery is not a very bloody one, the standard risks of general anesthesia. And in your particular case I am concerned that we may encounter some scar tissue from the gunshot wound that could complicate your surgery and prolong your recovery. The MRI did not indicate this will be the case, but we really won't know until we get in there. I cannot stress enough how routine this procedure is, though, Mulder. When I say there's nothing to it, surgically, I mean it. I have literally done hundreds of them--many of them on shoulders in much worse shape than yours. Try not to worry."

"Well, thanks, doc, but how many times have you had it done to you?"

"True enough. Okay, where was I? Post-op, right? After four weeks or so you will lose the sling, but you will be far from healed. You will only have a fraction of the normal range of motion in the arm, you won't be able to lift anything with that arm, or do _anything_ with it, basically. We will train you in the exercises you will need to do at home to regain your range of motion. Over the next several weeks the motion will return, and we will then work on restrengthening the shoulder joint. After about six months you will be good as new. Nothing to it!"

"You're making light of this again, Dr. Sumner."

"I'm sorry. That usually puts my patients at ease. Not you, huh?" Mulder shook his head in the negative. "Hard habit to break. I'll stop."

Mulder was trying to run through the calendar in his head, to figure out how long this was going to take. He was beginning to think it wasn't a good idea at ALL, but then he remembered it wasn't his idea in the first place. "What about work? When will I be able to go back to work?"

"Well, as soon as your pain is manageable without narcotics, you can return to work in the sling. Usually a week or two."

"I'm a _field agent_, Dr. Sumner. I want to know when I will be able to return to the FIELD. You know--carry my weapon, chase bad guys."

"Oh, right. Well, I don't know. We'll have to play it by ear. If this were your "gun hand," as it were, you'd be looking at the full six months out of the field. But maybe just three or four if all goes well."

Mulder visibly slumped in his chair. He'd already been benched for the last four weeks. Now he was looking at three more months. He was never going to be able to stand it. Nor was he going to be able to keep the truth from Scully.

"No one likes to hear that news, Mulder. Look at it as a vacation, though! Make the best of it. And be thankful you're not a baseball pitcher. You'd be benched for a year."

Mulder gave his doctor a glare that said "You're doing it again." and Sumner just smiled.

"Do I sense second thoughts, Mulder?"

"Second, third, fourth, tenth thoughts, Sumner. But unfortunately this is NOT up to me, remember? Mother FBI seems to think she knows what is best."

"In this case, she does. You would eventually be miserable, as your shoulder dislocated more and more often. I've had patients where slamming a door was enough trauma to pop it out. You do not want to get to that point. Trust me on that."

"I know, I know. But I still don't have to like it." The agent ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.

"Well, I think we have covered just about everything. But before you go we can draw your pre-op blood work here, and that will be one less thing to worry about. We're close enough to the surgery date. Just don't go getting pneumonia or anything in the next five days, okay?" He pressed a button on his phone. "Do you have any questions?"

"Yeah. Where did you go to medical school?" Mulder smiled when Dr. Sumner burst out laughing.

"References _are_ available on request, Agent Mulder! Just say the word! If there's nothing else, then, here is a packet of material for you to take home and read. There's a page of pre-op instructions in there. PLEASE follow them all, particularly the one about not eating before the procedure. The surgical consent form is in there, too. Read it at your leisure, but don't sign it until you are actually being admitted--you have to sign it in their presence. But I give it out early so you don't have to get to the hospital so early. It takes an hour just to read the damn thing. As I said earlier, the surgery is scheduled for 9am. But you have to be at the hospital by 7 to sign your paperwork, get admitted, and get you to pre-op. Normally it would be even earlier, but I'm practically the only nut working that morning, so we should have the whole place to ourselves. But if something changes, and we need you in earlier, we'll call. Are you going anywhere over the holidays at all? If you are, leave a number at the desk so we can track you down if need be." The doctor looked past Mulder, at the door. "And here's Nancy to draw your blood. I'll see you in a few days. Have a Merry Christmas." Dr. Sumner stood and offered his hand, which Mulder shook.

"You too. Thanks." Mulder followed the nurse down the hall. "Should I mention that I hate needles?"

"Not to worry, Mr. Mulder. I'm a pro. You won't feel a thing. Trust me. Which arm are you having surgery on?"

"The left."

"Well, then, better roll up your right sleeve. Let's inflict our damage over there."

She was right. Mulder didn't feel the stick in the crook of his elbow. But he made the mistake of watching her fill vial after vial of blood. The sight made him queasy, and he just wanted out of there. As soon as the gauze was in place he grabbed his jacket and raced for the door.

On his way out, the chipper receptionist shouted out "Good luck Agent Mulder, and Merry Christmas!" The best Mulder could offer was a distracted thanks as he pushed through the door and out of the office, heading for the car. <She's way too happy.> He couldn't get out of there fast enough.

* * * * *
As Mulder closed the car door he noticed that his palms were sweating. His heart was racing, too. <Suck it up, idiot. This is nothing.> Well, not _nothing_ exactly. It was something. It definitely was the first time he was voluntarily putting _himself_ under the knife, and the very thought made him nervous. He wanted to be angry at someone--at Skinner for forcing him into this. At that asshole who dragged him around that sub by his wrist, starting this whole thing in the first place. But he wasn't angry. He was. . . scared? His instinct was to call Scully. His instinct was always to call Scully. <Not this time, buddy.> He started the car, and pulled out of the parking lot.

* * * * *
"Assistant Director Skinner?"

"What is it, Agent Mulder?"

"I just wanted to give you my request for medical leave."

"When are you having the procedure, agent?"

"Next Wednesday morning. I'm not sure how long I'll be out of the office. I just put in for complete leave until the 2nd of January, and then after that I will be on partial disability, but I should be able to make myself useful around here."

"I'll look over the request, Agent Mulder. I'm glad that you are taking care of this so quickly." The AD took the paper from Mulder, put it aside, and lowered his head, in his usual indication that they were through.

"Uhhh, sir?"

Skinner looked up. "What is it?"

"Could you do me a favor, and not mention this to Agent Scully if you see her? She leaves for her holiday break tomorrow, and I don't want her to be worrying about me."

Skinner raised an eyebrow. "She doesn't know you are doing this?"

"No, I haven't told her. It's not serious. I don't want her to feel obligated to look after me. I can take care of this myself."

"She certainly will find out, Agent Mulder."

"I know, but after-the-fact. I have all of the details worked out. I don't need her, and I want her to enjoy her vacation."

"Very well, Agent Mulder. She won't hear it from me."

* * * * *
Mulder sat on his sofa, and poured the contents of the envelope he had been given at the doctor's office yesterday onto the coffee table. He had felt terrible that afternoon, saying good-bye to Scully when she left for the airport to pick up her brother and his family. He had wanted to blurt out the truth, but it was way too late for that now. He knew he'd been moody. But he also was quite sure Scully just attributed it to the season--an unexpected benefit of doing this around the holidays. He looked at the pile of pamphlets and papers. One of them was entitled "Care of your incision." <Jeezus, what am I doing? How can I be doing this without her? She takes care of incisions! I don't know what the hell I am doing! What have I gotten myself in to?>

He rifled through the pile, finally found the pre-operative instructions the doctor had told him about, and started to randomly read the points. Don't take any medication, even aspirin, for 24 hours before the procedure. <Makes sense.> Don't bring anything of value to the hospital. <Of course.> Don't eat anything for 12 hours before surgery. Don't even drink water, if you can help it, in the four hours before. <Hopefully I'll be asleep then.> Get a good night's sleep. <Easier said than done.> Bring someone with you for moral support. <Oops.>

He tossed that paper aside, found the surgical release form and tried to read it. It was gibberish. Gibberish in legalese. <SCULLY! You sign these damn things! Where are you!> From what he gathered, by signing this he signed over his life, and exonerated the hospital from any responsibility if things went wrong. He didn't care. He really didn't. He tossed that aside, too, and leaned back on the sofa, rubbing his temples. He had a splitting headache. The holidays, the prospect of surgery, not to mention weaving an elaborate web of lies to deceive your partner and best friend, can do that to a guy.

* * * * *
It was still a little early, he knew that. But if he didn't call first, and she tried him at his mom's, he'd be screwed royally. He dialed Mrs. Scully's number. The answer came on the first ring.

"Merry Christmas!" The greeting threw Mulder for a second. <Right. It _is_ Christmas day.>

"Mrs. Scully? It's Fox Mulder. Merry Christmas."

"Fox! How wonderful to hear from you. Thanks for the gorgeous flowers. They're our centerpiece. Are you coming for dinner?"

"No, no, I'm at my mother's." <Great. Lie to her, too, while you're at it.> "I just called to say Merry Christmas. Is Dana there?"

"Yes, she's upstairs with the baby. I'll get her."

As Mulder waited for Scully on the phone, he noticed that he was nervous. He was afraid to talk to her. Afraid he'd slip. He really hated lying to her. He wasn't even sure he was doing the right thing in keeping her out of it any more. But it was too late now. Much too late.

"Hey partner! Merry Christmas! How's your mom?"

"Oh, she's fine, fine. She sends her best. How's things at Casa Scully?"

"Oh, great. The baby is walking. It's really cute. He keeps falling down."

"Really?" <Watch it, dumbass. Don't sound _too_ interested. She'll _know_ you are up to something.>

"Yeah. What are you up to today? We're going to church in a bit."

"Oh, I don't know. Just hanging around here. There's football on TV."

"Wow, don't knock yourself out with all that excitement! When do you go to Vermont?"

"Umm, tomorrow." <If only he was going to Vermont tomorrow!>

"Do you have the number there? Just in case?"

"No, I don't. I'll call you when I get up there. Look, Scully, I have to go. Give your mom a kiss for me, and enjoy the rest of your week." He had to get off the phone fast. He hated this.

"Oh, okay. Merry Christmas, Mulder."

"You too, Scully. I'll talk to you soon." He hung up, and screamed in frustration. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He didn't want to go through this. He didn't want to go through this _alone_. He was angry and frustrated with himself for putting himself in this situation. <You made this bed, buddy. Deal with it.> He decided to go running--the last time he'd be able to do that for quite a while.

* * * * *
Mulder's alarm went off at 5:30am. When it woke him he was surprised to realize that he had fallen asleep after all. Not for long, though, He distinctly remembered watching the digital numbers flip to 3:00am. <Well, it's the big day.> He got up and made his way into the shower.

* * * * *
Scully slammed the "off" button on her alarm clock immediately. It was only 6:00am, and she didn't want to wake the rest of the house. Her mom would have a fit if she knew Dana was heading in to the office on the day after Christmas, but there were two little things that were nagging her, that she wanted to finish and get to Skinner so she could enjoy the rest of her week without them popping into her head all the time. She grabbed her towel and made her way in to the bathroom she had shared with her siblings growing up. The house was quiet for the time being, but the baby would probably be up any minute.

* * * * *
Mulder contemplated his closet. <What does one wear to surgery? They forgot to put _that_ on those pre-op instructions.> His stomach grumbled. <Shut up.> He'd gladly give his left arm for a cup of coffee right now. <Shut up!> He decided casual was the proper approach, and chose a pair of jeans, black t-shirt, and running shoes. <Not like I'll be wearing them for long.> He heard the cab he had called lay on its horn <It's the crack of dawn, asshole. I hear you. Be quiet!>, grabbed his overnight bag--packed with a toothbrush, shaving gear, change of underwear, as specified in his instruction sheet--and headed out the door.

* * * * *
Scully got into her car for the hour-long ride to the office from her mom's. With any luck, she'd be done and back before lunch. Then she'd be free and clear for the rest of the week, without a care in the world.

* * * * *
Mulder walked in the front door of Northeast Georgetown Medical Center. He couldn't remember ever going through the front door before.

"Can I help you?"

"Where is admitting?"

"Take a left down there, and you'll see the sign. It's on the right. Your name, please?"

"Fox Mulder."

The woman at the desk typed his name into her terminal. "There you are. They'll be expecting you. Go on down."

* * * * *
Scully pulled into the garage at the Hoover Building. It was just a little after 7. She'd made good time, which was no surprise, considering the day. No one was working this early on "Boxing Day."

* * * * *
"Okay, Mr. Mulder, have you read the surgical consent form? "

"I have. But don't quiz me on the contents."

"Don't worry about that! Do you have any questions about it?"

"No."

"Well, then, sign here. . . and here." Mulder did as he was told.

"I see that your blood work results are already in the system. Do you have any allergies?"

"Hayfever. That's it."

"No allergies to medications?"

"Ummm, no. Ativan makes me sick to my stomach, though."

"Well then we won't use any of that! I'll make a note."

"You are up-to-date on your immunizations?"

Mulder looked at her like she was crazy. "I'm 37 years old. I hope I'm up to date on my immunizations!" Fact was, Mulder had no idea. That was Scully's area of expertise, he realized ruefully.

"We have to ask. You'd be surprised. When was your last tetanus booster?"

"You've got me there. I have no idea. " <Bet Scully knows.>

"Okay, that's fine. It says here you are on the Federal Employees Health Plan. Can I verify your numbers?"

Mulder offered his ID and insurance card, and decided not to ask how she knew so much already. The admitting clerk checked the numbers, and printed something out.

"I need you to sign this, which states that I took your medical history." Mulder signed. "And this, which states that Dr. Sumner fully explained the procedure to you." He signed again. "And this, which states that you will pay for any services that your insurance carrier refuses."

"You can do that?"

"Well, we have to have some assurance that we will be paid. But you shouldn't worry about it. Your carrier has approved this surgery in advance. You know that, you filed all the forms! You're covered."

Mulder signed. He didn't read any of it. Scully would have killed him. <Hell, Scully WILL kill me when she finds out about this.>

"Now I need you to fill in this form, telling us who to contact in an emergency. Is someone with you today?"

"No, not today."

"Well then, fill in the name and phone number of your next of kin."

Mulder smiled forlornly as he filled in the blank next to "next of kin": Special Agent Dana Scully, FBI. <Hope to hell they won't be using THIS information!>

"Last I need to know if you have what is commonly called a 'Living Will'--a legal document stating what measures you wish to be used to prolong your life. Do you have one?"

"Geezus, I'm here for orthopedic surgery, you know!"

"I know, Mr. Mulder, but we have to ask. It's the law. Do you have such a document?"

"Yes, I do."

"Do you happen to have a copy with you?"

Mulder snorted. "No! I certainly didn't think I would need _that!_" <Would Scully have brought it if she were here?> "The woman on that form there--my next of kin--Dana Scully--she has a copy."

"Is she your sister?"

"No, she's my partner."

"She isn't a blood relative?"

"No, she isn't." Mulder was used to this. "But she's my partner. She has my power of attorney for medical decisions should I become incapacitated. It's all legal and settled and everything. Believe me. "

The clerk went over to a machine, and came back with a hospital bracelet, which she firmly attached to Mulder's right wrist with a stapler-like gadget. <So that's how they do that.> He looked at the bracelet with horror. <This is surreal. I am willingly walking into a hospital, a perfectly healthy human being. I'm out of my mind.> "Room 1013?"

"Well, that's where you will be eventually. But right now we've got to hustle you to pre-op. Leave your bag and coat here, and I'll have an orderly deliver them to your room. Leave your watch, too. It will be fine. Follow me."

Mulder removed his watch <8:07am. Great. 53 minutes to kickoff.>, put it in his bag, and like a lamb being led to slaughter, silently followed the admitting clerk away.

* * * * *
Scully had barely been in the office an hour, and she was already done with the finishing touches on one of the two reports she had wanted to get to Skinner, and was almost done with the second. She'd be done and back to her vacation within the hour. She looked at her partner's empty desk, and imagined him on a ski trail, taking lessons with a bunch of six-year-olds. The picture in her mind made her smile.

* * * * *
Mulder felt stupid. He was sitting, practically naked, on a gurney in the pre-op room, waiting. They'd taken his clothes to his room, they'd said. At least they'd let him keep his boxers on. A nurse had taken his BP, pulse, temperature a few minutes ago, and left. He was alone, it was freezing in this room, and all he had was a sheet. He shivered.

"Are you cold, Mr. Mulder?" The man speaking to him from behind was dressed entirely in blue scrubs, from the tops of his shoes to the top of his head.

<Where did he come from?> "Aren't you? It's freezing in here."

"It is a bit chilly, isn't it." He walked to the other side of the room, picked up a blanket, and handed it to Mulder. "That should help. I'm Doctor Panther, your anesthesiologist. I'll be making sure you don't feel a thing."

Mulder folded the blanket over his legs, and pulled it up to his chest. He used the opportunity to wipe his sweating palms on the blanket.

"Nervous?"

"Quite honestly, yeah. I've had surgery before, but I have never gone willingly before. This is a new experience for me."

"Well, that explains the heart rate and BP noted here." Mulder noticed that this man had his chart. "And it also answers my first question. You have had general anesthesia before?"

"Yes I have."

"Any adverse or allergic reactions to it?"

"No, not that I can think of."

"Good, good. Well, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to put in an IV now, and give you some valium to relax you. It will make the rest of your morning go much smoother, believe me. I won't give you enough to knock you out, but if you feel like drifting off, be our guest. Once we're in the OR itself, we'll tell you everything we're doing until you're asleep. Fair enough?"

Fair enough? Mulder wanted to jump off the bed and run like hell. "Sure. You're the doctor." He turned his head as far as he could to his left as Dr. Panther prodded, poked, and slapped his right arm in search of a vein. He felt the needle go in, in the middle of his forearm. A very strange place for an IV. Mulder was accustomed to the back of the hand or the crook of the elbow. He looked at the needle in place, then looked quizzically at the doctor.

"Strange location, right? Well, you won't be using that left arm when you wake up. Having your IV here will give you as much freedom of motion for your right arm as possible. You'll be able to move both your elbow and your wrist." Well, that made perfect sense.

"Here comes the valium. You'll be feeling better in about two minutes." The doctor emptied the syringe into the IV. Both doctor and patient looked up to see Dr. Sumner enter the room in street clothes.

Well, the gang's all here. Good morning, Mulder, nice to see you. Morning Dan. Ready to go?"

"Sure enough, Greg. I'm all set. Just waiting on you. Mr. Mulder here is well on his way to being relaxed and ready to go." Mulder HATED it when people talked about someone like they weren't even in the room.

"Is that true, Mulder? How are you feeling? A little nervous?"

Thank God for this guy. "Yeah, I guess so. But they took my clothes, so I think I'm stuck here."

Sumner smiled. "Oh, you've figured us out! Did you have a good Christmas?" He was flipping through Mulder's chart as he spoke. Mulder figured he wasn't even listening.

"Oh yeah, great. In anticipation of today I had a five-course meal at 10pm, and a fifth of vodka at midnight." Wrong. He was listening, and he looked up with a smile.

"You'd better be joking. I have to go change and scrub. Any last minute questions?"

"No."

"Well then, I'll see you inside."

Mulder leaned back on the raised head of the gurney. He was very tired all of a sudden.

* * * * *
"Kimberly! I didn't expect to see you today! What are you doing here?"

"Well, when he's here, I'm here. And he's here. Aren't _you_ on vacation Agent Scully?"

"Yeah, but these two reports were bugging me. I couldn't enjoy myself until I got them finished. Can you see that he gets them?"

"Sure enough."

"It's. . ." Scully looked at her watch. "9:07am, Kim. I am officially no longer here. In fact, I never _was_ here. See you next week."

"Have a nice time, Agent Scully." She looked down on her desk and saw something. "Agent Scully!" She caught her just as Scully was about to close the door.

"Yeah?"

"Are you going back to your office before you leave?"

"Yes. My coat is down there. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Can you drop this on Agent Mulder's desk for me?" She held out a piece of paper.

"Sure thing."

Agent Scully was in the elevator before she looked down at what she had in her hand. "Request for Medical Leave of Absence." "Fox Mulder." "Approved, Walter Skinner." When the doors opened in the basement, she pushed a button, and went right back up, to Skinner's office.

* * * * *
Mulder was alone again. The fact that he _could_ make a break for it if he really wanted to was not lost on him. And he _really_ wanted to. His stomach was queasy, and he had a lump in his throat so big he was wondering if soon he wouldn't be able to breathe. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. This was not good. <Breathe, Mulder. Breathe. It'll be over in an hour.> He leaned forward, and put his head down into his lap. If Scully were here, he knew she'd be telling him to put his head between his knees. Deep breaths.

"Are you alright, Mr. Mulder?" Mulder didn't pick up his head, he just turned it, and peeked out at the nurse addressing him from his right.

"Ummm, I think so. Yeah. I don't know. Just trying to relax."

"Weren't you given some valium? You shouldn't be in distress now."

"I was. It's in there. I'll be okay."

"Well, it's time to head into surgery. Are you wearing anything under there?" She pointed to the blankets covering his legs.

"Umm, yeah."

"Well, it's time for them to come off. Don't worry, we won't peek." She winked when she said this. "And you need to put this on. Wouldn't want any stray hairs getting where they shouldn't." She unceremoniously put what looked like a shower cap on his head. <Great. Add humiliation to the mix. Perfect.> "Just put your shorts on the table. They'll be delivered to your room. Someone will be back in two seconds." She left, and Mulder removed his boxers.

* * * * *
"Agent Scully? I thought you 'weren't here'!"

"I wish I wasn't, Kim. Is Assistant Director Skinner in his office? It's urgent."

"I'll tell him you are here. Can I ask what this is about?"

"This." And she held up the medical leave form.

* * * * *