SHOULDERING RESPONSIBILITY (2/2)

Disclaimers, etc. in (1/2)
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"Mr. Mulder?" Mulder was back with his head in his lap. He was basically sitting in a ball on the gurney. He looked up when he heard his name.

"Mr. Mulder, I'm Bob. I'm here to take you into the OR. You okay? You don't look so good." Mulder nodded. Only one word could adequately describe the look in the silent patient's eyes. Panic.

"Can you sit back for me? Wouldn't want you to fall off. They'd have my ass if you fell off." Mulder sat back. The orderly released the brake on the gurney, and wheeled it through the double doors.

* * * * *
"You can go in, Agent Scully."

When Scully entered Skinner's office, he was finishing a phone call. "So you'll call me when it is finished?" He motioned Scully to take a seat. "I would appreciate that. Thank you very much."

"What is it, Agent Scully. I was under the impression you were on vacation."

"Sir, what is wrong with Agent Mulder? Where is he?"

"Excuse me?"

"Kimberly asked me to deliver this to Agent Mulder's desk. It is a medical leave form. Effective this week. What is wrong with him?"

"Nothing is wrong with him, Agent Scully." Her raised eyebrows made it clear she was not buying it. "Agent Mulder requested permission to take medical leave to take care of a personal matter, and I granted it. As you can see there, he should be back next Wednesday. You can speak to him about it then."

"With all due respect, sir, I know you are hiding something. What is going on here?"

"I am sorry, I am not at liberty to say."

"SIR! This is Agent Mulder we are talking about here. If he is in trouble . . . if he needs me. . . ."

"He's a grown man, Agent Scully. I assure you, he will be fine."

"He asked you not to tell me, didn't he." It wasn't a question. She knew she was right.

AD Skinner leaned forward, placed his elbows on his desk, and matched each of the fingertips on his left hand with those on his right. He was in a quandary. He knew he should tell Scully the truth, that it was the right thing to do, but he had given his word to Mulder. But of course, who could have predicted that she would come in to the office, and that Kim would inadvertently hand her Mulder's form.

"Sir, I will not tell him how I found out. Tell me what is going on." Suddenly she remembered the conversation about medical records and shoulders they'd had a week or so ago. "His SHOULDER! Is he having his shoulder repaired?"

A small smile played on Skinner's lips. He wouldn't have to break the confidence after all, not if she guessed it. "I knew he'd never keep it from you. He is having the surgery as we speak. The phone call when you came in was about that. He was being taken into surgery at that moment."

"Where?"

"Northeast Georgetown Medical." Scully was out the door before Skinner finished saying it.

* * * * *
The gurney pushed into the OR, and Mulder looked around wildly. He'd never even seen the inside of an operating room before. There were several people, all looking identical, swathed in blue scrubs, milling about, taking care of things. <What things? What are they doing?> He was sure he wasn't breathing. He was sure he couldn't speak, and hoped no one asked him to.

"Mr. Mulder, you need to slide over onto the table. Can you do that for me?" The orderly was talking to him like he was two. Mulder tried to do it, but when he released his death grip on the blanket covering him, he--and everyone else in the room--noted that his hands were shaking. A nurse approached him.

"Mr. Mulder, are you okay?" He nodded. The look in his eyes must have said otherwise, though. "You look flushed. Let us help you move over." The nurse and the orderly helped him slide from the gurney to the OR table, blankets and all. It was hopelessly narrow. "Can you lay down for me? We need to get started." Everyone was talking to him like he was two. His eyes darted all over the room. He overheard the nurse tell someone "Get Doctor Panther, will you?" He couldn't catch his breath, and he couldn't lay down. He just couldn't.

* * * * *
Scully was weaving through traffic like a lunatic. It's the day after Christmas, for God's sake. Why was there so much traffic? She was furious. She was worried. She didn't know what she was. She flipped open her cell phone and dialed.

"Hi, mom?"

"Dana! Where are you? You didn't say where you went in your note."

"I'm in the car, mom. I went to the office for a bit."

"Tsk, tsk, Dana! I trust you are on your way back? Your nephew misses you."

"I can't, mom. I have to go see Mulder."

"Fox? I thought he was going to Vermont!"

"So did I, mom, but he's not. I just found out he checked himself into the hospital for surgery on his shoulder! He didn't tell me!"

"Why would he not tell you, Dana?"

"I have no idea, mom. None at all."

"Do you want me to meet you at the hospital?"

"Oh, no, mom, but thanks. This really is a pretty simple surgery. I just want to make sure he's okay. I'll try to be home for dinner."

"Okay. honey. Keep me updated, and give Fox my love."

"I will, mom." Her love or a kick in the teeth. She hadn't decided yet.

* * * * *
"Wasn't he given valium?" Mulder could hear everything they were saying. He knew they were talking about him. He was just incapable of doing anything about it. He was sitting on the OR table with his knees to his chest, and his arms wrapped around his legs, still swathed in his blanket. He wasn't sure, but he might have been rocking back and forth. He was covered in sweat. He wanted to vomit. He couldn't breathe right. He knew what was happening. He knew he was having a panic attack. But knowing it and doing something about it are two entirely different things. He felt a hand on his back.

"Mr. Mulder? Dr. Panther, remember? Can you look at me?" Mulder looked the doctor in the eyes. "Listen to me, Mr. Mulder. Looks to me like you're having an anxiety attack." Mulder nodded at that. "Have you had them before?" Mulder nodded again. "How often?"

Mulder knew he had to speak, but it was an effort. "Umm, a lot. As a kid. Umm. Once or twice since high school. Not for years, though. I can't breathe."

"Sure you can. You are--it just feels like you aren't. You're doing just fine. If this has happened before, you know it will pass. And in this case, I can help. Let us do our jobs. Let me put you to sleep, and when you wake up it will be over." As he spoke, Dr. Panther was gently unwrapping Mulder's arms, and pressing him down on to the table. Mulder let him.

"Okay, I promised I'd keep you informed of what we are doing. Do you still want me to tell you? Maybe you'd be more comfortable if we just got to work?"

"No, tell me."

"Okay, we're prepping you now. It will only take a couple of minutes. We need to hook you up to an EKG." with that a nurse attached the leads to Mulder's chest. The machine sprang to life with the sound of very very rapid heartbeats. Mulder didn't know his heart could beat that fast.

Mulder felt a piece of the table under his right arm move away, and he jumped. Everything was vaguely out-of-focus. He wanted to know what was happening, but he didn't. He wanted to throw up. He stared at the ceiling, and concentrated on not throwing up.

"Easy, Mr. Mulder. Concentrate on taking deep breaths. Try to calm yourself. You're doing great. We need your right arm out from your side so we can hook you up to some monitors and have access to your IV." Someone took Mulder's right arm and placed it out on the repositioned arm of the table. He felt something clip onto his index finger. "That gizmo will measure the oxygen level of your blood." Something was wrapped around his upper arm. He wanted to look at what they were doing. But he couldn't. He just stared straight up, and concentrated on the sound of Dr. Panther's voice. "That's just a BP cuff." Mulder felt something being fastened around his right wrist, binding it to the table. Reflexively he pulled his arm away. He heard the doctor even though he was trying to whisper. "No, wait to do that." Mulder felt a gloved hand take his, and place it back on the arm of the table. It gave his a little reassuring squeeze before letting go. He heard the OR doors open. He could hear everything.

Dr. Sumner's eyes were looking at him. "Having a bit of a tough time, Mulder? Well, the easiest way to take care of that is to go to sleep. I'll see you when you wake up." Mulder saw him nod to someone.

"Mr. Mulder, I am going to hold a mask over your mouth and nose. I want you to take several deep breaths. As deep as you can manage, okay?" The mask was hovering about an inch over his face. Mulder took a breath. Anything to make this feeling go away.

"Deeper."

Mulder forced himself to take a deeper breath. It didn't feel any deeper than the last one. He repeated the effort.

"Good, good. Now I want you to count backwards for me, from 100."

<Huh. So they really make you do that.> The best he could do was a whisper. "100. . . 99. . . 98." That's as far as he got.

* * * * *
"Excuse me! Ma'am! Ma'am! Can I help you?" The desk clerk snagged Scully as she tried to rush past.

"My name is Special Agent Dana Scully of the FBI. My partner is a patient here. He is having surgery. I need to see him." She flashed her badge.

"And what is his name?"

"Mulder. Fox Mulder."

The clerk typed in his name. "He is in room 1013."

"No, he isn't. He is in surgery right now. I know he is."

"Well, why don't you wait for him in his room. He'll be back there eventually."

"No. Can you please direct me to the surgical wing?"

"Take that bank of elevators to the sixth floor. Turn right. You'll see it." She handed Scully a flimsy paper "pass," and the agent was on her way.

* * * * *
"Excuse me, I am looking for information on Fox Mulder? He's in surgery."

The woman at the desk did not even look up. "The waiting room is to the left. Someone will be out to speak to you as soon as the procedure is complete."

"No, you don't understand. No one knows I am out here. Can you please notify the surgeon that I wish to speak to him as soon as possible?"

"And you are?"

"Special Agent Dana Scully of the FBI. Agent Mulder is my partner. Please make sure the doctor knows I am out here."

"I'll send word in."

"Can you at least tell me if he is still in surgery?"

The woman typed some information into her computer terminal. "Yes, it looks like he is."

Scully looked at her watch. It was almost 10am. "I'll be in the waiting room."

* * * * *
Scully was absentmindedly flipping through a magazine, not even stopping long enough to see the contents of the page, when she heard someone clear his throat. She looked up to see a man in scrubs. Had to be the doctor.

"Are you Agent Scully?" Scully nodded. "Nice to finally meet you. You're the doctor, right?" Scully nodded again. <How did he know?> "I'm Dr. Sumner. I just finished up on your partner."

"How is he?"

"Oh, fine, fine. Once we got started it went well. There was a great deal of damage in there, but we stitched him back together. In time he'll be good as new."

"Once you got started?"

"Mulder was a little. . . anxious before we got started. Luckily we had plenty of drugs at our disposal, and we calmed him down. Actually, we knocked him out is what we did." He smiled.

Scully groaned. "Was it bad?"

"Bad enough. But I have seen much much worse, believe me. You just feel bad for the patient when that happens. No on wants to see someone in that much distress. But all things considered, he was quite cooperative. He did the best he could."

"Where is he? Can I see him? Is he awake?"

"He's in recovery. He should be waking up in the next hour or so. We brought him up for a minute in the OR, of course, but he went right back to sleep. Why don't you go up to his room. You'll see him the minute he gets back that way."

"No, you don't understand. I don't want him waking up alone. Can I please see him in recovery? I know exactly when to get out of the way."

"I don't see why not. It's pretty quiet around here today. Follow me."

* * * * *
Doctor Sumner approached the recovery room nurse and spoke to her in hushed tones. Scully saw him point to her. She, however, only had eyes for her partner. The head of his bed was elevated--he was practically sitting up. The EKG showed a steady heartbeat. He looked like he was simply asleep, no tubes or wires. Nothing except an IV in his right arm, the bandage on his shoulder, and the ace bandages attaching his arm to his chest. Only his hand was sticking out. She sensed the doctor come up behind her.

"Did you use the Bankart's repair?"

"So you really are a doctor."

"Yup. But I've been after him to do this for over a year. I did my homework, that's all."

"Yes, we used Bankart's. Modified it a bit, because the cartilage was torn as well, but like I said, it went well."

"No complication from the gunshot wound?"

"No. I was concerned about that going in, but it was far enough away so as not to be a factor. Mulder told me you treated it."

Scully chuckled. "Did he tell you I inflicted it as well?"

"You what?"

"It's true. It's a long story. You don't want to hear it."

It was Sumner's turn to chuckle. "I've heard that before. Look, if you are okay here, I'm going to go and finish up a few things. I'll be notified when he wakes up, and I'll be back then."

"Umm, Doctor... Sumner was it? Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"How long ago was this scheduled? I mean, when did Mulder contact you?"

"I saw your partner for the first time just a couple of weeks ago. He specifically requested that we move quickly, and do it over the holidays. Why?"

"Because he didn't tell me, that's all."

"Ohh, right. He did mention something to me about not wanting to burden you with this. I had wanted to speak to you about the gunshot wound."

"And he wouldn't let you?" Scully could feel the anger rising.

"No. He said he didn't want to ruin your holidays, I believe. I think this is something you should be discussing with your partner, not me. He'll be waking up soon, and I'll be back then." Dr. Sumner left Scully alone with her sleeping partner.

* * * * *
Mulder could hear the beeping of his heart monitor. He stirred, but before he could even open his eyes, his stomach flipped over, and he started to retch.

"Nurse! Nurse! He's throwing up!" Mulder heard that voice. <Scully?> In what felt like one movement, Mulder felt his head lower, and his whole body was rolled onto his right side. He felt something plastic under his mouth. He kept retching and retching, bringing up nothing but bile. He still hadn't opened his eyes. But he heard her. "Ohh, Mulder." And he felt her. She was holding his head. She was rubbing his back.

Finally his stomach stopped, and he was rolled back onto his back. He finally noticed the intense pain shooting through his entire left side, starting at his shoulder, and he groaned. He felt her hand on his forehead, and someone wiped his mouth. "Mulder? Mulder? Come on, open your eyes." They seemed to be sealed shut, but finally he pried them open, and there she was, looking at him, concerned. He hadn't been dreaming.

"Scully, what are you doing here?"

"Me? What are _you_ doing here? Mulder, why didn't you tell me!"

"Didn't want to bother you. Wanted to take care of this myself. I'm fine."

"Yeah, you _look_ fine." She'd said that before. "How do you feel?"

"It hurts, Scully."

"I bet it does. The doctor will be here in a minute."

"I think I'm gonna be sick again." Scully and the nurse rolled Mulder partially onto his right side, just in case. They kept his right arm out straight in front of him, so as not to compromise his IV. The movement made Mulder scream in pain. "Ohhh, Geezus!" The nurse propped pillows behind him, so he wouldn't roll onto his back, and placed an emesis bowl in front of him. But the nausea passed.

"What do we have here?" Dr. Sumner had entered during the flurry of activity. "Nauseous, Mulder?" He was behind his patient, so Mulder could not see him. All he could do was groan.

"Can I see his chart?" Scully wanted to check something. Sumner nodded, and the nurse handed over the chart. Scully started flipping through the records.

"How are you feeling, Mulder?" Dr. Sumner had moved around to Mulder's side of the bed, and was looking down on him.

"Like hell. You didn't tell me about this."

"It's no doubt a reaction to the anesthesia. It's not uncommon. If it doesn't stop in a little while, we'll give you something."

"It _is_ the anesthesia." Scully handed the chart back to the nurse. "I could have told you that before, if someone had told _me._ The anesthesia you used made him ill once before." <It did?> Mulder had no recollection of this. "It lasted for hours. You may want to give him Compazine now."

"Well, there you go. I don't know why you didn't want her around. She comes in handy. How's your pain?"

"Excruciating."

He looked to the nurse. "Let's get you some morphine."

Scully's head shot up. "No! He doesn't react well to morphine. It gives him the shakes. Demerol works better, even though you need a higher dose."

"Good Lord, Mulder! Is there anything you _can_ take? You didn't tell us any of this."

"He probably doesn't even know, Dr. Sumner." Scully smiled at her partner, whose eyes were closed.

"Well, Mulder, let's make you more comfortable. You might like to know that all went well. We'll talk more when you're up to it."

Mulder's response was to suddenly start vomiting again. But his stomach was empty, so nothing came up. He just retched and retched. Scully stood behind him, and supported his back, trying to lessen the movement of his shoulder, which she knew must be blindingly painful.

"Well, I've seen enough of that. Don't want you ripping open all of my handiwork." Sumner had returned with a syringe. "This is Compazine, Mulder. It's for your nausea. It's most effective given intramuscularly, so I'm going to put it in your hip."

"Whatever." Scully knew he must be feeling like shit. He didn't object, nor did he flinch when the needle went in. She watched the nurse inject what she knew to be Demerol into Mulder's IV.

"With this double-whammy of Demerol and Compazine, Mulder, you're going to be asleep in a matter of minutes, which is the best thing you can do right now. When you wake up you'll be in your own room, and hopefully you'll be feeling a lot better. Try to rest, and I'll see you later." Dr. Sumner patted his feet on the way out.

Mulder's eyes were still closed. "Shit, Scully, what did I do to myself?"

"It'll be all right, Mulder. Go to sleep."

* * * * *
Scully settled into the chair in room 1013. Mulder had been settled into his bed, and hadn't even woken up. She picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hi mom, it's me."

"Dana. How's Fox?"

"He's okay mom. He's asleep."

"It went well?"

"So they say. Mom, I can't leave just yet. I need to make sure he's really okay."

"I understand honey. Call me later."

"Thanks mom."

Mulder stirred. But he didn't wake up. Still, Scully decided not to use the bedside phone for her next call. She moved to the other side of the room and flipped open her cell phone.

"Assistant Director Skinner's office."

"Hi Kim, it's Dana Scully. Is he in?"

"Yes, he is, and I think he's waiting to hear from you. Agent Scully, I'm _so_ sorry. I had no idea I wasn't supposed to let you see that form."

"No, no, Kim. I'm glad I saw it. You did me and Agent Mulder a favor. Don't worry about it."

"Thanks, Agent Scully. I'll put you through."

"Agent Scully. How's he doing?"

"He's out of surgery."

"Yes, I know. It was successful, I take it?"

<He _knows_?> "Yes sir. Completely. I'm told it went well."

"That's good to hear. Very good. Thank you for the update, Agent Scully."

"Sir, can I ask you a question?"

"What is it?"

"How long was Agent Mulder planning this?" She was still trying to put the pieces together in her head.

"I ordered him to have his shoulder repaired two weeks ago."

"You _ordered_ it?" Suddenly it made more sense. She had been having trouble reconciling the Mulder she knew with the man in the bed, who had willingly checked himself into a hospital for elective surgery.

"That's right, Agent Scully. I felt that his condition put him--and you--at risk in the field." Scully flashed back to Mulder saying Skinner had benched him until after the holidays, and she knew immediately when all this had started.

"Thank you, sir."

"Keep in touch, Agent Scully."

"I will." She hung up, and smiled at her partner. It was beginning to make sense.

* * * * *
"Mmmmmmm"

"Hey. How do you feel?" Seems she said that every time he woke up in a hospital bed. But what else was there to say?

"Scully? You're still here? I'm thirsty."

"Of course I'm still here." She put the straw from the glass of water in front of his mouth, and he captured it with his lips. "Small sips." He took about three, and leaned his head back.

"What time is it?"

"It's just after five. You've had one helluva day, huh?"

"You too. Have you been here the whole time?"

"Where would I go, Mulder?"

"Maybe home to your family? It's Christmas, Scully." Mulder's head was clearing, and he was able to take stock of the bandages and wraps enveloping his left side. "Wow."

"Quite a contraption, huh?" Scully smiled. "It's not Christmas any more, Mulder. And they'll be there when I get there. They're not going anywhere."

Mulder sort of grinned. Just barely. "Neither am I."

"How's the pain, Mulder? You okay? We can get you some more Demerol. You're due."

"It's about an eleven, Scully." She pressed the call button. "Scully?"

"Yeah Mulder?"

"I think I'm gonna be sick again."

She grabbed the emesis bowl and put it under his chin, and leaned his head forward. She supported his head while he wretched, bringing up nothing more than the little bit of water he had just swallowed. "Oh, Mulder."

When he was finished Mulder laid back on the elevated head of the bed. He was breathing quickly. There were no words to describe the pain he was in. It was a constant sharp, stabbing pain, from his shoulder through his arm and all the way down his left side. It wasn't intermittent spasms, like when he dislocated it. It was one on top of the next on top of the next, each stronger than the last. He honestly thought he might pass out. "Christ, Scully, I had no idea it would hurt this much."

"Hang on, Mulder, I'll get the nurse."

* * * * *
"Hello, Mr. Mulder. Welcome to 10 West. My name is Sherry. I've got something here for your pain." She emptied a syringe into his IV. "You should feel relief in a few minutes."

"What about the nausea?" Scully was here, and taking control, much to Mulder's relief. What had he been thinking?

"The doctor didn't leave any instructions for nausea. He must have thought one dose of Compazine would do the trick. We've put a call in, though. Can I get you anything else, Mr. Mulder?"

"No."

"Well, you just call if you need anything." And she left.

Scully pushed Mulder's hair off his forehead, and wiped his face with a damp cloth.

"Come on, Mulder, admit it. Aren't you glad I'm here?"

"Yeah, Scully, but I could have taken care of this myself."

"Oh, sure you could have. But why do it when you don't have to? I'm your partner. You shouldn't try to hide things from me. Don't you know that by now? Imagine how I felt when I saw that medical leave form. You scared me. I thought something was really wrong."

"That's how you found out?"

"Yup. And lucky for you I did. Did you think I'd never find out about this?"

"No, I was going to tell you. I was just going to take care of the hospital part by myself. I wanted to cut you a break on this."

"Mulder, if I want a break, I'll let you know. Please stop trying to protect me."

"I wasn't trying to _protect_ you, Scully. I just wanted to do this on my own, okay? Be responsible for myself for a change."

"Okay, Mulder. I understand. Feeling any bet..." She didn't have a chance to finish. Mulder was vomiting again.

* * * * *
"What's this I hear, Mulder? Still throwing up?" Dr. Sumner had breezed in, chart in hand.

"Yeah. I feel like shit."

"I can imagine. You've been through a lot today. How's the pain?"

"Better. They just gave me something. Still hurts, though."

"It does? How long ago did you get the Demerol?" Mulder looked to Scully, deferring to her. All was right with the world.

"It was about 20 minutes ago."

"Well, let's give it a little more time. If you are still uncomfortable in another 20 minutes, let the nurse know. I'll okay an increase in your dosage. Let's take a look in here." He lifted the bandage covering Mulder's incision, and smiled. "Looks good. I do nice work, if I do say so myself." Mulder didn't dare look.

The Doctor then took Mulder's left hand, which was peeking out of all the strapping. "Can you squeeze my hand for me? As hard as you can." Mulder complied, and winced from the pain. "Sorry about that. But there's nothing wrong with that grip!" He then looked closely at the hand, particularly Mulder's fingernails. "Everything looks fine. Sometimes the bandages are too tight, and it sort of cuts off circulation. Any tingling in your fingers?"

"No."

"Great. How many times have you vomited since you woke up?" He picked up the call button and pushed it as he was speaking.

"Ummm... three?" Again Mulder looked to Scully for the answer.

"It's coming about every 20 minutes. Three times since he woke up."

Dr. Sumner didn't bother addressing Mulder this time, and turned to Scully. "Was there anything in his stomach?" Mulder didn't mind.

"Just a tiny bit of water the first time. Nothing since."

"Hmmm." The nurse came in, answering the call. "Can you give Mr. Mulder another 5 mg of Compazine IM, please. And hang another bag of saline, wide open." He turned back to Mulder. "I'm concerned about dehydration. The extra fluids will prevent that."

"When is this going to stop?"

"I don't know, Mulder. In a couple of hours, once your system has flushed out the anesthesia, hopefully. Extreme pre-operative anxiety can exacerbate post-operative nausea as well. Are you still feeling anxious?" Mulder looked confused. "You don't remember, do you?"

"Only vaguely."

"Well, you weren't too happy in the OR before the procedure."

Mulder cringed. "Did I make an ass of myself?"

"You won't win any 'best patient' awards, Mulder, but you did just fine. We've all seen _much_ worse. Your anxiety was hardly worth a mention in the grand scheme of things. You seem okay now, though. Are you?"

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"Good. You up to hearing about the procedure?"

"Why not."

The nurse had returned, and plugged the extra bag of saline into Mulder's IV. She stood there with the syringe of Compazine, not wanting to interrupt the conversation. "I'll take care of that, Sherry." and he took the syringe from her. "I'll need your hip again, Mulder."

"Isn't there some other way? Can't I take a pill?" That her partner was trying to avoid needles again was not lost on Scully. He must be feeling at least a little better.

"And toss it back up? That would sort of defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? I much prefer intramuscular Compazine. So it's either the shot, or a suppository."

"I'll take the shot." Scully smiled.

"I thought so." He pushed the blankets down, pushed aside Mulder's pajama bottoms, and gave him the shot. "That should work within a few minutes. It's gonna make you drowsy again, though. More so than the Demerol, even."

"Great."

"Now, on to business, before you fall asleep again. I told you in Recovery that all went well. And it did. Quite well, in fact. There was a lot of tearing, but we were able to reconnect everything. Turns out you had torn your labrum--that's the cartilage surrounding the socket bone, if you remember. So we reattached that as well. If you take care of yourself, and do the prescribed therapy, there's no reason not to expect a complete recovery."

"What about the bullet wound? You were worried about that." Scully was impressed. Seems Mulder HAD been paying attention without her.

"It wasn't an issue, Mulder. No problem."

Mulder looked at his partner. "You lucked out, Scully." He smiled, and so did she.

"Look, I'm going to head out. Get some rest, and I'll see you first thing in the morning, okay?"

"I go home tomorrow, right?"

Dr. Sumner paused. "I know that's what I said, but I can't send you home until the nausea has stopped, and you can keep something in your stomach. We'll see how you do overnight, okay? Get some sleep."

"Easy for you to say. What _is_ all this stuff? I can't move." Mulder was looking at the wrapping around his arm.

"That is precisely the point, Mulder. You think it hurts when you _don't_ move it? You don't want to know what it would feel like without all that. We'll give you something a little more manageable when we send you home. But in the mean time, leave it alone. I'll see you in the morning." And he was gone.

Mulder turned to his partner. "Go home, Scully. I'm about to pass out, anyway."

"You sure, Mulder?"

"Yeah. What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

"Go _home_. Your brother is gonna kill me for keeping you all day. And you're missing time with your nephew. Let me get to sleep."

"Okay, Mulder." She put the emesis bowl on his tray table, and put it right by his right hand, which she gave a little squeeze. "Just in case. I'll be back first thing in the morning."

"No, Scully. Stay with your family. I'll call you if I need you."

"Forget it, Mulder. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night." She flipped off the overhead light on her way out the door.

* * * * *
Mulder woke up with a start. For a second he didn't know where he was, and then he remembered. Or, rather, the throbbing in his shoulder reminded him. He shifted his feet, trying to get comfortable. More than anything, he wanted to roll onto his side. He grabbed the bed rail with his right hand, and gingerly started to lift the left side of his body, turning on to his right side. The second his left shoulder blade left the mattress, the pain in his arm tripled. Mulder stopped for a second, and waited for the pain to subside, but it didn't. Stubbornly, he continued his journey on to his side, using his right hand and leg to shift his body over. The pain increased, and took his breath away, but he stayed put. If he just waited a second, it would get better. Mulder realized that not only was his arm about to fall off, but his right side was hurting too. <Shit.> This had to pass.

It didn't. Everything still hurt, and he started to feel the now-familiar feeling of a wave of nausea overcome him. He tried to reach for the bowl, but with the weight of most of his body now resting on his right shoulder, he couldn't. He reached through the bed rails, banging his IV in the process, but he couldn't reach it. It was inevitable. He was going to puke all over himself. The heaving started, sending the most excruciating pain he could remember coursing through his body. But nothing was coming up. Absolutely nothing. With each spasm he felt the pain in his side, and he realized that must be from the vomiting. He just grabbed the bed rail with all his might, and rode it out.

When it stopped, he considered his options, and decided to try and go back to sleep. There was no evidence that he'd been ill, so no one needed to know. But he knew he'd never get to sleep on his side. It just hurt too damn much. So he gingerly rolled back onto his back. Having support behind his left shoulder definitely made it better, but 'better' was a relative term. He was still in agony. It had to stop. It just had to. Jesus Christ, what had he done to himself. He turned his head and looked toward where he knew the window was. It occurred to him for a second that he wanted to cry, but he shook the feeling off.

* * * * *
When the door opened he turned and peered into the darkness. "Yeah?"

"You're awake, Mr. Mulder?

"You could say that. What time is it?"

"It's almost one in the morning. I need to take your vitals, and it's time for your pain meds."

"Thank God."

"Why didn't you call when you woke up in pain? We could have been here sooner, you know."

"It's all right. I'm going to need to get used to this, I think."

"There's no need for you to be in so much pain you cannot sleep. None at all." The nurse flipped on the light over Mulder's bed. She was in her mid-50's, very maternal-looking. "What happened here??" Mulder looked, and saw that his IV was dripping on to the floor. It had become disconnected from his arm--when he'd banged it, no doubt.

"Uhhh, I don't know?"

"I bet you don't. Well, we're going to have to start a new IV. There's no way of knowing if you pierced the vein while doing 'I don't know' enough to knock this out. I'll be right back." She smiled, so Mulder knew she wasn't _too_ angry.

"I'll be here."

She was only gone for a minute. When she returned she flipped the overhead light on, and Mulder squinted at her from the harsh light. She was carrying a tray filled with IV equipment. "Sorry about the light, but I trust you want me to see what I'm doing?" Mulder just looked at her blankly. "Let's take care of the other things first." She took his pulse and his blood pressure, noting them on his chart. Then she stuck the aural thermometer in his ear. She pulled it out and looked at it. "Well, no fever."

"Should I have?"

"Oh, no. We just check--it's the first sign of post-op infection. That shouldn't be a problem because you are..." she looked at the disconnected IV "...you _were_ getting antibiotics in there."

"Oh."

"Any more nausea?"

"Uhhh, no." He didn't know why he did it. He just lied.

"Good. Now let's get you reconnected." She pulled out the old IV, and taped a piece of gauze over the spot. Then she picked up his hand, and started lightly slapping the back of it.

"Can't you put it where the other one was? So I can move my hand?"

"Sorry, Mr. Mulder, but I'm not as good as those anesthesiologists. I'd be here all night trying to pick up one of those veins. I'll try to keep it as far away from your wrist as possible, though, okay?" She flattened the skin on the back of his hand, and Mulder squeezed his eyes tightly closed as she started to insert the needle. <You are a complete asshole, Mulder. Why do you do these things to yourself?>

"There. Nothing to it." She firmly taped the apparatus to his hand, and attached new bags of saline. "Now let's take care of that pain of yours. She picked up the prepared syringe she had brought in the first time, and emptied it into the IV.

Mulder watched her do this warily. He could feel it rising again, and was willing himself to keep it together until she left the room. But he wasn't going to make it. He was going to be sick again. She was packing up her tray of supplies when the retching started. She looked up, saw what was happening, picked up the emesis bowl, and leaned him forward, supporting his back. Again, nothing came up.

When he'd finished, she handed him a glass of water. "Here, rinse your mouth out. Don't swallow it, though. I don't think you want anything in your stomach right now. She held the bowl under his mouth, and he spit the water out.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Are you sure this didn't happen before I came in earlier?" <Geezus, what is she, psychic?> He remained silent. "Mr. Mulder, you have to let us know how you are feeling. It's the only way we can help you."

"All right."

"Let me go get something for that nausea."

"No. It's okay. I don't want anything. It will pass."

"It _will_ pass, Mr. Mulder, whether you feel the effects or not. So why not let it pass in comfort?"

"Because I won't know when it's over if you give me something to make it stop. I don't want anything."

"What about your shoulder? You don't want to do any damage there, do you?"

"I'm wrapped up tighter than a drum here. I couldn't move it if I wanted to. I don't want anything."

"All right, Mr. Mulder, I can't force you. But call when you change your mind." She rinsed out the emesis bowl and handed it to him. "Here. You won't want to be far away from this. Call if you need me." She left with her tray.

Whoa, he hoped he was making the right decision here. But it could be over right now. That could have been the last time. If they drugged him for another six hours, it would be another six hours before they knew if it had stopped. He wanted to be on his way home by then. <Shit. Shit. Shit.> He closed his eyes, willed his stomach to be still, and tried to go to sleep.

* * * * *
He wished he knew what time it was. He wished he knew how long it had been since the last time it started. He wished he'd just puke up his stomach, and be done with it. He wished he knew what he'd done to deserve this. He wished it would stop.

* * * * *
"Good Morning. I'm Dana Scully. I'm here to see Fox Mulder." The nurse looked up, startled. "Oh, hi. You're Sherry, right? We met yesterday."

"That's right. Go on in. He was awake a few minutes ago."

"How is he?"

"Go on and ask him." The nurse smiled.

"He won't tell me. Not the truth, anyway. How was his night?"

"Eventful, apparently. He refused his nausea medication. Was up most of the night, according to his chart."

"He _what_?"

"Yup. They told us in report this morning that he said he wanted to ride it out. Didn't want any more drugs."

"He's still taking the Demerol, isn't he?"

"Oh, sure. He's not _that_ crazy!"

"Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I wonder. Is he still vomiting?"

"Not for a couple of hours now. We're hoping he's over the hump."

"Has he eaten anything?"

"Heavens, no. We're not going to try that until after the Doctor has been in."

"He hasn't been?"

"No, not yet. I'd expect him soon, though."

"Thanks." And Scully turned toward Mulder's room.

She heard the television before she opened the door. "Morning, Mulder! Here. These are from mom." She handed him a small bouquet of flowers obviously plucked from a prepared arrangement. He looked tired. But definitely more "with it" than he had yesterday.

Mulder smiled. "That's sweet. Tell her thanks." He reached over and dropped them into the glass of water on his tray table.

"So, I hear you had a busy night last night."

Mulder rolled his eyes. "Whatever happened to doctor/patient confidentiality?"

"Oh, come on, haven't you learned by now that you can't keep anything from me? Seriously, though. Why did you refuse the Compazine?"

"So I'd know when it was over. So I'd be able to go home. I think it's over, Scully. It's been hours since I was sick. And I'm actually feeling hungry."

"I'm glad for you, Mulder, but I think you might find out that this is gonna backfire on you. You better hope Dr. Sumner is the understanding sort."

"Why is that?"

"You could have hurt yourself, vomiting all night like that. If he's the cautious type, he may want to keep you here another night. And he looks to me like the cautious type." She noticed the new IV location--and the large black bruise on his arm where the old one had been. "Mulder, what happened to your IV?"

"It fell out."

"They don't just 'fall out,' Mulder. What did you do?"

"I banged my arm on the bed rail, that's all."

"You're more trouble than you're worth, Mulder. What's on TV?"

* * * * *
"Good Morning, Agent Mulder. What is it about you FBI agents, always causing trouble? What were you up to last night? Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'Doctor knows best?'" Mulder had been resting, with his eyes closed, when Dr. Sumner came in, so he was startled. He jumped, and it felt like someone stabbed him in the shoulder. "Still in considerable pain, I see. That's to be expected. Is it any better than yesterday?" He started to peel away the bandage to have a look.

"Yeah, it's better. I don't want to jump out the window any more. I just want to rip my arm off."

"That sounds like it's MUCH better. So what's this I hear about refusing medication?"

"I just didn't want any more. I hate the way that stuff makes me feel."

"You preferred the feeling of puking up your esophagus?"

"Helluva tradeoff, huh? But it stopped. I knew it would stop. It's been hours. I'm hungry."

"Well, we'll try you on some clear liquids, and see how you do. Did you vomit up anything?"

"No, nothing."

"No blood?"

"_That_ would have been hard to hide, don't you think? Nothing at all."

"Well, that's good at least. Aside from hungry, how does your stomach feel now? Any pain?"

"I'm sore. My sides ache."

"That's what you get when you choose to vomit all night. Let me take a look." He lowered Mulder's bed, and started poking and prodding Mulder's abdomen. Several times Mulder grimaced. "I'd say you pulled an abdominal muscle or two, Mulder. You're gonna have to take it real easy for a while."

"At home?"

"Not a chance. We're way behind schedule here. We haven't flexed your shoulder yet, we haven't moved you to oral pain meds yet, you haven't eaten anything yet. You haven't even gotten on your feet yet. Maybe tomorrow."

"MAYBE?"

"Okay, I'll say tomorrow. But it's mostly up to you, Mulder. Just do what we tell you, will you?"

"Okay."

"I'll have them send a tray up. You keep that down, then we'll get you out of bed. If you manage that, then we'll move on. Okay?"

"Okay."

Dr. Sumner left, and Mulder looked over to his partner. She was leaning against the wall, her arms folded across her chest, and she had that look on her face. That smug smile. She'd never actually _say_ it, not while he was in pain, but she didn't need to. Mulder could see it, practically written across her forehead: I TOLD YOU SO.

"Don't say a word, Scully."

* * * * *
"Scully, it's _green_."

"It's Jello, Mulder. It's all the same, ultimately. Just eat it, will you?"

He stared at his tray in disgust. Mulder's lunch consisted of chicken broth <salt water is more like it>, tea <no milk?>, apple juice <What am I, two?>, cranberry juice <Yuck!>, and the dreaded green Jello. This is what he had to eat to get out of here. The Jello was actually the most appetizing thing on the tray, so he decided to start with that.

But he couldn't. Not one-handed. It just slipped right off the spoon. Every time. Scully tried to stifle her laugh. "Do you want help, Mulder?"

"You mean do I want to be fed like a baby? No, I _don't_. Just open the apple juice for me, will ya?" He picked up the fork on the tray, looked at her triumphantly, and successfully speared a Jello cube.

* * * * *
"How was lunch, Mr. Mulder?" Nurse Sherry had entered pushing a portable IV stand. She pushed the tray table aside, and started taking his pulse.

"Oh, yummy."

"More important, has it stayed down? It's been an hour now, right?" She was strapping the BP cuff around his upper arm.

"Yeah, about that. So far so good."

"That's good to hear." She stuck the thermometer in his ear. "Are you up for a little walk?"

"Absolutely. I'm going crazy."

"It will probably hurt."

"I don't care."

"Well, let me go and get someone to help. We'll need someone on each side of you."

"That's ridiculous. I don't even need _you_."

"Oh, you'd be surprised. You haven't been vertical in over 24 hours. But regardless, two is the rule around here. There's nothing worse than trying to pick up a patient who has slid on to the floor!"

"Go find my partner, Scully, then. She'll help. She went to get a cup of coffee." As he finished the sentence, Scully walked in, coffee in hand. "It's black, Mulder. Want a sip?" She looked up and smiled at the nurse.

"No, I want to get up. But Sherry here says that takes two. Want to lend a hand?"

"Absolutely."

Sherry lowered the side of the bed, and Mulder sat up. The movement made him wince, but the pain was a fraction of what it had been yesterday. He turned, and eased his legs over the side of the bed. "Ms. Scully, you stay on his injured side. Support his back, and the shoulder blade if you can. Mulder, I want you to lean on me, okay?" She attached his IVs to the portable stand, and slipped slippers on his feet. "Ready?"

Mulder slid his feet to the floor, and pushed himself up. The pain, and the head rush, made him woozy for a second, but it passed. He leaned on Sherry, and Scully had her arm around his waist. He took one step, and the pain shot through him. "Ohhh, SHIT!"

"I told you it would hurt. Just go slow. It will ease." Scully pressed her hand into his back at the left shoulder blade. "Does that help, Mulder?"

"Yeah, it does. Sort of." Mulder took two more tentative steps. He let go of Sherry, and took the IV stand instead. "Let go, Scully. I'm okay." She did, and he took two more steps toward the door on his own.

"You want to keep going, Mr. Mulder?"

"Can I?"

"As far as you want to. You're doing great. The nurse's station is an island. Patients do laps around it. Just don't go anywhere without someone by your side, okay? Not yet." Mulder looked at Scully.

"I'll walk with him, Sherry. You go ahead." Mulder shuffled toward the door.

* * * * *
"Come on, Mulder, that's enough. I can tell you're tired. Let's go back to your room."

"No, Scully, I want to keep going. I feel better. I do. It just feels good to move."

Sherry approached with a syringe. "Hey, Mr. Mulder, it's time for your meds. I'll put it in here, but then you have to head back to bed. We don't want you wandering around doped up on Demerol."

"Dr. Sumner said something about switching to pills. Why can't I do that?"

"Next time, Mr. Mulder. You'll be glad you're mainlining this stuff when you find out what Dr. Sumner has in store for you. It's time to move that arm of yours. He's on his way up, so why don't you head back to your room."

* * * * *
"Why do I have to move it so soon, Scully?" Mulder was settled back on his bed.

"Well, you _do_ want it to move, don't you? You have to do it some time, and the sooner the better. It's probably so scar tissue doesn't form."

"Good guess, Dr. Scully. That's part of it. But also just to get it moving, keep the circulation going, keep your muscle tone. It's important." Dr. Sumner had entered the room with Sherry. "But I'm going to tell you right now. This is going to HURT LIKE HELL."

"Oh, Joy."

Sumner and Sherry sat Mulder up, and unwrapped what seemed like miles of Ace bandage. Little by little his torso and left arm came into view. "Don't move it, Mulder. Let me do that."

"No problem. I'm actually not too keen on moving it right now." The doctor finished unwrapping the arm, and kept his hand under Mulder's left elbow. Mulder was flexing his hand and wrist, glad for the feeling of freedom.

"You can lean back, Mulder. Are you ready?" Mulder sat back, and Scully took up position on his right side. She looked apprehensive.

"I guess so. You're probably just making it sound terrible so it won't be so bad."

"Wish I were, Mulder. If you need to scream, go ahead." Mulder looked wide-eyed at the doctor.

"Geezus, just get it over with, will you?" Scully silently took Mulder's good hand in hers.

"Okay. I'm not going to move it much. Just up and out slightly."

"All right already. I'm prepared. Do it."

There was _no_ way to prepare for the pain. Dr. Sumner lifted Mulder's upper arm up about three inches away from his torso, with the elbow still bent. Mulder gritted his teeth. He braced his feet on the mattress as best he could, and pushed his head back into the bed. He squeezed with his right hand, as hard as he could. Suddenly he realized he was crushing Scully's hand, and he let go like it was on fire, transferring his death grip to the bed rail instead.

Sumner kept going. He lifted the arm another inch. and pushed it to the side, away from Mulder's body. Mulder couldn't stay quiet any more.

"Oh, geezus. geezus. Shit, Shit, Shit, FUCK! " Sumner was straightening Mulder's elbow.

Mulder had his eyes squeezed closed so tightly his face was totally scrunched up. Scully could see a tear escape the corner of his right eye. Just one. She put her hands gently on his right arm. She couldn't stand to see him in so much agony.

Sumner put Mulder's arm back against his body. "That's it. we're through. Longest ten seconds of your life, huh?"

"What were you trying to do, kill me?" Mulder was out of breath.

"I warned you. But it had to be done."

"So what did that torture show you?"

Sumner smiled. "That it still works!" The doctor looked around the room. "Where is that thing? Must have forgotten it. I'll be right back. And I don't think I have to tell you this: Don't move your arm." and he went out the door.

"God, Mulder, are you okay?" He was still panting from the pain.

"I can't believe that sonofabitch made me do this. I want you to tell him. Make sure he knows what hell he's putting me through."

"Who, Skinner?"

"Yeah."

"Mulder, he didn't do this. Maybe he made you take care it sooner than you were prepared for, but the sooner the better. You couldn't have kept living with it popping out two, three, four times a year. Besides, if you'd told _me_ beforehand, the whole nausea episode could have been avoided.

"I knew you'd get around to the I-told-you-so's." Scully smiled.

"He's been checking up on you, you know."

"Who, Skinner?" She nodded. "What do you mean?"

"On how you're doing. He called three or four times yesterday. A couple of times today. The nurses told me."

"Why doesn't he call _me_?"

"I don't know, Mulder. He's your boss. Maybe he doesn't want to look _too_ concerned."

"Or maybe he feels guilty."

"Maybe. Just a little."

Dr. Sumner returned with an immobilizer similar to the type Mulder had used before. "Let's see how you do with this." He positioned it around his chest, and put the arm loops around his upper and forearm. "Okay?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Has the pain subsided?"

Mulder hadn't noticed, but it had. "Yeah. It's okay."

"Great. Things are going considerably better today than they did yesterday."

"Great. So let me go home."

"Nope, sorry. Hospital policy: No one can go home with only Jello in their stomach Let's see how you do with dinner. Then we'll talk, okay?

It was almost five, anyway.

* * * * *
"Here come the dinner trays, Mulder." Scully was peeking out the door.

"Scully, I think you want me out of here more than I do. Why don't you go home. Go have dinner with your family."

"No, Mulder, really. It's fine. I'm right where I want to be."

"Bullshit, Scully. How often do you get to see Matthew? Twice a year? And this is your chance. Look at me. I'm okay. I'm REALLY okay. I'll call you if I need anything. You know I will."

"Are you sure, Mulder? Why don't I just stay through dinner."

"Get out of here, Scully. I can eat my own dinner. I'll watch HARD COPY. I'll be fine."

"You'll call me?"

"I'll call you. GO."

"Okay. I'll see you later, then." She passed the orderly delivering the dinner tray on her way out.

Mulder lifted the lid on his dinner. "What is THAT?"

* * * * *
Scully found Mulder sitting in the chair in his room, looking out the window. The morning sun was streaming across his face.

"Hey Mulder. I thought you were going to call me last night."

"Why? I didn't have anything to say."

"What do you mean? Did the doctor come back? What did he say? How'd you do with dinner? There was plenty to report."

"Sure, if you like talking about hospital food, which I don't. Dinner was fine. I don't know what I ate, but I ate it and it stayed where it belonged. Same with breakfast this morning. Look." He held up his right hand to show that the IV was gone. "The doctor said I could go home today, as soon as he came by, and the physical therapist came by."

"They haven't yet?"

"No. So, you gonna give me a ride home?"

"My pleasure, Mulder. My pleasure." She grinned.

"Thanks, Scully. You know, Dr. Sumner was right."

"About what?"

"When he said you come in handy." He smiled at her.

"Aww, gee, Mulder, you're gonna make me blush."

"Shut up, Scully."
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