Subject: Corpse 7/9
Date: 2 Jul 1995

Corpse 21/?

Usual disclaimers. Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner and the
X-Files all property of and creations of Chris Carter and Ten-Thirteen.
All used without permission, but that's par for the course. The story,
Emma, Jerry, Kane, the hospital, the town and all that are property and
inventions of Livengoo, as induced by the stress of law school (and
everyone send good wishes to MsBrooklyn on her bar exams, too!). Thanks
to the midwives of this story for psych, editing, medical and other ideas.

Send threats, complaints, slavish compliments and other fun stuff to
livengoo@tiac.net.

______________________
The setting sun blared into my face, hurting my dry, grainy eyes. I
blinked and swallowed, and a figure blocked the light. Sudden flashing
memory of Peter Kane's broad body and balding head, his eyes, sent me
scrambling backwards. I heard sounds I'd only ever heard from an animal
hit by a car, and was ashamed to know they came from my own throat. Then
Scully's voice, soft and weary, spoke from that blaze.

"Emma." She'd stopped short of the bed, letting me know I was safe, that
no one would touch me. "Emma. It's me." She ran her hands over her
face, through her hair. "I've been waiting for you to wake up."

"Yeah, you've been out for hours, all afternoon." Jerry's worried, alive
voice was jarring after Scully's leaden tones. The mattress moved as he
sat on the foot of my bed. I startled around, had to see his face, had to
know it was him. He put a hand on my ankle, trying to calm me. I stared
between the two, but gradually came back under control. And then I
remembered why Scully was there, and I didn't feel scared. I felt sick.

She saw the look on my face. She had to have. Jerry went and got a
pitcher of water for me, and Scully gave me the glass I always needed for
these little scenes. Then she pulled the chair over, where I wouldn't be
dazzled by light when talking with her. "Emma, I would give anything to
never have to ask you these questions ever again. I feel like every time
I walk out of here, something is waiting to happen." She sounded so
tired. She didn't have the energy to spare to fuss at Jerry. I was
afraid to ask after Mulder, the look on Scully's face told me enough to
make me not want to know more.

"So. I got a call that Mulder was in with Kane. And then I got a call
that he was in the ICU. What happened, Emma? What happened this time?
And how did it happen?" She was settled in, exhausted, slumped back in
her chair.

"From the start?"

"From the start, Emma."

"Didn't Tony tell you? Or Patterson?" Why wasn't Jerry jumping in to
help? Hadn't he already been to talk to all these people? Surely he
hadn't spent the whole afternoon up here, waiting for me to wake up.

"I talked to them, Emma. They told disjointed stories. Neither of them
knew enough to understand what was happening, and it made no sense to
them." Scully shook her head.

Jerry finally spoke. "I spoke to them, Em. Tony thought Kane was
homicidal, and Mulder was, I don't know. He thought Mulder was under too
much medication, or still had problems from the smoke, didn't know what he
was doing. Patterson just assumed everyone was out of their minds,
including you. Scully and I couldn't get any real information worth
knowing out of them." Scully and him? Scully and Jerry Rigg, working the
territory together? Oh god, it must be bad if these two were working
together.

Sip of water, stall. Take a deep breath and start at the beginning. "I
went down to get coffee." And tell them about the morning, about sitting
and watching people. Seeing a man walk out of the stairwell, his back to
me, and then about recognizing Mulder. Scully leaned forward then. I
could see her choking her on own anger, wondering how the hell her partner
even got off this floor to start with, and figuring it out. Knowing
Mulder even the little bit I did, I strongly suspected he was inventive
enough to manage a lot more than sneaking past busy nurses who assumed
getting well and following orders were everyone's first priority.

"I followed Mulder. I thought about calling up to here, but I'd have lost
him. And then we were in the Secure Ward, but he was way ahead of me. I.
. . I'd waited to make sure he wouldn't see me. And I couldn't, could
NOT, convince the guard at the front that I had a good reason to be
there. I kept asking about Mulder, but they wouldn't tell me. I finally
got them to call up to here, but I don't know how long it took to get
Patterson to do that. He thought I was crazy." I sighed. Patterson had
probably thought I was a law enforcement groupie or something. Likes a
man in a uniform. Right.

"But he listened to Tony. He got off the phone with Tony and took me to
Kane's room." I knew I'd been stalling. I really hadn't wanted to get
this far. Remembering this made my guts hurt. I had been so sure we were
all safe from Kane, at least. That the bastard was under lock and key, in
a jar where he belonged. "And Mulder was talking with him, asking him
about when he realized his brother and dad were 'bad ones.' About when
the aliens first told Kane to kill them. Kane said he was a little kid,
that they'd talked to him at Roswell. He said he'd killed his brother,
Scully. It wasn't his dad who killed him. I think that scared Mulder a
lot. He was trying to look like he wasn't upset or anything, but you
could see him having trouble, Scully. Or I could. And that asshole,
Patterson, just stood there like nothing was going on!" I heard the anger
flare in my voice. It startled me.

"And we just stood there, while Kane asked Mulder when the aliens started
talking to him. We just let Kane ask him about Sam. He wanted to know
when Mulder killed Sam the first time. Patterson must have thought Mulder
would blow him off. He was saying Mulder had killed Sam a year or so ago,
for the second time. It didn't make any sense." Didn't make sense to me,
but it looked like it made sense to her. I was feeling cold chills up my
arms, and ice-water knots in my belly, watching her take it all in like it
made perfect, damning sense.

"He said 'we', Scully. He said there were more like him." Jerry gulped.
I could hear him. It was dark out, now. A helicoptor, a long way away,
might have been a star moving against the direction of the rest. "He said
Mulder had betrayed them, and they'd all have to pay, that Mulder had
betrayed them and they knew where he was. He couldn't lie and hide
forever. Or that he had forgotten. He talked about MUFON and NICAP,
Scully." I could feel it all unraveling. It made no sense, I was lost in
what Kane had said and there wasn't anything in it, how could this raving
help at all? But Scully and Jerry both looked at me like it made sense to
them, and that scared me even worse.

"He said they'd all suffer because Mulder had betrayed. . . whoever the
hell Kane thinks is telling him what to do. Aliens, or god, or whoever.
And he said they'd burn Mulder for it, like he was something they made.
Forged. Scully, it didn't make any sense." Chills. She was watching
me. "It. . . it didn't make any sense. . . did it? Scully?" No comfort
in those eyes. No guarantee that insanity was all there was, or that it
ended with Kane. All I could do was go on.

"And then Mulder let Kane grab him. Kane got his hand, made him feel
here. . . " I traced under my jaw. "And here." The bridge of my nose.
Scully looked like she expected it, and had hoped like hell not to hear
that. Jerry just hung on my words. "Tony got there about then. He just
watched, too. God, none of us could move. I'm so sorry, Scully. I knew
better. Even if Tony and that idiot couldn't figure it out, I knew Mulder
shouldn't be there." My eyes hurt, but she needed information, not
histrionics. I choked a second, poured more water. A couple deep breaths
and I was ready to go on.

"I really am not sure where everyone was standing when Kane grabbed Mulder
by the throat. He'd been calling him little brother, or little Fox. Been
telling him he would. . . help him." My voice choked to a whisper, I
could see the look in Mulder's eyes again. Flat and scary, taking it all
in. "Tony and Patterson tried to pull him off. He said he'd break
Mulder's neck. I. . . he might have been choking him, Scully. But Kane
was feeling up under his jaw, like he'd made Mulder check on him. And
Fox. . . just kind of blacked out, couldn't breathe. He was trying to
breathe. . ." Lick my lips, watch Scully's pale, scared face. Feeling
Jerry next to me, warm and still.

"Kane was laughing. He told me. . . told me to tell Mulder he'd talk with
him again. He said, 'Tell little brother we'll talk again, no visitors.'
And that Mulder needed to check his x-rays. It didn't make any sense."
Please tell me it didn't make any sense, Scully. Please don't just sit
there listening to me. Please tell me this was as crazy as I thought.
She was shaking her head, but more with resigned bitterness, not with the
denials I needed to hear from her. And Jerry just patting my hand. . .
didn't any of them understand that Kane was crazy? That if Kane wasn't
crazy. . . even if he was crazy. . . Oh god, let there not be more like
Kane. I KNEW Mulder. I didn't believe he'd killed his sister. I
didn't. I knew Scully didn't believe that, or that she knew something
that made that part okay. But she wasn't saying there weren't any more of
them. And my face felt hot, but I was so cold. So afraid. And just
outside my window, the cold, bluish light didn't matter any more, and it
was dark.

"I don't really recall what the doctor said, Scully. Can I go see
Mulder? I want. . . " She looked up at me, now. But not with that
protective look that I'd gotten to know. Not like she was about to jump
down my throat and tell me she'd gag me if I talked to him. More like she
didn't want to have to say anything. I huddled up under my covers.

"He's in intensive care, Emma. You can't go in the ICU unless you're next
of kin." Her voice was gentle, and that scared me, too.

"What. . . is he going to be all right?"

"I need to go see him, again. I needed to talk to you. Emma. . . our
boss may be coming out. He's going to call tomorrow at the least. I
think he's going to want to talk to you. He's a bit. . . gruff. But he's
a good guy. You stay calm. You tell him what he asks. Don't worry about
anything, okay?" I nodded.

"And you'll come back up and tell me how Mulder is?"

"I'll tell you. I'll. . . I'll see you later, Emma." Tired and lost,
faraway voice. She must have gotten lighter bandages, I hadn't noticed,
but she was rubbing the hurt arm like it itched, and she could move it a
little. I needed to see that, needed to see that one of them was getting
better. She looked smaller than she really was as she walked out of my
room.

Jerry watched her go. Met my eyes when I looked around for him. "She was
worried about you."

"She's worried about Mulder."

"No, she's terrified for Mulder. She was worried about you." He took
over the chair she'd left. He was wearing the suit he'd had on the first
day after the fire. The cleaners must have gotten my tear stains out. I
hadn't really thought about how long he'd stayed, so far from his home,
but he was starting to wear the same outfits twice, nearly a cardinal sin
for Jerry.

"Did you really work together today?"

"Yeah. Yes, we did. Witnesses. . .the longer you wait the less they're
worth. She needed her information fast, before they could edit it. So I
helped her. She has guts. They had Mulder up and were working on him,
and she was interviewing that idiot down in Secure to find out what had
happened. You. . .you really helped a lot, tonight. You were so clear,
and you realized a lot more than Patterson or Tony of what was going on."
He poured me another glass. I scuffed my feet under the sheets, trying to
warm them up.

"How is Mulder? She wouldn't say."

Jerry looked up at me. He even looked tired. "He's in the ICU, like she
said. He went into a full status asthma attack. They. . .you really
don't want to know all this. . . " He saw that wasn't true. "They had to
give him something that paralyzed him, Emma. And they intubated him.
More drugs, the full nine yards. If he's lucky, he won't wake up while
they've got him down there." Jerry sighed. "What the hell could he want
to find out so badly that he'd do that?"

I looked at him, and thought about everything I knew about Mulder.
Everything I'd seen him do. "You can't figure it out, Jerry? He was
asking Kane why Kane's the way he is. I figure Mulder's asking himself
why he isn't the way Kane is, and he can't come up with an answer. What
would you do?" And Jerry couldn't answer that. I don't know how long we
sat there, staring at each other, trying not to think about the monsters
that didn't need to hide in the dark. It was a long time. Finally Jerry
snapped loose.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Peel." A little, rueful smile. Faint ghost of a Jerry
Rigg smile. "You have an early day tomorrow. You've got to talk with the
feds, big feds. Promise you'll kiss and tell?" I smiled back, but I'd
never heard Jerry have to force his humor before. It would have been
better if he hadn't tried at all. And then they were gone, and I was
alone. I left the lights on, and it was quiet that night, and even so it
didn't help a great deal.
_____________________

I wanted to see Fox, or Scully, or Jerry. A friend. Instead, I got to
see the cops.

I spent the first half of the morning explaining what happened to the DA
and the federal prosecutor. Over and over and over. Kane's behavior was
going to be used by the defense to substantiate claims of insanity. (They
didn't need to sell it to me. I was convinced. Of course, I was half
convinced Mulder was insane, too.) The crim boys hoped that something I
had seen would refute defense claims, support the prosecution's assertion
that Kane knew that what he was doing was wrong, and was manipulating
everyone in the system.

They'd finally come to us. The DA was particularly unctuous, making sure
I knew how he'd gone out of his way to accommodate us. I wished he had
lowered himself a day earlier, and come to Scully instead of demanding
that she go to him. Sitting in a little conference room at the end of the
hall, surrounded by x-ray tables and ledges with cups of stale coffee, I
looked at this narrow-shouldered, pigeon hipped man, with his hair combed
over his bald spot, and detested him. He was grilling me in a Joe
Friday-voice, throwing off the mannerisms of a "tough guy," and on the
attack with me. I knew he had to prepare, had to know the other side's
arguments to combat them, but he went too far. When he asked if Mulder
could be seen as goading Kane, manipulating Kane into the attack, I felt
my ears ringing. I reached for my pen too fast, to sketch the room, and,
well, accidentally knocked over a truly vile cup of cold, greasy, sweet
coffee all over him.

The poor man had to race off to get his suit to the cleaner's before the
stain set, and I got to go talk to the police instead. They were trying
to investigate this as an assault. Kane's lawyer was trying to find a way
to use Mulder's visting Kane as harrassing behavior, precipitating an
attack of irrationality. The federales and the DA were both rabid to get
details on Kane, and were sure that he had had assistance moving state to
state. When I talked about Kane's comments on "others" they practically
drooled. Criminal prosecutors represented the state, not me, and they
grilled me like I was the killer here. I left chilled, and wishing I
could see Scully and Mulder. She was in the ICU, sitting with him, last I
heard.

The pshrinks got me next, debriefing me after the "good guys" got done
shaking me down. The head of the department took the trouble to talk with
me. Of course, only half the time was spent for me. I think he was
planning ahead for dealing with a high profile case or two. He was taking
notes on sheets that he hadn't written Courtland on. There are advantages
to being able to read upside down.

I got back to my room to find a cold, congealed hospital lunch, and a
stack of phone messages that could give War and Peace a run for word
count. Eight from Mom. That was one pile. She was worried but that was
standard operating procedure for Mom. I gave her a quick call to
forestall further interference and went back to my messages. Ooooh!
Fifteen from various news shows and magazines. And one from Jerry
offering to be my negotiator and telling me to have nothing to do with
"the sluts" at Hard Copy. He finished by telling me he would make a
relief run this evening with some "real food! Glazed haaaam, chocolate
covered raaaaisins. . . " I could just picture Jerry doing Ren Hoeck and
making Margaret Shin,at the desk, take it down letter for letter.

Three from the office, wondering what I had gotten myself and them into.
They'd sent a floral arrangement, too. They claimed they were getting
lots of calls from people who wanted me for criminal defense work. That
was good for a couple minutes of levity. With all the messages, it was no
wonder Margaret had glared when I got off the elevator. Ahhh, crank
calls. Guys asking me to "light their fire." Good fodder for trashball.
Footsteps and I missed a toss. Dana Scully picked up the little, pink
piece of paper and dunked it for me.

"Thanks. Wanna help me get rid of my phone trash?" She tried to smile
hello. She looked. . . even her red hair looked drab and limp. None of
her gleam or the polish I'd seen when I met her was on her today. The
dressings on her arm were lighter, but her arm wasn't what was hurting
her.

She settled on the foot of my bed and took a few messages, but barely
glanced at them. I wasn't about to pressure her today. She'd tell me
what I wanted to know when she knew the words she wanted to use. I
trashed a few more messages and left her alone, staring at a message she
wasn't really seeing. Her movement caught the corner of my eye, and I
looked around to see her rubbing the bridge of her nose. Another message
from my mom, into the trash.

"Scully. . . "

"Hm?"

"I know your mom called, Margaret told me." Actually, Margaret had
lamented that my mom didn't show the restraint of Mrs. Scully and only
call once a day. "But Mulder's mom and dad haven't visited, or even
called." I hadn't been really watching her, trying to give her space to
simply deal with everything that had happened. When I heard her breath
catch I snapped around, startled. Tears were rolling down her face, just
tears. Whatever I'd said, I'd done it again.

I scrambled up and shut the door, then came back and settled next to her,
put my hand on her shoulder, but mainly just let her cry. A sob, deep and
painful, shook her. I wondered how long it had been since she'd cried,
since she'd been able to do anything for herself, deal with anything but
anger. Her shoulders shook with holding it back, controlling it, but all
that worry and fear and pain was crashing through her, and she didn't have
a hope. Whe didn't turn to me or anything. She didn't want comfort. She
wanted all this not to be happening. I knew what she meant. Somehow, I'd
always expected she knew how to cope with all this, that he was the crazy
one and she could put all the pieces back together.

It took a long time for Scully to crush all that back inside, and her face
was red and puffy with the effort. She finally drew a couple deep breaths
and let me get a glass of water for her. When she looked at me, she must
have seen. . . I don't know. . . that something felt broken. She shook
her head. "I'm sorry. You didn't ask me to soak your messages." A shaky
grin.

I took a deep breath, too, and tried to deal with the idea that even the
people who were supposed to take care of all the problems might not be
able to make things go away. I knew it. I had used that knowledge
against her before, but somewhere during the night, when I knew Kane was
in the basement and that he wasn't alone, I'd realized, deep down, that I
wanted these people to be able to make it all go away, make it all
better. Wanted her to tell me it wasn't that bad and I was just scared of
the dark.

________________
Cont.

From: livengoo@tiac.net
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Corpse 22/?
Date: 3 Jul 1995 07:07:04 GMT

Corpse 22/?

All this disclaimer junk all over again - Scully, Mulder and Skinner
property of Chris Carter and Ten-Thirteen. Emma, Jerry, Kane, the town
and most of the people in it creations of Livengoo. A few are cameos by
other folks and neither Carter nor I are going to claim credits on them!

All email, threats, slavish compliments and stuff welcome at livengoo@tiac.net
________________
I looked down at the last few messages in my hand, fished out one with a
familiar name. W. Skinner. I tried to recall who my clients were - back
so long ago, when I did law instead of whatever I did now - or who wanted
to put me on TV or. . . It was such a familiar name. Where had I heard
it?

Scully had wiped her face, blown her nose, and was looking for something
to do. If she was like me, she wanted something that she could do to be
useful again, in control again. I looked up and grinned. "Ever see a
name you know you know, but you can't recall where you know if from?" She
nodded, and I handed over the note.

And watched her suddenly sit up at attention, even just reading it. And
knew where I'd heard that name before. "Oh god, spawn of J. Edgar?" She
shot me a dirty look, but grinned and reached for my phone. Her voice was
very steady when she told whoever answered that she was with me, and that
we'd wait. Scully sat even a little straighter then, and I was sure that
her boss was on the phone. It wasn't hard to figure out this particular
conversation from my side.

"Good afternoon, sir.. . . .No, no real change from this morning. He's
still under sedation. . . I'm here with Emma Courtland. She got your
message. . . If you feel it's best. The local office has been helpful,
but they may be out of their depth. . . No sir. . . Thank you sir. I'll
let you know." All very civil, very steady. She handed the phone over to
me, suddenly, and crossed her fingers. I couldn't be sure, but she may
have been saying a prayer under her breath.

"Hello?" I knew I sounded more tentative than I wanted.

"Ms. Courtland." It was NOT a question. "I'm Assistant Director
Skinner. Thank you for calling back." I caught myself sitting at
attention, just like Scully, and saw the amused commiseration in her
eyes. This guy's tone alone put you at attention. I almost expected him
to tell me to be "at ease."

"Uh, what can I do for you, sir?"

There was a sound that might have been a sigh. "I understand you have
been assisting Agents Scully and Mulder in an. . . unofficial capacity."
I nodded, then wanted to kick myself. He went on without much of a
pause. "I know you must have had to explain what has happened to a lot of
people already, Ms. Courtland, but I'd like to hear it myself."

I knew it. I just knew it. And he was right. I could recite this whole
nightmare start to finish now, without breaking down, without hesitation.
I'd told it so many times that now this part of my life really belonged to
everyone but me. I wasn't sure whether to thank them for that, or be
enraged at him and all the others for stealing a piece of me, no matter
how horrific. I recited my last week again, smoothly and without a
break. I told him about Tommy's corpse, about the picnic, about Kane
talking to Mulder. Told him about Scully calling, and what I knew about
the little girl who had been killed. I told him Mulder had a stress
reaction at my house. (True. I didn't have to tell him why.) I told him
about Kane at my house that night, and it could have happened to somebody
in a movie for what I felt about it right then.

"Then the agents stayed at your house? I believe I spoke with them that
morning." From the reserved tone, he was fitting in all the information
that Mulder had somehow avoided mentioning that morning. Like the direct
threat that night Kane had approached him.

"Sir, do you usually call after your agents yourself that way?" Curiosity
was thick in my voice.

He waited a moment before answering that. I got the feeling he wasn't
used to answering back. When he finally spoke again, his voice was
colored with faint, dry humor. "Not usually, Ms. Courtland. Generally
the local Agent-in-Charge can manage whatever comes up. But agents Scully
and Mulder are. . . high maintenance and very high maintenance,
respectively." I could almost feel a grin on his face, and found my own
in response. Scully looked really, really confused.

I felt a bit better about what I would reveal when I went on. I felt safe
leaving Wallace Posner out of my story, but I told him about Kane in my
basement. Told him about Kane. . . cornering us all in the kitchen, and
what he said, and what we thought he meant. And about Mulder suspecting
Kane. No, sure of Kane, before he ever showed up. He asked me about
that, asked me about watching Mulder sort through the files and. . . tell
us he was sure, but he couldn't prove it. Skinner asked, but he didn't
seem surprised and he didn't sound like he doubted a word. I swallowed
sudden nerves at that. Spooky Mulder, wasn't that what Jerry had said?
Spooky's boss clearly knew the name, and why he had it.

I explained to Skinner about how we'd looked for Kane's car. Scully was
mouthing something, and making little handcuff signs around her wrists,
and I suddenly remembered the man who'd been arrested then. How had that
one slipped by me? I told Skinner about him, too. And how Scully had
gone off to interview him. The calm voice on the other end of the line
sometimes prompted me a little, but mainly he let me tell all of it in my
own way, at my own pace.

And I told him how Fox had decided we really needed to get to Kane's, how
he was so certain that Kane would kill Carson once the police were
distracted. I was shivering, although I thought I couldn't feel that cold
fear anymore. Skinner made little sounds that he was still listening. He
seemed unsurprised at the idea of Mulder choosing to go after Kane without
backup present. When I told him about Fox letting himself into the house,
even before Scully got there, he just sighed. And he seemed equally
unsurprised that Scully had done about the same thing.

I had to take a long breath then. Scully knew my routine pretty well by
now and had my water ready for me. I mouthed a thank you, and she nodded
and patted my arm, below the bandages on my shoulders. Skinner gave me
the time to collect myself. He seemed to know I needed a moment and then
would go on. I told him about what I saw down in Kane's basement. Carson
and Scully and Mulder, and the sandpaper and. . . I felt nauseous and had
to stop a moment. Skinner told me to just tell what had happened.

I told him about the torch Kane had, about him laughing. About how Mulder
had been caught behind the fire, but had made sure Scully and Carson and I
got out. Even Scully looked startled when I told him about it. I don't
know if she had really seen the way he'd covered us, and gotten us out.
Or maybe she'd been too worried, too scared for him, too hurt. I told
Skinner how Mulder had shot Kane, and the gasoline had flared down there,
and we'd lost him then when we had to run. I. . . didn't tell him about
talking to Scully outside.

I did, however, say I'd gone back in. I think he wanted to ask about why
I had done that, not Scully, but he let me go on. And I told him about
the dark, and the rooms, and the fire. There were tears on my face, now,
but I couldn't feel sobs or fear, and my voice kept on whispering the
details and the things Kane had said, and what had happened. And Skinner
let me tell him in my way and my time.

I told him I woke up in the hospital. He waited while I sat there for a
time, thinking. My words were slow and careful when I told him about how
his agent didn't remember what Kane had said to him, and that he needed to
know it for some reason. Skinner didn't question that, or seem
surprised. I told him about talking with Mulder, about how what he
learned. . . hurt him, but he needed to know. Scully's mouth was tight,
listening to me and how I described it. Not angry, nervous. Wary. And
her fingers were unconsciously crossed.

The hard part was coming. I told him how I had felt better and my
pneumonia was responding, even though I was sure my pneumonia was not why
he had called me. And about sitting in the lobby drinking coffee. He let
me stall. And when I ran out of harmless things to say, I told him how
Mulder had showed up, and about following him. And how Fox had bluffed
his way into the Secure Ward, and just exactly what I thought of
Patterson. And calling for Tony. He was waiting for me to get to why
he'd called, but he let me do it in my own time.

He had to. My voice still trembled when I described Kane, lying in that
bed. He'd looked harmless then, but hadn't sounded harmless. I told
Skinner about how Fox seemed hypnotized, about how we all were frozen,
hypnotized, as Kane lead us into his twisted little world full of people
hunting for things. And about Kane grabbing Mulder's hand and forcing the
agent to feel for something under Kane's jaw, along the bridge of his
nose. How Mulder had gone so pale, how his eyes were so flat, and how he
hadn't been really breathing even then. I wanted to stop. I wanted to
pretend that was all, and the scary things were all inside Kane's wretched
head.

But I told him how Kane had grabbed Mulder by the throat, threatened to
break his neck. Scully was biting down on her lip, hard. When I'd talked
to her the first time, I'd still been half-stunned. It sounded even worse
now. It felt even worse.

I told every word I could remember, watched the color drain from Scully's
face as I told about Kane digging under Mulder's jaw, his warning about
the x-rays, his promise to talk with "little brother" again. Skinner was
so silent on the other end he might have been holding his breath. I told
him how Tony and Patterson had finally pulled Kane's hands off Fox's
throat, and how Fox wasn't breathing anymore. And the doctor, but then I
had to stop. I didn't really know any more. And we sat there, me
trembling, him taking it all in, until Skinner thanked me, and told me he
was glad I'd been there to help. And he asked me to hand the phone back
to Scully. I did, and went and threw up the cold, hospital lunch I'd
eaten. I heaved and heaved, until finally Scully had hung up, and just
stood next to me, with her hand on my ribs, letting me know someone was
there.

When I dropped back on the tiles, exhausted, she got a washcloth and
helped clean up my chin. Finally she kneeled in front of me.

"Emma, I got permission for you to come down and visit Mulder." Her voice
was soft. She waited until I looked at her. "You don't have to, maybe
you shouldn't, but I got permission."

"You never told me why his mom and dad aren't here." She swallowed.

"He. . . they don't talk. His dad's dead. His mom. . . they don't talk
much. She wouldn't be able to leave Massachusetts. I'm listed as his
next-of-kin. Please don't ask any more about it, Emma. It's personal."
She offered me a hand up, and helped me out of the bathroom.

I caught my breath out there, sitting in my own visitor's chair. The room
felt cold. Clouds were scudding by outside, and I'd been living in here
forever. I was never going to get out of here. If I tried, something
would happen. I could just feel it all waiting to happen.

"I want to go up with you, Scully. I need to see he's. . . "

"He's not all right, Emma. He's in intensive care and they have tubes
down his throat, and everywhere else you can put a tube, and a heparin
lock in his wrist. He isn't awake, and he isn't pretty." Her voice was
quiet, the words brutal. She'd seen him like this before. You could see
that in her eyes, and see that it never got easy. That it only got
harder, the more familiar the sight became.

I swallowed. "Thank you. I mean, for warning me. I still need to see
him." I didn't say I needed to see his chest move up and down before I
could believe he was still breathing. I needed some sight of him, no
matter how ugly, to replace the sight of him with Kane's hand around his
throat.

So we took the elevator down to three, to the ICU. They knew Scully, and
they let us go in. All the rooms here had glass walls. You didn't worry
about privacy when you were in a place like this. They had to be able to
watch you, and every function, every sight they could monitor was shown on
some kind of screen somewhere behind a desk full of people who didn't do
crosswords, or read novels, while they were here. It was so quiet. The
machines made most of the sounds. The people here weren't talking a lot,
not laughing or complaining to the staff. Mulder was in one of these
glass booths, down at one end. I had to look to find him for a moment.

When I did find him, I felt my throat work convulsively from sympathy. He
had this. . . tube, it looked huge, running down his throat. He was out,
really out, and I was glad for that. His hands hung, totally relaxed,
from heavy velcro straps around his wrists. The IV ran into a little
valve in his wrist, and his eyes were sunken, shut, not even flickering
with dreams. Scully said they'd had to paralyze him with some kind of
drug, and were keeping him sedated so he wouldn't wake up and realize. My
stomach twitched at the thought of waking up, alone and totally unable to
move, with that thing down my throat. She must have seen me go white,
because Scully grabbed a chair, and got me into it with my head down
between my knees.

I sat there until the room wasn't spinning, and until I could stop cursing
Kane in my soft, hard, scared voice. She let me come up, stepped over to
his side and took the hand that didn't have a valve in the wrist. He
didn't move, of course. She said he'd know she was there, but I prayed he
wasn't even that aware, not in the shape he was in.

I was only supposed to be there about five minutes. I don't know why. It
wasn't like we were tiring him out, but those were the rules. The nurses
didn't come after us, however, and it was obvious they were used to Scully
being down here. She'd probably been here most of the time since
yesterday morning, when they had to have brought him up here. I sat in my
chair and didn't make a sound. I didn't want to be present even that
much, but I didn't want to leave either one of them alone. God, I hoped
he didn't know anything right then. If he knew she was there, he'd know
something was horribly wrong.

A nurse finally did come in to turf me out. Her voice was soft, and she
was really nice about it. Scully looked up at her, called her over before
she could leave. Linda, that was what the tag on her pocket said. Scully
was talking to her, not bothering to keep me from hearing.

"Look, I wanted to warn you about something. He's got a high drug
tolerance and you cannot, must not, let him come out of it at all while
he's paralyzed. . . "

Linda smiled reassuringly. "It's okay. We're really good about when they
come out of it. I know it's frightening for them but. . . " Scully cut
her off.

"No, you don't understand. If he comes up at all, he's going to be in the
psych ward. He had a childhood incident involving temporary paralysis.
If he isn't totally under, if he remembers this at all, we'll have real,
long-term trouble. Please, I'm a doctor, too. Trust me on this." Scully
was watching her intently, making sure Linda didn't mistake this for
simple worry. I gulped, feeling my own guts twist up even more, and
looked back at him. Bad enough on it's own, what the hell had happened to
him as a child? Hadn't he ever been safe?

It was a long, long ride back up to the wonderfully noisy good cheer of
the burn ward. Jerry was finally there, with food worth eating. I tried,
but I really didn't feel like eating any more. He looked at me, at the
dinner I'd barely touched. I could see he desperately wanted to ask, but
he saw the look on my face and left it alone. We sat and watched TV that
I didn't really notice until it was time for Jerry to go, and then I lay
there in the dark, looking at the ceiling, too scared to let the dark come
any further than my eyelids.

I must have fallen asleep sometime that night, because I woke up to light
the next morning, but I'm eternally thankful that if I dreamed at all, I
have never been able to remember it.

_______________________

=====================================================================
======

From: livengoo@tiac.net
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Corpse 23/?
Date: 4 Jul 1995 08:32:36 GMT

Corpse 23/?

Ooooh! More disclaimers. Goody goody. Up front. Rip anything off and
you violate 17 U.S.C. and all the law students and lawyers on the group
will gang up and get you. And that's a lot of law-pukes!

Second. Fair warning. Corpse has violence and profanity. Don't read it
if that disturbs you. I don't use ratings but you've been fairly warned.
Now then, the part you've all eagerly awaited. Fox Mulder, Dana Scully
and the X-Files property of Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen and Fox
Broadcasting and yes, I used them without permission. The story, Emma,
Jerry, her town and hospital and everyone in it are my creations,
copyright Livengoo, and may not be used without my permission.

Lots of thanks to my editors, advisors and all-around encouragers. And
you slackers are letting me down on my threats. Hard to wake up over
"hi. Nice story!" I appreciate it, but I really love a good, creative
death threat!

____________________

When I paid for the coffee I couldn't help glancing around to be sure some
disaster wasn't sneaking up on me. Bright sun gleamed on the marble
floors. Well-dressed people scurried around. Two people, one well
dressed, one scruffy and carrying a lot of fancy recording equipment, were
intercepted at the door. The guard politely sent them back to the pack of
vans and cars I could see outside. All of those had TV or radio station
labels, and I had a feeling I knew who they wanted to see.

Two cups of coffee warmed my hands, and a sweet young thing pushed three
for me. I smiled at him, glad my hair was clean, burns mostly healed and
scrubs looking good. It felt strange to flirt, and know that this guy
probably had no worse skeletons in his closet than a few old dirty
magazines. He smiled back,and looked wistful when I got off at the ICU.

It was quiet up there this morning. I didn't see any nurses I knew, but
there was that kind of intense busyness that made me glad to duck through
Fox's door and know I wasn't going to be under foot. Scully looked up at
me, and smiled as the scent of truly decent coffee wafted in. I handed
her the cup, and leaned in next to his bed, studying him.

The tube was out, thank god, but he was pale and hollow-cheeked under a
transparent mask like the one he'd had downstairs. CPAP. Oh god, I
buried my nose in my cup to avoid having to think about the fact that I
knew the name of one of these machines. I'd have been much happier never
having seen one.

Scully had been reading out loud to him when I'd walked in, and she put
down the book - the spine read The Quark and the Jaguar - and leaned
against the other side of his bed, holding his hand, careful not to
dislodge this little lighted thingy that was stuck on one finger. The
hand on my side was still strapped to the bed, probably to keep him from
messing with the IV that ran to a little, plastic valve in his wrist. I
could see a couple fresh bandages on that wrist. The cuts and slashes on
his hands were healing well, so I figured it had to be from the valve
things - heparin locks was what Scully had called them - that had been put
in before and taken back out. I sighed and brushed the hair off his face,
ignoring the look Scully shot me.

"Poor guy. Does he get pin-cushioned like this often?" I kept my voice
soft. It seemed wrong to use a normal tone in here. Scully answered in a
similarly low voice.

"More often than either of us would like. Thank god it's not usually this
bad." She fingered a little gold cross around her neck.

"He wake up yet?" Now that I looked at him, I could see someone had
shaved him, and washed his hair. I could smell soap and clean skin under
the reek of drugs and antiseptics that seemed endemic to hospitals. I
scratched at a healing itch on my shoulder.

"Sort of." Scully was running her hand up and down the back of his,
tracing the bones that ran so close to the skin now. Days in the
hospital, and the strain of everything had melted what little spare weight
he'd had. He didn't look starved yet, but I'd bet I could count his ribs
from across the room. The bruises Kane had left were dark smudges under
his jaw, on his throat.

Scully finally shook off whatever thoughts she was lost in, and smiled
across at me. "He kind of came half up a couple times since last night,
when they took the et tube out." ET? She was smiling at the term, for
some reason.

"I don't think he knew very much, but I guess he recognized my voice. I
think he slept better after he heard me. He'll still be dopey from the
Versed for a while longer, but he knows we're here." She was still
stroking his hand.

He shifted, kind of restless, and murmured something I couldn't make out.
Scully reached up and stroked his hair. Her eyes flickered in my
direction when she did, and I had to grin at the possessiveness of the
gesture. I doubt she knew what it looked like. I wandered around to see
the book she'd been reading, and to sip my coffee. I didn't stay long.
This time a nurse did chase me out, although Linda might have let me stay
if she'd been there.

I went back up to eight and spent a remarkably unpleasant afternoon
getting my healing burns looked after, my lungs checked out, my oil
checked, and spark plugs replaced from the feel of it. Jerry was in my
room with a book of half-finished crossword puzzles when I got back.

"What's the word from the front, Mr. Rigg?"

"Hmph. What's a six-letter word for 'irrational pursuit of a goal'?"

"Mulder."

"I don't think it goes with five down. Maybe 'obsess'. Yeah. These
things are too easy these days." He looked up from under coal-glossy
bangs, and I really resented his taste in intimate partners. He read the
thought on my face, grinned and ran the tip of his tongue over his lips.
"You'll just have to settle for dinner without dessert, my dear." Pointed
to a Japanese take-out bag that smelled exquisitely of teriyaki.

I impugned the good character of his parents and flipped him the bird.
_______________________
Another morning, another coffee run. Three cups today, since I figured
Linda might be on and bribes never hurt anyone. The older woman who
caught the buttons for me today was very sweet,but lacked the charms of my
previous day's helper. I sighed and thought evil thoughts about Jerry,
who had left wicked little footprints on my dreamscape.

Third floor was fairly relaxed, for them.

Linda was leaving Mulder's room. She had a basin and cloth in her hands,
and smelled faintly of soap.

"Morning, Linda." I handed over my present and enjoyed her huge smile of
thanks.

"Emma, isn't it?" Her lilting, English accent gave me the flash of
insecurity I think most Americans have around Brits. We're sure our
voices sound nasal and hick after theirs. "They had a dreadful picture of
you on the telly last night, but I could still see the resemblance."

"Great. Now I'll have all these crime groupies asking for my autograph."
I grinned at her. She was already smiling, had been since she walked out,
and she dropped off her basin. I sipped at my coffee and tilted my head
towards Mulder's room, up the hall. "Scully in there? And how's Mulder."

"Doing much better. He's actually talked to us a bit today."

"Really? Oh my god!" I could feel an idiot smile of relief and joy on my
face. "Was Scully there?"

"You ARE joking, aren't you? She's always there. Dr. Hungerford tried to
show her who was boss and order her out, and he lost." Something in
Linda's smile made me sure Hungerford's humbling was a long-awaited event,
and likely to go into permanent folklore. "I think she'd have used
martial arts on him if he'd pushed it past the point where she flashed her
badge."

"She must be so relieved. God, she's got to be exhausted."

She nodded, wrote her name on her coffee cup (I'd seen enough coffee
thieves there to know why) and picked up a tray of medications. "Maybe
now she'll go get some sleep. Thanks for the coffee, Emma. Why don't you
go visit them? Give Scully a breather."

"You said she hasn't had a break?"

"Not since she napped in the break room, yesterday. We tried to get her
to go home, but she's hunkered down for the long run. I think she's
afraid I'll take advantage of him." Linda's grin was huge, eyes
sparkling. I snorted.

"C'mon, the guy looks like death warmed over right now."

"Oh, you get used to it. You learn to see what they really look like,
even with being in rocky shape. It helps to remember what you're helping
them move back towards." She was checking stuff hung off her belt, and
pulling together charts and information on other patients. I shook my
head as she bustled off, and slouched down to Mulder's. Scully was draped
in his visitor's chair, falling asleep and snapping upright as her head
lolled. She gave this blissful smile as she smelled the coffee, and took
the cup I offered with obvious relief.

"Thanks. If I had to drink another cup of ICU coffee I thought they'd
have to treat for ulcers." Her eyes were shadowed, tired, but her pale
face was calmer. She didn't have the taut look of anxiety I'd gotten
accustomed to, and she no longer flinched whenever a monitor made a
sound. A little more sleep and a little less worry and she'd have that
polished, FBI gleam back on her.

I nodded, leaned against the foot of Mulder's bed and was happy to see his
eyes open, though not particularly focused. Christ, even in this shape he
looked better than some of the dates I'd woken up to in college. I shook
my head and sincerely resented that anyone could look so good that they
were still attractive after all the crap that Mulder and Scully had been
through. Where did I go for a transplant of that?

"I saw Linda when I came in. . . " Scully grinned. I swear, the
expression just curled itself all the way around her face and up into her
eyes, with a wicked look I didn't know she had in her.

"Yeah, well, Mulder's a favorite of the nursing staff." Such a mild
comment, but the wicked glint was still there. I looked back at him, took
in the clean,wet hair, newly-shaved jaw, and the few damp spots on his
sheets and started to laugh. I tried to stifle it. It was whickering out
my nose and I had to put my coffee down to keep from spilling it. Scully
just held his hand and sipped her coffee, smiling at some memory that
shook her with little giggles every so often. Fox was watching her with a
placid lack of comprehension that was probably a mercy at that point.

I finally got myself back under control, wiped the tears out of my eyes.
I couldn't remember laughing as much as I had with them. Oh course, the
price for that laughter was pretty steep. I sighed.

Scully was still smiling, but softly now. Holding Fox's hand and talking
to him, soft comments. Telling him who I was, and that he had a visitor.
He tracked over to me, and kind of smiled a little. I'm not sure he
really knew who I was, probably just reacting to Scully, but it was still
nice to see.

Smiled back at him. "How long do they figure he'll be up here?" He was
already drifting off to sleep.

"Until his lungs clear up.. They'll have him up here until the x-rays
look good. That shouldn't be long, he heals fast." I shuddered at the
thought of how anyone would learn that.

"Scully, you figure he'll still be out a while?" She nodded. "Why don't
you go grab some sleep. I mean, you can use my room. . . " I knew damn
well she wouldn't leave the hospital, but maybe she'd crash if she could
stay in the building. She was shaking her head.

"No. I don't want him to be alone. I don't want him to be with strangers
when he wakes up." I grinned at that.

"Simple enough. *Prang* you get your wish. Go nap. Just tell Linda I'll
sit with him." Scully shot me her patented Scully look. "Trust me,
Scully. The nurses are around. He smiled at me, you saw. He knows who I
am, and you really need the rest. Besides, look at him," I could guess
what she was thinking. "Even if I put my foot all the way down my throat
and tap danced he's going to be too out of it to realize." Scully looked
halfway between another giggle fit and embarassment. I smirked past my
coffee cup, knowing I'd caught her on that one.

She still looked doubtful, however. I didn't want to think about how many
hours she'd sat at his bedside, if half of the injuries she'd implied had
happened. If I hadn't seen him face down fire for her, known he cared
just as much, I'd have been taking notes to set him straight. "Scully, I
followed him into a burning house. I followed him into Kane's room. I
helped you put stitches in his hands and let you two get blood all over my
stuff. I can hold his hand. I can talk to him. He's not scared of me. I
know you don't really trust me. Hell, you two don't trust anyone much.
But trust me this far. He knows me enough to know I won't hurt him, and
he'll need you more when he's really awake." Soft, reasonable voice. The
voice I pulled out when my clients were selling their dead parents' homes,
the one I reached for out of that spot where I really felt it when other
people hurt. The spot I'd always tried to stay far away from, and that
Scully and Mulder kept pushing me back into.

Linda was watching us, had probably caught part of it. The other staff
were leaving us to her. She stepped in, Scully looked over at her.
"Look, Dr. Scully, there's the break room. You can sleep down there, it's
just down the hall." I saw the flicker of relief in Scully's eyes. "And
I'll bend the rules, and let the ambulance chaser sit with him." Linda
grinned at me.

"Cute. Thanks very much, but I chase hearses and pounce on new
inheritors." Scully snorted. I could see that if she'd had anything left
she'd have argued more. All the caffeine in the world couldn't keep you
running past a certain point, and she must have passed that point ages
ago. She let Linda pull her out and park her down the hall, in what was
probably a comforting and familiar surrounding for her.

Then I leaned over the side of the bed, held Fox Mulder's hand, and told
him about leases and equity and the Rule Against Perpetuities. I figured
he'd get better just to keep me from poisoning his subconscious at that
rate. If I tried really hard, I could see the guy who'd told me about
being blindfolded with cucumbers, and who wrestled with Scully. Finally I
just sighed, and told him back his own stories and hoped I'd see that
person again.
_____________________

=====================================================================
======

From: livengoo@tiac.net
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Corpse 24/?
Date: 5 Jul 1995 02:57:19 GMT

Corpse 24/?

Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner and the X-Files property of Chris
Carter, Ten-Thirteen, and Fox Broadcasting. I confess, I used 'em without
permission. Anyone who really wants me to stop can let me know. I don't
make any money, and I like email! Keep it coming! The story, Emma
Courtland, her town and everyone else in it are all mine. Mulderangst
galore! Latest threats: to be duct taped to the computer and write or
face repeated TV theme songs. Being forced to babysit three year old
twins. On vacation.

Oh yeah, and don't read this story if you object to violence and/or
profanity. Both represented at some point during this story.
Goo
___________________

We let Scully sleep. Once she went out she just slept and slept. Linda
kept everyone out of the break room, and checked on me occasionally. One
of the other nurses was really sweet and brought me a cup of their coffee
when my caffo-globin levels started to drop. I sipped it and instantly
suffered a bad flashback to law school cafeteria study groups, and
cramming for Evidence and studying intentional torts.

Fox mostly just lay there. Sometimes he'd open his eyes, kind of frown at
me. If I hadn't known Scully was so damn exhausted I'd have gotten her
for him. As it was, I just chattered to him myself. He was so thin, so
fragile. It was awful to see how easily someone you knew could just
become. . . God. All of a sudden I was thinking of Tommy Dalbert, and I
had to wrap my hand around Fox's wrist and reassure myself that I could
still feel a pulse, that he'd be all right, become a real person again
instead of a patient. Bad, bad case of the shakes. And I didn't even
want to think about the fact that knowing these two had turned me into
that kind of object once, too.

Scully finally showed about two thirty in the afternoon. I figured she'd
slept five hours before anxiety, or whatever, woke her back up. His eyes
were open, and he'd been sort of listening to me. I knew he was a little
more there, since he'd said "Hi, Emma," when he roused this latest time.
The minute Scully showed up though, it was like the rest of us just didn't
exist any more. He smiled, actually really smiled at her, and I could see
him squeeze her hand when she took his.

"We've got to stop meeting like this. . ." His voice was so thin.

"Too late. People already talk. Mostly Skinner and our insurance
adjustors." He closed his eyes and tried to laugh, coughed a little.
Opened them again fast, as though to assure himself she wouldn't
disappear. She just kept hold of his hand, and he slipped back off, quiet
and happy.

The short walk down to the elevator was awfully lonely today. Up to the
eighth floor to sit alone in my room and wonder if I'd ever have anyone
who meant that much to me.
________________________

Jerry was holding up a burgundy suit and a pair of matching pumps. The
embroidered Chaucer vest under the jacket went nicely with the silk
blouse, but it really wasn't his color and I told him so.

"You mean I can't borrow it? And I was hoping to be the next J. Edgar Hoover"

"You are one sick puppy, Rigg." I was sorting through the make-up in the
brown paper bag he'd dropped on my bed.

"Yeah, but I'm the sick puppy giving you a ride home today. I hear you're
out by eleven, and leave the towels and glasses if you please." He had
also brought pantyhose and a carry-on bag for me to pack my stuff. I
smiled and shook my head.

"Just like the Holiday Inn."

"Ummh hmm, except the Holiday Inn doesn't have a slavering horde of my
carrion-eating brethren howling at the door." I looked up at him.
"That's right, Mrs. Peel. They're waiting for you, among others, and
you're going to need an escort."

"Ah, so that's why you're wearing camera colors. I thought that was a
little subdued for you." Jerry made a face.

"Look, any chance you can get me up to talk with your friends before we
leave?" He sounded wistful, looking around my room and doubtless thinking
of all the interview opportunities lost with my discharge.

"Not. A. Hope. And I'm appalled you would even ask." He gave me a
shark grin.

"You can't fault me for asking."

"No, just for expecting me to say yes."
___________________

I'd signed lots of forms, and was sure I'd need treatment for sticker
shock. They really wanted to kick me loose and get me out of their
hospital right away, but they did agree to let me go visit before I left,
since I had special dispensation to be up on the ICU.

So I stranded Jerry in the lobby - to his tremendous disgust - and took
two cups of coffee with me to the third floor, for old times' sake. Linda
wasn't up there today, but the cup didn't languish at the desk. Scully
was there, small surprise. She had her hand halfway to the cup as I
walked through the door, kind of a pavlovian response to seeing me these
days.

She hesitated, taking in the suit, then finished the grab for the gold.
"Congratulations. You must be glad to be going home." She seemed. . .
odd. A little distant. I figured it for the suit, since she was wearing
sweats and looked pretty ratty with her hair pulled in a pony tail and no
make-up on. The circles under her eyes and the hollows under her cheeks
looked like she was trying to earn a bed here again, the hard way.

"Yeah, I ditched Jerry at the front lobby. They wanted to park me in a
wheelchair and get rid of me, but I insisted on coming up to visit."
Mulder's eyes were open today, and he actually looked awake. He eyed
Scully's coffee and gave a forlorn little sigh.

"Any chance I can have some of that?" I was startled to hear him at all,
and the wispy little shred of a voice didn't help. Scully eyed him over
the edge of the cup.

"Not a hope. Even if you were supposed to be doing caffeine I wouldn't
give up a drop of this stuff."

He managed a thin imitation of a patented Mulder grin. "I guess I know
whose time of the month it is." She snorted and guzzled her coffee with
sadistically dramatic pleasure.

"I can see you'll be back to your normal self in no time." Mulder looked
back at me, smirked, but he was starting to look tired again already. "I.
. . I wanted to drop in before I left. I'll visit tomorrow, if that's all
right?" I looked at Scully, getting the warden's permission. I was. .
.relieved? When she nodded. I don't know, it just didn't feel right to
simply walk out and leave them and that's that. I couldn't walk away from
them - from everything - just like that.

_________________________

The air was crisp and sweet, and the bare branches of the trees stood
harsh against the blue sky. Unfortunately, I got very little opportunity
to enjoy it.

A nurse wheeled me out, for fear I'd slip in my heels and sue the
hospital. Jerry flanked me, for which I was profoundly grateful when I
saw a solid wall of reporters, cameras, microphones and paraphernalia
gather and charge. He got in and fended them off. I've never seen anyone
deliver "No Comment!" with such conviction, style and verve. Shouted
questions about "Agent Mulder," "Agent Scully," "The UFO Killer," and
"Louisiana," made me truly delighted he was there. I scrambled into his
ostentatious Beamer and we got out of there.

Of course, I couldn't be that lucky. They were already staked out at my
place. My neighbor, Karen, was flirting with a tall, well-built camera
man and shot me a resentful look when he hustled over to jostle with his
colleagues and get a shot of my lovely face. Jerry and I threw ourselves
into the safety of the front hall, got our backs to the door, and
collapsed into hyterical giggles.

"Oh god, you didn't warn me. . . "

"I did! Don't you ever watch the news?"

"They never do this on McNeil-Lehrer."

"Snob. Did you see your neighbor?" His eyes were dark and sparkling,
thrilled at turning the tables. I was wheezing and coughing a little, but
not badly. A toot on the inhaler my doctors had sent along and I was
breathing freely and giggling like a maniac. Slid down the door to sit on
the tiles of the hall, my legs out in front of me and the toes of my pumps
pointing to the ceiling.

The early afternoon sun warmed the hall, and picked out the little traces
of black powder on the walls, and the bigger smudges of rusty brown on the
door jambs and front curtains. My giggles tapered off. Jerry's face went
quiet, concerned, as he watched me. I don't know where it came from, but
hurt and loneliness under my breastbone suddenly rocked me with a little
sob, that became a big one as I sat there. No tears. No more sobs,
really, either. Just that quiet, lost feeling as I stared around my front
hall and realized I'd always know those stains were there. Always.

Jer pulled me onto my feet, and I followed him docilely enough into the
living room. My computer and my phone machine were undergoing the China
Syndrome from message overload. I settled on the couch, kicked off my
heels, and watched them blink as I heard my friend pull together a cup of
tea for me in the kitchen. The faint, faint odor of burned garlic bread
still hung in the air, but mainly I smelled a stale odor of no-one-home
closed up house.

The cup felt hot and solid between my hands. Jerry started sorting
through my phone messages, writing down the personal ones and erasing the
PR flacks and media hounds. I watched him for a long time before I
realized I was straining my ears, trying to hear footsteps where there
weren't any. I must have made some sound. Jerry turned, and watched me
go to the CD player, load Robbie Robertson and Richard Thompson and set
the tracks and play American Roulette and How Will I Ever Be Simple Again
over and over. I don't know what he thought. He watched me, then turned
and finished clearing my messages. He must have turned the ringer off.
The phone was silent.

I settled behind my computer and ran through the email. Message on
message on message. Most of them useless. One though. . . a forwarded
message, for ghost_wrtr. How Fox's friends had found me I wasn't sure. I
didn't want to ask. I opened his mail - he'd read mine, after all. It
was just a get-well message from "the Gunmen," and a note that snooping on
other people's email was nasty and if I wasn't Mulder I should be
ashamed. And a post-script that if I was Mulder I should probably be
ashamed too, but for entirely different reasons. I printed it out and put
it in my purse for him.

The messages back to friends went fast. Jerry had brought in our bags and
was sitting on the couch, waiting.

"Are you ready to talk about it, Emma?"

"I thought you had your exclusive already." He nodded.

"Fair shot. But yes, I do have my exclusive. Want to tell me why you're
so depressed to be home?"

I glared at him. Sanctimonious little. . . "I'm not depressed. I'm. . .
it's stress. PMS." He snorted.

"Like hell." He held out his hands, shaping the size of a thought. The
late sun had left these rooms behind, and he looked somber and strange in
the dark suit. "Emma, we race home through the mingled hordes and you
grin like a maniac, smile for the cameras, yell 'no comment' like a
politician. But you step through your door and you're lost." His voice
was gentle, familiar.

"You've been listening for people, or drowning out silence. Your song
titles are. . . " He glanced at the CD player. "Talk to me, Emma."

"I. . . I don't know, Jerry." I looked around, turned my machine off. I
went to the wall, and looked for the light switch. Turned it on. The
reporters were still out there, but not so many. I wasn't who they really
wanted, and I wasn't commenting. I heard him sigh behind me.

"It's okay. Why don't you go to bed, Emma? I'll stay in the guest room,
unless you don't want me here tonight."

I almost told him he couldn't have the guest room, it was Scully's, when I
realized it wasn't. I looked back at him, bit my lip, nodded. Not very
long after a quiet evening, I went upstairs and crawled into bed and tried
without luck to find my own shape in the mattress where it used to be.

____________________

It wasn't so hard to get out in the morning. Jerry still ran
interference, but he didn't have to work at it today as much. No one at
all pestered us when I ran into the office.

Everyone smiled at me. I waved and smiled back, but the rhythms of the
small talk jarred today. Tommy's face was still with me. He'd never walk
in here, never try to buy a house, or start a business, or divorce a
wife. The tall, out of shape men here could have been Frank Carson. None
of them could be Fox Mulder. None of the women gleamed, bright and sharp
and glossy. The carpet seemed less rich, and the thin spots on fabric of
chairs stood out. There were fingerprints on the light switches.

I checked in with Human Resources, gathered a handful of files for
homework and fled. We stopped at the very best bakery in town, where I
bought coffee and napoleons for Jerry, and more coffee and rich croissants
and danish in a bag. On the trip up to the hospital we listened to the
news announcer tell us Peter Kane would undergo psychiatric evaluation at
the order of the court, hearing to be held in nine days. Jerry met my
eyes, but we didn't waste words.

Jerry stayed outside, chatting with a friend. It was cooler and he kept
his hands in his pockets, I saw as I went through the automatic doors. I
came back through the lobby from the strange perspective of heels, a suit,
not the scrubs and ID bracelet that had camouflaged me so I belonged
here. Up to three, and down the hall. And a twist of panic as I looked
through the window and saw a stranger.

It only took a minute to figure out, and one of the nurses recognized me
and told me where to go. I was lucky. They'd never have told me at the
front desk. Back to the elevator and up to six, down a hall marked
Pulmonary and Respiratory. I thought I'd need to wheedle a nurse, but
when I saw a door with a dark-suited man seated by it I played a hunch.

He wasn't much taller than I was, but he was burly as hell and I stopped
when he told me to.

"Could I see some ID, ma'am?" I'd become a "ma'am" to store clerks years
before, and it broke my heart then. From this guy it sounded like a
formal title. I tucked the paper bag between my teeth and fished my
wallet out of my purse. I was just handing across my driver's license
when the suit's eyes went past me and a pleasant smile actually made him
look human.

"Emma, sometime that trick is going to stop getting you on my good side."
>From Scully's voice though, today wasn't that day. I grinned at her past
the bag and retrieved my license. She scooped the cups out of my hands,
letting me grab my bag, and lead me past the bruiser and through the door,
where she stopped so fast I almost ran into her.

Over her shoulder I could see a familiar, suited figure sitting next to
Mulder, holding a cheezy flower arrangement with a Hallowe'en theme of
ghosts. Mulder looked tired, but was in the middle of answering a
question. I watched, fascinated, as Scully's shoulders
visibly tightened. I was surprised she didn't squash those cups and send
coffee flying everywhere. As it was, she slammed her heels into the floor
with the force of her stride.

"Mr. Waverly. I believe I spoke with you yesterday." Ooooh. If I were
Waverly I'd watch it, and hope my cleaner knew a lot about coffee stains.
Mulder was watching Scully with a look I could only identify as weary
exasperation. I grabbed wall and leaned back to watch, planning to stay
out of this particular crossfire.

"I do recall our discussion, Agent Scully. As I told you yesterday,
however, the hearing is approaching and we need to be prepared."

Mulder was off the mask, and looking much more alert than he had
yesterday, but that was really damning with faint praise. Right now he
was pushing himself upright. I could see the muscles in his forearms kind
of quiver with the effort, and the strain around his mouth and eyes.

"Scully, he needs to get the background on. . . "

"Mulder. I have known you for more than two years. In that time, the one
thing I have learned is not to take your medical judgement of your
condition under any circumstances." My. I wouldn't have tried to argue
with her, but I could see him collecting his points. Waverly looked
relieved to be off the hook, and put his flowers down and picked his tape
recorder up.

"I think I've tired Agent Mulder enough for today. I'll pick this up
tomorrow. . . ?" He directed the question straight to Mulder, who was
nodding even as Scully was shaking her head. Waverly made strategic
retreat, and I could read his lips as he went past me. He was up there
with Newt on his opinion of strong women. The things I saw him mouth
about Scully put a sour taste in my mouth and made me wish it had been
Waverly's suit I'd besmirched that time, instead of the D.A.'s.
Croissants wouldn't do much damage, and would be a waste of good pastry.

Scully shot leftover temper off in a glare at me, but I wasn't making a
move to draw her anger. Not a word, not a syllable. I knew only one word
that might defuse the tensions in that room, and I used it.

"Croissant?"

Scully stared at the open bag. Fox's face absolutely lit up in this
blissful smile, as he shoved a can of something that looked like Slim-Fast
(tm) to the side of his tray. I grinned back, and felt safe getting in
arm's reach with my peace offering. Scully finally realized she still
held my cup of coffee hostage, and relaxed into a faint, tired smile,
trading me the cup for a chocolate croissant.

"Emma, you just moved up on my list of favorite people." Mulder had
fished out a cheese danish and was slowly nibbling his way through it like
he wanted to make it last. I could see jello and protein drinks on his
tray.

"You're not supposed to be eating that." Yep. I'd just walked through
the door and already broken a rule. Scully's tone was relatively mild
however, and I had a feeling she wasn't going to demolish me for this one.

"You eat this crap and tell me you wouldn't kill for a danish. They
outlaw this," he tapped the can, "in landfills because the stuff has a
half-life over a million years. Toxic waste, and they want to shovel it
down me to get rid of it."

"Mulder, you know perfectly well. . . "

"That I'm going to have another danish." I pretended to be too busy with
my coffee to fend him off, and I don't think she had the heart to stop
him. He sounded a little wired. The sugar was probably kicking his
system into overdrive. I made polite noises and saved Fox from further
temptation by giving the rest of them to the suit at the door (kind of
like meat to guard dogs) and came back to settle on the visitor couch, a
vinyl crime against comfort and aesthetics, but convenient.

Scully was looking protective, and I was just as glad I hadn't intended to
stay long. I did want to see them however. I hadn't realized how much
until I'd felt that lurch in my gut when I saw the empty room downstairs.

"You're looking much better." Thin, but his hair was shiny in the
sunlight through the window, and his color looked better now that
fluorescents weren't the only light. Scully, sitting on the foot of his
bed, didn't look too much better by now, which said a lot about the shape
both of them were in. Mulder licked danish crumbs off his lips and
nodded.

"Yeah, they let me up here last night. It's nice to be up where you can
hear something other than machines." Another tiny bite of danish. I
could see him flagging. His eyes were definitely bigger than his
stomach. By now that might almost be literally true. Scully was watching
him with that look medical types give you when you eat bacon, or ice
cream, or a steak. The one that says they won't be to blame when you have
to pay for the damage, but they sure wish you'd stop. To her relief, he
had to abandon his danish halfway through, dropping it with a regretful
look and slumping back in the pillows.

"You are going to regret that danish. You've been warned." She pulled
her legs up tailor fashion and sipped her coffee, eyeing him. Probably
looking for immediate danish fall out.

"What? They're going to revoke my rights? Not let me dangle today?" I
snorted coffee through my nose and doubled over coughing. Mulder grinned
at the effect, and I could see Scully biting the side of her mouth to keep
from laughing.

"You have a revolting sense of humor, Fox Mulder. Emma, are you going to
choke to death, or are you going to quit spraying coffee on the floor?" I
got some control,and wiped my nose and mouth, trying to force a glare
through my snickers.

"They make me sit here, swinging my legs, before they let me try to
stand." He was probably trying to atone for nearly killing me with my own
coffee. Scully watched him relax back, too tired to even really grin, and
sort of drop off to sleep. She sighed and shook her head. The sunlight
picked shadows under her eyes as she got up and came over, dropping on the
couch next to me.

"He really does look a lot better. I mean, yesterday he was. . . " I
kept my voice very low, letting him sleep.

"Yeah, but he needs so much more rest." I heard outright worry. I'd have
thought she'd relax, what with him off the ICU, but I could see the
tension still in her. "It's going to be awful when they discharge him."

I snapped around, kind of startled. "Discharge? But. . . I mean. . .He
can't even finish two danish."

"Tell that to the medical evaluation committees." Bitter little snort.
"The two-danish test does not appear on the checklist they use when they
review their insureds."

"Oh lord, Scully. And you're back out at that hotel?" She nodded. "Are
you two going then? Back to D.C., I mean. . . " I was amazed at how my
stomach dropped at those words. She sighed and looked frustrated.

"No. I wish I could go back, both of us. But we have to stay until at
least the hearing."

"Nine days now?" She nodded.

"And they really want to get to Mulder, get their experts all lined up.
So much of his work he keeps in his head, damn it. And he doesn't help."

"I saw. He really wants Kane." Her face pinched, a sudden twitch of fear
shooting through the worry. I swallowed and thought about what I knew of
them. "Nightmares." Her flinch confirmed it. I just sighed. "So when is
he out of here?"

"Three days. Maybe two. Depends on how fast he gains strength, not that
he'll be very strong when they do cut him loose." She drained her cup.

"Scully. . . " Oh, I wanted to walk carefully on this one. I knew I
wanted to help, but I wasn't comfortable with my own reasons. She
wouldn't feel any too sanguine about it either, I suspected. "Scully,
you're out at that hotel. I know it's mobbed by reporters. How are you
going to be able to manage things out there?" I glanced at her, and
away. She understood that, knew perfectly well that her partner would not
be able to manage alone right away. She didn't need me stomping that
point home.

"I. . . I guess Robertson," she nodded towards the door, "will help." She
didn't sound any too happy with it. I hesitated.

"Um, you know, I have an idea." I was rubbing my finger up and down the
bridge of my nose, nervous. She gave me a look that was just about what
I'd expected. I could see her bracing for an Emma special. "You know, it
worked out pretty well to have you guys at my place that night, and, well.
. . " I didn't dare look at her. Dead silence for a moment.

"Go on." Too soft to read any emotions.

"Ah, well, I'm still on leave, and I'm going to need to heal myself and
I'll be home, and maybe you two could stay at my place. . . ?" Finally
looked over at her, and was almost startled to see a calm, thoughtful
expression on her face.

"That would be a serious imposition. . ." Please, c'mon Scully. I didn't
want to be alone in that house. I didn't want to be alone with all this.
"Let me think about it, Emma." She smiled. "It's a kind offer. It may
even be a good one. Let me think about it."

It was as good as I was going to get. I stayed a few more minutes, then
Scully saw me out. I got the warm-and-fuzzies when she told Robertson I
was on her approved visitor list for Fox. He smiled and thanked me for
the pastries. Another mouth to bribe.

Then I went home, and read files from work until my eyes glazed and spent
the rest of the day trying to figure out what to do. There really wasn't
anything. I finally just cruised the net, looking for any sign of
anything. . . odd. Looking for the mark of Kane.

___________________
Cont.

From: livengoo@tiac.net
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Corpse 25/?
Date: 9 Jul 1995 00:53:12 GMT

Corpse 25/?

Goo's baaaaa-ack! The weather was great, the seafood was marvelous, and
I'm back in Beantown and doing my homework. Or procrastinating it for a
little. Whatever. In any case, since Im here, I won't hold off and post
on Sunday, I'll drop a body part on you folks tonight. Hope this doesn't
disappoint, I do know you all were so hoping I'd wait for Sunday! LOVED
the threats and email!

Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner and the X-Files property of Chris
Carter, Ten-Thirteen, and Fox Broadcasting. I confess, I used 'em without
permission. Anyone who really wants me to stop can let me know. I don't
make any money, and I like email! Keep it coming! The story, Emma
Courtland, her town and everyone else in it are all mine. Latest threats:
to be boiled like a lobster or frozen with liquid nitrogen and thawed,
very uncomfortably.

Oh yeah, and don't read this story if you object to violence and/or
profanity. Both represented here. For reference: most back-sections are
available at http://eewww.eng.ohio-state.edu/~juodvalk/x-files, and we all
appreciate the effort and the great access.
Goo
_______________________

God, did I feel sorry for Dana Scully. I'd turned on the nightly news and
there she was, mobbed. Every time she tried to get the key into her car
lock, a flash went off and blinded her. It very neatly gave the cameras a
chance to get more footage. Jerry, next to me, sighed and munched
popcorn.

"Vultures. If they were smart, they'd use a more subtle technique."

I snorted. "Oh, yeah. Right. Like wait until she's sick, or half asleep
and then question her?" Jerry grinned.

"You have to admit, the story I got out of that was very, very good. And
he really did come across as the knight in shining armor." He was right.
I did have to admit just that. Jer had brought a copy of his story, filed
days before, when I was way, way too busy to worry about small things like
world peace and journalistic integrity. He'd managed to get in all the
titillating, thrill-packed, danger-ridden impressions and leave out
feeling ill and scared and tired, and crazy. Fox Mulder had looked sane
and noble and brave in print. Good looking photo, lousy tie and all. And
the thing was loaded with quotes of yours truly. I sounded bright, and
brave, and lovely. Scully was absolutely saintly in print. I'd had to
read it with the inhaler loaded, I'd been laughing so hard.

"True, Jer. You made the Fox sound down-right sane. Good work, and if I
was sure you'd burned your notes I'd be a hell of a lot happier."

"Since when do you protect the Feds from the guardians of the public's
Right to Know? They want to know what brand of condoms he likes and her
favorite positions, that's my job. . . "

"Jerry, you may be a dear friend," I leaned over and grabbed a handful of
his popcorn, "but you have a filthy mind, and the morals of a stoat."

"What's a stoat, and will it give an interview?" He grinned, then scowled
at the set. Threw popcorn that bounced off and fell on top of the pile on
the floor. "I hate that asshole. Homophobic little twerp, and he likes
to screw the make-up girls. He's got a fake vasectomy scar so they won't
make him wear a rubber." I stared from Jerry to the unctuous, too smooth
reporter.

"Jerry, you're making that up. . . that's too horrible! I mean, pregnancy
and. . . " He nodded.

"Oh yeah. Several pregnancies, and they never think it's him. He used a
razor, two little cuts and some salt and instant vasectomy. Bastard.
He's caused at least one suicide. And he keeps trying to bust my balls
cause I like direct current instead of alternating." He wasn't playing
with the popcorn now. He'd put down the bowl and was glaring at the
reporter on the set. "Now there's a story I'd like to write. And I
wouldn't do the whitewash I did on your Feds."

What could I say to that? I finally reached over and just pulled Jerry
against me, across my lap. He started to tense, but relaxed when he
realized I wasn't making a pass at him. Let himself just lean against
me. "Jerry, I take back what I said about your morals. For now, at
least." It was a relief when the news was finally over, and Jerry didn't
see anyone else he knew, and could tell me about, on the set.
_______________________

I was back up at the hospital. I had legitimate reasons to be there,
too. They checked my shoulders, scolded me for the few scratch marks, and
cheerfully informed me I was very lucky. I informed them I felt I could
have been a fair bit luckier.

I wadded my prescriptions up in my purse, then headed up for the seventh
floor to pester Fox Mulder and Dana Scully some more. What else did I
have to do for the day? Go make certain all the clauses and conditions
were right in a hundred page long shopping center lease? Root canals have
the same charm.

They were letting Fox dangle. Two nurses flanked him, to Scully's immense
amusement, and watched his reactions as he swung his legs off the edge of
the bed and tried to convince them he was fine. They finally did let him
try to stand and walk across the room. Robertson, outside, had his back
turned but the amused smirk on his face told me that this was a routine
now. I studied Mulder's legs and decided that he probably had to go
through this at least once a shift. Scully had her arms crossed and was
visibly chewing the insides of her cheeks as he flushed bright red and
tired to make the walk to the couch look effortless. For his sake, I was
glad he had a bathrobe.

Scully met my eyes and had to absolutely screw her face up to keep the
laughter in. Her partner was sprawled on the couch, glaring at her, and
Robertson was making little choking sounds as he watched my face out of
the corner of his eye. I just leaned in the door while the nurses crooned
encouraging things and hovered. I could see Mulder was used to this
routine, and it had probably gotten old sometime during the Reagan
Administration.

"So when's she going to take you away from all this, Agent Mulder?" He
favored me with a really toxic look for that one. I nearly had to go for
my inhaler. I was quashing laughs so hard I was about to start coughing.
Scully couldn't hold it any longer. One nurse was nice enough to look
slightly apologetic and pretend to be professionally distant. The other
was just grinning out right.

She shook her head and made him head back to bed. "Really, Agent Mulder.
We don't do this just to harass you. If we did, we'd hide the bathrobe."
I'd thought he was red before. . .

"I will be so glad when they let me out of here, and I can get back to the
normal sadists and psychopaths." He was trying to fend off another can of
high-protein drink. "Can't I have a filet instead? That's high protein.
. . "

"Why you're not dead of a heart attack I don't understand." Scully was
helping the nurse plant the can back in front of him.

"We'll miss you, Agent Mulder." The nice one was fluffing his pillows. I
swear, Robertson was going to strangle on his tongue from holding that
laugh. I leaned down and asked what he was doing there, low enough to be
out of earshot.

"Besides sitting ringside on the comedy hour?" I nodded. "Theoretically,
I'm protecting Agent Mulder from reporters and alleged psychopaths
inspired by Mr. Kane. I kicked a LoisandClark team off yesterday.
Mainly, I was told that he might recover faster, and be more mobile than
expected." Robertson nodded back towards the room, where Mulder was
loudly complaining that he no intention of talking with Dr. Fitzgibbon,
who I remembered as the Grand High Pshrink. It looked like nice-nurse was
going for the sponge bath kit, and Mulder switched aim to let her know he
could and would manage a shower. That was when Scully walked out and shut
the door behind her, leaning against the wall and letting all the giggles
she'd been holding loose. Robertson finally joined her.

"Is he always this much fun in the hospital?" Robertson probably would
have done this one for free, from the look on his face.

Scully sniffled and got herself under control. "They usually figure out
which nurses can deal with him, and put them on a special team. Once they
figure that out, he loses every time."

"So, when does he get out? And how are you going to deal with the
reporters. . . ?" I saw her stiffen, and figured that for a sore spot.

"Well, our medical review people are still holding to tomorrow.
Especially since he's able to walk across the room. He'll be picking up
really fast after this." Robertson nodded.

"He tried to go for a walk this morning, before you got here. Said he
wanted to go up and down the hall." Scully stared at him. Robertson
pulled an apologetic grin. "The guy who handles night shift mentioned it
in passing. Said he had to keep a hand on the wall to stay upright, but
was pretty determined. We called the nurses down on him."

"Sounds like Mulder." Her voice was resigned. "He'll be trying to go
running within a week. Not succeeding, but trying. And he's going to
want to talk with that damned prosecutor, Waverly."

"Is that so bad? I mean. . . if Waverly doesn't stay too long?" I didn't
like the man, but if Mulder was picking up that fast. . .

Scully shook her head. "He's pushing too fast. He's not as strong as he
wants to be, or thinks. And Waverly stirring up all that doesn't really
help at all." Robertson nodded.

"Yeah, Douglas said something about dreams." Scully shivered. I didn't
like to think about it, and the hall was not the right place, no matter
that everyone there was too busy to snoop. I had a feeling it was no
secret here, either, if Mulder was having nightmares. Which jarred a
memory, and I pulled the email out of my bag and handed it to Scully. She
rolled her eyes at the heading and folded it.

"So, they figured out where we're staying." I raised an eyebrow. "I mean,
were staying. . . " She seemed to think it back over very fast. "Emma,
you've probably got enough reporters around but. . ."

"Offer's still open, Scully. And I meant it. You're welcome to stay at
my place. I won't even charge you for the cable." She looked. . .
relieved.

"Thanks. If it's really no trouble. . . " God, did I have to twist her
arm behind her back? Self-effacing worked better for Mulder than her
anyway.

"Scully, quit being ridiculous. I offered. I meant it. I'd rather have
the company right now." The look she shot me was careful and appraising,
but she nodded.

"Okay. I'll let you know when I get the specific discharge time on him."

I smiled, waved goodbye to Robertson, and left to get my place ready and
let Jerry know he'd have to make other arrangements. Somehow, I suspected
he'd be delighted.
_____________________

Since I'd had my number changed and unlisted, my phone had barely rung.
So I nearly jumped out of my skin when it blared away on the table next to
me. I dropped the sheet I'd been putting on the sofa bed and grabbed the
receiver, wondering what Scully or Jerry or my mom needed.

"Hel-lo."

"Ms. Courtland? This is Walter Skinner. We spoke before." I dropped the
phone.

I could hear his concerned voice as I picked it back up. "Are you all
right, Ms. Courtland, Ms. Courtland. . . !"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry. You just startled me. This is an unlisted number. .
." He didn't dignify that with a response.

"I understand you're extending your hospitality again."

". . . Yeees. It seemed like a good idea. . . " What was he getting at?
Was this considered a gift and against the rules? "I take it Scully's
been talking to you."

"Actually, Seth Robertson mentioned it." Seth?

"Is there a problem?"

"Not at all." His tone changed, he must have just realized what this had
sounded like. "Not at all, Ms. Courtland. I actually wanted to thank
you. Don't hesitate to use the per diem to cover food and expenses for
Agents Scully and Mulder. Let them know there will be no problem signing
off on the expense reports. Primarily, I wanted to verify that you would
be able to. . . manage any eventualities."

"You mean like the reporters?" I suddenly found myself grinning. His
voice was so reserved, I'd missed it at first. "Is this part of the
high-maintenance stuff?" I actually caught a chuckle that time. I
wondered what he looked like.

"Yes. If you need Robertson, he's on call. He knows I'm giving you his
number. Do you have a pen and paper?" I took down the suit's number,
wondering at just when I ought to call him. "Ms. Courtland. . . "

I noticed the shift of tone this time, suddenly serious. "Is there
something else?"

"Yes. Robertson's main role had been to make sure Agent Mulder didn't. .
. overextend himself. But if you do have trouble with him or with the
press, or any other situation arises, I want to be certain you will not
hesitate to call him for help, or me if it comes to that in this matter."

Hints. God, I hated hint games. This was like interpreting State
Department comments. "Sir, exactly what are you. . . " Kane's competency
hearing was in eight days. Kane. . . "Mr. Skinner, do you think Kane
might have meant it when he said there were others like him? What are you
getting at?" He paused, not quite sighed. When he spoke again I'd have
labeled the tone chagrined.

"I don't expect there to be a problem, I honestly believe that man to be
delusional. But if anyone on Earth attracted a copy-cat serial killer
under these circumstances, it would be Agent Mulder. I very much doubt
you'll have trouble, but I'd rather you have the phone numbers and were
alert. Frankly, I think the one I need to warn you about is Mulder
himself."

"Yeah, Scully's covered that pretty well. I guess he's not a good
patient." My knees had gone to jelly for a moment, but at least my voice
was still steady. Skinner's amused grunt did more to reassure me than
anything I could have heard right then.

"That's the understatement of the decade, Ms. Courtland. You will call if
a problem arises?" I promised, and hung up, wondering just what Mulder
and Scully did for the FBI that merited this kind of personalized
treatment.

That question nagged gently while I finished getting the guest room and
living room ready, and hovered while I went grocery shopping. Snarling at
a couple reporters who followed me through the store distracted me for a
bit - I really enjoyed watching their cam-man slip on a squashed cherry
tomato - but I came back to that after I got my supplies put away at
home. I'd pumped Scully and Jerry enough to know that Skinner was an
Assistant Director. Not a position that would normally call some
small-town lawyer to make sure the sheets were fresh and the food would be
decent.

So I spent the afternoon cruising, checking into all kinds of weird net
addresses and trying to track down information on Uncle Sam's oddest niece
and nephew. I didn't get a lot. I got more rude email than I got hard
information, but what I did get. . . What I did get kept me from being
able to concentrate on my leases, and I spent my evening writing down odd
hints of information and rumor and trying to find patterns that could make
any sense at all.
_______________

County General admitted defeat in the matter of F. Mulder, Ph.D.. I
learned that when Scully called to let me know they'd be there that
afternoon. She didn't sound happy about it.

"I thought they were going to hold him another day?"

"He's being. . . he's threatening to check himself out against medical
advice and just take a cab out. I think the jello and protein drinks
pushed him over edge."

"Yeah?" I figured differently. "What's the night nurse look like? The
one who rides herd during the late shift?"

She paused for a long moment, then snickered. "I think you're right. I
hadn't' thought about Nurse-zilla, but I think you're right." God, I
hoped I never reached the point where I had pet names for hospital staff.

"I'll look for you this afternoon. And I suggest you bring Robertson with
you. I'll have cookies ready."

"Thanks."
________________

As it was, I was really glad to have called Jerry, too. It took me,
Jerry, and Seth to get Scully and Mulder in past that pack of shouted
questions and flashing lights and cameras. How they knew and got here
ahead of my guests was anyones guess, but they did it. I locked the door
and drew the drapes, turning on the lights. If I really had trouble, I'd
call Karen, next door, and the two of us would complain that the jackals
were disturbing the peace.

Poor Mulder got through the door, pale as a ghost, and crashed on the
couch. He didn't even twitch when Scully pulled his shoes off and threw a
quilt over him. I figured he'd be out for hours.

She had what looked like a whole airline bag full of meds for him, and she
dropped that next to the luggage Seth had smuggled in past the hordes.
Even Jerry seemed a bit rattled by them. The four of us settled in the
kitchen, with all the nice little hospitable items like tea and coffee and
cookies my mom had taught me about. I didn't do it often but, like I'd
told Fox a lifetime ago, that didn't mean I didn't' know how.

____________________
No one wanted to go out, and I didn't want to cook, so we grabbed Mulder's
FBI Visa and ran up the tab. General Tso's chicken, Kung Pao Chicken,
more of the Chinese food that's bad for you and a bit of the Chinese food
that's good for you. By the time it came we were starving.

Scully pulled out a can of that horrible high protein stuff, and put a
bowl of egg-drop soup on a plate then went to wake Mulder up. His face
still had pillow marks when we joined him. It seemed like a better choice
than trying to get him out to the table and back.

A peek out the front drapes showed several die-hard types looking for a
sneak attack photo op, so I left the drapes drawn when I turned the lights
on. Mulder had propped himself in the corner of the couch and was poking
at the soup as though it might be a foreign substance. Scully was
cross-legged on the floor, sorting through bottles and boxes and inhalers
and stuff and amassing this really impressive pile of pills for him to
take. Seth had his jacket and holster off - I shuddered when I showed him
where to hang them on the hall tree - and was showing off a really
remarkable chopstick technique to Jerry, who had never mastered the art.

Mulder had the remote, and I wasn't going to pick on him and show him I
could take it away. He flipped through channels, looking for local news
stations. Scully didn't look happy, but he settled back to watch the
latest on Peter Kane and stayed very calm through the whole thing. That
might have been the Atarax. They'd had me on it for my burns for a little
while and it had really hazed me out. You could have amended the
Constitution to make purple dinosaurs king of America, and I would have
told you that was nice while I was on it.

Kane was. . . Well, he looked presentable and reasonable and court TV had
gotten his good side. I hadn't thought such a thing existed, but if I
hadn't known better, I'd have thought him a nice man from what I saw.
Scully stiffened and looked up when she heard me gasp, so she saw the
whole thing. Her partner just studied the screen. I wasn't paying enough
attention to say what Seth or Jerry might have thought. They went on to a
report of a fight in a school, and I tried to swallow the lump in my
throat. Mulder put the remote down and carefully nibbled all the pieces
of meat out of his dinner.

"That was interesting." His voice was soft, calm.

"What?" Scully started piling pills in front of him. He gave them a
nasty look.

"Kane. Not sedated, from the looks of him. Focused, clear, and letting
his lawyer do the talking."

"And that tells you something?" Seth looked back at him, expectant.

"Not really. Not yet. It's just. . . " He took another spoonful of
soup, swallowed. "If he were upset or rattled I'd be very confident about
bringing any case we chose against him. If he's calm it won't be so
easy."

Scully looked at the screen, seeing something it wasn't showing any more.
As soon as I could I put in a tape, and made sure the remote was in my
hands.
_____________________

cont.