Chapter 13

Warren Community Hospital
Thursday, Nov. 6th
2:50 pm

Necessity made it a multipurpose waiting room. Such a small hospital couldn't justify devoting space to dedicated visitors' lounges, so the ICU shared the southwest corner of the second floor with surgery and obstetrics. Grim, worried faces intermingled with joyous smiles as new lives entered the world alongside others struggling not to leave it.

The decor tried to accommodate the room's dual functions. Cheery floral chintz draped windows that lined sedately pale-blue walls. Whimsical patterned throw pillows softened the lines of starkly utilitarian furniture. Pastel animal prints decorated one wall; the other, muted watercolor landscapes filled with bare trees.

Skinner had become entirely too familiar with this particular room over the past three hours, waiting for word on his agents' conditions.

That situation was about to change.

One thing he knew that all hospitals seemed to have in common-- regardless of size-- was the semi-controlled chaos of shift change. On more than one occasion, he had taken advantage of that golden half-hour to gain access to a restricted patient right under the preoccupied noses of the staff.

Since it was rapidly becoming apparent that no one was willing to tell him what was going on, he'd damn well find out for himself.

Finding the right room was no problem. Scully's name was printed on a pink index card tucked into a plastic sleeve affixed to the door. He glanced over his shoulder at the nurses' station to make sure no one was watching as he opened it and slipped inside.

"--listening to me. I said, I'm going to see him, whether you--" Scully's focus shifted from the white-coated man in front of her to the man at the door. "Sir, have you seen Mulder? They won't tell me what's going on."

The rush of relief put a totally inappropriate grin on his face. She just sounded so damned normal that he couldn't help himself. "I'm having the same problem, Agent."

"What are you doing in here?" The white coat turned around.

Skinner searched for a name to go with the face. It was the doctor he'd talked to in the ER hours ago. "Dr. Jacobs. Nice to finally see you," Skinner commented dryly, then stepped around the man on his way to Scully's side.

Jacobs was not amused. "I'd like to see you in the hall for a moment, Mr. Skinner." He reached out and snagged the A.D.'s elbow. "Don't make me call security."

Whatever constituted 'security' in a tiny community hospital wasn't going to deter him, at least not until he got some answers. "We can discuss whatever is on your mind right here."

Scully pressed the button and raised the head of her bed. "I'm getting up, with or without your permission. I want to know how Agent Mulder is doing, and I want to see him. Now."

Jacobs studied the united front and sighed. "I was on my way out to talk to you, Mr. Skinner, as soon as I finished with Ms. Scully."

They folded their arms in unison. Skinner spoke first. "We're listening."

The doctor flipped open the chart he'd been holding at his side, referring to it as he spoke. "Ms. Scully's core temperature has returned to normal. Her heart rate is stable and the circulation in her extremities has been restored. There's no permanent damage to the areas that were frostbitten."

"So, there's no reason to keep me in this bed."

Jacobs closed the chart and looked at her. "The treatment protocol requires bed rest for the first twenty-four hours. It's not uncommon for the body temperature to fluctuate initially. We need to keep you quiet until it stabilizes."

"Fine. I'll sit quietly, but I'm going to see my partner." She flipped the sheet back to swing her legs over the side, revealing a lot more skin than Skinner was comfortable with. It must have showed on his face, because Scully tugged the hem of her gown as far south as it would go. "Could I have a robe, please?" She was all but vibrating with the need to move.

Some of the stiffness went out of the doctor's stance. "Very well, but I think you should be prepared for what you're going to see."

His gentle tone sent a chill down Skinner's back.

If Scully's expression was any indication, it had the same effect on her. "What are you saying?"

"Mr. Mulder's core temperature is rising more slowly than yours, and he hasn't regained consciousness. That may be a result of his longer exposure to the cold, or it could be the added stress of his injuries. Whatever the cause, we're somewhat concerned."

Scully's focus turned to the closed door. "He said his ankle felt like it might be fractured." Back to the doctor. "Is it?"

Jacobs shook his head. "We don't think so. The films we've been able to take so far don't show anything obvious, but there is a lot of swelling around both the knee and ankle. I expect to find soft tissue injuries when we can do a better exam. I don't think the damage is severe, but it's adding stress that he doesn't need."

She took a deep breath. "Is he responsive at all?"

"No."

Skinner took advantage of the brief silence that followed. "When can we see him?"

Jacobs folded his arms, the chart against his chest, studying them both. "Since we don't know why he's unconscious, I'm willing to consider that familiar voices might help to bring him around. I'll allow you to sit with him," he spoke directly to Scully, "but only as long as your condition remains stable. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

The doctor nodded, apparently satisfied with her response. Skinner knew better. Getting her away from Mulder-- no matter what-- would take a hell of a lot more force than this man looked capable of applying.

"I'll send a nurse in with something for you to wear. She'll also be bringing a wheelchair, and I expect you to use it." He opened the door and gave Skinner a pointed look. "Mr. Skinner, if I could have a word now?"

Skinner nodded. "Just give us a moment." He turned to Scully as soon as the doctor was gone. "He doesn't know what he's up against," he jerked his head toward the closed door, "but I do." He returned her faint smile, then got down to business. "Sheriff Kessler wanted to speak with you as soon as you were conscious. The doctor is blocking all contact, for now, but you'll have to answer some questions soon. Can you tell me what happened?"

Her posture changed, straightening as much as her position in the bed allowed. "Yes, sir. I'm sure the sheriff is having a hard time believing that Michael was the killer, but there's no doubt of that now. She knocked me out and took me to the cabin where I suspect she killed all of the other victims. Mulder was injured coming to find me. We were trying to get away when Michael came back and chased us out onto the lake. Her Jeep went through the ice. She probably drowned."

She looked up at him, and he gave her a nod of confirmation. "They pulled her body from the lake about an hour ago."

"We'll need to process the cabin and Michael's home for evidence," she seemed to be talking mostly to herself, making mental notes aloud.

The door opened. "Excuse me, but the doctor sent me to get the patient ready."

Skinner gave Scully's shoulder a rare pat. "I'll see you in the hall."

The nurse wheeled the chair inside and held the door for Skinner as he walked past her into the hall. She let it close behind him and came over to Scully's side.

"Do you need help getting into these?" She picked up a set of scrubs from the seat of the wheelchair and held them tentatively in Scully's direction.

Scully reached one bare arm out of the blankets and felt the chill instantly. Leaving her warm bed made her shiver at the mere thought. "Thanks, I can handle it. But I'd really appreciate a robe, if you can find one."

She knew as well as Jacobs did that she wasn't totally out of the woods yet. Her temperature would continue to fluctuate, leaving her alternately shivering and sweating for the next several days. Bed rest really was the protocol she should be following, just as he'd said. But there were larger considerations.

Mulder needed her. Nothing else mattered.

* * *

Skinner stepped out into the hall and found the doctor squared off with Will Kessler. From all appearances, Kessler was gaining the upper hand.

"You are interfering with an active homicide investigation."

"No, Sheriff, I'm interfering with someone who's bent on hampering my patient's recovery." He looked nervously over Kessler's shoulder, directing a silent plea at Skinner.

"Gentlemen, I think we should take this discussion down the hall." Skinner tipped his head at the roomful of visitors who had gone silent, watching the two men.

Without another word, Kessler strode off toward the bank of elevators. As soon as he was out of the visitors' line of sight, he stopped and waited for Skinner and Jacobs to catch up, picking up his narrative the moment they joined him, but at a noticeably lower volume. "Agent Scully is a material witness in a multiple homicide investigation. She may be the only one who can tell me whether we've still got a serial killer out there."

"Sheriff, I--"

"You don't," Skinner cut in. "And I think you know that."

Kessler turned to Skinner, and the doctor apparently saw his opportunity. "If you'll excuse me, I have patients to see."

Kessler barely glanced at him. "Mr. Skinner, I've known Michael Hobart since she was born. I hope you can appreciate that I need to hear the facts from your agents before I accept the conclusion everyone else seems to have leaped to."

Skinner folded his arms. "Considering the fact that Michael Hobart kidnapped one of my agents and tried to kill both of them, I'd say it's not much of a leap."

"Maybe not to you, but--" He broke off, looking past Skinner back toward Scully's room.

Skinner followed his gaze and found Scully coming out of her room in the wheelchair.

Kessler stepped around him and headed straight for her.

The temptation to grab Kessler's arm was strong, but Skinner decided to let Scully handle him herself. With her focus on seeing Mulder, he knew she would make short work of the man.

The exchange was brief. From his vantage point, Skinner heard her confirm that Michael was the serial killer, and that she had tried to kill both Scully and Mulder on the ice. The details, she promised, would come after Mulder was out of danger. And with that, she took command of the wheelchair, leaving both the nurse and Sheriff Kessler to stare after her.

Skinner watched as she covered the short distance to an open door that he guessed must be Mulder's. She disappeared inside. A moment later, the door slipped shut.

* * *

Scully stopped just inside the door, taking a moment to release the latch that held it open. There would be no need for anyone else to keep an eye on him now. She was here.

The scene before her was yet another variation on a repeating theme: banks of monitoring equipment clustered around a fragile, damaged body working its way back from the brink. Mulder seemed to be spending more than his fair share of time in the starring role these days.

Scully wheeled right past him to the window where she fumbled through folds of heavy fabric looking for the wand that would open the drapes. "If they want you to wake up, keeping the room dark is the wrong approach."

They should have the television on, she thought. A radio, at least. He needed the white noise to calm his mind, whether he was trying to sleep or wake up.

She found the pull for the drapes and opened them wide. His window faced the rolling hills behind the hospital, a snow-white landscape striped with the shadows of leafless trees, topped by a stark, blue sky. Somewhere beyond those hills was a lake... She rubbed her hands up and down suddenly chilled arms and turned back to Mulder.

He lay on his back, his head turned slightly toward the window so that the sun fell on his closed eyelids. If he opened them right now, it would hurt. "Here, let me help you." She moved close to the bed, then discovered she couldn't reach his face. It took a moment to find the controls and lower the bed.

"There, that's better." She touched him for the first time since they'd been rescued, laying her fingertips gently against his cheek to turn his face back toward the door, away from the glaring sunlight. Chilly as her fingers still were, his skin felt cool beneath them. He didn't react to her touch or the movement.

Sitting here with the sun beating against her back felt wonderful, but she needed to be where he could see her. With more reluctance than she was willing to admit, she wheeled herself around to the other side of the bed to take up her vigil.

She parked the wheelchair against the bed and set the brake. Then, she carefully picked up his limp, right hand and brought it to her cheek, seeking as well as offering comfort.

"You have to wake up, Mulder. I'm supposed to be in bed myself, but I'm not moving from this spot until you tell me to. How's that for laying on the guilt? You see, I'm willing to use any and all means necessary to get your attention." That was a little too close to the truth, she realized. Especially given their recent circumstances.

"But I guess you really don't know that, do you? It's hard for me to keep that in mind, sometimes, that you don't really know anything about me anymore." Again, too much honesty.

The case. Neutral territory. "I wonder how you figured out that Michael was the killer. How you knew to follow her out there. You saved my life, Mulder. Again." She smiled at his still face, hoping against hope for a response. "I guess I should thank you, but I prefer to have your full attention when I do it. That means you have to be awake."

His hand was getting very heavy. She lowered it gently to the bed, wrapping it in both of hers. For long minutes, she just watched him breathe. There was so much strength in him, even like this. He seemed to exude it in great, warm waves that always gave her such a sense of peace and safety... Oh, how he'd love to hear that thought expressed aloud.

But she couldn't afford to tell him, could she? It wasn't the way they operated. Ever.

But... why? What was the point of continuing to hide from someone who was no longer looking?

"We hide from each other because that's who we are," she whispered the words to herself, loud enough for him to hear, if he wanted to. "It's the only way we know."

But that wasn't true, was it? It was the only way she knew. Even after she'd stopped pretending she didn't love him, that part didn't change.

Mulder had never really tried to hide from her. In the beginning, he had been cautious, and with good reason-- but he had never pretended to be something he wasn't. "If anything, you need to practice a bit more discretion. It's not always necessary to say everything that's on your mind, you know."

But that wasn't true, either. He wouldn't be Mulder without that brash honesty. "You might spend less time in hospital beds," she told him with a wry smile, "but the fire that makes you unique is fueled by your flaws as much as your gifts."

He was fire, and she was... ice?

He was open to extreme possibilities, and she followed along behind him, closing doors.

He was passion, and she was...

Stop it. He loves you.

Or, he did.

He does.

When things had changed between them-- God, she still had a hard time even thinking the words-- when they had become lovers, it had come about so naturally that there hadn't been time to second guess herself. It was afterward that she had started to ask the question that still tormented her.

She had been afraid for a long time that it was just the thrill of the chase that held the attraction for him. She had been certain that once she gave in to his silent seduction, the only lure she had would be spent.

It was impossible to imagine now how she could ever have thought so little of him. Mulder had had no problem making the transition from best friend to bedmate. He'd approached their evolving relationship the way he did everything in his life, with the same unrestrained passion and enthusiasm; the same hell-bent, no-holds-barred tenacity that drove him to seek the truth at any cost.

Being the focus of such energy was intimidating as hell. As much as she loved him, trying to match his intensity was sometimes too much to contemplate.

And then he lost his memory, and some small part of her enjoyed a fleeting instant of relief that was immediately smothered with guilt.

Nothing like twelve years of Catholic school to hone that mea culpa reflex.

She could hear those words in Mulder's voice so clearly that she glanced up at his lips, expecting to see them in motion.

"Twelve years of Catholic school is no joking matter," she answered her own thought.

And then, he really did make a sound. A soft hum, deep in his throat, followed by a faint movement. His head turned very slightly toward her. She gave his hand an adrenaline-fueled squeeze that elicited another moan. This time, it was unmistakable.

"Mulder? Can you hear me?" She moved from the chair to the edge of his bed and leaned in close. "Mulder, it's me." She stroked his cool cheek and spoke softly, lips brushing his ear. "Come on, sleepy head. You need to wake up so we can go home."

She remained in that position, her cheek against his, listening to his breaths quicken and grow shallow with returning awareness. The heart monitor's beeps speeded up, and she smiled against his neck. "You can't play possum when you're hooked up to the monitors, Mulder."

He cleared his throat with a soft rasp. "I was really getting into this true confessions moment," he told her in a husky whisper that was warm against her cheek.

Scully straightened up to get a look at him. Deep green eyes peered at her between droopy lids.

"Welcome back, Mulder."

"Cold." He was losing the battle with those heavy lids.

"I know. Me, too. It will get better in a few days."

Mulder shook his head faintly. "Share body heat. Both feel better." He pushed at the blankets, and she knew exactly what he was asking.

"Mulder, your leg is injured. I don't want to hurt you."

His eyes were closed again, but he was smiling. "You won't."

But I have, so many times.

"Scully, stop thinking."

She actually startled. "Mulder, stop reading my mind."

He lifted the blankets on the left side of his bed. She walked around and got in.

"They're going to throw me out of here, you know," she told him as she stretched herself against his left side. He was still a long way from warm.

"Better not," he mumbled, already halfway back to sleep.

"I'll tell them you said so," she whispered against his neck, pulling the blankets up to cover them both. She matched her breathing to his, and followed him into sleep.

* * *

Concludes in the epilogue