The Sixth Side of the Triangle 
Jill and Jim Reilly


Oh, Daniel, my brother, 
You are older than me -- 
Do you still feel the pain 
Of the scars that won't heal?


"Daniel" 
Elton John and Bernie Taupin

~~~~~

As Mulder Saw It:

~~~~~

One thing I have learned in my years-long search for the truth is
that there are very few immutable truths in the universe.

The first, and the most important, immutable truth is that as soon as
you think you've discovered an immutable truth, life almost always
steps up to prove you wrong.

But I have found one other immutable truth: That as much as my partner
loves me, as logical and scientific as she is, sometimes she is just
going to baffle the hell out of me.

Take the conversation we had the other evening at work. It was a
Tuesday; we'd returned a couple of days earlier from a field
investigation in Traverse City, Michigan, chasing down one of the
strangest killers I've ever encountered in or out of Behavioral
Sciences. 

And that investigation had been a bad one -- really bad. Thanks to
Gerry Schnauz and his ice-pick lobotomies, I almost lost Scully to
death or, almost worse, to irreparable brain damage. If I'd been five
minutes later getting to her -- hell, thirty seconds later -- she
would have been gone.

It was so close it damn near devastated me.

Don't get me wrong: I didn't then and don't now feel guilty about
having killed Schnauz to save Scully. I can take a human life if I
have to, and when I have to, I do. But it always shakes me to the
very core of my being. I remember every one of them: I remember their
faces, and their names, and the day they died by my hand, and I
remember that someone, somewhere, loved them once.

Yeah, it shakes me. I try not to let that show. But I can't keep
anything from Scully. She always knows.

Anyway, we were trying to take it easy for a few days, give
ourselves time to decompress before going out there again. We were
working late, but we weren't doing anything really important; just
updating paperwork and reviewing a few leads which might, or might
not, lead to opening a new X File.

That last one sometimes translates to reading the tabloid
newspapers, but you never know ... there might really be an animal
that's a cross between a salamander and a Yeti living in the storm
drains of New Brunswick and attacking pedestrians.

But all I thought then was that it was just the kind of evening I
needed; the kind on which we could work for a while, then relax and
start talking together as friends.

And I needed a friend that night. Daniel had been busier than hell
the past several days, and I hadn't seen him for -- shit, it was
almost two weeks, and to all appearances, I wasn't going to see him
that night, either.

Not more than an hour earlier, he'd called to tell me he wouldn't be
able to leave at the end of his shift -- some midshipman from
Annapolis had fallen down a flight of stairs and broken the crap out
of his leg. They'd choppered the kid to Bethesda specifically so
Daniel could do the surgery that might put the leg back together and
save the kid's Navy career.

Sometimes when he had to work late, Daniel would spend the night at
my apartment instead of driving all the way back to Baltimore, but
that was rare: We usually tried to avoid being seen together anywhere
near Washington or Bethesda, and we'd taken that chance more often
lately than we should have.

The need for secrecy was why Daniel had settled in Baltimore in the
first place -- so he could have some kind of social life without
being seen, reported to his commanding officer and discharged for
engaging in homosexual acts. Now that we were together, Daniel had
even more reason for living as far from Bethesda as it was practical
to do.

Still, the distance added to the difficulty of seeing each other
when time was short, and this weekend didn't look too promising in
that regard, either: Daniel was on call Thursday and Friday nights,
and Scully and I were probably going to be out of town for most of
Saturday and Sunday, which were his days off that week.

So I was more than ready to stay in the office and be with Scully;
actually, I was almost abysmally grateful for her company that
evening. 

I just wasn't prepared for the topic she chose.

As we were both reading, Scully set down her copy of "The National
Enquirer," looked at me over her reading glasses and said, in the
most everyday tone of voice, "Mulder, do you ever think about getting
married?"

"Getting married?" I repeated, both my eyebrows flying upward in
surprise. "Scully, are we forgetting something important about our
partner here?"

She wrinkled her nose at that, the way she does when she's slightly
annoyed but not annoyed enough to let me start an argument. 

"I'm not forgetting anything, Mulder," she said. "And I didn't ask
you if you wanted a wife -- I asked you if you ever thought about
getting married."

"Well, since I don't want to marry a woman, and I can't marry
Daniel, the answer is no, I don't think about it," I said, a little
brusquely, and I turned my attention back to the files.

Scully -- probably because she knows she has nothing to fear from my
anger -- didn't back off an inch. "You don't have to get all touchy
about it," she said, still calmly. "I was just reading this article
about a same-sex marriage case that's before the courts in Hawaii,
and I was wondering if -- should it become a possibility -- you'd
ever think about it."

I shook my head. "Not as long as Daniel's still a Navy doctor," I
said. "I can't think of a more blatant way for us to come out than to
get married, unless it's marching with the 'All-Dorothy Over-the-
Rainbow Band' in a Gay Pride Day parade."

"God forbid," she said, with a wry little smile. "You'd look like
hell in a pinafore. But I think legalized marriage more or less
presumes legal protection from discrimination."

"Technically, maybe," I said, with a shrug. "But that doesn't change
how our macho men in the FBI feel about it. My once-brilliant career
may not be going anywhere these days, but it does pay the bills."

"I think they'd eventually deal with it, all but a few extremists,
and you're never going to change those people's minds, anyway,"
Scully said. "At the very least, the existence of a legal marriage
statute might nullify some of the sodomy laws still on the books."

"Look, Scully, this is pointless," I said, a little more sharply
than I intended. "Hawaii's not going to legalize same-sex marriage,
and neither is any other state, and at this point I don't even give a
good goddamn whether they do or not. Marriage is just a piece of
paper, anyway; what difference does a piece of paper make?"

I was a little short with her, I know, but the fact that my
relationship with Daniel -- the caring, supportive, loving
relationship I had been craving all my life without knowing it -- is
not only unsanctioned by society but technically constitutes a crime
has a tendency to bring my ever-simmering rage against the world to a
boiling point. 

I mean, it's so fucking hypocritical: If you're gay and you're not
in a relationship, the straight world calls you promiscuous. If you
try to form a committed relationship, they say you're "mocking the
sacred institution of marriage."

Make up your fucking minds, will you?

"To paraphrase Miss Manners, Mulder, I have a safe-deposit box
containing several pieces of paper that make a great deal of
difference," Scully said, lifting an eyebrow. "They're called stock
certificates."

"Ha, ha," I said, sarcastically. "A nice point, Dr. Scully -- perhaps
a shade too nice? Marriage has no monetary value that I'm aware of."

Okay, so I was overreacting, but I was really getting annoyed now. I
know good and goddamn well what the benefits of marriage are, and I
know that Daniel and I will never have them. Why couldn't she see
that I didn't want to torture myself with that?

Still, I'd gone too far, and Scully let me know it ... gently.

"I wasn't trying to start an argument, Mulder," she said, still very
calm. "I just wondered how you felt about it, that's all. Don't be
angry at me, please."

She was calm, but there was a note -- a grace note, almost -- of
sincere pleading in her voice, and it made me ashamed of myself for
snapping at her.

"I'm not angry at you, Scully," I said, more quietly. "But you're
forcing me to think about things that are really too painful to
contemplate, and I'd rather not, if you don't mind."

"Consider the subject permanently dropped," she said, and then gave
me that loving little smile of hers, the one I'd walk barefoot over
shards of glass to see. 

We read a while longer in silence, but I couldn't concentrate. I was
feeling really guilty about having bitten her head off like that. I
knew, even if she tried not to let it show, that she was still
feeling vulnerable and unsure after her narrow escape from Schnauz,
and she didn't deserve my anger at her.

But I was still mad at the whole damn world, even if I wasn't mad at
her, and I couldn't think how to offer a better apology without
reopening the whole unpleasant subject. I was afraid I might lash out
at her again. 

I sure as hell didn't want that to happen. I mean, we argue over
work sometimes, and we can be downright chilly with each other when
we're working, but this -- these late-night conversations -- let's say
these times come as close to being sacred as anything in my agnostic
soul can be.

After a few minutes, Scully got up and started to put on her coat,
without even saying anything. That's a pretty good sign that I've
hurt her feelings. I had to do something right then, even if it was
wrong, because I just couldn't let her leave thinking that I was
still angry at her. 

I put down my files, walked around the desk and took her in my arms. 

She nestled against me so trustingly that it nearly broke my heart.
"I really am sorry, Mulder," she whispered, laying her head against
my shoulder. "I never wanted to make things any worse for you than
they already are."

"You didn't," I said, and I kissed her. "You never have. I don't
know what I'd do without you, and I never want to find out." 

"You never will," she said. "Not as long as you live."

~~~~~

I left about an hour later, but when I got home, no matter how I
tried, I couldn't sleep. I was tired as hell -- damn near worn out,
in fact -- but I was also lonely, and I wanted to be with Daniel, not
here on this cold leather couch all alone.

The unfairness of the whole goddamn situation gnawed at my guts
until I was nearly sick with it.

I looked at my watch. Daniel would be home by now, although he would
almost certainly either be asleep or so tired he could barely see -- 
orthopedic surgery, I have learned, can be a fairly athletic endeavor.

I thought about calling him, just to say good night, but I knew he
needed to sleep.

But, God, I wanted to be with him, even if he was asleep. I mean,
forget marriage -- that was an unattainable goal. I'd have been happy
just to live with him, to sleep next to him at night, to know that no
matter how late it was or how tired he was when he came home, he'd be
coming home to me. 

After an hour or so of tossing and turning, I knew I couldn't stay
in that fucking apartment by myself for one more minute without going
completely batshit. I got up, threw on my leather jacket, grabbed my
keys and headed out. 

I was halfway to Baltimore before I admitted to myself where I was
going.

I decided to keep going and just drive past his apartment building.
I felt completely pathetic, but the truth was I just wanted to be
just that little bit closer to him, even if I couldn't see him.

And so help me God, the closest thing to a miracle happened: there
was a parking space only two doors down from Daniel's building. An
empty parking space in that part of Baltimore -- at any hour of the
day -- has got to be an omen. I parked, got out, and walked straight
up three flights of stairs to his apartment, letting myself in with
my key.

And he was there, stretched out across the bed on his back, sound
asleep. His clothes were strewn all over the floor -- a pretty good
sign of how exhausted he was, because those uniforms aren't cheap,
and he usually takes better care of them.

As quietly as I could, I sat down on the edge of the bed next to
him, watching him sleep, letting my eyes drink in the sight of him. I
knew I shouldn't, but I wanted so badly to wake him up, or just to
touch him one time, just to reassure myself that he was still real ...

Shit. There was no point in pretending; I hadn't come all the way up
here just so I could watch him sleep, and I knew it.

I reached out and touched his hair, gently. His eyes opened slowly,
and for a minute he didn't say anything. He was confused, and I don't
blame him. We'd been lovers for two years, but I'd never showed up
without calling him before.

"Fox?" he said, sitting up. "What're you doing here? Is something
wrong?"

I shook my head. "Not really," I said. "Not anymore, anyway." And I
bent forward, and I kissed him. 

Oh, God, I'd missed this. Daniel's mouth was so warm, and his lips
molded perfectly into mine. Kissing him again after so long was like
coming home.

Or maybe ... maybe more like remembering that you actually have a
home.

"Then what brings you here at ..." he said, as I moved away. He
looked at his alarm clock. "It's after 2 a.m., Fox," he said. "You
want to tell me what's up?"

I shrugged. "I missed you," I said. "I know I should have called
first..."

Daniel smiled and shook his head. "After all this time, you still
insist on acting as though you're a guest in my home," he said, with
a little laugh. "What the hell do I have to do to make you believe
that you're not -- marry you?"

I flinched at that, but I couldn't help it -- it startled the hell
out of me. What was this, some kind of cosmic conspiracy to cause Fox
Mulder infinite emotional pain?

"Daniel," I began, but my voice was a little shaky. I couldn't finish.

He looked at me more closely then, and I could see the concern in
his eyes, but he didn't say anything -- he just took my hand. 

That's one big advantage in having a relationship with another man.
No man, gay or straight, likes to lose control of his emotions, and
especially not in front of another man. Men understand that. Women -- 
with the possible exception of Scully -- always seem to think we'll
feel better after we let it all out.

Trust me -- we don't.

Daniel knew that, of course. He knew something was really wrong, but
he didn't demand to know what it was; he just waited, saying nothing,
until he could tell that I wasn't going to break down, and then he
put his hand on the back of my neck.

"Come here," he said, and pulled me into a long, lingering kiss. 

I knew I should stop him and tell him that he didn't have to do
this; it was late, he was exhausted and we both had to get to work in
just a few short hours. The only intelligent thing to do was to get
back in the car, go home and wait until some more sensible
opportunity presented itself ...

Only I didn't want to wait, not one more minute. It had been too
damn long, and I wanted him -- I needed him -- too damn badly to tear
myself away from him now.

I opened my mouth, and I let him in. 

I felt his tongue slip between my lips, slowly, filling me with an
overwhelming sensation of warmth, of safety, and of love -- the taste
of Daniel, of the gift that he is to me.

And then his hands were on me, and I almost forgot how to breathe. 

It's almost impossible for me to describe what Daniel's hands do to
me. Daniel has the hands of a healer: strong hands, skillful hands,
with a sure, deliberate touch. He knows from experience where and how
to touch me, how to make me respond to him, and I do respond, believe
me. I could be frozen in a block of ice and those hands would still
have the power to set me on fire -- and to heal me.

I wanted to be patient, to let him take his time with me and touch
me the way he likes to, without hurrying, but I couldn't. I needed
more. I needed all of him.

And I needed him now.

I let go of his mouth, put my hands on either side of his face and
rested my forehead against his. I was breathing so hard that it was a
few seconds before I could say anything coherent, but Daniel waited
patiently, his hands resting gently on my shoulders.

When I finally could speak, though, it was nothing more complicated
than, "Please ... Daniel, please."

Whereupon Daniel took me in his arms, laid me down carefully on the
bed beside him and made love to me with more skill, more tenderness
and more understanding than I had ever thought I would know with any
man.

And afterward, I slept.

~~~~~

We were up and moving around before sunrise the next morning; Daniel
had an early morning staff meeting and I had to get back to my place
and get dressed for work.

We were both in a little bit of a hurry, but not so much that Daniel
didn't lean down to give me one more kiss as I sat on the couch
putting on my shoes.

"Next time, don't wait so long to come over," he said, ruffling my
hair the way you might a small child's. I didn't mind; I know that
part of what Daniel does for me is to give me some of the
unconditional, nurturing love that my parents couldn't, or wouldn't,
give me.

And fuck Sigmund Freud and his discredited theories -- there's not a
damn thing wrong with wanting your lover to take care of you
sometimes.

Being a guy, of course, I couldn't tell him that. I just laid my
head briefly against his stomach, and then I looked up and told him
he was being an overbearing, militaristic asshole. That made him
smile.

And then I stood up, put on my jacket, kissed Daniel one more time,
and left.

If I'd known then what we'd both have to go through before I saw him
again, I would have stayed longer. 

God, what am I saying? 

I never would have left.

I didn't have a clue. There was not a single shadow on my soul as I
left Baltimore that morning. I went home, showered, dressed and drove
to work with a light heart, thinking that -- no matter what the rest
of the world might think -- I was about the luckiest guy on the whole
fucking planet.

What the fuck did I know.

~~~~~

I was still in a pretty good mood that afternoon, despite a mild
working-over from Skinner over the utter lack of clarity in the
report we'd filed on Schnauz. We'd been expecting that -- we had no
intention of giving any clear opinion of how those "howler"
photographs came to be. We still didn't understand it too well
ourselves.

In other words, situation normal. 

Even Skinner seemed to realize it -- the reaming out was perfunctory
at best. He was going through the motions, and we all knew it.

I was still feeling pretty good about life when the phone rang.

Scully answered it. I wasn't paying much attention; if it was for
me, she'd tell me, and if it wasn't, I didn't want to eavesdrop. I
kept on going over the 302 I planned to submit in the morning.

That's why it took me a minute to realize that Scully wasn't talking. 

I looked up at her, and right away, I knew something was wrong -- 
seriously wrong. She had one hand on the desktop, as though she could
no longer stand without help; her face had gone pale, and her eyes
were wide with shock.

"When did it happen?" she was saying, in a shaky voice I'd seldom
heard from her before. It almost had to be her mother -- although
Maggie was in excellent health, as far as I knew. But then, to all
appearances, so was her father the last time she saw him.

Quickly, I rose and came around to where she was standing.

"What is it?" I whispered, but she held up a hand. Wait, she was
saying; I need to hear this. So I stayed quiet.

"Where is he now?" she said.

He? Was it one of her brothers?

"We'll be right there," she said, and hung up the phone. She turned
to face me, and started to speak, but instead she reached out and
grabbed my lapels, swaying slightly on her feet, and burst into tears.

"Scully, what is it?" I said, as I took her by the arms and lowered
her into her chair. I knelt beside her and put one hand on her cheek.
"Is it Bill? Has something happened?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. She could barely talk. "It's ...
Mulder, you may need to sit down."

And that's when I knew what she was going to say.

"Tell me now," I said, quickly. "Just say it, whatever it is."

"It's Daniel," she said, between sobs. "Mulder ... Mulder, he's been
shot."

~~~~~

I don't remember much of what happened after that. I only know that
we arrived at Bethesda in much less time than the legal speed limit
would have allowed, thanks to Scully's maniacal driving. I was in no
shape to drive. 

When we got there, Daniel was in surgery. Scully tracked down a
doctor there she'd known in med school and got him to find out what
was happening.

When he came back, he and Scully conferred for a while, away from
the rest of the waiting-room crowd, but I could hear some of what
they were saying. They were using words like "atelectasis," "proximal
axillary artery," and "saphenous vein graft." I didn't know what all
that meant, but I knew from Scully's expression as she walked toward
me that whatever it was, it wasn't good.

I was right. Daniel had been shot twice in the upper right chest.
One bullet had hit an artery; the other had hit his lung, filling his
chest cavity with blood and causing the lung to collapse. He'd lost a
lot of blood.

They'd drained the blood from his chest and reinflated the lung, she
said, and they were operating now to remove the bullet and repair his
lung. The artery was badly damaged, so they'd replaced it with a vein
taken from his leg, and they'd given him four units of donor blood.

The situation, it seemed, was critical. 

Scully tried to reassure me that Daniel would be just fine, but I
knew her too well -- I could read the truth in her eyes. She was
worried -- very worried.

I sat down in the surgical waiting room, trying to stay calm, but
inside I felt as though I were dying myself, and my anger was rising
swiftly toward rage. Who the fuck had done this to him? And did they
know there was no place on earth they'd be safe if I ever found out
who they were?

I was on the verge of running out to mete out my own form of justice
when, at last, the local police showed up. I practically shoved my
badge under their noses and demanded to know what had happened.

They were still piecing that together, they told me -- but it
appeared that Daniel was driving home from work when he had the ill-
fortune to get between a drunken, road-enraged driver and his prey.

The driver, according to the police, had fired six shots, wildly, in
the general direction of the other car, which had apparently cut him
off about 12 miles back. The last two shots caught Daniel in the
chest as he was trying to get off the road and out of the line of
fire.

Someone had called for help, and the ambulance had brought him here -
- both because he was wearing a Navy uniform and because Bethesda
was the closest hospital.

Of course it was -- he'd only left work a few minutes earlier. 

The cops had called Scully because Daniel, who was estranged from
almost his entire family, had put her name on all of his "notify in
case of emergency" forms. Putting my name on those forms, we'd
decided, would raise far too many questions. We both knew that if
anything happened to him, she'd get word to me.

For that same reason, Scully's name was in the same slot on every
form I'd ever filed with the FBI. It was just another precaution -- or
so we'd thought.

"Where's the driver now?" I asked one of the cops.

"We're looking for him," the cop said, with one of those "whaddya
gonna do" shrugs. "Why, you guys going to charge him with a federal
offense?"

"No, I think a summary execution is more in order for this mother-
fucker," I said, gritting my teeth. Scully, who'd been talking to one
of the nurses, saw what was happening and quickly came over.

"Agent Mulder and Dr. Reilly have been friends for a long time,
officer," she said, calmly. "I'm sure you understand that this is
upsetting to all of us."

"It's upsetting to me, too, ma'am," the officer said. "If this guy
is who we think it is, I've busted him for DWI myself once or twice,
and he's still got his drivers license. It's enough to make you hand
in your badge, you know?"

"I certainly do," she said, with her politest, most professional
smile. She reached into her pocket and took out her business card.
"Will you keep us posted on the investigation?" she asked, handing
him the card. "I don't think we're contemplating any federal charges;
it's a personal matter, especially for me."

"Sure," the cop answered, with an expression of sympathy that showed
he'd picked up on what Scully was implying. Once again, she was
explaining away my interest in Daniel by leading someone to believe
that Daniel was actually her lover. She'd done it so many times I
doubt she even had to think about it anymore.

But I was thinking about it, and it was driving me nearly to
despair. I couldn't even imagine a world without Daniel in it, and
yet I had to stand there, strong and expressionless, acting as though
I was concerned only because my partner's lover was injured.

Look, I wanted to say, he's _my_ lover. Not hers -- mine. I slept in
his arms only last night. I can't get through the day without talking
to him at least once. I'm not concerned on my partner's behalf -- I'm
scared to death because I may lose my lover and I don't think I can
live without him.

I couldn't tell them that. In the world I live in, I'm not allowed
to say what I feel for Daniel. Even if he died, that wouldn't change. 

I wouldn't even be allowed to mourn for him. 

~~~~~

I don't know how long we sat in that waiting room. I only know I'd
never have survived it without Scully there. She pulled every string
she knew how to pull to keep me updated on Daniel's condition,
explained everything she found out and -- through it all -- held me
together emotionally.

At long last, though, the surgeon -- one Commander Tyson Montgomery -
- came down to tell us that Daniel was out of surgery and doing as
well as could be expected, although there was still some danger. He
would be in the recovery room for several hours, and then would be
moved to a surgical ICU for several days at least. 

"After that, we'll see," Dr. Montgomery said. "We'll have to keep
him on a ventilator for some time, so he'll be sedated and
unconscious. But he's alive, at any rate, and relatively stable."

That tight band of fear around my chest loosened, and I began to
breathe a little more normally again.

"When can we see him?" I asked.

"No one's going to see him tonight, unless his mother shows up,"
Montgomery said. "I'm sorry -- I know you're concerned about him,
Miss Scully ... "

"It's Dr. Scully, Commander," she said, interrupting him. "I'm a
physician." 

I almost smiled in spite of how worried I was. Scully -- the
daughter of a Navy captain -- wasn't in the least intimidated by
Montgomery's rank and she also wasn't surrendering one iota of her
medical authority while she was here.

"I'm sorry -- Dr. Scully, then," Dr. Montgomery said, politely.
"What I was saying is that since you're listed on his emergency
notification forms, we can let you in there for just a minute or two,
if you like, but your friend will have to wait until we have Dr.
Reilly in a step-down unit."

"I think we'd both like to see him, doctor," Scully said, coolly,
pulling out her badge and flipping the leather case open. "As I'm
sure you know, Dr. Reilly is the victim of a crime, and my partner
and I need to see him as soon as possible."

You go, Scully, I thought, but I didn't have much hope that this
tactic was going to work.

It didn't.

"Dr. Reilly's in no condition to be questioned right now, Dr.
Scully," Dr. Montgomery said, folding his hands across his chest. "I
wouldn't allow that even if he could talk, and he can't as long as
he's being ventilated. If you intend to try to question him, I'm
afraid I'll have to withdraw my earlier permission and insist that
you wait to see him until he's been moved to a regular surgical
floor."

Yeah, it wasn't this guy's first time at the rodeo. Nice try,
though, Scully. But she wasn't giving up yet.

"I understand," she said, trying to smile. "But I really wish you'd
let Agent Mulder come with me, just as a friend. I could use the
emotional support."

"Agent Mulder will be right here when you come out, doctor,"
Montgomery said, calmly. "I'm sure that even if you're overcome with
emotion, you can make it back this far; if you can't, the nurses can
assist you."

"That won't be necessary, doctor," I said, before Scully could
launch another offensive. "I'm sure Dr. Scully will be able to tell
me anything I need to know after she sees him."

Scully looked up at me, quickly, but I think she saw in my eyes what
I was thinking. We're in a bad position; don't push it. Take what we
can get; go see Daniel and then come and tell me how he's doing.

She nodded her understanding at me. "Thank you, Dr. Montgomery," she
said, almost politely. "You're very kind."

"You're more than welcome," Dr. Montgomery said. "Again, I'm sorry I
can't allow you in there tonight, Agent Mulder, but I'm sure you
understand the reasons."

"Of course," I said. 

Montgomery walked away, and Scully turned to me and laid her hand on
my arm in that calming way she has. "He was conscious when they
brought him here, Mulder," she said. "He was a little shocky, but his
vital signs were surprisingly good at that point. That's very much in
his favor now."

"I'll take your word for it," I said, grimacing. She saw it -- I
can't hide much from her anyway. 

"Mulder, you're not blaming yourself for this, are you?" she asked.
"There's no way you could have done anything to prevent it."

"I don't know," I said, shaking my head. "Maybe. I went over to see
him last night; it was late, and I woke him up. Maybe if I hadn't,
maybe if he'd been more alert ..."

"Stop that right now," she said, in that voice that says she means
business. "If you went to see him it was because you both wanted to
be together. Daniel's a grown man; he's perfectly capable of telling
you if he's too tired to see you."

"I didn't exactly give him the chance," I said, but I didn't get to
finish my thought. A young woman in a pink apron -- a hospital
volunteer, I suppose -- walked up right at that moment to tell Scully
that she could go in to the recovery room now.

~~~~~

As Scully Saw It

~~~~~

Every now and then, Mulder and I seem to change places. 

It's usually over religion; there, he is the skeptic and I am the
believer.

What happened when Daniel was shot had nothing to do with religion,
at least not on the surface; yet I cannot escape the feeling that I
knew, somehow, that this was coming.

Mulder's usual explanation for precognition is that some events are
so momentous that their effects ripple backward in time, affecting us
on a level we can't consciously perceive.

It's ridiculous, of course. If you hear on Friday that your Aunt
Myrtle died on Thursday night at 10:30, you may indeed remember in
that instant that you were thinking of Aunt Myrtle -- and wasn't it
about that time? It must have been.

Listen carefully: You probably thought about Aunt Myrtle because
she'd been ill and hence on your mind a lot. You probably thought
about her any number of times and forgot all about it. You only
remembered it when she died because ... well, because she died.

It means nothing. I believe that absolutely.

That doesn't explain to me why -- on that night, of all nights -- I
felt such a strong urge to ask Mulder whether he'd ever considered a
legal marriage to Daniel, should it ever become possible. I'd never
even thought about it before, until I read that tabloid newspaper
article about two men who'd applied for a marriage license in Hawaii.

And so I asked him. And it shook him, badly. I never expected that,
and I felt terrible about it, but I didn't quite know how to make it
up to him.

He said it was all right, and I wanted so much to believe him. I
never want to hurt him, but sometimes it seems to be all I know how
to do.

But the next day, when Daniel was shot, I learned a painful, lasting
lesson in just exactly what it means to have no legal or social
rights where your life partner is concerned.

I thought Mulder was learning that at the same time I was, but I was
wrong. 

Mulder already knew. He knew entirely too well.

~~~~~

Mulder and I walked in silence down the tiled hallways toward the
recovery room waiting area as I prepared to go check on Daniel.
Outwardly, I was calm, but despite what I had told Mulder, inwardly,
I was in terror. The possible complications -- pulmonary edema,
disseminated intravascular coagulation, sepsis -- kept running
through my head the way they had in med school when I was studying
for an exam.

There was just too much that could go wrong given Daniel's injuries
and the extent of the medical and surgical interventions required to
stabilize him. 

I was prepared for any number of complications -- any, that is,
except the one that actually arose.

When we reached the recovery room, the volunteer asked me to step
into a small side room -- alone. "Dr. Montgomery said you were the
only one allowed in, Miss Scully," she said. I didn't correct her,
although Miss is one title I never use. I just stared her down and
told her, in my frostiest tones, that Mulder would be waiting with
me. She didn't argue.

I haven't spent the better part of a decade in law enforcement for
nothing.

We went into the cramped little room, sat down on a sagging, cracked
vinyl sofa, and said nothing. I had no idea whether my face had
betrayed my worries to Mulder, although I could see clearly in his
eyes how worried he was. Mulder had his exterior calm working
perfectly well, except for that slight tension about his eyes and the
pale skin over his knuckles as he clasped his hands together over his
knees.

Finally, the volunteer poked her head in and said -- rather
pointedly -- that _I_ could go see Dr. Reilly now.

"Mulder, is there anything you want me to tell him?" I said as I
rose to leave, trying to speak too quietly for anyone else to hear.
"He may not be awake, but..."

"Just tell him I ..." he began, and his throat seemed to close up.
He tried again, but no sound would come out. 

He couldn't say it. He wanted to so badly -- I could see that -- but
he just couldn't.

My vision went blurry as tears welled up in my eyes. I stood on
tiptoe and kissed him, very gently.

"I'll tell him, Mulder," I said.

~~~~~

The first thing I did when I got to the recovery room was try to
sneak a peek at Daniel's chart. I was unsuccessful; it was at the
nurses' station, and I couldn't get my hands on it. 

So I made my own professional assessment of his condition. 

First, the dressings: intact and dry over the vein graft sites,
draining serosanguinous fluid on the chest wound site. That was to be
expected. Skin -- slightly damp and a little pale, but not overly
cool. Normal at this point.

I checked the IVs -- he had two, one in the antecubital fossa of
each arm. One was running normal saline slowly through a large-bore
catheter; that would keep the vein open in case he needed more blood
quickly. The other IV, attached to a slightly smaller catheter,
contained a solution of 5 percent dextrose and Ringer's lactate.
There was a smaller bag containing an antibiotic piggybacked onto the
D5RL.

I approved of the set-up. It was exactly what I would have ordered.

Next, I checked his urinary drainage bag; it held about 550 cc of
clear, pale yellow urine. I didn't know when it was last emptied, but
that much urine meant his kidneys were working.

All good.

I bent closer, trying to hear the sounds that would warn of fluid
building up in his lungs, but the ventilator was too noisy and I
didn't have a stethoscope. The telemetry read-outs were reassuring:
Pulse 86, which was rapid for a man of his age and general health,
but not alarmingly so; blood pressure, 105 over 70, on the low side
but steady; respirations -- mechanical. Exactly 20 per minute.

The chart would have helped, but that quick exam was enough to tell
me that he probably was indeed doing as well as could be expected,
and I was pleased to see that I could still assess a post-operative
patient as methodically and carefully as ever.

I started to leave, to go give Mulder my report, but something made
me turn back around.

Daniel hadn't moved, and there was no significant change in the
monitors, but I suspected that I had, at some level of awareness,
detected something wrong. 

I debated whether to call the nurses, but I decided to take one more
quick look at Daniel to see whether I could figure it out for myself.

I don't know how to explain what happened next. Maybe I was just
getting over the initial shock and starting to feel the reality of
what had happened. Maybe it was not having charts and notes and test
results to distract me. I really don't know.

All I know is that I looked at Daniel, and for the first time that
night, I didn't see a patient.

I saw Daniel -- my gentle, sweet Daniel, my dearly loved colleague
and friend, lying there unconscious, alive only because he was
attached to the machines that monitored him, breathed for him and
measured out his intravenous sustenance drop by drop. 

For the first time since I began my medical career, I saw all the
technology for what it was -- necessary, perhaps, but ultimately
dehumanizing, emphasizing the physical characteristics of the body at
the expense of the needs of the soul, and of the heart.

And I, of all people, should have remembered that, because I have
been there. It was Mulder's voice, the touch of his hand, and my
awareness of his presence that gave me the strength to turn back from
the peaceful world that beckoned me, to come back to this world with
all its sorrow and pain, and to continue the journey -- with him.

Daniel needed the machines, and what they could do for him -- but
what he needed even more, what he couldn't have, was Mulder's strong
hands to guide him back on his own long, painful journey.

I couldn't give him Mulder -- but I could give him Mulder's unspoken
message.

I walked back toward the gurney and, as gently as I could, smoothed
Daniel's dark hair away from his face. I leaned closer to him,
whispering in his ear.

"Daniel, it's Dana," I said, and it wasn't until I heard the catch
in my voice that I realized how very near tears I was. "Fox wants to
be here with you. He would give anything to be here with you, but
they won't let him come in. But he wants you to know that he loves
you ... he loves you very much ... and he'll be right here with you
the minute they say it's okay."

Tears were rolling down my cheeks when I finished. There was more I
wanted to say, but I couldn't, not without breaking down completely,
so I kissed Daniel's cheek and walked away.

I made it as far as the hallway; I might have made it further, but
Mulder was there, his eyes filled with pain and fear and hope,
waiting to hear what I would say.

And as I looked at him, I began to cry. Right there in the middle of
Bethesda Naval Hospital, I broke down and wept, putting my hands over
my face like a little girl.

I felt Mulder's arms going around me, and I pressed my face to his
chest. I felt so bad, making him comfort me that way when it was he
who needed comfort, but there really wasn't anything else to do.

It is always Mulder who sustains me.

~~~~~

We didn't talk as I drove us to my Mom's house in Baltimore. I had
intended to take Mulder home -- it was a lot closer -- but I decided
he could use a little mothering, and Mom was certainly capable of
that. Maybe in the morning we'd go by Daniel's apartment and make
sure everything was all right, pick up a few things he might need
when he awoke.

And maybe, if Daniel did wake up, they'd let Mulder in to see him
for a minute.

When we got to Mom's, she greeted Mulder with a warm hug, which was
what I had expected, of course. She likes Mulder and he's always
trusted her; I think he came out to her while I was missing, although
neither of them has ever told me anything about what went on between
them during that time.

But when she told Mulder how sorry she was that this had happened
and how worried she knew he must be, I thought -- for the first time
that day -- that he might cry. I thought I might, too: I hadn't
realized until then just how badly he wanted someone to acknowledge
what this meant to him.

Mom, being Mom, picked up on it immediately. She's raised two boys,
and she's quite familiar with the tell-tale signs of a man who's
trying not to cry. She gave him another hug, told him -- with an air
of perfect certainty -- that Daniel would be just fine, and then
ordered him firmly to go upstairs and take a shower, that she'd put
out some clothes that ought to fit him, and that he would be sleeping
in the first room at the top of the stairs.

I gave her a kiss, and headed upstairs to the other guest room, the
one she persists in calling "Dana's room," although I never really
lived in this house. Mom and Dad settled down here after he retired
from the Navy, but by that time, I was already in med school and I
stayed here only during school breaks.

I took a quick shower and put on a pair of pajamas that I keep at
her house. I laid down and tried to sleep, but I could tell sleep
wouldn't come quickly. I was too worried -- about Mulder, about
Daniel, and about how Mulder would deal with Daniel's mother.

I knew very little about Georgiana Starlington Reilly except that
she was Catholic, from Boston, and was the daughter of an admiral,
the wife of a captain and the mother of three Navy officers -- Daniel,
his sister, Lt. Grace Reilly Garland and his younger brother, Lt.
James Reilly. The youngest child, Hope Reilly Hull, was the only
civilian, and she was married to a Naval aviator.

But I knew Daniel's life story fairly well. He'd told me some of it,
Mulder had told me some, and the rest I knew because I, like Daniel,
am an Irish Catholic, a physician and a Navy brat. It wasn't hard to
put it all together.

Daniel was not only the eldest of his siblings, he was the first
grandchild for both families -- families whose Navy traditions went
back to the days of John Paul Jones. Everyone had high hopes for him,
and he didn't let them down; he not only did what was expected of
him, he excelled at every step from high school to Duke University,
where he was chosen to be a Navy ROTC Medical Officer candidate, all
the way through Harvard Medical School.

Don't misunderstand: I know Daniel isn't perfect. He judges himself
very harshly, and I hear he's almost as demanding of his surgical
team as he is of himself. And as he himself put it, he's "a walking
case study in internalized homophobia." 

And there is, of course, the inescapable fact that he lied to Jill
for years, and he was repeatedly unfaithful to her toward the end of
their marriage. Maybe he couldn't help it; I don't know. I know he
regrets it every day of his life.

No, he's not perfect. But he is truly an officer and a gentleman, a
physician and a scholar, and one of the most gifted surgeons I've
ever had the privilege to know, and I love him dearly in spite of his
flaws.

He tried to be a good husband, too. He married Jill, his high-school
sweetheart, while he was at Harvard. Daniel is too well-bred to
discuss such intimate matters -- except, perhaps, with Mulder -- but
knowing what I do about him, I can easily imagine that his marriage
to Jill was either entirely or very nearly platonic.

But as far as anyone could see, Daniel was the All-American boy. I'm
sure his family was very proud of him -- especially his parents, and
well they should have been. They continued to be proud of him until
the day he told them he was divorcing Jill after 12 years of
marriage ... and why.

All their pride in their handsome, accomplished son vanished in that
moment, to be replaced by revulsion, outrage and fury. 

They tried hard to persuade Daniel to stay with Jill. They begged
him to go into counseling. They called their priest in to talk to
him. They threatened to disinherit him. They even warned that they
might -- for his good and the good of the Navy, of course -- report
him to his commanding officer if he didn't straighten out.

But Daniel had traveled a long, painful road to get to that moment.
He had already tried counseling, had prayed and struggled and wept
through endless years of frustration, shame and guilt before he
finally acknowledged what he was. He wasn't happy about it, but he
couldn't change it, and he was through pretending.

Daniel told his parents, quietly but firmly, that he was sorry he
had disappointed them, that he had never wanted them to be ashamed of
him, but that his decision was irrevocable.

Daniel's parents hadn't reported him, but neither had they spoken to
him since his divorce; nor, from what I knew of it, had his sisters.
I knew that must have hurt him badly, but I had never heard him
criticize them for it. If he had talked about his feelings toward his
family at all, it was only to Mulder, and only in private.

I didn't know about his brother; James was serving aboard USS
Dallas, a Los Angeles class submarine, and most of the time he
couldn't have communicated with his brother if he'd wanted to. If he
didn't want to, being in a tin can on the bottom of the ocean was
certainly a workable excuse not to.

Forgive me -- the Scully men have always served in the surface
fleets and they tend to look down their military noses at submarines.
I seem to have inherited that attitude.

I was sure Daniel's mother would come to see him; I strongly
suspected that, despite the distance that had come between her and
her first-born, she wasn't cold-hearted, just hurt and angry. Yet I
was even more sure that she wouldn't take kindly at all to being
introduced to her son's lover.

I was not expecting Daniel's father to be there. I know his type of
Navy man all too well to think he would relent.

As I lay there, tossing and turning, I heard a soft knock at the door.

"It's open," I called out. The door opened, and Mulder came in,
wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that I recognized as belonging
to my younger brother Charlie. He's just a little bigger than
Charlie, so the clothes were a snug fit that showed his body off to
perfection.

Now, understand: I've had years in which to adjust to being in love
with Mulder, and to deal with my never-to-be-fulfilled desire for
him, and I think I've done fairly well. The love I have for him has
only grown deeper and stronger; the physical longing, while it is
still there, is no longer the painful, unrelenting thing it once was,
and I am glad of that. It makes it much easier for us to be together,
and that's all I want, really.

Still, I don't think I will ever reach the point that my pulse
doesn't speed up and my breathing grow deeper when I see him in a T-
shirt and jeans.

At least, I hope I never do.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, more hesitantly than was normal for him.

"No," I said, sitting up. "Come on in. Are you all right?" 

He laughed, and shook his head.

"Sorry," I said. "Foolish question. Of course you're not all right."
I patted the mattress next to me, and he came over and sat on the
edge of the bed facing me.

"I don't know what I am," he said. "Numb, I guess. I keep thinking I
dreamed it and I'm going to wake up soon."

"I know that feeling," I said, and I took his hand. "He's going to
be all right, Mulder."

"God, I hope so," he said, squeezing my hand. "I can't even imagine
life without him."

"You don't need to imagine that," I said. "He's not going to die.
He's young, and in very good health, and he's getting the best of
care. All the nurses at Bethesda just love him -- they're not going
to let anything happen to him."

"I know they won't," he said, but it was an automatic response. He
didn't really seem reassured. 

"I gave him your message," I said.

He didn't answer at first. For a long time, he just looked out the
window.

"You know, while I was lying there trying to sleep, I kept
remembering the day Daniel and I met," he said, after a long pause,
almost as though he hadn't heard me. "I guess that's because we
passed right by the place on our way here tonight."

That surprised me. "I didn't know you two met in Baltimore," I said.

Now it was his turn to look surprised. "I thought I told you that,"
he said. "Didn't I?"

"You told me you met playing basketball," I said. "I thought it was
at the YMCA or something."

"No, it was here," he said. "At the school near St. Ignatius.
Remember the day I drove you here for your cousin's First Communion?"

"My cousin Kathleen? Of course I remember," I said. "My car had
broken down." Then I felt a horrible stab of guilt as I realized what
that meant. "Mulder, you mean you met Daniel that day?"

Mulder didn't seem to notice my sudden turmoil, though; he just
nodded. "I was shooting some hoops while I waited for you; some other
guys saw me and a game broke out, and at some point, Daniel joined
in. I twisted my ankle and he came over to see about it and ...
things kind of went from there."

"Mulder, that makes me feel horrible," I said. 

"Why?" he said, turning to look at me.

"Because I remember ... while I was dating Josh," I said, feeling
more miserable with each word, "I remember how I accused you of
running around, enjoying yourself and having plenty of free time to
meet Daniel while I did all the work, and you really met him while
you were trying to help me out ..."

"Hold on a minute," Mulder interrupted, in the firmest tone he ever
uses with me. "In the first place, Scully, nothing you did or said
during that time is going to be held against you. In the second
place, I _was_ out playing around when I met Daniel, and to whatever
extent you had anything to do with that, I'm grateful as hell. Don't
ever doubt that."

"I'll try," I whispered, but I felt myself getting weepy again as I
remembered those horrible days with Josh Larrimore, who battered me
emotionally and physically and might have killed me had Daniel and
Mulder not intervened. "You and Daniel saved my life, Mulder," I
said. "And I treated you both so badly. I don't know how I ever
doubted either of you."

"Scully, I meant what I said," Mulder said, but his tone was
gentler. "You weren't yourself back then. I knew it, and Daniel knew
it, too. Just forget about anything you said back then, please?"

I nodded, and I was going to say something else when -- on a sudden
impulse -- I threw my arms around Mulder's neck and hugged him
tightly. He was surprised, I know, because I am not usually so
demonstrative, but he didn't say anything. He just hugged me back.

"Mulder," I said, just barely above a whisper because I didn't want
to cry, "I want you to know something."

"What?" he said, and I could feel his breath against my neck. It was
a comforting feeling.

"You and Daniel," I said. "How much I love you both; how grateful I
am to have you both in my life."

"I'm not sure we've really done you a favor," he began, but I
interrupted him.

"Mulder, I know you worry about me," I said. "I know you worry that
I'm so close to the two of you that I'll never find a love of my own.
But you shouldn't. I'm happy; really I am."

"I hope so," he said, then gave me a quick squeeze and sat back
where he could see me. "But if you want to know what I really worry
about, it's that maybe you don't meet anyone because you think I
don't want you to. And maybe I really don't. Maybe I'm such a
selfish, jealous bastard that I'm not willing to give you up or even
to share you with anyone else."

"You share me with Daniel," I said, and I took his hand again. "And
you share Daniel with me. That doesn't sound like a jealous bastard
to me; it sounds like a man who loves both of us very unselfishly."

"I do love you, Scully," he said, very gently, and he reached up to
touch my face. I love it when he does that. "I know it's not the kind
of love you really need, though."

"It is, too," I said, almost indignantly. That brought a little bit
of a smile to his lips, and I was relieved to see it. "Mulder, I do
need it," I said, more seriously. "I need you, and Daniel needs you,
and tomorrow I'm going to see to it that you get in to see him."

"I need to see him," Mulder said, looking downward again. "I don't
want him to die not knowing how much I love him."

"He's not going to die, and he already knows that you love him," I
said, soothingly, but Mulder shook his head.

"Not unless he's a mind-reader," he said. 

It took me a minute to realize what he meant. "Mulder, are you
saying you've never told Daniel that you love him?" I asked, as
gently as I could. 

"Never have," he said, shaking his head again. "Not in so many
words, anyway."

"Does he ever say it to you?" I asked.

"Yeah, sometimes," he said. "Not every time I see him, you know, but
sometimes."

"And what do you say back to him?" I asked.

Mulder laughed, and shook his head. "I tell him he's an asshole, or
that he's full of shit, or some equally stupid, macho crap," he said,
then looked back at me. "I've tried to say it, Scully. I just can't;
no matter how much I want to, I can't."

"Why not?" I said. "You don't seem to have any trouble saying it to
me."

He smiled at that, sadly, though. "That's different," he said. 

"Because ...?" I said.

"You're a girl," he said, with a little shrug. "I'm sorry; I don't
mean to be sexist. It's just ... sometimes it's not any easier for a
gay man to show another man his feelings than it is for a straight
man, you know?"

"I can believe that," I said, and I kissed his cheek, softly. He
looked surprised ... pleased, but surprised. "Now what?" I said.

"I was expecting a lecture," he said. "You know, on the necessity of
getting in touch with my feelings, or something like that."

"You're not getting one," I said. "Although I think there's more to
this reluctance than just societal conditioning and gender roles."

"Such as?" he asked, lifting one eyebrow.

"Such as it's easier to open up when opening up doesn't carry so
many implications, Mulder," I said. "You forget -- I've been there
myself."

"When have you been there yourself?" he asked, and I could see that
he was genuinely puzzled.

I smiled, but I almost didn't answer him. We'd never talked about
this ... we seldom even talked _like_ this, except in those late-night
office conversations, which by our mutual, unspoken agreement,
officially did not exist when the sun came up.

But the sun was down now, we were both exhausted and emotionally in
shock, and we needed the bond of our friendship more than we ever
had. This was a time for telling each other the truth, if ever there
was one.

"Scully?" he said, when I didn't answer.

"Mulder, one of the things we both know," I said, very slowly, "and
we've never talked about is that when was staying with Daniel after I
got out of the hospital, I slept in the same bed with him most of the
time I was there."

Now it was Mulder who wasn't answering. I waited; and finally, he
spoke.

"I never said anything because there didn't seem to be anything I
needed to say," he said, slowly but not at all as though it troubled
him to say it. "It was what you needed, and it wasn't a threat to me -
-not from you, anyway. Anyone else, it might have been. But not you,
Scully."

"And yet as much time as you and I spend together," I said, "as much
as I love you, as much as we've been through, you and I have never
done more than nap next to each other on a long flight. I'm not
counting that nap at your father's house because Daniel was there.
Did you ever ask yourself why that is?"

"Maybe because the one and only time you invited me to sleep in your
bed, I turned you down?" he said, very gently. "I'd have a hard time
asking again if it had been me, Scully -- isn't that the reason?"

"Only in part," I said. "I never even asked Daniel -- I just woke up
from a nightmare and I went looking for him. That was easy. With you,
it's not easy."

"With me, nothing ever is," he said, that little bit of smile back
again. "So what are you saying?"

"That if I asked you, and if you said yes," I said, "it would mean
something to me that it didn't mean with Daniel, even though I love
him dearly. And you know that, and so do I, so we don't let it
happen."

"I've wanted it to happen," Mulder said, quietly. "I like being
close to you, Scully. I just never felt that I could ask you."

"You're proving my point," I said, and I laid my hand on his cheek.
His eyes closed, slowly, and he leaned into my hand in a way that
tugged painfully at my heart. "If it were a casual matter with either
of us," I said, more quietly, "you wouldn't have asked -- or, if you
thought you had to ask, you wouldn't have hesitated to do so. It's
not casual with you and me, and it never will be."

He opened his eyes then, and looked at me. "Okay, so it's not
casual," he said. He covered my hand with his and pressed a warm kiss
into my palm, then took my hand away from his face and held it. "So
knowing that, knowing that it's going to have serious implications
for both of us, I still want to know -- will you let me sleep with you
tonight?"

Would I let him? I could scarcely breathe just thinking about it. It
was only what I wanted most in the entire universe, to hold Mulder
through the night and be close to him, as close as I could ever be.

And yet, for just an instant, I hesitated. We were in my mother's
house; in my mother's house, you do not sleep with a member of the
opposite sex unless you are married to each other.

But Mom always said that circumstances alter cases, and this was
without question a unique set of circumstances in the annals of the
Scully family.

It didn't really matter. Mulder had never needed me more in his
life, and I wasn't going to turn him away. If Mom found out and got
angry about it -- and I really didn't think she would -- she'd
forgive me. She always does.

I reached over to the other side of the bed and drew the covers
back. "Come here," I said.

Mulder kissed the tip of my nose, then stood and quietly, without
any fuss, shed his jeans and climbed into the bed next to me. I put
my arms around him; he laid his head on my shoulder and I held him. 

And it was all so simple, after all, and so real -- his hair thick
and silky under my hand, his cheek rough and his breath warm and
alive against my skin. It was everything that, added up, was just
Mulder: my trusted partner, my beloved friend and platonic lover, my
father figure and my grown-up child -- my very soul -- lying next to
me in perfect trust, warm and comfortable in my arms. 

I'd held him in my arms before, and I'd kissed him a thousand times.
But this -- holding him this way, in this most intimate of settings -
- 
went far beyond anything I'd ever felt with him or with any man
before, beyond sex to a complex of emotions so profound it staggered
me.

"I always wondered how this would feel," he said, in a faraway
voice, breaking in on my thoughts.

"How does it feel?" I asked. My throat felt tight, and yet in a way,
I wasn't nervous at all -- perhaps because I was taking full
advantage of the opportunity being presented to me by running my
fingers through his hair with one hand while tracing a lazy path over
the muscles of his back and arms with the other.

"Nice," he said, almost in a whisper. Then he raised his head and
looked up at me. "It feels really nice, Scully."

"I'm glad," I said. I didn't know what else to say, but it didn't
seem to matter. I had my arms full of Mulder, and there is just
nothing in the world better for me than that. 

"You know, there was one other thing I wondered about," he said as
he laid his head back down and settled himself against me once more.

"What was that?" I said, resuming my greedy caressing of his body.

"When you had that nightmare, and you went looking for Daniel," he
said, "how did you feel when you found him?"

I thought for a minute. "Safe," I said, finally. "I felt very, very
safe, and very loved."

"Yeah," he said, quietly. "Daniel's good at making people feel very,
very safe -- and very loved."

I felt a huge lump in my throat, and for a minute I didn't speak.
For the second time that day, I was shattered by the knowledge of how
inadequate a substitute I am in these men's lives, how little I can
do to make up for everything they have lost, or have never had -- or
might still lose if things didn't go well.

As gently as I could, I smoothed the hair back from his forehead and
kissed him there. "You should go to sleep," I said when I felt
certain of my voice. "Tomorrow's going to be a very long day."

"I'll try," he said, with a tone that said he knew better. Then he
kissed me once more. "I love you, Scully," he said, so softly I
almost couldn't hear him.

"I love you, too," I said. "Sleep now."

~~~~~

As Mulder Saw It

~~~~~

If my usual prescience had deserted me before Daniel was shot, it
was back in force as Scully and I headed back to Bethesda the next
morning.

I had awakened in Scully's arms, feeling both pleasantly relaxed and
startled to find that I'd actually slept. Still, I had a sense of
dread I couldn't escape. There were bad things on the horizon, and I
knew it. It wasn't that Daniel was going to die. I didn't know -- no
one knew -- whether he would live or die, but if he died, I knew it
wouldn't be today.

No, there was something else awaiting me, and I had a fair idea of
what it might be, too. Today was the day Daniel's mother was expected
at Bethesda.

Which, I decided, meant that I had a better-than-even chance of
being outed if she chose to point fingers and shriek at me like
Donald Sutherland in the dismal remake of "Invasion of the Body
Snatchers."

If it hadn't been so dangerous for Daniel, I wouldn't have given a
flying fuck. I didn't care if everyone from the director on down got
the word that Fox Mulder was queer. Screw the FBI -- I could always
do something else.

What that something else might be, I wasn't sure. Teaching seemed
the likeliest alternative. That A.B. (Oxon.) after your name
impresses the shit out of academic types, and if you have it, they
seldom care which side of the street you cruise on. Scully wouldn't
have any trouble getting another job, either -- she was more than
qualified to teach at a university, even in a school of medicine. 

Looking back on it, I find it almost funny that not once did I even
consider that Scully might not want to leave the Bureau and follow me
into the groves of academe. Whither I went, I was certain, she would
go. 

It was unreasonable of me to expect it, but I asked unreasonable
things of her every day of her life -- such as asking her to let me
sleep next to her. I did it even though I know all too painfully well
how sometimes she still wants me; I did it because I'm not sure I'd
have made it through that night without her. And she was there for
me, as she always is.

I'm too much of a louse to give that up.

When we got to the hospital, Scully said she'd go check on Daniel
first and then, if he seemed to be improving, we'd tackle Dr.
Montgomery about letting me in there.

"Just don't lean on him too hard," I said as we walked toward the
main entrance. I opened the door for her and she walked through.
"It's not going to help Daniel's career for me to seem too eager to
see him. Once he's awake, he'll tell them to let me come in."

"I'll tread lightly, I promise," she said. "It's just that it may be
a while before they take him off the ventilator, and they're going to
keep him sedated for a good part of that time. It could be weeks
before you see him."

"I already go weeks without seeing him, Scully," I said as we
approached the ICU waiting area. "There's nothing new about that."

She was about to reply when a young Navy nurse I recognized from the
day before stepped out of the ICU. When she saw Scully, she looked
troubled.

"Dr. Montgomery's been asking if you were here, Dr. Scully," she
said. "He said he needed to talk to you as soon as you got here."

"Thank you, but I'd like to check on Dr. Reilly first," Scully said.
"It'll only take me a minute."

"Dr. Scully," the nurse said, and then she hesitated. "I think ...
Dr. Scully, I don't think you're going to be able to see Dr. Reilly
today. That was what Dr. Montgomery wanted to talk to you about."

"What do you mean, lieutenant?" Scully said, a little more sharply
than she meant to, I think. "Why can't I see Dr. Reilly?"

"Because Dr. Reilly is no longer allowed to have visitors outside
his immediate family," came a deep voice from behind us. I turned
around -- it was Montgomery, looking simultaneously stern and
uncomfortable. "Thank you, lieutenant," he said to the nurse. "I'll
handle this."

"Aye, aye, sir," the nurse said. With a quick, sympathetic look at
Scully, she walked past us, leaving us standing there with Montgomery.

"Dr. Montgomery, what's all this about?" Scully asked him, folding
her arms across her chest. "I understood that I was allowed to visit
him because he'd designated me as his emergency contact. Has
something gone wrong?"

"No," he said, shaking his head, so definitely that I was relieved.
"No, Dr. Reilly is in essentially the same condition as before -- 
stable, but unconscious due to the medications we're giving him.
That's not why I called you here."

"Then why?" she said. "What's the problem?"

"The situation has gotten a little complicated," Montgomery said,
fingering his chin nervously. "As of this morning, his legal next of
kin -- his mother -- has given explicit instructions that no one
except family is to visit her son. In the absence of any legal
relationship on your part, I'm afraid I have no choice but to follow
Mrs. Reilly's instructions."

"Did she give you any reason for making that request?" Scully asked.

"She said that she didn't want her son disturbed," Montgomery said. 

"Dr. Montgomery, I promise you, I have not done anything to disturb
Dr. Reilly's rest," Scully said. "As for Agent Mulder, he hasn't even
been in to see Dr. Reilly."

"That's not my decision anymore," Montgomery said. "Mrs. Reilly is
in with her son now. Your only option is to wait here and ask her to
change her instructions. Dr. Scully, I'm sorry -- truly, I am -- but
Mrs. Reilly's request must be honored, unless Dr. Reilly has an
advance directive saying otherwise."

"I don't believe he has any advance directives," Scully said.

"According to his personnel file, he does," Montgomery said. "There
is a note indicating a living will, an organ-donor directive and a
durable medical power of attorney. We're not sure who has them."

That surprised me. Scully looked at me with eyes that asked, Is it
you? I shook my head. Not me, Scully.

Then who? she asked with a look. I shrugged. I didn't know.

"If you find out where those directives are, I'd appreciate your
telling me," Montgomery said. "In the meantime, I'll ask Dr. Reilly's
mother if we can release information on his condition. I know you'd
like to keep up with how he's doing."

And with a quick look at me, Montgomery turned abruptly and walked
away.

"Shit," I said, shoving my hands deep into my pockets and leaning
against the cold white tiles.

"An understandable but not terribly helpful comment, Mulder," Scully
said, dryly. "Do you know what Daniel's mother looks like?"

"She looks like Daniel, only female and about 20 years older," I
said. "At least, she does in her photographs. I haven't met the lady
myself."

"I think you're about to," Scully murmured as the ICU door swung
open and a woman stepped out.

She did look like Daniel -- or rather, Daniel looks like her, since
she was here first. She was shorter, of course, and had more than a
little middle-aged spread; the dark Irish hair had gone steel gray,
and the face was lined and tense, but the eyes -- those were Daniel's
eyes, dark and snapping with life. But there was none of Daniel's
gentle humor there. She was worried, as you'd expect her to be; but
she was also angry, with an anger that had had time to go cold and
deadly.

"Mrs. Reilly?" Scully said, and the woman stopped.

"Who are you?" she said, in an unmistakably New England accent. You
can hear traces of that in Daniel's speech sometimes -- and in mine,
too, probably -- but this was the real thing, broad and flat as a
pancake. Under other circumstances, it might have made me homesick.

"Mrs. Reilly, I'm Dana Scully and this is Fox Mulder," Scully said.
"May we speak to you for a moment?"

"Are you from the police?" Mrs. Reilly said, looking from me to
Scully. 

"No, ma'am," Scully said. "We're FBI agents, but we're here in an
unofficial capacity. Daniel is a friend of ours and we wanted to see
if you might let us step in for a moment to see him."

"Friends, are you?" Mrs. Reilly said, and I saw her jaw tense
exactly the way Daniel's does when he's getting angry -- not that he
gets angry very often, but when he does, look out.

"Miss Scully," Mrs. Reilly went on, "I think I know exactly what
kind of -- friend -- your companion here is to my son, and I am here
to tell you that he will not be visiting Daniel in the intensive care
unit or anywhere else as long as I have anything to say about it."

You think you're used to this stuff, but you never really are. I
felt as though she'd kicked me in the stomach. It wasn't just knowing
that I wouldn't be seeing Daniel that day or in the foreseeable
future; it was knowing how his mother felt about me, and by
extension, about him.

I wanted to say something to her, but the only thing that came to
mind was, "Mrs. Reilly, you don't understand, I love him," and I was
pretty sure that wasn't going to improve matters one damn bit. 

"Mrs. Reilly, I can see that you're upset," Scully began, but Mrs.
Reilly interrupted her.

"I'm not upset, Miss Scully," Mrs. Reilly said, curtly. "I'm beside
myself. My son is lying in there near death and no sooner do arrive
here to see him than I'm confronted with his ... friend." 

The woman had a way with words. Not everyone could pronounce the
word "friend" so that it came out more like "queerboy."

"Perhaps we could go somewhere else to discuss this?" Scully said,
in her coolest tone. 

"I think not, Miss Scully," Mrs. Reilly said, with a sideward glance
at me. "I don't really see that there's anything to discuss. Now if
you'll excuse me, I have to find a telephone and call Daniel's
father."

And I didn't move. I just stood there, leaning against the wall as
Mrs. Reilly strode purposefully away, thinking -- in a rather
abstract fashion -- that the emotional reaction I was having bore a
strong resemblance to the need to vomit. I've lived so much of my
life so deep in the closet; it had been a hell of a long time since
I'd gotten that hate stare from anyone, let alone my lover's mother.

But I hadn't forgotten how it looked -- or how it felt to be on the
receiving end. Some things, you just don't forget.

I was sinking deeper and deeper into the black heart of my own
thoughts when I felt that cool, calming hand on my forearm.

"She's upset, Mulder," Scully said, quietly. "She may think better
of it after she's had a chance to calm down."

"Somehow, I don't think so," I said. 

~~~~~

We were silent on the way back to Maggie's house. Scully managed to
track down her med-school buddy and get a highly illegal update from
Daniel's chart, enough to reassure her that he was at present
recovering uneventfully. After that, there didn't seem to be any good
reason to hang around Bethesda looking pitiful, because Mrs. Reilly
didn't strike me as the kind of person who backed down very often or
very gracefully, and a public confrontation wouldn't have done me or
Daniel any good.

Maggie was surprised to see us back so soon. She sat us down on her
couch and brought coffee, then sat on the coffee table opposite us
and insisted that we tell her what had happened. When Scully told her
why we were back, she became utterly indignant -- and she looked so
much like her daughter in that moment that I almost could have
laughed.

It was just that nothing seemed very funny right then, you know?

"Would it help if I went down to see her?" Maggie asked. "Maybe one
mother to another ..."

"I don't think so, Mrs. Scully," I said, shaking my head. "It's
probably best if we just wait a few days until Daniel's out of ICU
and can decide for himself who he wants to see."

"Fox, that could be a long time," Maggie said. "I don't know Mrs.
Reilly, but I'm sure she and I have some mutual acquaintances ...
maybe I could find some common ground with her and get her to listen
to reason."

"Mulder, maybe your mother ..." Scully began, then stopped as she
saw the look on my face. "No, I suppose not."

"She's in no condition to help with anything right now," I said, as
I wrapped my hands around the coffee mug to warm them. "She's still
recovering from the stroke. I appreciate your wanting to help, Mrs.
Scully, but there's really nothing anyone can do."

Suddenly, Scully straightened up, her eyes wide. "I'll bet I know
where those directives are," she said. "Jill."

"Who's Jill?" Maggie said.

"Daniel's ex-wife," I said, quietly. That surprised her, I could
see; I guess the subject just hadn't come up before.

"Do you think they've notified her?" Scully was asking. "We could
probably find her ..."

I shook my head. "She probably knows. Daniel says she and his mother
are still very close, that Jill spends most of her holidays with the
Reillys." 

I couldn't tell them what I was really thinking. Daniel is a very
private person, and there are things he tells me that he wouldn't
want anyone else to know, such as just how badly it hurts him that
Jill is welcome in his parents' house and he's not.

"Do you know her at all, Fox?" Maggie was asking.

"I haven't met her," I said. "Daniel talks about her a lot, though;
I know he still cares for her."

"Well, she must be very special, then," Maggie said, patting my leg.
"Daniel has good taste in those he chooses to love."

"Mrs. Scully," I began, then stopped. I like to think I'm not easily
embarrassed, but I don't take compliments well, probably because I
never got one I thought I really deserved. I smiled as best I could.
"Thank you, Mrs. Scully," I said. 

She smiled and, with her usual tact, changed the subject. "Didn't
you tell me Daniel has a brother? Is he still friendly with him?"

"Yeah, Jim," I said. "He's on a submarine somewhere in the Atlantic
or somewhere."

"Oh, those things are always classified," Maggie said, shaking her
head. "No one's really supposed to know where they are. Of course, we
know they're all in the Black Sea or in the Persian Gulf, don't we?"

"I've always suspected they were really sitting on the surface off
Tahiti somewhere," Scully said, "admiring the scantily clad ladies
and swigging Tahitian rum."

"Well, someone's got to tell him about his brother, and he'd
certainly be entitled to emergency leave for something like this,"
Maggie said, "so it's just a matter of finding out exactly where he
is right now. Why don't I call Jemison Thorsby and see what he knows?"

"Who's Jemison Thorsby?" I asked.

"Admiral Thorsby -- he's an old friend of Ahab's," Scully said,
leaning forward with interest. "He was a sub driver in his youth.
Mom, if you do call him, you've got to be very careful about how you
put this request."

"Oh, I'll just tell him Daniel's a potential son-in-law," Maggie
said, lightly. "Because as far as I'm concerned, that's what he is."

For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the coffee table as the
meaning of what she'd said soaked in and sent my already precarious
emotional balance even closer to the edge.

It showed, though; I'm sure of it, because Scully put her arms
around me. She's not usually that open about her feelings for me; not
with someone else around, anyway. I must have looked pretty goddamn
bad for her to do that. 

I don't think I've ever felt more like crying in my life, but I just
couldn't. I didn't think either Maggie or Scully would think less of
me for it; I just knew if I ever started, I wouldn't be able to stop.

Because for the first time, it seemed entirely possible that I might
never see Daniel alive again.

~~~~~

As Jill Saw It

~~~~~

To say I was upset when the hospital called would be a real
understatement.

I was mostly upset because of what had happened to Danny -- I mean
Daniel, nobody calls him Danny anymore except me -- but I was nearly
as upset to realize that I was about to become involved in his life
again.

I don't hate Daniel. That wasn't the problem. It's just that I'd
thought he was out of my life for good, and that was the way I wanted
it. What happened between us more than three years ago shattered my
entire existence in a way I'd never even imagined could be. 

A friend of mine put it best: When Daniel came out of the closet, I
got slammed with the door.

I don't think I'd ever even suspected that Daniel was gay. He's
always been mild-mannered and kind, not the least bit macho -- not
even when he was an ROTC midshipman at Duke University -- but I'm not
foolish enough to think that those characteristics are limited to
women and gay men.

Of course, there'd never been much sex in our marriage, but I'd
always told myself it didn't really matter. Daniel was my best
friend, my companion, my emotional support -- really, he was
everything to me. And he was so sweet to me, so loving and so gentle
on those rare occasions when we did make love that I told myself it
was worth waiting to have something so special.

And it was, you know. It really was. I mean, sometimes it didn't go
well -- you know, nothing happened, for either of us -- but being
close to him, being in his arms like that ... it was enough.

When Daniel finally told me the real reason he hadn't wanted sex
with me, I didn't believe him. I laughed. I was so sure it had to be
a bad joke. 

It wasn't. And so I stopped laughing. 

I never would have believed I would react the way I did. I knew
several gay men, some of whom I thought of as friends. If someone had
asked me, I probably would have said, with great confidence, that I
would understand if something like that happened. I would have said
that I had no problem with homosexuality, that it was just another
way for consenting adults to love and enjoy each other.

And like most nurses, I'd always thought of myself as hard to shock. 

But when Daniel told me he was gay, it was worse than a shock. It
was more like a traumatic injury that's so bad and so deep that you
can't even feel it at first; you look at the wound and you think,
"Man, that's _really_ going to hurt in a few seconds."

And then it does hurt, and the hurt is worse than anything you can
imagine.

In one afternoon, I stopped being a happily married woman with a
wonderful, handsome, successful husband and a career I loved. What I
became, against my will, was a woman whose husband wanted a divorce,
whose husband had been unfaithful over and over.

And he hadn't just been cheating -- he'd been cheating with other men.

Finding out that Daniel had been having sex with men hurt in a way
that I simply cannot describe. I felt inadequate, I felt sick, I felt
bitter and furious and shocked and revolted ... and I felt ugly,
sexless and unattractive in a way I'd never felt before. I wanted to
die. I mean that literally. I remember thinking that this would be an
excellent time to go into sudden cardiac arrest and never regain
consciousness.

And I was furious to see how relieved he was to have it off his
chest. I mean, I was crying my eyes out and he was already feeling
better, although I knew even then that he was very upset to see how
badly he had hurt me. Still, it seemed to me at the time that he was
also in a hurry to get this over with so he could start living his
new life. 

How terribly _nice_ for you, Danny, I remember thinking. Now what
about me? You've been my whole life since we were in high school. So
what the hell am I supposed to do now?

Sure, I knew intellectually that this wasn't a choice he'd made. The
fact that he'd married me could almost be taken as proof that gay
wasn't what he'd wanted to be. 

That was a purely intellectual reaction, though. In reality, I was
furious at him for doing this to me.

So I argued with him, I pleaded, I cried, I hurled accusations at
him ... anything I could think of so that I could try to hurt him as
badly as he'd hurt me, although I was pretty sure that was impossible.

But it wasn't. Daniel himself handed me the weapon I needed. When he
got up to leave, he tried to kiss me goodbye.

And I screamed and I shrank away from him. I did not want him to
touch me. I slapped him right in the face, just as hard as I possibly
could, and I told him never to touch me again as long as he lived,
that just the sight of him made me sick.

He tried to hold my hands and calm me down, and I started kicking
him. I screamed and screamed and called him all kinds of horrible
names -- names that it shames me to remember -- until I just couldn't
talk anymore, and I collapsed.

Danny didn't let me fall. He caught me, carried me to the couch and
sat there with me on his lap. I think he was crying, but I was too
out of it to be sure. He laid my head on his shoulder and stroked my
hair and said he was sorry but he'd tried and tried and he just
couldn't change things. He told me several times how sorry he was for
hurting me and lying to me. 

And he said he still loved me, and that he always would. 

I couldn't take any of it in. I just cried and shook and held onto
him for dear life, and I kissed him once or twice. He kissed me back,
too, just as sweetly and lovingly as he ever had. I tried to ask him -
- to beg him -- not to leave me, but I could hardly talk and I don't
know if he understood me.

It wouldn't have made any difference if he had, anyway.

I don't know how long that went on. I just kept crying and crying
until finally, I cried myself to sleep in his arms. 

When I woke up, I was in my bed. My bed -- that sounded so wrong.
Twenty-four hours earlier, it had been _our_ bed.

Danny was gone.

I saw Daniel only once more after that, at the lawyer's office when
we signed the papers. He tried to talk to me, but I wouldn't answer
him. I addressed him through his lawyer. As soon as we were finished
with the formalities, I left.

Over the next few weeks, when he tried to call to see how I was
doing, I wouldn't pick up the phone. I let the machine get it and I
never called back, no matter what message he left or how many times
he called. I already knew what he wanted to say, but knowing it
didn't help one damn bit.

After a while, he stopped calling.

For the next two months, I walked around in a fog. I did what I had
to do at work, and then I went home and hid myself under my blanket
and cried, or I curled up on the couch and stared blankly into space.
I kept thinking there was something I should do, like make funeral
arrangements, but there was no corpse -- just this huge, unbelievable
agony.

I tried to understand how it could be that the man I'd loved and
wanted since I was 16 years old, the only man I'd ever been with,
turned out to be such a complete stranger to me. I felt really stupid
for not having seen it, and then I felt angry at Daniel for being
such a liar and a cheat, and then I cried because I was so lonely for
him.

I got angry all over again when it came time to sweat out the
waiting on the HIV tests, which prudence dictated I should have even
though Daniel had told me, emphatically, that he was negative and he
hadn't exposed me to anything.

He had told me the truth, it seemed -- about that, anyway. My tests
were negative. But it was a bad, bad time while I waited to find out.

Daniel's parents came by to see me not long after he left. Mom -- 
Mrs. Reilly -- was very kind to me, and told me how sorry she was that
Daniel had done this to me. She blamed herself, she blamed Daniel,
she even blamed the Navy, but she said not one word of blame against
me. It meant a lot to me that she was there; I needed emotional
support so desperately during those days.

The Captain, on the other hand, told me he was going to get Daniel
to straighten up -- bad pun, Dad -- and remember his
responsibilities, but that I was also going to have to live up to
mine, too. He told me, several times, that if I really loved Daniel,
I'd stay with him no matter what. Sex wasn't all there was to
marriage, he said.

I told him I knew that, and I reminded him that Daniel was the one
who'd left me. He didn't seem to hear me. He asked me some really
intrusive questions about our sex life, implying that if I'd been
better in bed, or more available, or something, this wouldn't have
happened.

Ha. Don't I just wish.

I tried to defend Daniel. I told his father that it wasn't his
fault, that he had to have been born that way, that he really had no
choice about this. He wasn't having any of that. Mom tried to calm
him down, but he got very angry at me and they left. The Captain's
last shot was to tell me that I'd better talk to a priest, and soon.

I guess I could have done a better job of explaining the current
theories about the development of sexual orientation, but really, my
heart wasn't in it. What was I doing defending him when he'd just
devastated me and destroyed my life? Why was I still playing
supportive little wifey?

When I got the call from Bethesda, I actually had to think about it
before I decided to spend the money for an airline ticket to
Washington, D.C., to go see about him. I did it only because it was
the right thing to do.

But I was so afraid. I was afraid that I would still be angry, and
that seeing him would send me back into that terrible downward spiral
of emotions.

And most of all, I was afraid he would die before I got there.

But I was also afraid of who else might be there -- some man in
purple pants and a pink Lycra shirt, who would be holding Danny's
hand or kissing him or fluttering around the room speaking in a high-
pitched voice, calling Danny "sweetie" or something ... his boyfriend.

Oh, God, I am a closet homophobe, after all.

Please believe me, I know better, really I do. If it were anyone
else, I wouldn't react with such prejudice and stereotyping.

But try to understand: Daniel was my husband for 12 years. I helped
put him through medical school, I waited for him when he was at sea
and when he was home, I made his coffee every morning. I took his
uniforms to the cleaners and he sent me flowers on Valentine's Day.
He took out the trash and kept my car full of gas. I looked up to
him, and he listened to me. I even had sex with him sometimes. 

I loved him and he loved me. 

I miss him every day of my life. 

My feelings about Daniel's sexuality are all tied up with my anger
and hurt and this terrible sense of loss that never goes away.

For more than three years now, I'd been struggling to put my life
back together. I'd moved to San Diego -- always my favorite of all
the places Daniel had been stationed -- and I'd gone back to working
in labor and delivery, trying, I guess, to make up for the babies I'd
never have myself. 

I wanted to meet someone and start over again, but every time I met
a man, I'd start eyeing him suspiciously for signs that he might be
gay. I didn't trust my own judgment anymore, and anyway, most of them
were doctors and I'd had all I wanted of being a doctor's wife. 

I wanted to have someone in my life, but I just couldn't bring
myself to trust anyone. 

And I knew now that I only thought I'd been dealing with all this
before. The real acid test -- with or without the purple pants -- was
waiting for me at the other end of the line.

~~~~~

When I got to Bethesda, Mom was waiting for me outside the surgical
ICU. She started crying as soon as she saw me, so I gave her a big
hug. I could see that she was worried to death.

I took her back to the waiting room, got her a cup of water and made
her sit down. I was shocked to see how she'd changed. There were
lines around her eyes and mouth that hadn't been there the last time
I saw her, and the streaks of gray in her hair had gotten more
noticeable. 

This had been a huge strain on her; not just the shooting, but the
years of living with a shattered family and the -- to her -- shameful
knowledge that her firstborn son was, as Mom would have put it, a
homosexual.

She looked exhausted -- said she hadn't left the hospital since she
got there two days earlier.

"They keep telling me he's going to get better, Jill," Mom said,
wiping away the tears along with all her carefully applied makeup.
"But he looks just terrible, with all those machines and wires and
tubes. This has just been so difficult."

"Where's Dad?" I said, looking around. When I looked back at Mom,
though, I knew. "Oh," I said. "He's not coming."

Mom shook her head. "No," she said. "And really, Jilly, I'm glad
he's not here. The first day I got here, there was a man who said he
was Daniel's ... friend. I wouldn't want the Captain to have to be
confronted with that."

Daniel's friend. I took a deep breath, praying I'd have the
composure to deal with this. "Where's his friend now?" I said. 

"I have no idea," Mom said, her jaw tightening. "I told the doctors
not to let anyone outside the family in to see Daniel, and I haven't
seen him or his lady friend since."

Lady friend? Maybe Mom was mistaken about this guy. But whoever he
was, there was a good chance that what she was doing now, however
well-intentioned, wasn't what Daniel needed. 

"Mom," I said, slowly, trying to choose my words carefully, "it may
be that this man is someone very special to Daniel ..."

"I could not possibly care less," Mom said, in a harsh stage
whisper. "Do you know what it could do to Daniel's Navy career if
that man were to come in here and ... engage in public displays of
affection? I simply cannot risk it, Jill."

She had a point there. I thought for a moment. "All right," I said.
"If you think it's best, we'll leave it at just family for now."

Mom smiled then, and patted my hand. "I'm sure it's best," she said.
"Oh, Jilly, it is so good to see you again."

~~~~~

When the next scheduled visiting time came up, Mom suggested that I
go in to see him since she'd already seen him several times.

I did want to see him. Under any other circumstances I might have
declined, but from what I knew of his injuries, it was going to be
touch-and-go for a few days, and I didn't want to pass up what might
be my last chance to see him on this earth.

When I went in, there were several people gathered around his bed.
"Dr. Reilly, you've got to breathe for me now," one of the nurses was
saying. "Come on, Dr. Reilly, breathe. You've got to breathe now."

For a moment, I was terrified. Surely I'd have heard if they'd
called a code, wouldn't I? I was so frightened that it took me a
minute to realize what was going on -- they were trying, apparently
without success, to wean Daniel from the ventilator.

"Hook him back up," the doctor said, straightening up. "Cut the
Demerol to 25 milligrams q4 IM and try again in a few hours."

Then he turned around and saw me. "May I help you?" he said.

"I'm Jill Reilly," I said. "Dr. Reilly's wife -- ex-wife, I mean. Is
there a problem?"

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Reilly," the doctor said, pulling off his glove and
extending his hand. I took it. "I'm Dr. Montgomery, I performed the
surgery. If you'd care to step outside, I'll fill you in on the
details."

"I'd like that, doctor, but I'd like to see Daniel first," I said.
"May I?"

"Yes, of course," he said, nodding briskly. "Just let the waiting
room volunteer know when you're back out there and she'll call me." 

I nodded and stepped over to the bed where Daniel was lying. 

Daniel was far from being the first person I'd ever seen unconscious
and ventilated, but it was still startling. I knew what Daniel was
supposed to look like, and this wasn't it.

Without thinking, I reached out and took his hand -- his left hand,
the hand where he'd worn my ring for so many years. His hand was bare
now; not even the "married man's tan line" was left. 

The nurses used to joke about that tan line when I was finishing my
studies at Johns Hopkins, and we learned to look for it, too. You'd
be surprised how many doctors try to pass themselves off as single
men when there are nursing students around.

But not Daniel. He was at sea a good part of that time, but even on
shore, he had always seemed utterly oblivious to all of them: the
nurses, the young officers and enlisted women, the female dependents.
I used to think it was because he was incapable of being unfaithful
to me; but then, I used to think a lot of things about him that
weren't true.

And in that moment, I realized that I really didn't know the man
lying in that ICU bed in front of me. It wasn't just that he looked
different; in so very many ways, Daniel Reilly was a complete
stranger to me, and always had been. 

I never really knew him at all. 

I let go of his hand, turned and walked away.

~~~~~

Dr. Montgomery told me they were going to let Daniel wake up a
little and then reset his ventilator to trigger a mechanical breath
if Daniel made even the least bit of effort to breathe on his own. I
was familiar with the process; it's a step on the road to being
weaned off the ventilator.

"What's the prognosis, doctor?" I asked. I was feeling strangely
detached from all this; not at all the way I'd expected to feel, but
then, I don't really know _what_ I'd expected to feel.

Just not this ... nothingness.

"I'd say fair at this point, Mrs. Reilly," Dr. Montgomery said. "But
I admit, I'd be more optimistic if he were breathing unassisted. I
had hoped for more response, given how far back we've cut his meds."

"He's not responsive?" I said, feeling a touch of fear.

"Not as much as I'd hoped," Dr. Montgomery said. "It's early yet,
Mrs. Reilly; we'll be better able to assess his progress when he's
been on a lower medication dose for a while." He rose and extended
his hand to me. I took it. "Give the volunteer a phone number where
you can be reached, and we'll make sure to contact you if there's any
change in Dr. Reilly's condition."

"Thank you, doctor, I'll do that," I said, dropping the handshake. 

Dr. Montgomery started to walk away, but the he stopped, raising one
hand to his mouth as though there was something he wasn't sure he
should say. 

"Mrs. Reilly," he said, hesitantly, dropping his hand to his side,
"there's a young woman who's been asking to see Dr. Reilly. She was l
listed as his emergency contact; I know this is a difficult
situation, since Dr. Reilly was your husband, but this woman wanted
to know if she could continue to visit the ICU."

A woman? That had to be the "lady friend" Mom had referred to, but
who the hell was she? "Do you know where I might reach her, Dr.
Montgomery?" I said.

"I'll tell the volunteers to give you her telephone number, although
I think you could reach her through the FBI," he said. "Her name is
Scully, Dana Scully -- she's a physician and an FBI agent. Quite a
combination," he added, with a smile. 

An FBI agent, a doctor and my gay ex-husband's lady friend, I
thought. This was getting very confusing. "Thank you, doctor," I
said. "I'll call her and see what we can work out."

He nodded, and walked away, down the hall. I turned and headed back
toward the waiting room. 

I really wasn't entirely sure what I should do. If this was indeed
the same woman, then she sure hadn't made a very good impression on
Mom. It could be that Mom had a very good reason for not wanting this
woman to go into the ICU.

On the other hand, if the woman was -- what do you call it, a beard?
--a beard that Daniel and his boyfriend were hiding behind, then
maybe I should let her in.

Mom was asleep on the waiting room sofa when I got there. She looked
completely exhausted. As gently as I could, I woke her. 

"Oh, dear," she said, with an apologetic smile. "I guess I fell
asleep."

"Yes, you did," I said, smiling back. Mom's always been so good to
me, always helped to take care of me. Now it was my turn to take care
of her. 

"Come on," I said. "Let's go find a hotel somewhere and we can both
take a nap and freshen up. We can call the ICU from there and tell
them where to reach us."

"I think that might be best," Mom said, with that same little smile,
as she put her arm around my waist and gave me a little hug. "You've
always been as much a daughter to me as my own children," she
whispered. "I'm so glad you're still part of our family."

I hugged her back, feeling again the urge to shed a few tears. "I'll
always be your daughter, Mom," I said, in a choked voice. "Always."

~~~~~

After a bite to eat, a shower and a two-hour nap, I was ready to go
back to the hospital, but Mom was still sleeping -- I was pretty sure
she'd be asleep for a while, because at her age it takes a lot longer
to get over missing a night's sleep.

I decided I would wait until she woke up, and then maybe we'd go
back, although I really wasn't sure what I planned to do when I got
there. I was resting on the bed, watching Vanna sell vowels and spin
consonants, when the telephone rang. It scared me; no one knew I was
here except the hospital, and they wouldn't call to give me good news.

My hand shook as I picked up the receiver. "Hello?" I said, in what
I hoped was a steady voice.

"Is this Jill Reilly?" said a cool female voice on the other end.

"Yes, this is she," I said, swallowing hard and trying to brace
myself.

"Mrs. Reilly, my name is Dana Scully," the woman said. "I was
wondering if I might talk to you for a few minutes."

It took a few seconds for the name to register. "You're the FBI
doctor," I said, sinking back against the pillows with a strange
sense of relief. "Dr. Montgomery told me about you."

"Then you probably know why I'm calling," she said. "Could we meet
somewhere and talk about it?"

Sure, I wanted to say -- when hell freezes over. But that wasn't
fair, and I knew it. If Daniel had listed her as his emergency
contact, she must mean something to him. That meant that whatever she
wanted to tell me, I needed to listen.

I sighed -- and I'm sure she must have heard it. "Where would you
like to meet, Dr. Scully?" I said.

She gave me the name of a restaurant near the hospital. "Can you be
there in half an hour?" she asked. 

"I think so, unless I need to dress up," I said. 

"No, it's quite casual," she said. "I'll see you there."

"Wait," I said. "How will I recognize you?"

"I've seen photographs of you, Mrs. Reilly," she said, still quite
coolly. "I'll recognize you -- and I will have identification, if
that will reassure you."

"I don't think that'll be necessary," I said, trying to sound just
as cool as she did. "I'll see you there."

~~~~~

I got to the restaurant in less than the 30 minutes we'd agreed on,
so I took a table where I could see the door and waited for the
mysterious Dr. Scully to appear.

I hadn't been there more than five minutes when she came in. At
first, I didn't think it was her -- this woman was, to put it
plainly, gorgeous. She didn't look like the type who'd be hanging
around with a gay man.

But then, maybe I didn't either. 

She stood in the doorway for a moment, scanning the room. When she
saw me, I could have sworn there was just a brief look of pain in her
eyes, but it was gone too quickly for me to be sure. She walked over
to the table confidently enough.

"Mrs. Reilly," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Dana Scully."

"Jill Reilly," I said, taking her hand briefly as the waitress
walked over with her pad. "I ate not too long ago," I said. "I hope
you don't mind if I just have coffee."

"Make that two," she said to the waitress, but her eyes were still
fixed on me. "You look very much like your photograph," she said as
the waitress walked away.

"Thank you -- I think," I said. "How do you know Daniel?"

Right, Jill, cut out the preliminaries. Let's just get right to it.
Dr. Scully raised one eyebrow, as though she was a little offended by
my abruptness, but she stayed cool. Damn, is she like that all the
time?

"I met him through my partner," she said. And she just left it
hanging there. No explanation.

None needed, actually.

"Your partner is ... " I said, then I stopped and moistened my lips.
"He and Daniel are ..."

"Involved," she said, simply. "They have been for a while."

I was expecting it. Still, it felt like a bowling ball had just
dropped into my stomach. I just nodded and looked down at the table.
"And you want to go visit Daniel," I said.

"Yes, I do," she said, and her voice was so much softer that I had
to look up. Her facial expression hadn't changed -- not much, anyway -
-but there was a look in her eyes that told me that somehow, she knew
I was upset and trying not to show it.

"But it's not just me, Mrs. Reilly," she said, more quietly. "It's
my partner -- his name is Fox Mulder. He hasn't seen Daniel since this
happened. I know this is difficult for you ..."

"You have no idea," I said, and I could hear the bitter note in my
voice. "You cannot begin to imagine how difficult."

"Maybe I can," she said, and her voice was softer still, even a
little ... sympathetic. "I understand better than you think, Mrs.
Reilly. I haven't been through what you've been through, but I do
have some idea of how you must feel."

"I doubt it," I said, and then I sat back as the waitress brought
the coffee and a handful of those little plastic containers of fake
cream. I hate that stuff; I'd rather drink motor oil. Dr. Scully put
two of them in her coffee, no sugar, and for a minute we sat there in
silence as she stirred her coffee.

"Mrs. Reilly," she said, finally, "you're right. I don't know what
you've been through. I can only imagine, and I'm sure my imagination
isn't up to anything as painful as the way your marriage to Daniel
ended."

"With all due respect, Dr. Scully, you don't have a goddamn clue," I
said. "I don't know what Daniel's told you about me, but whatever it
is, it's probably not true. He always treated me as though I was just
this side of being an angel -- right up until the time he told me he
wanted a divorce. Well, I'm no angel -- and I still haven't forgiven
him for lying to me and cheating on me. I'm not sure I ever will."

I could really feel myself getting angry now. Why this had angered
me so much, I don't know; perhaps it was just seeing this woman -- 
this woman who, to all appearances, was as straight as an arrow -- who
had a relationship of some kind with Daniel. Somehow, it had been
decided that she could be with him and I couldn't.

It just wasn't fair.

I stopped, and took a couple of sips of coffee, trying to give
myself time to calm down. "Dr. Scully," I said, after a while,
"please forgive me. I shouldn't have said that; I really don't want
to reopen that particular wound right now. Why don't you just tell me
what it is you want me to do."

"Of course," she said, but I saw the sympathy flash through her eyes
again, and it nettled me. I didn't want her pity. "Your mother-in-law
gave orders that no one except family was to visit Daniel in the ICU.
Dr. Montgomery said someone -- he doesn't know who -- has Daniel's
power of attorney and could overrule those instructions. I'm guessing
that someone is you."

"I did have, but I'm sure it was invalidated by our divorce," I said
in surprise. "I have no legal standing where Daniel's concerned; not
anymore, anyway."

"My understanding -- and I'm not a lawyer, of course -- is that a
durable power of attorney remains in force until it's canceled," Dr.
Scully said. "Do you have those documents with you?"

I shook my head. "I never did have them," I said. "They're probably
in Daniel's safe-deposit box. But even if I do have them, Dr. Scully,
I'm not sure I'm going to overrule Mom on this."

That surprised her. It showed very clearly. "I'm sorry?" she said,
seeming confused by my answer. 

"I said I'm not sure I'm going to overrule my mother-in-law -- former
mother-in-law," I said, looking her right in the eye. "I understand
that your partner has some feelings for Daniel, and I am sympathetic
to that, but I have to be sympathetic to Mom's feelings, too. She's
been through a lot, and I'm not sure she could take seeing Daniel
with another man."

"They're not planning to have sex in the ICU," she said, a little
sharply. "Mulder just wants to see him. Surely that's not too much to
ask."

"Right now, it is, actually," I said, finishing my coffee. I took a
couple of dollars out of my purse and laid the bills on the table as
I stood up. "I'm sorry, Dr. Scully," I said, as firmly as I could. "I
think your partner will just have to wait a little while."

"Is there nothing I can say to you that might change your decision?"
she said, and her eyes were cold now. She was furious; she was just
doing a better job than I was of hiding it.

"No, I don't think there is," I said, my voice equally cold. "If
you'll excuse me now, I'm going to take my mother-in-law to the
hospital to visit her son."

~~~~~

Mom was awake when I got back to the hotel. She was ready to go see
Daniel, so although I would have preferred to wait for a while and
calm myself down, I agreed that we would go back.

I almost told her about my visit with Dr. Scully, but I decided not
to say anything. It would have upset her, and there was no good
reason to do that right now. Besides, I was already feeling ashamed
of myself for having taken so much of my anger and frustration out on
Dr. Scully the way I did, but damn it, it humiliated me that she knew
how I'd been rejected and she hadn't. That she felt sorry for me only
made it worse.

No. There would be time to deal with Daniel's friend, and his
friend's friend, once Daniel was more stable and Mom was feeling a
little stronger.

~~~~~

As Scully Saw It

~~~~~

My meeting with Jill Reilly was a huge disappointment, to say the
very least.

I recognized her immediately from a photograph that Daniel keeps in
a drawer. I came across it while I was staying there with him; he was
at work, I was cold and I was out of clean socks, so I thought I'd
borrow some of his.

And there it was, tucked under a pile of neatly rolled socks. I
recognized Daniel, naturally; he was lying in a hammock with a
lovely, blond-haired woman lying next to him. Her left hand was
resting on his chest, and there was no mistaking who she was; she was
wearing a thin gold wedding band. They were smiling and they looked
very comfortable with each other: the very picture of a happily
married couple.

Yet judging by Daniel's appearance, the picture couldn't have been
made more than a few months before their divorce.

I looked at that picture for a long, long time. It was heartbreaking
to see Jill Reilly so much in love with her handsome husband, knowing
as I did what was about to happen to her. It was heartbreaking, too,
to know that Daniel still loved her enough to keep that photograph
where he would see it every day, to know that even now, when he was
so happy with Mulder, Daniel was still grieving for what he'd lost. 

I wondered if Mulder knew about the photograph. I decided that he
probably did; I didn't think he and Daniel kept many secrets from
each other anymore.

And I decided that Jill Reilly must be a very special woman indeed.

But when I met her, that impression faltered just a little. I don't
know what I'd expected her to do, but I know I wasn't expecting to be
turned down so flatly. I felt almost as though she'd betrayed me
personally, and I was angry -- although not as angry as she was, to
judge by her expression.

Mom had called Admiral Thorsby, and Jim Reilly was reported to be on
his way to Bethesda. I called Skinner and told him that Mulder and I
were more stressed out by the Schnauz case than we'd thought, and
asked him if his earlier offer of a few days off was still open. He
said it was; he didn't ask any more questions, just said he'd see us
on Tuesday.

And that, friends, was that. There was nothing else I could do.

Mulder didn't go to the hospital again; he stayed with me at my
mother's house, waiting and hoping that Jill might change her mind. 

The really sad part was knowing that if it had been me lying in that
hospital bed, he would simply have charged in there and demanded to
be allowed to see me. He's done it. In this case, however, the risk
of outing Daniel and getting him kicked out of the Navy was just too
great. The love that made him want to risk everything to go see
Daniel was the same love that kept him away.

A couple of times, I called my med-school friend to get updates on
Daniel's condition. What he told me worried me so much that I found
myself giving Mulder the "there, there" treatment, withholding the
worst of the information and sugar-coating the rest. 

Normally, he's too good an investigator to let that pass, but he was
so worried and tense that he seemed not to have his antennae on full
power; at any rate, he didn't challenge my assertion that Daniel
continued to do as well as could be expected.

Which was good, because nothing could have been further from the
truth.

~~~~~

I woke up before sunrise Saturday, roused from sleep by the
unconscious awareness that I was alone, although Mulder had slept
with me again the night before.

I got up, threw on a robe and slippers and headed downstairs to the
kitchen. There was coffee -- fairly fresh, from the aroma -- but no
other signs that anyone was up but me. I poured myself some coffee
and stuck my head out the back door.

There was Mulder, sitting on the step, drinking his coffee and
staring off into space.

"Hey," I said, stepping outside. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Is
this a private party, or can anyone join in the misery?"

Okay, so it was a weak joke. I'm not much of a comedian.

Still, he laughed -- almost. "It's invitation only," he said,
scooting over to make room for me. "Fortunately, you're invited."

"Thanks," I said, sitting down next to him and pulling the robe
around me. Not for modesty's sake -- we're way past that point. It
was just a little chilly, and the air was damp. "Is there something
new wrong? You seem more preoccupied than you did." 

Mulder shook his head. "Just another aspect of the same thing, I
guess," he said, slowly. "Your mom left a note in the kitchen saying
Jim Reilly will be here Monday. I was trying to decide how to
approach him."

"I wish I could tell you," I said, sipping at the coffee. "I don't
even know much about him, except that he's a bubblehead."

"What the hell is a bubblehead?" Mulder asked, with a dubious
expression.

"A submariner," I said. "Don't look at me like that; they use the
word themselves, or so I'm told. Anyway, what else do you know about
Jim Reilly?"

"I don't know much more than that," Mulder said, his eyes still
fixed on something in the distance that was invisible to everyone but
him. "He's four years younger than Daniel, which makes him about your
age..."

"Gee, thanks," I said, dryly. "I'm so glad you're keeping track."

He smiled a little. "Sorry," he said. "Anyway, you already know he's
in the Navy and he's the only member of the family still speaking to
Daniel. I don't know how much else there is to know."

"Oh, I don't know," I said, still trying to keep my tone light. "You
could try telling me whether he's married ... and if he looks like
Daniel."

That did it. He really laughed. "I've only seen his pictures, but
yes, I'd say he looks like his brother," Mulder said. "He's younger,
of course, and his hair's not as dark. I think his eyes are blue.
Nice build."

"Mmm," I said, approvingly. "Sounds cute. Bet he looks good in his
uniform."

"He sure as hell does in his picture," Mulder said, nodding. "He's
attractive, all right -- although not as attractive as Daniel, of
course."

"Oh, of course not," I said, smiling. "That's a given."

"So do I dare ask you why you're inquiring about young Mr. Reilly?"
Mulder asked.

"I'm just curious," I said. "What about the married part?"

"Divorced," Mulder said, looking at me and shaking his head. "What
is it with you heterosexuals -- can't you ever commit?"

"Ha, ha, ha," I said, but actually I was pleased that he was making
an attempt to joke. That seemed like a good omen. "We can commit. We
just have to keep getting married until we find the right person to
stay married to."

"Must get expensive," Mulder said, smiling just a little.

"I wouldn't know," I said, taking another sip of coffee. "I rejected
the only serious marriage proposal I ever got."

"Jack Willis?" he asked, and I nodded. "Was that what you two broke
up over? You've never told me much about that relationship," he said.

"There's not much to tell," I said, with a shrug. "I loved him, but
I didn't want to settle down with him. Eventually, we broke up."

"I'm sorry," Mulder said. 

"I'm not," I said, laying my head briefly on his shoulder. "If I'd
stayed with Jack, I'd never have met you."

"At least Jack was straight," he said, but without that sad,
slightly guilty smile that he often wears when making such self-
punishing pronouncements. I'm not the only one who's learning to
adjust to this situation.

"Mulder, if straight was all I was looking for, I wouldn't be here
now," I said, nudging his shoulder slightly. Smile or no smile, he
was venturing onto dangerous turf here, and that was one of my many
"stop it" signals. "By my count, there are about 5,000 straight men
working at the Hoover."

"Constituting what Daniel's fly-boy friends would call a 'target-
rich' environment," Mulder said. "I see your point. Although I'm not
sure I'd put the number that high."

"Well, it's just an estimate, Mulder," I said. "I only know of a few
agents who are out ..."

"Most of whom have lived to regret it," Mulder noted, "and the rest
of us took the hint. Your estimate is high. Trust me."

"I'm not going to ask you how you know that," I said, although in
truth, I was dying to.

"I haven't slept with any of them, if that's what you're asking," he
said, raising an eyebrow. "I know better than to get involved with
anybody on the job."

"Present company ..."

"Excepted, of course," he said, and he put his arm around me.
"Depending on your definitions."

"Mulder, our relationship is anything but easily defined," I said,
snuggling up to him. "I'm not even going to try. But seriously, I've
always wondered: Is it really true that you learn to spot other gay
men?"

"Not always, but probably better than 90 percent of the time," he
said. "It's known in the community as 'gaydar,' and it usually works -
- thank God."

"How long does it take to develop?" I asked. I know, I was being
intrusive, but I was anxious to keep him talking, to keep him from
sinking into one of those deep depressions that come over him
sometimes. This could so easily have become one of those times.

And I was curious. I admit it.

"I don't know," he said. "I almost think I had it to some degree
before I was ever active, although I didn't really start to trust it
until several years later."

"So -- pardon my asking -- but how did you ever manage to meet
anybody in the first place?" I said, and then stopped when I caught
Mulder looking at me with that quizzical expression he gets
sometimes. I could feel myself blushing. "I'm sorry," I said. "That's
really none of my business."

"I don't mind," he said. "Scully, you can ask me anything you want
to. You ought to know that by now."

"That doesn't mean I'll always get an answer," I said. 

"No, it doesn't," he agreed, with a little laugh. "And what's sauce
for the goose ..."

"You've made your point, Mulder," I said. "Consider the question
withdrawn."

"No, it's all right, I don't mind telling you," he said. "I met him
at Oxford. He was a student at my college. End of story."

"Were you in love with him?" I asked, softly.

Mulder shook his head. "Not in the least," he said. "I never really
fell in love until I met Daniel."

"I think you almost did once, though," I said. "Didn't you?"

That got me his attention -- all of it. "With whom?" he said, his
brows knitted. "Not Phoebe. You know better than that."

"Yes, I do. I was talking about Max Fenig," I said, and I knew
immediately that I'd hit the target.

"I didn't think you knew about Max," he said, softly.

"I didn't, really; not until just now," I said. "I'm sorry. I
shouldn't pry. It's just that ... you used to get a sad kind of look
in your eyes when you talked about him. I thought maybe something had
happened between you two."

"It was stupid," he said, taking his arm from my shoulders and
wrapping his hands around his coffee mug. "He was a witness in an
investigation. I had no business getting involved with him. That was
about as careless as I've ever gotten."

"Did you love him?" I asked, putting my hand on his arm. 

"I could have, in time, I guess," he said. "He was ... Scully, he
was just a really sweet guy, you know?"

"Yes, he was," I said, stroking his arm gently. "And he practically
worshipped the ground you walk on. I'm sorry, Mulder."

He shrugged then, and looked at me. "It couldn't have worked," he
said. "Max did have a couple of screws loose. Not that I don't," he
added, quickly, but with a flash of his usual humor. "But Max had
problems I'm not qualified to deal with."

"I remember," I said. "But he was, as you said, a really sweet guy.
I liked him."

"So did I," he said, and he put his arm back around me, around my
waist. "But then, if I'd stayed with him, I'd never have met Daniel,
would I?"

"No, you wouldn't have," I agreed, leaning against him again. "And
that, my friend, would have been a very, very great loss -- for both
of us."

Mulder didn't answer that time, just held me a little closer. I
stayed where I was for a moment, hoping he could take some comfort in
my presence; when I felt him relax a little, I turned my head and
kissed him softly.

"I'm going to go take a shower," I said. "Then let's get dressed and
go get some breakfast."

~~~~~

Mulder and I spent most of that day together. We walked around the
park near my mom's house, spent a few hours reading at Barnes and
Noble, went to a movie -- essentially, doing anything I could think of
to keep him busy.

I kept him busy, all right; but there was no way to keep his mind
off Daniel. He didn't say much, but I could see the tension building
in him minute by minute, and there was nothing I could do about that.

By nightfall, Mulder said he was tired and needed to get home to do
some laundry and feed his fish. Mom protested, but Mulder told her he
thought he'd like to be closer to the hospital in case Jill or Mrs.
Reilly changed their minds, and Mom couldn't exactly argue with that.
So I took him to the Hoover to get his car and then went back to my
own apartment.

I slept fitfully that night. After just two nights, I had gotten
used to the warmth of Mulder's body next to mine and I missed him. I
was also getting more and more worried about Daniel. My friend told
me Daniel was still on the ventilator and still deeply sedated, and
that really worried me. He needed to be up and moving around as soon
as possible to prevent a whole host of complications.

Around 2 a.m., I finally fell asleep, only to be awakened about
three hours later when my telephone rang. I wasn't startled; I fully
expected it to be Mulder.

But it wasn't. It was Skinner, telling me to get my ass out to
Bosher's Run Park in Manassas, Virginia, and find out why my hare-
brained partner had ordered a forensic exhumation.

"The two of you are off duty, Agent Scully," Skinner said in that
tense voice that means he's thoroughly pissed. "If there's some
official federal investigation ongoing that either you or Agent
Mulder is involved in, I'd like to be informed by someone other than
the Manassas police."

"Yes, sir, of course," I said. I promised to make a full report just
as soon as I had a chance to speak to Mulder.

 ~~~~~

I don't suppose there's any need to rehash the events of those few
days. Anyone on the Eastern Seaboard who read a newspaper or watched
the evening news knows how serial killer John Lee Roche escaped from
federal custody, and that the escape ended when Special Agent Fox
Mulder blew Roche's brains out with a .22 he kept in his leg holster.

What no one knows, because Skinner was successful in covering it up,
is the role Mulder had in allowing Roche to escape. No one ever will
know if I have anything to say about it, either, because Mulder was,
of all those involved, the least to blame for what happened. 

No, if there was blame to be laid, it belonged to me. I should have
realized the intensity of the strain he was under and what it was
doing to his judgment. I should never have let him out of my sight. I
should have brought him to my apartment and made him spend the night
with me instead of sending him home with instructions to go home and
"get some sleep." 

The shooting board would clear him. I wasn't concerned about that.
There might be some questions about how Roche got Mulder's gun and
badge, but there was no question that it was a justifiable use of
deadly force in the defense of another. My only real worry was that
someone would start inquiring as to why Agent Mulder would have
behaved so erratically during those two days.

And any such inquiry might lead them straight to Lt. Cmdr. Daniel
Reilly, who was at this moment lying in the intensive care unit at
the Naval Research Hospital, unable to do anything to defend himself
or his lover who was now, despite my best efforts, falling completely
apart.

~~~~~

As Jill Saw It

~~~~~

We stayed at the hospital most of Saturday and on into Sunday night,
coming back early Monday morning. By the time the 7-to-3 shift was
leaving Monday afternoon, it was clear to me that Daniel wasn't
improving much at all. His vital signs were relatively stable, but
not as good as I would have liked to see, and he was making very
little headway in coming off the ventilator. 

Dr. Montgomery was worried, and so was I -- and I think he knew
there was no point in trying to hide it from me. I didn't spend four
years getting a bachelor's degree in nursing for nothing.

"I've cut back as far on his medication as I can," Dr. Montgomery
said. "I don't want him in pain; that would only put him under more
physiologic stress, and that won't help him right now. All we can do
is try to get him to wake up and breathe for himself."

I didn't go in the ICU again. It was cowardly of me, but really, I
doubted very much that Daniel was going to feel better with me there.
Mom visited him, although I could never persuade her to say more than
a few words to him. She couldn't believe it was possible for him to
be more than marginally aware of his surroundings.

The nurses talked to him, though. Daniel's always been popular with
nurses wherever he was stationed because -- although he has high
standards -- unlike some surgeons I could name, he's not an arrogant
ass.

But the nurses told me they couldn't get anything from him except a
few twitches of his eyelids or an occasional muscle spasm. Daniel was
somewhere inside himself where no one could reach him.

By nightfall, I was about to despair. Daniel should have been awake
by now; instead, he seemed to be slipping away by inches, and there
was nothing any of us could do about it.

Mom was almost beside herself, absolutely sick with worry and with
the guilt of thinking that her last conversation with Daniel -- the
one where she and Dad ordered him from the house -- might turn out to
be the last words she ever spoke to him this side of the grave.

And I knew, too, that she wasn't expecting to see him in heaven.
Nothing I could say was going to change her mind about that.

When it became clear that she wasn't going to calm down, I sent her
back to the hotel, practically ordering her to take a sleeping pill
and get some rest. I promised to call the minute there was any change
in Daniel's condition. 

I was sitting in the waiting room, head in hands, rocking back and
forth like a child when I heard a familiar voice say, "Jill?"

I looked up. It was Jim, Daniel's little brother, wearing his dress
blues and looking so much like Daniel that I could have wept. He
knelt down beside me and hugged me.

"It's not that bad, is it, Jilly?" he said, patting my back.
"Daniel's going to be all right, isn't he?"

"I don't know," I said, and then I did start to cry. "I don't know,
Jimmy, I just don't know."

~~~~~

As Jim Saw It

~~~~~

I don't know what I expected to see when I went into the ICU to
visit Daniel. I'd talked to him on the phone and we'd exchanged
letters and e-mails a time or two, but I hadn't actually seen him
since shortly after his divorce. 

Divorce. Ain't that a crock. Okay, I'll quit dicking around: What I
really mean is I hadn't seen him since right after he told Mom and
Pop that he was gay. 

Ever since then, it was like I had two brothers: One, the big
brother I'd always known and looked up to and the other the
mysterious "gay man" who'd replaced him. I didn't know that man,
although my family assured me he existed. Sometimes I'd try to
imagine Daniel the way they seemed to, all dolled up in drag and
mincing around, and I'd just have to laugh. There was no goddamn way.
Daniel was never Mr. Macho, but I couldn't imagine that he'd changed
that much. 

And anyway, he's still in the Navy; if he'd gone all swishy,
somebody would have noticed. Sailors watch for that kind of thing. 

But I still expected him to look different when I went to visit him,
and he did. He looked about half dead, if you want to know the truth,
and it pissed me off. He'd damn well better not die on me.

Pretty goddamn funny, right? Getting pissed at my big brother for
getting himself shot, especially when it didn't piss me off when he
came out of the closet. 

Shit, he never had to tell me anything, anyway. We shared a bedroom
until he left for college. I knew what he had hidden under his
mattress, and it wasn't Playboy, either. It was muscle mags and shit
like that. He tried to pass it off as part of his interest in weight-
lifting, but I knew better. I just didn't want to acknowledge it.
When he started dating Jill his senior year in high school, I was
relieved -- just not really convinced. 

But when he finally admitted it, I realized that I didn't really
give a shit if he was gay or straight or something in between. I
didn't care if he wanted to wear women's underwear and prance around
on tiptoe like a ballerina. He was my big brother, and he was a great
brother, too. Sure, he'd pick on me and tease me sometimes, but
basically, I thought he hung the fucking moon. He was always smarter
than me; never had any trouble with his grades. Wish I could say the
same. But he always tried to help me with my schoolwork when he could.

He never picked fights, either, although he had to fight a few
battles for me and even more for himself as we were growing up.
There's always some guy in the locker room who thinks he'd like to
test out his pugilistic skills on some kid who doesn't seem quite
like the others. Daniel got his nose bloodied plenty of times until
he started working out and learned to fight back. 

And then I got bigger, too, and I let it be known that anyone who
had anything to say about my brother could say it to me. After that,
they left him alone. I think.

Daniel never told me that Pop had thrown him out of the house. I
found that out about a year later while I was home on liberty,
working out the details of my own divorce. Mom called to see how I
was doing; I gave her the answer she wanted, and then asked her if
she'd heard from Daniel lately. And that's when she told me.

I went ballistic. I stormed over there and told Pop he was out of
his fucking mind, that he ought to be proud of Daniel's courage in
facing up to this.

He damn near blew a gasket. He told me if I was the face of the
modern Navy, the country was in worse shape than he'd thought. He
told me he'd never allow a fucking faggot to command a combat mission
or even to serve under his command.

A faggot. That was what he called Daniel, his firstborn son -- my
brother.

I reminded Pop that Daniel's a medical officer and not likely to be
commanding anything except a hospital staff in peace or in war. Okay,
I was snide about it. Too fucking bad -- I was royally pissed off. 

Pop told me to shut my fucking mouth and not mention that name again
in his house.

So I left. I haven't been back, either, although Mom's called and
written and cried and begged me to. But I won't. If Daniel's not
welcome there, I'm not either.

Grace and Hope were torn up about it. On the one hand, they always
looked up to Daniel, too, although they never hero-worshipped him the
way I did. On the other hand, they're both Navy in one way or
another, and Pop's not just Pop, he's a frickin' captain -- retired,
but he's still got quarterdeck air in his lungs. They didn't want to
defy him. They were also furious at me for making Mom cry.

End result: I'm the only one still speaking to Daniel. And the only
one -- except Mom, of course -- who came to see him in the hospital.

Oh, yeah. Jill was there. That didn't actually surprise me, either.
Jill's all right. She and Daniel started dating when I was about 14,
so she'd always been like another sister to me, and I thought she was
pretty cool. When I found out they were getting a divorce, I damn
near cried thinking that Jilly wouldn't be my sister anymore. It
upset me almost as much as that fucking "Dear John" letter I got from
Elise a few months earlier. 

I burned that letter. I don't want to think about it ever again.

But Jill's tough under that pretty blonde exterior. She'd been
through hell with losing Daniel, but she had enough tough stuff
inside her to come here and sit by his hospital bed and keep Mom from
coming apart.

Yeah, Jill's okay. That's why it shook me up to see her crying like
that. She'd always been the strong one, I thought.

But when I saw Daniel, I knew why she was crying. He looked like a
wax model of himself. He looked like the fucking Bionic Man with all
the tubes and machines and shit hooked up to him. He'd lost weight,
too, and his face was drawn and pale, and there was blood on some of
the bandages on his chest.

I stood there looking at him for the longest time, and then I
grabbed his hand and I spoke to him.

"You listen to me, you stupid son of a bitch," I said, real gruff so
I wouldn't sound all weepy. "You'd better get well and get your ass
out of that bed before I pull you out and beat the crap out of you -- 
sir," I added, just in case he was awake enough to hear me.

Yeah, he's my brother, but he's also my superior officer, and I
respect that. 

As I looked at him lying there in that bed, I prayed -- for the
first time in years -- that God would give me just one more chance to
tell him, to make it up to him for all the silence and for everything
else he'd lost.

I wasn't going to let him down again.

~~~~~

When I came out of the ICU, Jill had fallen asleep on one of the
couches. I sat down next to her and put my hand on her shoulder to
wake her up.

"Jill," I said, quietly. She opened her eyes.

"Jim," she said, sleepily. "Did you see him?"

"I saw him," I said, grimly. "He looks like hell. Jilly, what's
wrong with him?"

"Aside from the obvious?" she said, trying to smile and failing
utterly. "I don't know. He ought to be awake and breathing by now.
He's not, and I don't know why."

"Is that why you sent for me -- to try to wake him up?" I asked.

Jill looked puzzled. "I didn't send for you," she said. "I thought
the Navy notified relatives of things like this."

"The Navy notified me, but somebody pulled some strings to get me
here this fast," I said. "I thought it was you -- I thought maybe
your father..."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "It wasn't me. I don't know who it
was."

"Well," I said, "I guess it doesn't matter. I'm here, and I'll be
able to stay for a while, anyway. Let's get you back to your hotel
and let me go find a place to sleep."

~~~~~

When we got to the hotel, Mom -- who apparently had defied Jill's
instructions to get some sleep -- insisted that she and Jill could
double up and that I should take her room. Jill said that was fine
with her, so I did, with some misgivings. I didn't really feel like
having a confrontation with Mom but it was bound to occur at some
point, so I might as well stay.

Jill said she wasn't sleepy either, so I took Mom's car and went out
for burgers and a newspaper. It was late, and the Tuesday early
editions were hitting the streets.

"Look at this," I said when I got back. "There was a serial killer
loose in Boston, Mom."

"A serial killer?" she said in horror, taking the paper from me. She
read it for a minute, and I could see her jaw tighten. "Well, well,"
she said, in disgust. "Look who's in this story, Jill."

Jill took the paper and read the article. "Oh," she said, looking -- 
guilty? What the hell did she have to feel guilty about?

"Somebody want to tell me what's going on?" I asked, looking from
Jill to Mom and back to Jill again.

For a minute, neither of them spoke. Finally, Jill broke the silence.

"It's the FBI agent who shot the killer," she said. "He's
Daniel's ... um ..."

"Lover?" I said, and they both winced. Too fucking bad -- it was
time for both of them to start dealing with it. "Sorry," I said,
although I wasn't. "You did know Daniel was gay, didn't you?"

"James, for the love of God," Mom said furiously. 

"Jim, please," Jill said, almost at the same time, but she wasn't
angry -- she was honestly pleading with me.

I didn't say anything for a minute. I took the paper back from Jill
and glanced over it. "So Daniel's boyfriend is an FBI agent named Fox
Mulder," I said. "And this serial killer is the reason he's not here?"

The silent treatment again. I looked up. Mom was tight-lipped and
Jill was looking even guiltier than before. 

"All right, what the fuck is going on?" I demanded. I don't usually
swear like that around my mother, but this was getting on my last
hanging hemorrhoid. "There's something you two aren't telling me."

"It's ... Mom thought it was best if ...," Jill began, and then she
stopped and looked at Mom.

"He's not allowed to visit," Mom said, coldly. "Immediate family
only."

"I'm betting that's not based on hospital policy, either," I said.

"Jim, you have to understand," Jill said, taking Mom's hand. She
always did cling to Mom a lot; it made me wonder what her
relationship with her own mother was like. "Mom's worried that if
this man were seen with Daniel, it might ... cause trouble."

"Trouble as in what?" I said. "As in he might out my brother?"

"James, you know perfectly well how these people behave sometimes,"
Mom said, with that perfect, stereotypical but completely phony
Bostonian tone in her voice. "We can't have that kind of thing in the
hospital where Daniel is stationed. He could lose his entire career,
everything he's worked for."

"Mom, somehow, I don't think Daniel's going to hook up with someone
who's a risk to out him," I said. I was going to say more, but then I
caught that pleading look in Jill's eyes again. She wanted this to
stop. She always did shrink from controversy.

"All right," I said, conceding the battle -- for now. "We'll talk
about this in the morning. But I don't think you're going to be able
to keep this Mulder guy away once Daniel wakes up."

"We will deal with that," Mom said, firmly, "if or when the time
comes."

~~~~~

As Mulder Saw It

~~~~~

God, I am such a colossal fuck-up.

I've been in the FBI for more than 10 years and I didn't have the
sense to realize how badly I was being played. I mean, I fucking
profiled John Lee Roche. I knew what a con artist he was, and I let
him get to me. 

I have no idea how Roche did what he did. I couldn't begin to tell
you how those dreams came to be or how he knew what he did about
Samantha's disappearance.

I'd like to think that at any other time I'd have seen right through
his little game, but the truth is I'm not sure. 

Jesus H. Christ, what a cluster fuck that was. 

I felt lucky to escape with only a world-class reaming out from
Skinner and a three-day suspension. If old Blood and Guts hadn't
covered for me, I'd have been out of the Bureau on my ass, and with
good reason. There was scarcely a regulation I hadn't violated, and
I'm pretty sure I broke a law or two along the way.

I don't know what the hell happened. Things were just coming at me
so goddamn fast; I couldn't even think clearly anymore.

I remembered feeling this way as a child when I sneaked out one
night to go body surfing with some friends. I was standing in the
surf about 20 feet offshore when a wave knocked me down. I tried to
get up, but the next wave knocked me down again and I went under. I
lost all sense of direction as the waves kept pounding along,
dragging me under until I thought I was going to drown.

Finally, I figured out which way was up and I struggled to the
surface long enough to get a breath.

That did it. I caught the crest of the next wave and surfed to
shore, then limped back home and sneaked back into my bedroom. Mom
and Dad didn't even notice I'd been gone.

That was what this felt like: Schnauz, then Daniel, then Daniel's
homophobic mother, then Roche. The only reason I hadn't gone
completely over the edge was the two nights I spent in Scully's arms.
Now, between the Roche case and the knowledge of Daniel's worsening
condition, I was at my wits' end. Scully was trying to hide the truth
from me, but she ought to know better than that.

I knew perfectly well that Daniel was in serious trouble and there
was every chance it could get worse.

Fuck it, then. If he was going to die, there wasn't a damn thing
left to lose if I went to that hospital and tried one more time to
see him, and Georgiana Reilly be damned.

He might die. But he wasn't going to die until I got one more chance
to tell him what I needed him to know.

~~~~~

As Jim Saw It

~~~~~

Mom might have thought that conversation was over, but it was only
just beginning as far as I was concerned. I got up early on Tuesday,
without having slept very much at all, and I made Jill and Mom get up
too.

Mom, having finally taken the sleeping pill Jill had gotten for her,
was still pretty groggy. That was okay with me -- for what I had in
mind, a slightly tranquilized Mom was about the best thing I could
hope for.

I took them to an all-night diner not far from the hotel and we
ordered breakfast. As soon as the food arrived, I called the meeting
to order.

"We are going to the hospital today," I announced, in my best Navy
officer take-no-prisoners tones. "Before we get leave here, we are
going to have reached an agreement. When we arrive at Bethesda, we
will implement that agreement. Are there any questions before we
begin?"

"An agreement about what, James?" Mom said as she cut up her bacon
and ate it with a fork. It gives me the shivers when I see her do
that. I'm not sure she's ever even touched a peanut butter sandwich
with her fingers.

"An agreement," I said, slowly and firmly, "about letting Daniel's
boyfriend in to see him."

"That is simply out of the question," Mom said, putting down her
fork and blotting her mouth delicately with her napkin before
returning it to her lap. "I thought I had made my reasons quite clear
last night, James. That man cannot be allowed in the hospital. It is
simply too dangerous."

Jill hadn't said anything yet. She was just sitting there
methodically eating as though a plate full of runny, undercooked eggs
was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen.

"Jill, do you have anything to add to this?" I said, but I was
trying not to sound harsh. Jill seemed unusually fragile right now,
and I didn't want to make matters worse for her.

"No," was all she said, and she went on eating her eggs.

"Jill agrees with me," Mom said, calmly, taking a sip of her orange
juice. "We've discussed this already."

"Actually," Jill began, and then stopped.

"Actually, what?" I said. "Actually, you don't agree? Because I
don't think you do, Jilly."

"You don't know what I think," she said, her eyes going back to the
entrancing sight of eggs and toast.

"You're right," I said. "I don't. But I do know you're a decent,
caring human being, and I know that you realize that keeping this man
away from Daniel is an act of monstrous cruelty."

"How dare you?" Mom said, coldly, putting her glass down with a
thunk. "James, I will thank you to remember to whom you are speaking."

"At the moment, Mom, I'm speaking to Jill," I said, just as coldly.
I didn't want to hurt my mom any more than I wanted to hurt Jill, but
at this point Mom was making herself an obstacle, and you know how we
deal with obstacles in the Navy: Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.

"Jill," I said. "I have a feeling that this decision ultimately
comes down to you. Am I right?"

For a minute, she didn't answer, and then she raised her eyes to
mine. "Agent Mulder's partner told me a few days ago that Daniel's
advance directives are still in force," she said, quietly. "She said
they think I have his power of attorney. Maybe I do. I did when we
were married, and it doesn't seem that he's ever signed another one.
But they can't find it."

"So this is your call," I said, sitting back. "Where would Daniel
put those directives?"

"I don't know for certain," Jill said, shaking her head. "Probably
in his safe deposit box. But Daniel's the only one who can open that."

"Not if we have the key," I said. "I look enough like him to fake my
way past the bank officers, and we have to get those directives,
Jill. If he's got a living will, we may be forced to implement its
terms at some point, and I know," I added, with a sharp glance at
Mom, "that we all want to be sure we're doing what Daniel would want."

Now, you'd have to know my mother to understand how unusual what
happened next really was. 

She didn't say anything.

Nothing.

"Mom?" I said. 

Still nothing.

There was something in her face that I couldn't quite put my finger
on. I think Jill saw it, too; we both stared at Mom for a few
minutes, and then we glanced at each other.

What the hell was going on here?

"Mom?" I said again, and this time she looked at me. I had never
seen that expression on my mother's face before. She looked ... almost
ashamed.

"I know where those directives are," she said, slowly. 

"You do?" I said, stupidly. "Where?"

"In my purse," she said. Then she picked up her orange juice and -- 
delicately, so as not to spoil her makeup -- took another sip.

~~~~~

As Scully Saw It

~~~~~

I didn't have to ask to know what Mulder was planning to do on
Tuesday morning. I might have missed the signs that he was planning
to take Roche to Martha's Vineyard, but I couldn't miss the signs
that he had made up his mind: He was going to see Daniel, come hell
or high water.

I couldn't argue with Mulder's motivation -- he knew, without being
told, that Daniel wasn't getting better. Even if he recovered, he
might well be impaired and that would mean a medical discharge.

Either way, there really wasn't much left for either of them to lose
if Mulder showed up at Bethesda demanding to see him.

I decided the best thing to do was to go along and try to mitigate
the inevitable damage in any way I could. I called Mulder at about 5
a.m. Tuesday and caught him on his way out the door. I told him I
would meet him at Bethesda and asked him please to wait until I got
there before he went in, to which he agreed.

I was nervous beyond belief as I arrived at Bethesda. Mulder was
standing by the emergency room door -- the only door that was open
that time of day -- wearing his black turtleneck, black jeans and
leather jacket. Under any other circumstances I would have been
focused on how good he looked, but all I could think of today was
that it looked very much like mourning attire.

"You ready to beard the lioness in her den?" he said as I approached.

"No," I said. "But I feel sure that you're going to do this whether
I'm ready or not, so why even ask me?"

He looked at me for a long moment, biting his lower lip. "I'm not
eager to cause trouble, Scully," he said. "But from what you're
telling me -- and what you're trying not to tell me -- I know
Daniel's not doing well. I want to see him."

There were tears in his eyes as he spoke, but he kept his voice
steady.

"All right," I said. "But let me go in first. Give me a few minutes
to talk to his mother. Maybe we can do this amicably."

He nodded his acceptance. I patted his arm quickly, then turned and
walked inside.

~~~~~

As Jill Saw It

~~~~~

I thought Jim would explode when Mom admitted she'd had Daniel's
advance directives in her purse all along.

As she explained it, Daniel had mailed them to her shortly after our
divorce, with a note asking her to keep them until they were needed.

"For Christ's sweet sake, Mom," Jim said. "Why the hell didn't you
say something about it before?"

"I was waiting for the appropriate time, James," she said. She had
her usual Bostonian cool about her -- although in her case it's not
entirely authentic. The Starlingtons are from Fall River, she was
born in San Diego and she was reared all around the world, just like
me and every other Navy brat on earth.

"Mom, the appropriate time is now," Jim said. He was furious, and so
was I, although I think I had a bit more sympathy for her than he
did. "Daniel's doing very poorly. Each report we get is worse than
the last. It's time for us to know what he'd want us to do if things
get worse."

"I agree, James," Mom said. "That is precisely why I told you when I
did."

"Mom," he said, "just tell me -- is there or is there not a power of
attorney in those papers?"

For a moment she didn't answer. Finally, she ducked her head just a
little and nodded. "There is," she said.

"And to whom is that power of attorney granted, Mom?" Jim said. He
wasn't trying to be calm at all. Every word he said was spit through
his teeth.

"To Jill, of course," Mom said, after a minute.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Mom had those papers, she
knew I was supposed to be making decisions for Daniel, and she'd
hidden it from me -- the person she'd always said she could trust
with anything? Well, she clearly didn't trust me to take care of
Daniel anymore.

Maybe she was right -- I certainly couldn't think what to do next.

Not Jim. Jim put out his hand and said, like the officer he is,
"Give them to me."

Mom didn't move.

"God damn it, Mom, I said give them to me," he repeated, just barely
above a whisper, and I could see the veins standing out on his neck. 

Slowly, with no more fluster than if she'd been searching for her
tickets to the ballet, Mom opened her purse and took out a bundle of
blue-backed documents. She handed them to Jim, who quickly opened one
and scanned down the first page quickly.

Then he looked at me. "Let's go see Daniel," he said.

~~~~~

The hospital was fairly quiet when we arrived. There was no one at
the desk in the waiting room, and very few visitors waiting to get
in. Jim found a young seaman and leaned on the kid pretty hard until
he agreed to go find Dr. Montgomery, who he thought might be in a
staff meeting.

When Montgomery arrived, Jim introduced himself and told Montgomery -
- with a sideways glance at Mom -- that we'd located Daniel's living
will and other documents. He gave Montgomery the papers and then
stood back, silently, waiting while the doctor read them over.

"And you're reasonably certain these are the most recent directives
extant?" Montgomery said, looking up at Jim.

"Yes, sir," Jim said. "None of us is aware of any that would
supersede these."

"All right," Montgomery said, nodding. "This isn't going to change
how we care for him; Dr. Reilly hasn't reached the stage where he's
asked that interventions be discontinued. But I'll make the staff
aware of his instructions. In the meantime," he said, turning toward
me, "you are now in charge, Mrs. Reilly. Is there anything you want
to tell me while I'm here?"

I started to shake my head, but a sudden movement to my left
distracted me. It was Mom -- she was standing there wide-eyed, hands
over her mouth in horror. I followed her gaze, wondering what could
have upset her so much.

Oh. No wonder. It was Dr. Scully, of course. She looked very grim,
and very determined.

"Who is that?" Jim whispered in my ear.

"That's Dr. Scully," I whispered back. "The one whose partner is ...
Daniel's friend."

"You've got to be kidding," he said, straightening up. "Damn ... she
doesn't look like I thought she would."

No, she doesn't, I thought to myself as she approached. She looks
beautiful. She also looks ready to take out her gun and shoot
somebody if she doesn't get what she wants.

"Mrs. Reilly," she said, looking at Mom, still with that irritating
cool. Then she turned toward me. "And Mrs. Reilly. And you," she said
to Jim, "must be Lt. James Reilly."

"Guilty as charged," Jim said, and his tone surprised me. He
sounded ... flirtatious? "You're Dr. Scully?" he said.

"Dana Scully," she said, extending her hand. "I wonder if I might
have a word with all of you?"

"I don't think there's anything left to say, Miss Scully," Mom said
frostily, but I could see that she was nervous. Angry as I was at
her, I didn't blame her for that. This had all the earmarks of a
situation that could get very ugly.

"On the contrary, Mrs. Reilly, I think there's a great deal left to
say," Dr. Scully said. For a woman as short as she was -- and I mean
short, even with the four-inch heels -- she had a lot of presence,
I'll give her that. Maybe the gun had something to do with it.

"If you like," she was saying, "we can discuss this here in the
hall, in Commander Montgomery's presence. I think -- with all due
respect, sir -- that we might all prefer a more private conversation?"

"That might be best," Jim said, turning to face Dr. Montgomery. "By
your leave, sir?" he said.

Montgomery nodded. "Carry on, lieutenant," he said.

"Aye, aye, sir," Jim said, coming briefly to attention. Then without
another word, he took Mom by the elbow and steered her back toward
the waiting room.

I followed them quietly enough, but my insides were churning. Why
did it have to be up to me anyway, damn it?

We all sat in a corner of the waiting room -- Mom and I on one
couch, Jim and Dr. Scully on another. Everyone except Jim was looking
rather stiff and formal. Jim, as usual, just looked military;
relaxed, but perfectly upright.

"Dr. Scully, this is your party," Jim said. "Why don't you tell us
what you wanted to talk about?"

"I wanted to talk about the same thing I talked to Mesdames Reilly
about before, lieutenant," she said, calmly. "I want to ask you, one
more time, to reconsider. I know that Daniel's condition is
precarious. And I'm asking you -- I'm begging, if it'll make any
difference -- if any of you have an ounce of Christian charity in
your souls, to let Mulder go see him."

"Dr. Scully," Jim said, "If it were up to me, your partner would be
in there right now. But it's not my decision. Jill has his power of
attorney. It's up to her."

"Jill and I have already discussed this," Mom began, but Jim
interrupted her.

"Jill is free to change her mind," Jim said, firmly. "And I think,
Mom, if you'll leave her alone, she'll do the right thing."

"Mrs. Reilly?" Dr. Scully said, looking at me questioningly.

I thought I knew what I was going to say when I opened my mouth. I
was going to tell Dr. Scully that I thought it best to continue
deferring to Daniel's mother, because she's legally his next-of-kin
since our divorce.

That's what I thought I was going to say.

What I really said was, "I want to meet him."

No one answered me for a minute. I guess I shocked them almost as
much as I shocked myself. Jim spoke first.

"You want to meet who, Jilly?" he said, taking my hand, although I
think he already knew the answer.

"Agent Mulder," I said, and then I looked at Dr. Scully. "I want to
talk to him -- alone."

"Certainly," Dr. Scully said, rising. "If you'll wait here for a
moment, I'll go get him. He's just outside." And she walked away.

~~~~~

When Dr. Scully returned, she was accompanied by a tall, handsome
man dressed all in black. At first, I thought it must be her
boyfriend.

It took me a second to realize that this was actually _Daniel's_
boyfriend.

I don't know what I had expected, but he wasn't it. There was
nothing about Agent Mulder that, to my untutored eyes, even remotely
suggested he was gay. I even had a fleeting thought that Daniel at
least had good taste in men. But there were lines between his eyes,
and he looked tense; tense, but just as determined as his partner.

Jim rose and offered his hand. "Jim Reilly," he said. "You must be
Fox Mulder."

"Just Mulder," he said, shaking Jim's hand. "To almost everyone but
my mother, anyway."

"And mine," Dr. Scully said, and I noticed that she was holding his
other hand. What was the connection between these two? I didn't have
time to figure it out -- when I looked up, Agent Mulder was looking
right at me.

I didn't say anything; not right away, anyway. We just looked at
each other. Finally, Dr. Scully stepped in.

"I think we should leave these two alone now and let them talk," she
said, squeezing her partner's hand before letting it go. "Mulder,
I'll be outside the ICU if you need me."

"I'll be all right," he said, but he didn't take his eyes off me.
Dr. Scully nodded, and touched his arm lightly before she left. Jim
got up, too, and walked out after her; then, with a backward glance
at me, Mom also got up and left.

So then it was just the two of us, staring at each other in silence.
Strange, that we couldn't think of anything to say, when we had so
much in common.

"I know this is awkward," he said, finally.

"It's worse than that," I said, and then I shook my head. "Sit down,
Agent Mulder. Please."

"Thanks," he said, and he sat down on the couch next to me, but not
too close, resting his elbows on his knees. "Scully said you wanted
to talk to me."

Scully. There it was again, that odd mixture of physical closeness,
mismatched sexual orientation and the utter lack of a first-name
basis.

"I did say that," I said. "I don't know why. It was a spur-of-the-
moment thought."

"Are you regretting that impulse now?" he said, very quietly. 

"No," I said, shaking my head again. "I'm not. But I very much
regret that whatever I do, I'm going to make someone very unhappy.
I'm trying to think of a reason why it shouldn't be you."

Oh, God, why did I say that? This man was a total stranger, even if
he was Daniel's lover. I didn't know him at all.

"I know this is difficult for you," he said. "And I'm sorry."

"Are you?" I said, just a bit sharply. I didn't want his pity. "I
find that rather odd, considering we've never before laid eyes on one
another."

"No, we haven't, but ... I've heard a lot about you," he said, simply.

That hurt. Agent Mulder noticed it, too.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't mean to upset you."

"I'm upset, Agent Mulder, but I'm not sure it has anything to do
with you," I said. "Not you personally, anyway. I don't even really
know you. Would it be completely out of line for me to ask you to
tell me a little about yourself? You seem to know a lot about me ..."

"It's not out of line," he said. "What do you want to know?"

"Well ..." I wasn't sure, actually, now that you got down to it.
"What do you do in the FBI?" I asked, purely for want of a better
question.

"Scully and I investigate unexplained events -- paranormal
phenomena," he said. 

"What, Project Blue Book, Roswell, that kind of thing?" I asked,
dubiously.

"That kind of thing," he said, nodding. "I'm sure that doesn't
exactly make you feel better about me."

"Agent Mulder, I used to live in Los Angeles," I said. "I've heard
stranger things."

"That's hard to believe," he said, smiling. 

"Have you been doing this your entire career?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I used to be a behavioral profiler."

"Like that guy in 'Silence of the Lambs'?" I said, and instantly
regretted it. He probably heard that all the time.

But he actually didn't seem to mind. "Right, like 'Silence of the
Lambs,'" he said. "Only I've never been in the movies."

"Where do you go to learn to be a profiler?" I asked.

"The FBI," he said. "I learned on the job. But first I got my degree
in psychology from Balliol College at Oxford."

"Impressive," I said, leaning back and folding my arms across my
chest.

He shook his head. "Not really."

"It is to me," I said. "So where are you from originally?"

"Martha's Vineyard," he said. "I grew up in Chilmark."

"We're practically family, then," I said. "I'm from Boston."

He nodded. Of course. He already knew that.

"Mrs. Reilly," he said, slowly, "you didn't ask to see me so you
could find out about life at Chilmark Elementary School. Tell me what
it is you really want to know."

"I don't ..." I said, then I stopped myself. "There's a lot I want
to know, Agent Mulder. I'm just not sure that it's any of my
business."

"If it means I get to see Daniel, Mrs. Reilly," he said, looking me
in the eye, "I'll make it your business."

Good shot, Agent Mulder, I thought. Right through the heart -- as if
I didn't already feel like an animated pile of shit for what I've
done. Now I was feeling ashamed all over again. This wasn't some
faceless man in purple pants. This was a real human being, with a
real life and real needs.

Part of that need, it seemed, was to be loved by Daniel Reilly. I
could relate to that.

"Mrs. Reilly," he began, but I stopped him. 

"Why don't you just call me Jill?" I said. "It seems a little
ridiculous for us to stand on ceremony."

"Maybe not," he said. "But if that's what you want, then just call
me Mulder."

"Is that what Daniel calls you?" I said.

"No," he said, and then he almost smiled. "He calls me Fox -- just
like my mother, and Scully's mother, and half the people I knew at
university. But I'm working hard to reduce those numbers."

"I don't blame you," I said before I could stop myself, and then I
realized what I had said. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to imply ..."

"It's all right," he said, and he really was smiling -- a very
gentle, very kind smile. "I don't much care for it myself. Hence the
last name."

"And why does Dr. Scully go by her last name?" I said, still
watching that lovely smile -- and those eyes, those beautiful,
intense and somehow haunted eyes. You could get lost in them. 

No wonder Daniel was attracted to him. Who wouldn't be?

"You'd have to ask her," he said. "All I know is I never call her
Dana unless I'm really serious about getting her attention."

"But you love her," I said, making it a question.

He didn't answer me right away. "Yeah," he said, finally. "I do."

"I don't understand that," I said, lowering my voice still more. "I
don't understand any of this. I mean, if you and Daniel are ... I
mean, I know that you're gay ... I don't get this at all."

"It's a complicated situation," he said, nodding his acknowledgment.

"Obviously," I said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry. It just confuses
me."

"Not half as much as it confuses us," he said, with that soft smile
again. 

"And are you equally confused about Daniel?" I said, then I caught
myself. "Oh, God," I said. "That was a snotty question."

"I don't think you meant it to be," Mulder said. "You don't strike
me as a snotty person."

Oh, yes I am, I thought. But it was so hard to let go, to stop being
angry, because nothing had really changed. I had still lost Daniel,
irrevocably. And I was still going to be alone when this was over -- 
maybe more alone than ever.

"You're wrong," I said, and suddenly I realized that I was about to
cry. "I _was_ being snotty. I already know that you love him. I can
see it in your eyes." 

"I know you love him, too," Mulder said, very gently. "It shows."

No, I don't, I started to say, but I knew that wasn't the truth -- 
and there was something about this man that just seemed to draw the
truth out of me against my will. "You must be a hell of an
interrogator," I mumbled.

"I'm sorry?" he said, looking a little puzzled.

"Never mind," I said. "It's not important." I closed my eyes for a
moment, trying to collect my thoughts. "To be honest with you," I
said, "I don't know whether I still love Daniel or not. Maybe I just
don't know how to stop loving him -- or I'm just trying to keep a
promise I didn't even know I had made to him."

"That still adds up to the same thing," he said, still speaking so
quietly, with no hint of recrimination in his voice. 

I took a deep breath to steady myself. "Agent Mulder," I said, and
the tears were dripping down my face now. "I'm sorry. I was wrong to
put you through this. I'm still angry at Daniel, and I took it out on
you. Maybe I don't know whether I love him or not, but I know you do
and I know why. Nobody has to tell me what makes Daniel Reilly worth
loving -- or worth going through so much hell for."

He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, I could
see that what I'd said had hit home. "I'm sorry," he said, very
quietly. "I really am."

"No," I said, wiping the tears away with the back of my hand. "I'm
the one who should be sorry. I'm sorry I let this thing go on as long
as it has." I stood up, and he got to his feet, looking very
uncertain. I reached over and took his hand.

"Come with me," I said. "Let's go see how he's doing."

~~~~~

Jim, Mom and Dr. Scully were standing in the anteroom outside ICU
when we got there. They all looked up expectantly when I arrived. 

And then Mom looked down, and she saw Agent Mulder's hand in mine.
And she was horrified. "Jilly, for heaven's sake, what are you
doing?" she said in a stage whisper. "Surely you're not
considering..."

"Considering is exactly what she's been doing, Mrs. Reilly," Dr.
Scully said, and her eyes were softer than I've ever seen them. She
really looked pretty. It was a new side of her -- a more human side.

"Thank you, Mrs. Reilly," she was saying to me, quietly. "You really
are everything Daniel said you were."

I felt my face flush hot. "Nobody's that good," I said, and she
smiled.

"James, do something," Mom pleaded. "This is going to ruin your
brother's career."

At least she kept her voice down. I wouldn't want anyone in the Navy
to overhear this conversation. 

"We'll be careful, Mom," Jim said, quietly. "I know you're worried
about Daniel. So am I. But you're not able to be objective about
this. That's why Daniel left the decision to Jill."

"He did it because she is the proper person," Mom said, and she was
beginning to sound panicky. "Jill is still his wife in the eyes of
the Church -- or had you forgotten that?"

That, I knew, came from desperation. Mom had very little use for the
Church's views on divorce, and she knew as well as I did that even in
the old days I could have gotten an annulment with the admissions
Daniel had made to me. But the validity of my former marriage wasn't
the point -- the point was that Mom was running out of arguments.

"I haven't forgotten," Jim was saying slowly, "and Jill's lived up
to her marriage vows a hell of a lot better than my brother did. And
Daniel knew she would. Even after the divorce, he still trusted her
to carry out his wishes."

"To do what's best for him," Mom said, flatly.

"To do what he would want," Jim said, just as flatly. "Mom, think
for a moment," he went on, more quietly. "If Daniel could talk to you
right now, if he knew that Agent Mulder was out here and wanted to
see him, what do you think he would tell you to do?"

She didn't answer. She turned to me. "Jill, I beg you to
reconsider," she said, and she was starting to cry now. "This is not
what's best for Daniel. Wait until he's out of the hospital so no one
will know."

"Mom," I said, "I know you're just trying to look out for Daniel. So
am I. But this is right. You must know that."

"Jill, you were with him for 12 years," Mom said, and now she was
starting to cry. "You cannot let this person ruin Daniel's career."

"Eighteen years, actually, starting in high school," I said, and I
was starting to cry, too. "But this is not about the Navy. This is
about Daniel."

I dropped Mulder's hand and put my arms around Mom. She was shaking;
she seemed near collapsing. "Mom," I whispered in her ear, "You know
I love you. You've been more of a mother to me than my own mother
ever thought of being. Come with us. Please."

She looked up at me in shock. "No," she whispered, shaking her head.
"No. Never. I could never watch ... that man ... touching my son.
Never." She pulled away from me, still shivering, turned and walked
away. She never even looked back. 

I followed her with my eyes until she turned a corner and was gone. 

"Jilly," Jim said, putting his hand on my back. "She'll come around.
She still loves you both. She'll change her mind. Don't give up on
her yet."

I shook my head. I couldn't think about that now -- my brain was
very near complete overload. 

"Let's just go," I said.

"Mulder," Dr. Scully started, but he shook his head. 

"It'll be all right, Scully," he said. I hoped he was right. 

"Mulder, someone needs to keep an eye out ..." she said, but this
time I interrupted her.

"You're right, someone does," I said. "Why don't you come with us,
and we'll make sure it's all right."

"I'll go first, Mulder, make sure the coast is clear," Jim said. "If
it's all right, I'll signal you."

"All right," he said. He seemed calm to me, but Dr. Scully must have
seen something in those beautiful eyes of his. She walked over to him
and kissed his cheek, softly.

"It won't be long, Mulder," she said. "Just another minute. That's
all." And he nodded again, and squeezed her hand.

I took another deep breath. 

And I walked into the ICU, with Jim and Scully right behind me, to
where Daniel lay, his bed partly hidden by a green curtain. He looked
very much the way he had when I saw him before -- not good.

"His color is good," Scully said quietly, and she smoothed his hair
lovingly. "And his vitals are steady." I wasn't sure if she was
trying to reassure me or herself.

Seeing her touch him that way should have made me feel jealous all
over again. But I was emotionally worn out and I didn't have room for
that anymore.

"He looks so tired," I whispered. "And so sad. Dr. Scully, have you
ever known a comatose patient who recovered and reported feeling sad
in coma?"

She smiled at me then -- a beautiful smile. It softened her whole
face. "You don't want to know about my patients right now," she said.
"But if Daniel _is_ sad, then let's do something about it."

"What do I need to do?" I said.

"You and Lieutenant Reilly stand over there," she said, pulling the
curtain as far around the bed as it would go. "Just act as though
we're here visiting. It won't give them much privacy, but it'll help
ensure there aren't any unpleasant surprises now or questions later."

"All right," Jim said. He turned around and beckoned to Mulder.

Mulder walked in. Slowly, steadily, he made his way toward the bed,
almost as though he didn't see us. And I don't think, really, that he
did. He saw Daniel, and that was all.

I held my breath. This was crunch time, put-your-money-where-your-
mouth-is time, and no matter how good my intentions were, I wasn't
sure I could stand this. I told myself I just had to deal with it for
a few minutes, and then it would be over.

And then Mulder took Daniel's hand. "Daniel," he said, so quietly I
could scarcely hear him. "Daniel, it's Fox. I'm here. I came to see
how you were doing." 

There was a chair next to the bed; Mulder sat down and, still
holding Daniel's hand, started talking to him very quietly. I
couldn't hear what he said; I was trying not to, trying to give them
what little privacy I could, and also trying not to hear anything
that was going to make this any more difficult than it already was.

We stayed like that for a few minutes, until one of the nurses
started to walk over -- I suppose to tell us that visiting time was
over for now. Jim cleared his throat to warn Mulder, who looked up
and nodded that he understood.

He stood up, letting go of Daniel's hand; then he leaned over, and
he kissed Daniel's forehead so gently I wasn't sure Daniel even felt
it.

It was the loveliest, most heartbreaking kiss I had ever seen.

"Look," Dr. Scully whispered, nodding toward the telemetry monitor,
but I didn't have to look. I've been listening to those monitors for
years, and I could tell by the sound what she was seeing. 

Daniel hadn't moved, but his pulse rate had risen -- dramatically. 

I felt Jim's arm drape around my shoulders, and I looked up at him.
There were tears in his eyes.

There were tears in mine, too.

~~~~~

As Scully Saw It

~~~~~

That was one of the longest, most painful days of my life -- and, in
some ways, one of the best.

Once Mulder had permission to see Daniel in the ICU, there was no
way he was going to leave the hospital and risk missing one of the
all-too-brief visiting times, so we spent most of that day sitting in
the ICU waiting area. Sometimes we talked to Jim or to Jill, but
mostly we kept to ourselves -- as we so often do.

I spent some of the time watching Jill Reilly as covertly as I
could. There was a calm strength about her now that I hadn't seen on
our previous encounters, a certainty, perhaps, that she'd done the
right thing. It was a different side of her, one that made it easy to
see why Daniel loved her and why he had stayed with her for so long
in spite of all the heartache that it eventually caused them both.

She didn't say much, just chatted, mostly about her job, or the news
--tactfully avoiding any mention of John Lee Roche, I was grateful to
note.

Late that afternoon, Dr. Montgomery came to tell us that he'd been
able to wake Daniel long enough to get him to take a few unassisted
breaths. He tired quickly, of course, so they reconnected the
ventilator, but Dr. Montgomery told us he was extremely pleased.

"I think we'll have him awake and breathing on his own by tomorrow,"
he told us, his smile making him seem, for the first time, entirely
human. "He's got no discernible neurologic damage, the lung's healing
nicely, and he won't need help for much longer."

As soon as Montgomery left, Mulder closed his eyes, let his head
fall back and let out a deep sigh of relief, then sat down -- or
maybe collapsed is a better description -- and put his face in his
hands.

I was walking toward him, intending to offer him comfort, but to my
shock, someone else beat me to it.

Jill.

She was sitting at the other end of the sofa. Without a word, she
slid into the space next to Mulder, put her arm around his shoulders
and to my utter astonishment, kissed him delicately on his left
temple.

It astonished Mulder, too, I think. His hands fell to his lap and he
looked at her almost warily ...

But she was smiling, very kindly.

"He _was_ sad before you came to see him," she said, and her voice
was so gentle. "He needed to know you were with him before he could
wake up."

Mulder let out his breath, slowly, and then he smiled, too. "He
doesn't need me half as much as I need him," he said, simply.

"I know," Jill said, and now her voice was really trembling, and
tears were running down her cheeks. "Please believe me," she said. "I
do know."

"I know you do," Mulder said, and he put his arms around her. For
just a moment, I thought, she stiffened slightly, but then she laid
her head on Mulder's shoulder and began to cry.

It was -- should have been -- a lovely moment. All right, it was,
and I was glad for all our sakes that they'd been able to make that
first step toward each other.

But it hurt. It hurt a lot. If she hadn't been here, Mulder would
have turned to me for comfort, just as naturally as he always did.
Now someone else was taking my place.

I couldn't stand it. I didn't want to stay here and spoil this, but
I just couldn't bear it another minute. Mulder wouldn't care if I
left right now; he barely seemed to know I was here anyway.

I turned and started to walk out of the waiting area, but I felt a
hand on my shoulder and stopped.

It was Jim Reilly.

"Want to go get a cup of coffee?" he said, in that voice that
sounded so much like Daniel's. 

Well, yes, actually, I did. I nodded and he picked up his cover,
held the door for me and guided me through, one hand on the small of
my back, just the way Mulder always does.

But this ... felt a little different. I suppose the reason for that
is obvious.

We didn't talk while we were walking to the snack bar. Lt. Reilly
bought two coffees. I put cream in mine, ignoring his humorously
disapproving glance -- I'm used to military types and their penchant
for black coffee -- and we went outside, found a bench and sat down.

"Dr. Scully, if you don't mind my saying so, you seem a little
unhappy," he said. He'd already drunk about half his coffee; I was
still stirring mine absently.

"No, not entirely," I acknowledged. "Perhaps it's just the strain of
the last few days."

"Perhaps it's seeing your best friend turning to a perfect stranger
for comfort," Lt. Reilly said. "A perfect stranger who, up until a
few hours ago, was putting him through a pretty tough time."

He spoke mildly enough, but it was a challenge nonetheless. He
already knew how I felt; I doubt that I was succeeding at all in
trying to hide that. No, what he really wanted was to know just
exactly where I fit in here.

Too bad. I wasn't ready to unburden myself to a stranger, no matter
how much he looked like Daniel. 

"I suppose it might appear that way, lieutenant," I said, taking a
sip of the coffee. 

"Jim," he said. "I could never sketch out the family tree, but I
figure you and I must be in-laws or something, and my family calls me
Jim."

"Your mother calls you James," I said.

"She does it to piss me off," he said, then looked up at me
guiltily. "Sorry."

"It's all right, I'm a Navy brat myself," I said, smiling for the
first time. "I've heard much worse, believe me."

"Oh, shit," he said, looking skyward and then back down at me.
"You're Charlie Scully's sister, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," I said. "How do you know Charlie?"

"We were at Annapolis together," Jim said. "He was a couple of years
behind me. I should have realized -- I can see the resemblance.
Where's Charlie now?"

"On USS Tortuga, sailing around the Gulf of Mexico," I said. "Did
you know my older brother, Bill?"

"Heard of him," he said. "What's he up to?"

"USS John C. Stennis," I said. "Weapons."

Jim whistled admiringly. "Not too shabby. So the whole Scully clan's
been kissed by Mother Carey ..."

"Yes, we have," I said, and then -- for no reason I can think of -- I
added, "bubblehead."

He laughed, a deep, genuine laugh that was like Daniel's ... and yet
wasn't. "You _are_ a Navy brat," he said, shaking his head. "Can't
hide it. So where were you born -- Hawaii? Philippines? Okinawa?"

"No, I was born in a nice stateside hospital in Maryland," I said.
"This one, to be precise. My sister Melissa was born in Okinawa,
though."

"Is she in the Navy?" he asked.

"No," I said, quietly. "She's dead."

"I'm sorry," he said. "It must not have been too long ago."

I shook my head and took another swallow of my coffee. "Not long at
all," I said. "Just a little over a year."

"How did it happen? If you don't mind telling me, that is," he
added, quickly. 

I took a deep breath and let it go, slowly. "She was shot," I said.
Funny how I can say that so matter-of-factly when I still can't
really believe that it happened. "And she died before I could get to
the hospital to see her."

Jim gave a long, low whistle. "No wonder you were doing the mother
bear routine with your partner," he said. "You knew what could
happen. I'm very sorry, Dr. Scully."

"Dana," I said, without thinking. "Or just Scully. Nobody calls me
Dr. Scully."

"What, not even your mother?" he said. "You know," he said, in a
phony Yiddishe momma accent -- "'My daughter, the doctor.'"

I had to laugh. "No, nothing like that," I said, and I looked at him
for the first time since we sat down. "I'm Irish Catholic; Mulder's
the one who's Jewish."

"Oh, sorry," Jim said, but he didn't look sorry. He looked -- very
pleased. "So what _you_ get is, 'Dana, I ran into that boy you dated
when you were at St. Catherine's -- he's in town for a few days and I
told him to give you a call.'"

Okay, I really had to laugh at that one. "Something very much like
that actually happened not too long ago," I said. "Only it was a
young man I dated in college, not in high school."

"A technicality," he said, shrugging his shoulders. He was about to
say something else, but an admiral walked by and he had to jump up
and salute. 

"Good afternoon, sir," he said, giving a salute so perfect it was a
pleasure to see it. I hate floppy, poorly executed salutes.

The admiral flung him a half-hearted salute in return, grunted and
walked on without making eye contact.

"Would you rather go inside?" I asked when he sat back down. "If you
stay out here, that's just going to keep happening."

He shook his head. "Nah," he said. "I'd rather be here than inside.
Anyway, don't you think it looks really sexy to see a man in uniform
saluting?"

Damn him, he had me laughing again. "There's no modesty in your
family, is there?" I said, shaking my head. 

"Well, actually, there is, but Daniel got it all," he said. "I
didn't need it -- I have so little to be modest about."

"I don't know you well enough to comment on that," I said. "But I do
know your brother, and I can't argue with you. He's really wonderful."

"You're damn right he is," Jim said, gruffly. For a minute he didn't
say anything else. Obviously, I wasn't the only one whose emotions
were close to the surface today.

I was searching my brain for a way to start the conversation again
when Jim began talking.

"Let me tell you a little story about just how wonderful my brother
really is," he said, in a low voice, "When I graduated from
Annapolis, my whole family was there -- my mom and dad, my sisters
and their husbands, Daniel and Jill, and my girlfriend, Elise, to
whom I was about to propose. Out of all those people, Daniel was the
only one I really wanted to see."

"Why was that?" I asked, intrigued in spite of myself.

"Because for four years," Jim said, softly, "he was the only one who
seemed to believe I'd make it all the way through the Academy. So for
four years, whenever things got bad, I'd imagine myself at
graduation, giving Daniel a salute, showing him that he was right to
believe in me. Sometimes that was all that kept me going."

"Did you have a hard time as a midshipman?" I asked.

He nodded. "Just ask your brother; he'll remember. I got myself in
more trouble than any midshipman in history -- at least, more than
any middy who went on to graduate. My grades just plain sucked, too."

"My brothers tell me the Academy's tough," I said, sympathetically.

Jim laughed. "Yeah, it's tough. And Marie Antoinette had a bad hair
day, and Bill Gates has a few bucks saved up."

"I see your point," I said, dryly. "So did you find Daniel?"

"Yeah, I found him," Jim said, in a softer, more reminiscent voice.
"He was walking toward the bleachers, and there were hundreds of
brand-new ensigns running around, every one of them screeching to a
halt and flinging a salute when they saw all the stripes on his
shoulderboards. But when he saw me, he stopped right where he was."

Jim went silent for a moment.

"So what happened?" I said, finally.

"I came to attention and I saluted him," he said, very softly. "He
returned my salute and then he said, 'At ease, Ensign Reilly,' and I
said, 'Thank you, sir,' and he was smiling and I was grinning like
the cat that ate the canary. Then the rest of the family came
strolling up, and almost all of them were in uniform, and Pop's old
shipmates kept coming over to say hello, and I was saluting so damn
much I thought my fucking arm would fall off."

"Oh, yes," I said, with a little laugh. "I rem ember. That was what
Bill's and Charlie's graduations were like. Ahab -- my father -- was
always surrounded by brass, and my brothers both looked so scared ..."

"Oh, I bet they did," Jim said, nodding. "That's a scary time, even
if you're an officer's kid. You think you're used to being around
senior officers because you grew up with them. Then you put on that
uniform and you realize just how much distance there is between you
and 'Uncle Joey' or whatever you used to call your old man's
friends ... you never forget it."

"Is that what you remember about graduation -- all the saluting?" I
asked.

"I remember saluting Daniel," he said, quietly, "and I remember the
look on his face when he saw me. He was so damn proud of me, even if
I _had_ been the biggest screw-up in the history of the Naval
Academy. It didn't matter anymore -- I was an ensign in the United
States Navy and my big brother was telling me he was proud of me."

"I'm sure the others were proud of you, too," I said, although I had
to clear my throat first. This story was getting to me.

"Oh, yeah, they just praised me right to the damn skies and all but
ignored Daniel, which was just not fucking fair," Jim said, bitterly.
"Even back then, before we knew the truth about Daniel, Pop was real
cool toward him. He'd wanted Daniel to go to Annapolis and spend his
life out on the blue water; it was a big disappointment to him when
Daniel chose ROTC and fleet medicine."

"He's an excellent surgeon, Jim," I said. "Surely they must know
that."

"I don't think they do know that," he said, looking at me again. "I
know it -- I know it took him four years of college, four years of
med school and five years of residency, but he did it. That's a hell
of an accomplishment -- the Navy doesn't send just anybody to medical
school, you know."

"No, it doesn't," I agreed. "And I can tell you from experience that
medical school is no walk in the park. I hear residency's worse, but
I wouldn't know -- I went into the FBI right after I graduated."

"And I'm betting there's a hell of a story behind that, Dr. Dana,"
Jim said, the twinkle returning to his eye. "But maybe I'll have to
ply you with orange soda or something to get you to tell it to me."

"Or something," I said, nodding. "So where were you stationed after
graduation?"

"The USS City of Corpus Christi," he said. "Went from there to the
Dallas, but I'm heading back to Corpus Christi on my next voyage."

"Was your father pleased with that?" I asked. "Subs, I mean?"

"Nah, he hated it," Jim said, toying with his empty coffee cup. "Dad
said he didn't raise his son to be a bubblehead -- but he said he
guessed it was better than spending most of your career on shore.
That was a slap at Daniel, in case you hadn't guessed."

"I guessed," I said. "And I'm sorry. I think the world of Daniel.
It's hard to see how anyone could think otherwise."

He shrugged. "Could have been worse -- Daniel could have been a
jarhead."

"Bite your tongue," I said. I looked down at my coffee cup and
decided I could do without the rest of it. "I think we should go back
inside now," I said. "It's almost time for another visit."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Jim said, and I almost shivered. He
_did_ sound like Daniel -- so much so that I had to look at him to
make sure it was still Jim.

They were so much alike, but somehow so different ... Jim was just
as attractive as Daniel, just as intelligent, but his whole demeanor
proclaimed that he was less serious, less perfectionistic, less
weighed down with all the cares of the world. And there was that all-
but-impalpable difference, that air of sexual magnetism that Daniel
doesn't have ... not for me, anyway. Daniel is incredibly attractive,
but he's not trying to put out sexual signals to me or to any other
woman.

Odd, isn't it, how seldom I notice the absence of that magnetism
when I'm with Daniel or with Mulder? It's as though I've been with
them so long that I've almost forgotten that there are men who really
are interested in women.

But Jim Reilly was interested. Jim -- whether consciously or just as
an automatic response -- was putting out very definite signals that
he was interested and I could feel myself responding to them just as
automatically.

I stood up. Time to stop this nonsense before it went any further.
"I'm fine," I said. "Let's go."

Jim stood, too. "Before we go, can I ask you one more question?" he
said.

"I suppose," I said. "What's the question?"

"Well, it begins with a question, goes to a statement, and then, if
all is in order, we get to the question I really want to ask," Jim
said, and there was that twinkle in his eyes again.

"You must have majored in engineering, Mr. Reilly," I said,
wrinkling my nose at him. "No one else would even attempt to
construct a sentence like that one."

"Nuclear physics, actually," he said, smiling.

"I should have known," I said. "All right, what's your question?"

"It's an easy one -- are you seeing anyone right now?" Jim said,
casually.

"Dare I respond with another question?" I said, a little nettled.
"Such as 'why do you need to know?'"

"No, because that gets to the final question and I'm not ready to
ask that yet," Jim said, firmly, but he was smiling. "So are you?"

I almost didn't answer, because I could see where this was going. I
didn't need this kind of complication in my life. 

On the other hand, Jim Reilly would be returning to his submarine
before long ... there was no way this could become dangerous. I
decided I could let myself enjoy the delicious tension of physical
attraction between man and woman for just a few minutes longer.
Surely that couldn't cause any harm, could it?

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I'm not seeing anyone. Now -- the
statement."

"All right," Jim said, putting one foot up on the bench and resting
his arms on his knee. "The statement, Dr. Dana, is that you're a very
smart, very pretty lady and I think I could learn to like you one
hell of a lot."

He stopped, apparently to catch his breath, because he started right
back again. "Which brings me," he said, his head tilted in that Irish
way, "to my final question. May I have the pleasure of your company
for dinner tonight?"

Did I know this was coming? Oh, yes. I most certainly did. And there
was no question that it was a very, very bad idea, for reasons I
could never expect him to understand.

"Jim," I said, "that's ... that's really a very lovely offer, and
you're very kind to ask me, but ..."

"No, no, no," he interrupted me. "Belay that, doctor -- it's the
wrong answer."

"The wrong answer?" I said, smiling again in spite of myself. "All
right, lieutenant, what's the right answer?"

"The right answer, Dr. Scully," Jim said, looking entirely too sure
of himself, "is, 'Jim Reilly, there's nothing I would like better
than to get acquainted with you over dinner.'"

"I see," I said, arching an eyebrow at him. "What if I told you I
don't have room in my life for anything like that right now?"

"Damn," he said, straightening up. "And here I was ready to resign
my commission and devote myself to you full time. I guess I'll just
have to stay in the Navy after all."

I didn't know whether to laugh or slap him. I couldn't remember the
last time I'd had my leg pulled so firmly ... or been flirted with so
delightfully. 

"All right, I get the message," I said, as the laughter won out
again. "Neither of us has time for anything serious."

"Not now, maybe," Jim said, with that delightful twinkle in his eye
again. "But who the hell knows what's ahead?"

"Not I," I said. "Seriously, though, Jim, I'm not sure I have even
as much of myself to offer as you do. My work takes up so much of my
time, and there aren't any days in port, so to speak."

"And there's also your partner and my brother to consider, right?"
he said, easily, folding his arms over his chest. "Or are you going
to try to tell me that they're not part of this?"

"That's personal," I said -- rather curtly, I suppose. Jim wasn't
the least bit fazed, though. 

"Yes, it is," he said, "and I wouldn't even mention it if it hadn't
been so damn obvious from the first moment I laid eyes on you.
Anyway, if Daniel _is_ that important to you, if your partner is that
important to you, I think that's great. Maybe all I want is to horn
in on that a little bit. I could use a friend sometimes."

"I don't have anything against being friends," I said, still a
little coolly. "As long as we both understand that's all it is."

"Spoken like a woman who's been burned once too often," Jim said.
"Or is that too personal, too?"

I sighed. "I'm just not looking for anyone to date right now, not
even casually," I said. 

"Because your last relationship was an utter disaster?" he said. He
didn't even wait for an answer. "I thought so," he said, nodding. "I
understand that, believe me. My last relationship was a disaster, too
 -- and I was married to her."

I sat there silently for a minute, wondering whether to get up and
walk away or to smile brightly and accept. If I were any other woman
in any other situation, it might be simple. But it hadn't been that
long ago that I'd put my life and my health at risk by sleeping with
almost any man I could find who reminded me of Mulder ... or Daniel.

Josh Larrimore was most definitely included in that group, too.

And Jim -- Jim didn't just remind me of Daniel, he practically _was_
Daniel, with the same eyes, the same smile, the same voice. If I
accepted, how could I ever know if it was for the right reason?

I shook my head, trying to clear it, but Jim must have taken it as a
prelude to a rejection.

"Look," he said, quickly, "I'm not trying to rush you. All I'm
asking you is if I can spend some time with you tonight. Then, if it
suits you, maybe you'll see me again the next time I'm back on dry
land. That's all I want, honestly. Don't let it be more than you can
give."

I looked up at him again. There was that kindness, that compassion
that I'd come to know so well in two years of knowing Daniel. It was
hard to resist -- especially when I knew that I didn't really want to.

"What's on your mind, Dana?" Jim said, quietly.

"You," I said. "You're so much like Daniel."

"So they tell me," he said. "I wish it were true. Is that what's
worrying you?"

"Maybe a little," I admitted. "I don't want to use you as some kind
of substitute for your brother."

"Not even if I beg you to?" he said, grinning. "I mean, if the job's
vacant, I'll take it. I'm not proud."

I laughed again. When was the last time I'd laughed this much? I
couldn't remember.

"You know," I said, still laughing, "most men wouldn't be so calm at
the prospect of sharing a woman with two other men."

"Most women wouldn't be so calm at the prospect of sharing a man
with the Navy," Jim said with a shrug. "Who knows -- maybe we're made
for each other."

His tone said he was joking, but his eyes -- eyes the color of the
deep waters he sailed -- suggested that maybe he wasn't joking after
all.

I answered him exactly the same way.

"Maybe," I said. "Maybe we are."

~~~~~

Jim left for a minute when we got back inside, saying he needed to
get word to his CO that Daniel was recovering and he'd be back aboard
soon.

I walked back to the ICU waiting room alone, where I found Mulder
standing by the door, looking down the hallway in the other direction.

"Mulder?" I said, and he turned around. When he saw me, he smiled.

"Scully, where have you been?" he said, and he sounded so relieved
that I felt a little ashamed. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"We just went for coffee," I said. "Why, is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," he said, shaking his head. "It's just that it's
visiting time and ... Scully, they said Daniel's awake."

"Oh, thank God," I said, closing my eyes briefly. "So I suppose you
and Jill are going in there now?"

He gave me a funny look. "Jill's already been in. I was waiting for
you."

"Why?" I asked, genuinely puzzled. "Why didn't you go in with her?
This is the last visiting period today -- you might have missed
seeing him."

"I know that," he said, quietly. "I waited because I want you with
me, Scully. That's the way it's always been."

"I thought ... maybe you and Jill," I began, but I couldn't come up
with the right words. 

Then I felt Mulder's hand wrap around mine.

"Jill's all right," he said. "She's a nice lady. With any luck at
all, maybe we'll even be friends some day. But Scully -- I mean,
Jesus Christ, Scully, if Daniel couldn't take your place in my life,
what makes you think anyone else is going to?"

I didn't answer him.

"You can be such a damn dope sometimes, Dana," Mulder said, gently,
and he kissed my forehead.

For a minute I just leaned against him, loving the feeling of his
lips against my skin. Then, with a deep sigh, I looked up at him.

"I should think that's fairly obvious, Mulder," I said, as firmly as
I could manage, "since I've been hanging around with you for almost
four years."

He smiled at me. "Obviously," he said, brushing my hair back from my
face. "Come on, let's go see Daniel."

~~~~~

As Daniel Saw It

~~~~~

"Fox," I said, "I'm not helpless, for Christ's sake. Will you please
not hover over me?"

All right, I admit it. I was a little testy. But like most
physicians, I'm a rotten patient. I hate being in the hospital -- as
a patient, I mean. I'd much rather be on the other end of the scalpel.

In some ways I felt like I was still in the hospital, although of
course that wasn't Fox's fault. I was staying at Dana's place, since
of our three apartments, that's the closest one to Bethesda.

Jill was staying, too, which sounded like a great idea to me at
first. That, of course, was before Dr. Dana and Nurse Jill began
devoting themselves 24/7 to, and I quote, "looking after me." When
Dana was at work, I was at Jill's mercy; when Dana got home, it was
the other way around.

This was what they called "taking care of me" and I called "hovering
around, giving me endless orders and driving me nuts."

All right, enough griping. I don't really mean it anyway; I know I'm
the luckiest man on earth, and not just because I'm getting the best,
most loving care any man ever got. No, it goes far beyond that,
starting with the fact that some maniac put two rounds into my chest
while I was driving along at something like 65 miles an hour and he
still didn't manage to kill me or even maim me sufficiently to end my
military career.

But waking up from a barbiturate coma, slowly realizing that I was
alive, and that Fox was there, holding my hand -- in a Navy hospital,
no less -- and that Jill was waiting outside, crying with relief ...
that was an even greater miracle, and one I never would have believed
could happen.

My God, just finding out that Jill didn't hate me anymore would have
been miracle enough for one lifetime.

Jill really came through for me, even though I don't deserve it
after everything I've done to her. Dana did, too, and Jim -- and,
most of all, of course, Fox. They all went far above and beyond the
call of duty.

Even when I was unconscious, I think I knew somehow that Fox wasn't
there at first. Dana says she told me. I don't remember that; but I
remember very clearly hearing him speak to me for the first time
after what seemed like forever. 

I don't remember exactly what he said. I just remember that he was
there, and that when I heard him speak I wanted more than anything to
wake up and be with him. His voice was like a lifeline I could hold
onto, a way to pull myself slowly back to reality.

And when, in time, I woke up, I found that I had been watched over
and wept over by my mother -- even if she didn't stick around -- by
my brother and Dana, and by Jill and Fox, the two people I have loved
best in this life. 

But that was then, and this was now, and I was ready to get back in
shape and back on duty, whereas Fox and everyone else seemed to
believe that I was still incapable of anything more strenuous than
lifting a glass to my lips. I think they would have helped me with
that if I'd let them.

Which, I suppose, is why I was snapping at him now. 

I'd been following Dana's orders; honest I had. Every day, I'd get
up and move around until I started to get tired, and then I'd rest.
When I felt rested, I'd get up and move again. It was essentially
what I would have ordered any of my patients to do.

It was a Friday, and I'd been hoping Dana would bring Fox home with
her for the weekend, but when she got home -- dead tired, too -- she
told me he was still at work, that he was trying to prepare for a
disciplinary hearing involving a case he'd just been in.

I didn't ask for details. I knew he'd tell me sooner or later, when
he got ready. But I'd been up a good part of the day and I was tired
as hell, and I didn't want go to bed because I missed him so much
that the thought of waiting until morning to see him was agony.

So I was resting on Dana's bed, which she had as usual insisted I
had to occupy, and I got thirsty. Jill and Dana had gone out to get
groceries, so I started to get up, but I guess I was more tired than
I thought; I got to a sitting position, but I had to stop there to
catch my breath.

Naturally, Fox chose that moment to arrive. 

I hadn't heard him come in -- I guess he used his key -- so I didn't
even know he was there until I saw him standing over me, asking me
what I wanted and telling me to lie back down, that he'd get whatever
it was.

And it annoyed me. There were enough people babying me already. I
sure didn't need it from him.

So I snapped at him.

And it really hurt his feelings. Of course it did -- he'd gone
through so much to be with me in the hospital, he was clearly having
a hell of a bad time at work so of course as soon as I saw him, I bit
his head off.

And there we were, both wondering how to back out of this one
without serious loss of face. 

But it was my fault, and I knew it, so I blinked first -- 
metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Sorry," I said, flopping back down. "Just a little tired, I guess."

"Yeah, well," he said, and shrugged. But he just stood there, hands
in his pockets, looking down at the floor. We were both being so
Martian about it, saying nothing and waiting for it to blow over. 

Sometimes there's just a little too much testosterone in our
relationship, you know?

Enough.

"Fox" I said, reaching for him, "for God's sake, come here, please?" 

And he smiled, and sat on the bed next to me. I pulled him down
beside me and finally, finally, after so damn long and so much
horror, he was in my arms again and I was kissing him. 

Well, actually, it was more like devouring than kissing. But it was
mutual, I promise you.

Finally, we came up for air and he laid his head on my shoulder.
"I've missed you," he said, so quietly I could barely hear him.

"I missed you, too," I whispered back, and I held him as close as I
could, given that my right arm wasn't completely back to normal yet.
For a minute we just lay there together, enjoying each other's
presence, until a random thought made me laugh out loud.

"What's so funny?" Fox asked, looking up at me.

"You know, I'd love to think you're just happy to see me," I said,
still snickering, "but knowing you, G-man, you probably _do_ have a
pistol in your pocket."

He laughed at that, weak as it was, and the laughter took years off
him. Thank God -- he'd looked so tired and haunted when he arrived.

"It's in my holster, not in my pocket, asshole," he said, still
laughing as he sat up. He gave me another quick kiss and stood. 

"I'll put it away," he said. "Wouldn't want you to get shot again." 

He got up, took off the holster and laid the whole damn thing on the
night stand. "I think I'm going to change while I'm up," he said,
reaching into Dana's closet for the extra clothes he keeps here -- 
what I call his "real clothes" -- faded jeans, untucked T-shirt,
sneaks. 

I lay there watching as he dressed, admiring his body, thinking -- 
for what must be the ten-thousandth time -- how much happier he
always is when he can shed the standard G-man uniform. That's a joke
we have -- he tells me I look good in my uniform, and I tell him he
looks good in his uniform, too, which may be a joke but it's true
anyway. 

Still, he's always happier when he can leave the coat-and-tie world
behind him for a while.

"Can I get you anything while I'm up?" he asked as he pulled the T-
shirt over his head.

"The only thing I want you to do," I said, "is to get your ass back
over here." 

"Just my ass?" he asked, with totally false innocence. "Is that all
you want?"

"Not by a long shot," I said, scooting over to give him room. "But I
promise I'll get to it eventually."

"Daniel," he said, then hesitated. He sat on the edge of the bed
again and put his hand on my cheek.

"What is it now?" I said, putting my hand over his. "Don't tell me
it really was just the pistol after all."

"You know it wasn't," he said, his thumb gently stroking my face.
"But, Daniel, as much as I want to ... baby, you're just not strong
enough yet."

God, how this man touches my heart sometimes. 

I knew what he was worried about. You'd never know it from that
tough G-man exterior, but a lot of the time, when we make love, Fox
wants to be on the bottom. It's what he seems to need; even more, he
needs it to be understood, accepted as the norm for us, something to
be changed only if I say so.

I used to worry about that when we first got together, before I ever
knew much about his job -- or his heart -- but now I just accept it
as part of what he needs from me, part of what it takes to love a man
whose job means he has to run toward danger when everyone around him
is running away. 

So it's all right. If he needs my permission to be on top, he's got
it. If he needs to know that he can be stronger than me and I won't
stop taking care of him, then fine, that's what I'll give him.
Whatever he wants from me, he can have. 

"Maybe I'm not strong enough," I said, and I took his hand to my
lips and kissed his palm. "But _you_ are, lover. And I know you'll be
careful with me."

I was right. That was what he wanted to hear. I could tell by the
way he closed his eyes, and by the ragged intake of his breath and -- 
of course -- by the way his jeans were suddenly way too tight around
the zipper.

I have to admit, the idea was having a similar effect on me. Yeah,
we were definitely going to have to lock the bedroom door ASAP. 

I started to get up, but he put one hand on my chest to stop me.

"Come on, Daniel," he said, as though he was going to protest again,
but I didn't want to hear it. I put my fingers gently over his mouth.
His mouth ... God, I love that mouth, the way it tastes, the way it
feels ... he really needed to stop talking and put it to better use.

"Don't try to tell me you don't want to, Fox," I said as I took my
hand away. "I know that look in your eye."

"I'm not going to tell you that, because you know better," he said,
stroking my face again. "I do want to. I can't tell you how much I
want to just ... lose myself in you. I just don't want to do anything
that'll hurt you."

"You're not going to hurt me," I said. "And you think too damn
much." With that, I put one hand on the back of his neck, pulled him
back into my arms and kissed him, slowly but very, very thoroughly. 

That did it for him. He shivered and groaned into my mouth, taking
my head between his hands and crushing his lips against mine,
grinding his body against me so hard I thought he might come right
then and there.

You can't imagine what it does to me to see him like that, to know
that I can do that to him, to watch my strong, beautiful lover
writhing and moaning helplessly in my arms just because I touched
him ... it's almost too much. 

It was too much now. I wasn't just on fire, I was burning out of
control, plundering his mouth with my tongue, thrusting against him,
running my hands over every inch of him, over his clothes, under his
clothes ... everywhere. 

If one of us didn't stop long enough to shut the damn door, we were
going to be putting on a hell of a show for Dana and Jill and God and
everybody else. I was pulling at his clothes, trying to get them off,
trying desperately to get more of that body I love so much ... we
were definitely going to be on display, and at that point I didn't
much care, either.

At the last possible moment, I managed to tear myself away from him
long enough to speak. "Fox," I said, my voice husky with lust and my
lips still touching his, "for God's sake go lock the door."

He nodded, wordlessly, and got up, locked the door and then stood at
the end of the bed where I could see him, pulling off his clothes and
then coming back to help me out of mine, carefully so as not to
disturb the still-healing wounds on my chest and leg.

I didn't actually realize that he hadn't seen my wounds before until
he lay down next to me and ran his finger across the angry red scar
near my shoulder, and I saw the cold fury in his eyes. The police
hadn't yet found the man who shot me, not even with all the FBI's
resources laid at their feet, and it was making Fox damn near insane.

I wasn't worried. I was alive; that was enough for me right now. 

I took his hand and laid his fingers on my lips, kissed them
quickly, then put his hand on my chest.

"The scars are going to fade, Fox," I said, quietly. "And sooner or
later, the guy that did this is going to turn up, and when he does,
you'll get him."

"If recent experience is any guide, I won't find him any time soon,"
he said, but he rested his forehead against mine as he spoke.
"Lately, I don't seem to be able to figure anything out until it's
too late to solve it with anything except a bullet."

Shit. I should have realized something was wrong. "You want to tell
me about it?" I asked, in as level a tone as I could manage, because
now I _was_ worried.

"No," he said, quickly, shaking his head. He looked into my eyes
then. "All I want to do right now is forget about it. I want to
forget about everything except making love with you."

"All right," I whispered, and then his mouth descended on mine
again, and ... after that, I couldn't tell you. Everything blended
together seamlessly, from the warmth of his mouth to the touch of his
hands ... the way he handled me so carefully, so lovingly, surrounded
me, taking me higher and higher until I couldn't stand it another
second and I came, I fucking exploded into his mouth.

There seemed to be nothing real in the entire universe except him
and the almost unbearable need I had to spend myself, to feel him
taking me in, accepting me in his body as he had always accepted me
into his soul.

Before I even came back to myself, he was in me ... at last, at long
last, he was there where I wanted him, where I needed him to be.
After so much time apart, I could look up and see him above me, see
his muscles tensed with the strain of holding himself over me, his
skin gleaming with sweat, his lower lip caught between his teeth as
he struggled to hold off, to make it last longer ...

And then to hear my name on his lips as the last of his control
slipped away, as he emptied himself helplessly into me and then
collapsed, exhausted, into my arms.

I don't know how long we lay there like that. I held him as close as
I could, so tightly that as strong as he is, I doubt he could have
made me let him go until I was ready.

I don't think he minded. I'm not even sure he was that aware of
himself yet. So I just lay there, holding him, breathing in the rich,
heady scent of sex and maleness that lingered around him.

After a while, though, he raised his head and kissed me. "That felt
pretty good," he said, softly, smiling down at me.

"Just pretty good, huh?" I said, running my hand through his hair.
"Is that what you tell all your boyfriends?"

He laughed. "No, asshole, it's what I tell all _your_ boyfriends,"
he said. He rolled off me then, got up and pulled on his jeans. "Want
a towel?"

I shook my head. "I'm all right," I said. "Just don't be gone long,
okay?"

"I won't be," he said, bending over to kiss me again quickly.

I rolled over on my side and laid my head on the pillow. I must have
been tired; I think I was already half asleep when he came back. He
knew it, too, because he moved more quietly than usual as he pulled
on his shorts and climbed into the bed beside me.

I was just awake enough to crawl into his arms. I think that
surprised him; for just a second, he seemed to stiffen, then he
relaxed and moved so that my head was on his shoulder.

"Hey, Daniel?" he said, so quietly I almost couldn't hear him.

"Mmm?" I replied, not terribly articulately.

There was a long silence before he spoke again, even more quietly.

"I love you," he said. 

Now _that_ woke me up. He'd never said that to me before, never. I
mean, he didn't have to -- I knew it. I knew it like I know my own
name.

But evidently he needed to say it.

Fine. Like I said, whatever he needs from me, he can have.

"You do, huh?" I said. 

"Yeah," he said, and he actually sounded a little nervous. "I do."

There were a million things I wanted to say to him, but only one
that really seemed appropriate right now. I held him a little
tighter, nestling my head a little more firmly against him. 

"Fox," I said, sleepily, "you are _such_ an asshole."