Rifts
by Lovesfox
lovesfox@rogers.com

Headers in Part 1

~*~*~
Part 2 of 4

Day 2 
A Few Hours Later

Mulder's Apartment
Arlington, VA
9:20 pm


Scully walked steadily down the dim hallway to Mulder's 
apartment.  Her mother would have described the look on 
her face as mutinous, and would have been correct.  She
*was* about to revolt.

It was time to beard the lion in his den.

And she knew this particular lion was home -- his car was
in its usual spot, and she had seen the eerie, blue glow
of his television shining in his window.

Three short, sharp raps on his door, which went unanswered.
Scully hesitated, unconsciously leaning closer to the 
wood surface in an attempt to discern if there were any
sounds emanating from within.  There were none.

Frustration and annoyance flickered across her face, and 
with an angry sigh, she retrieved her keys from her pocket. 
Flipping through them, she located the one to his apartment 
and fit it into the lock.

She entered into near-blackness, hesitating once again, 
just inside the door.  Mulder had apparently turned his
television off, most likely after she had knocked.  Despite
this, she closed the door firmly and ventured forth.

Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she easily located Mulder's
still form slouched on his sofa.  Realizing with a huff of
irritation that he was not going to acknowledge her presence,
Scully bit back the sarcastic comment on the tip of her 
tongue, and moved around the coffee table to perch on the
edge of the couch.  Beside him, but not touching.

Before she could even open her mouth to speak, Mulder had
bounded off the couch, and over to stare at his fish tank.

Gritting her teeth, Scully slowly stood, though she did not
move any further.  "Mulder," she said.  "How long are you
going to behave this way?"  Swallowing the sudden surprising
lump in her throat, she continued.  "How long are you going
to give me the silent treatment?"

He did not look at her, or reply.  He just continued to 
study his fish as if he had never seen them before.

She tried again, speaking louder, her hands clenching and
unclenching at her sides.  "Mulder!  Would you at least 
look at me?"

Still nothing.

Irritation mutated into anger.  Stalking over to where
he stood, she curled her hand around his bicep, tugging
none too gently to try and turn him towards her.

He resisted for a moment, his arm flexing beneath her
grasp, before his head whipped around, and she experienced
the full, heated force of his glare.

Startled, she released him, and actually took a step back.
His look turned contemptuous, as if disgusted, or affronted,
that her actions might imply she thought he was capable of 
hurting her, and he turned and brushed past her, heading
towards his kitchen.

"Mulder! Jesus, I'm sorry!" she blurted out, taking a step
after him.  Her voice was jarring in the quiet of the dark 
apartment, otherwise broken only by the bubbling of the 
fish tank.  And the sound of her heart thudding far too 
loudly in her ears.

Scully watched his steps falter momentarily, but he 
continued on, disappearing from her sight as he went 
through the doorway.  Anger warred with her instinct 
to go after him, and she took another half-step forward 
before stopping, biting her lip in consternation. 

The sound of the fridge door being yanked open came then, 
followed by a bright flash of fluorescent light.  Odd 
noises led her to assume Mulder had gotten a drink.  A 
moment later there was a small thud -- she imagined him 
slamming the bottle or carton of whatever back onto the 
shelf -- and then the thunk of the fridge door closing, 
the bright light gone.  Returning the apartment to its 
previous near-darkness.

When he walked back into the room -- or perhaps 'stalked' 
described his stride more aptly -- she tried again, keeping 
her voice level.  Calm.  "Mulder, could we talk?  Please?"

That got a response.  Though not much of one.

He flicked a glance very briefly at her face, avoiding 
her eyes, and moved back over to stare at his fish tank 
again.  A second later he did speak though, his voice low 
and gruff.  "Scully, I'm asking you to leave it alone for 
now.  To go home and give me some time."

"But, Mulder-"  she started to protest, moving a few steps
closer to him.

"Scully!" he almost yelled, his head swiveling to pin her 
in place with another hot glare.  His body followed as he 
sucked in a sharp breath, his face twisting in a grimace, 
before he spoke again, with more restraint.  "Jesus Christ, 
Scully..."  Another noisy, deep breath.  "Just.  Let.  It. 
Go."

But she couldn't.  The wound had festered.  "No, Mulder!"
she exclaimed.  "I won't leave and let you sit here and
brood.  We need to talk about this."

"Yes, we do, but not *now*!" he barked back, his upper 
body leaning forward with the intensity of his words. 
"Right now, Scully, I am too angry with you to talk about 
it.  I don't want to say something I might regret."

"Mulder, that's a cop-out!"

His lips actually pulled back in a snarl to reveal his 
teeth.  "Scully, don't push me."  A clear warning.

One she did not heed.  "Or what?" she challenged, chin 
lifting, her eyes narrowed to angry slits.  A part of 
her was hesitant at proceeding this way, at 'pushing' 
him as he had told her not to.  But another part of her,
the stubborn, angry part, was thinking that at last she 
was getting somewhere.

He straightened, his face going carefully blank.  "Fine,"
he said.  "You want to hear it?"  Walking up to her, he
leaned down again, bringing them almost nose to nose.

Attempting to intimidate her, to crowd her, Scully thought 
to herself.  She had to arch back slightly in order to nod 
her head.

   Mulder leaned in even further, each word biting.  "You 
shouldn't have gone with him, Scully."

Although that was true, it stung to hear him say the
words.  "Mulder, I can take care of myself," she uttered, 
a bit defensively.  "I'm a big girl."

"Maybe so, Scully, but that man cannot be trusted!"

"Is that what this is really all about, Mulder?" she
whispered, suddenly deflating.  "Trust?"  There was a 
pain in her chest, in her heart.  "You don't trust me?"

"To be honest, Scully," he replied coldly, "right now I 
don't trust your judgment."

Hearing him admit to a lack of trust stirred her anger 
anew.  "Why?  Because I went without asking for your 
permission?"  she asked with a sneering emphasis.

"Yes, damn it!" he snapped back, and then looked 
startled that he had said the words.

Back to the old, tired need of his to 'protect' her. 

"I was *fine*, Mulder!" she hissed.  Her usage of that 
word was deliberate, she knew how he hated it.  She 
refused to think about that morning when she had woken 
up in pajamas she did not recall changing into, in a 
bed she could not recall walking to.  A sardonic voice 
in her head reminded her that she had not been 'fine' 
then.

She watched with some satisfaction as his expression
hardened, then smoothed out to reveal nothing.  "I 
think you should go now, Scully," he said, though his 
tone indicated there was no thought necessary -- he 
wanted her out.

"No, Mulder," she responded, shaking her head for 
emphasis.  "We should finish this."

The look he flicked at her was caustic, and then he was
giving her his back, moving away from her.  To grab his 
basketball from where it was lying on his desk.

Scully bent her head and stared down at the neatly tied 
laces of her running shoes, teeth sinking painfully into 
her bottom lip to hold in a scream of anger and 
frustration.  She was so close to walking out of his 
apartment and out of his life, and never looking back.

Only her certainty that this was what he wanted -- for 
her to walk out so he could twist it all around and make 
this her fault -- kept her there.

Raising her head again, she looked at his shadowy figure, 
watched him spinning the basketball loosely in his hands.
The mindless, *deliberate* activity irked her, and had 
her moving.

At the exact moment he started to dribble the ball.

She lunged forward to grab at his arm, just as he lifted 
it up, his elbow bent and pointed slightly upward, in her 
direction. 

In her sneakers, their height difference was more obvious, 
and her face was level with his upraised arm.  Or more 
precisely, the bridge of her nose was level with his elbow.

They collided solidly.

White-hot pain splintered through her nose, her eyes, her
very skull.  Bending at the waist, she staggered back a 
few steps, her hands flying up to cradle her face. 

Covering her face...containing the sudden flow of blood.

Scully was only vaguely aware of Mulder's curse, and the 
surprise contained in the harshly uttered word, but the 
thud of his basketball hitting the hardwood floor was 
enormously loud, and echoed horribly.  It bounced away, 
each individual rebound mocking in its slow motion 
journey across the floor.

His hand touched her then, gripping her upper arm. "Jesus,
Scully -" he started to say. 

But the pain and shock made her behavior irrational.  She
roughly pulled free of his grasp -- actually turned away 
from him -- and his voice died off.

This time it was he who followed her.  His hand came back,
more hesitant, lightly touching her shoulder.  "Scully?"

Her body tensed, and she shied from him once more.  Her
response was automatic, and gruffly uttered.  A tired 
standby.  *That* hated word again.  "I'm fine."  With
cutting, deliberate emphasis on each word.

She heard him say something harshly, possibly an angry
expletive, and then nothing further.

Long moments passed.  Scully was aware of no other effort
from Mulder to touch her, or speak to her.

Feeling dizzy, light-headed, she let herself drop to her
knees, barely acknowledging the twin flashes of pain when 
her body impacted on the hardwood floor.  With her hands 
still over her face, covered in thick, wet blood, she lost 
her balance, and fell back on her rear end.

Despite the fact she had spurned his help just seconds 
ago, she fully expected Mulder to bring her a towel.  Or 
to try and help her onto the couch or into his bathroom. 

When no such aid came, she mumbled his name questioningly, 
tasting blood in the back of her throat.  It made her gag.

Fearing she would choke, she coughed.  Once she started,
she could not stop.  Each harsh, forceful expulsion sent
fresh waves of agony throughout her face.  Panicked, she
gasped for air.  Began to hyperventilate.

And still, Mulder did not come.

Scully knew she had to get her breathing under control or
she could pass out.  With undetermined facial injuries,
and blood still flowing, that could be very dangerous. 
She forced herself to breathe more slowly and evenly 
through her half-opened mouth.

When the spasms finally stopped, she lowered one hand to
the floor for support, heedless of the blood, while she 
slid the other one lower to cup over her nose, uncovering
her eyes.  Cautiously opening them, flinching at the 
throbbing that action caused, she carefully turned her 
head to look for Mulder.

The room was empty.  And somehow she just knew he was no
longer in the apartment. 

That he had left her alone and injured.

Mulder had *left* her.  Incredulity and disbelief swept 
through her -- that he would abandon her like this.  But 
he had. 

It did not occur to her then that he might not have seen 
her face, might not have realized she was hurt.  That he
had truly believed her emphatic avowal that she was fine.

Shoulders slumping further, Scully ducked her head down, 
immediately regretting doing so when her stomach twisted 
with nausea. 

Lifting her head very slowly, she swallowed the saliva 
that had gathered in her mouth and tasted blood anew. 
Nausea rose higher, until it was touching the back of her 
throat.  Despite the pain it caused her, she moved until 
she was on her hands and knees, head once again hanging 
down, body shuddering with heaves. 

Shivering with a sudden chill, her arms and legs trembling
with the effort of holding herself up, she collapsed in 
a heap. 

Pain ratcheted through her head and nose, and she moaned
softly.  She had to get up, needed to tend to her injury.
Maybe take something for it, and the nausea.

Gathering all her strength, her teeth gritted and her 
right hand squeezed into a tight fist, she managed to 
stagger upright.  Only to take a few steps and crumple 
to her knees again when dizziness had her vision graying.

She needed help.

Wanting only to lie down, she forced herself to concentrate.
Who could she call?  As always, her first instinct was to 
call Mulder.  But not this time.  He was gone, and she had
no idea where.  She could not call 9-1-1, there would be 
too many questions.  Questions she was unwilling to answer. 
Her mother was out of town, and Skinner...Skinner would 
have questions of his own.

The Gunmen. 

Calling them would serve two purposes -- she needed help, 
and she needed to find Mulder.

But first she had to find his phone.  She turned her head 
very slowly, bracing herself for the flash of pain she 
knew would come.  The cautionary movement helped, somewhat. 
Searching the room, she spied Mulder's cellular on the 
corner of his desk.  Only three feet away.

Three feet that felt like three miles by the time she 
managed to regain her footing and stagger over to clumsily 
grasp the phone with one blood-sticky hand.  Unfortunately 
she had to release her nose to turn the phone on and dial 
the Gunmen's number, feeling the slow trickle of blood 
oozing down her lips and chin.

Ring. 

The sound was tinny -- or was that her hearing? 

Pressing the phone harder to her ear, Scully swayed, 
then fell into Mulder's desk chair.  There were some 
paper napkins from a past take-out meal there, so she 
grabbed them up.  First swiping them over her lips, 
she then held them gingerly to her nose, to try and 
stem the now sluggish flow of blood.

"The Lone Gunmen," she finally heard.  Frohike.

Opening her mouth to speak, she coughed instead.

"Lone Gunmen," Frohike repeated.  Annoyance tinged his 
tones.  She imagined his hand poised to disconnect the 
call.

"Frohike," she croaked out, her voice sounding clogged. 
"It's Scully.  Turn off the tape."  Nasal, and thick.

Instant attention, and concern.  "Scully, what's 
wrong?"

Surprisingly, tears stung her eyes.  She blinked 
rapidly, then winced.  Doing so made them sting 
even more. 

"Listen, can you guys...come to Mulder's place?" 
Scully asked, her voice hitching.  "I need...I need 
a favor."

"We're there, Scully."  Click.

No questions asked. 

Fresh tears rose, and this time she let them roll 
down her cheeks.  She sniffled, and could not help 
the low moan that escaped because of the resultant 
pain that radiated from her nose. 

After one last, careful dab at her nostrils, Scully 
lowered the soiled napkin, noting with relief that 
the bleeding seemed to have stopped.  However, she 
was a mess, with blood drying on her hands, and no 
doubt her face, and liberally covering the front of 
her sweatshirt.  She should clean herself up, she 
didn't want to unduly alarm the guys when they got 
there. 

Slowly, she rose to her feet, her legs shaky.  One 
hand went to the desk for support, as she waited to 
see if her body was going to cooperate, and let her 
walk without falling.  Or passing out.

She made it to the bathroom without incident, having 
placed each step carefully, and with her hands 
outstretched in front of her in case she stumbled. 
Standing at the sink, staring down at the white 
porcelain, she hesitated before lifting her eyes to 
meet those of her reflection.

Despite the evidence of bloodshed, and her medical 
background, she was still startled by her appearance. 
Her nose was already swelling and turning purple, her 
eyes were puffy and reddened, and there was drying 
blood all over her face and the front of her 
sweatshirt.

Wincing, already half-suspecting that her nose was 
broken, she looked down again, unable to see her own 
bruised face any longer.  Holding onto the edge of the 
sink with one hand, she turned on the taps with the 
other, letting her fingers flutter under the flow of 
water, waiting for it to warm.

Surprisingly there was a washcloth hanging on the towel 
rack to the right of the sink, neatly folded next to a 
hand towel.  After soaking the cloth thoroughly in the 
warm water, Scully took a deep, albeit shaky, breath, 
and slowly lifted her head to look in the mirror once 
more.  Somehow managing to study her injuries clinically. 
Dispassionately. 

Avoiding looking herself directly in the eye, knowing 
she would break down if she did, she brought the wet 
cloth up and began at her forehead.  She wiped gently 
at the splatters on her pale skin, noting with a shiver 
that there was even blood in her hair, stiff and tacky. 

Her nose started to throb in spite of the care she took 
in cleaning around her nostrils.  She had to stop for a 
second and wait for it to subside before continuing with 
the rest of her face, and her neck, rinsing the cloth 
out several times in the process.

By the time she had gotten the dried blood from underneath
her fingernails, the Gunmen had arrived.

Mulder had either not locked the door behind him, or they
had their own key -- both were possibilities.  Whatever the
case, she heard someone enter the apartment, and her heart 
started to thud, before Frohike's voice called out 
worriedly,  "Mulder?  Scully?"

Just as quickly as that, there was a second face in the 
mirror.  Frohike, his eyes huge behind the lenses of his
glasses.  Noises just outside the bathroom door indicated 
that his partners in crime were at his heels.

"Scully...?" Frohike exclaimed, his face revealing his 
shock.  "What the hell happened to you..." his voice faded
off, and then came back, stronger and louder.  "Where the 
hell is Mulder?"

The other two crowded against his back, so that all three 
were now staring at her with identical expressions of 
dismay, or horror. 

Byers spoke next, before she could reply to Frohike. 
"Agent Scully?" he asked.  Although he was unable to drop 
the formality, the concern was clearly there.  "Are you 
all right?"

"Whoa."  Langly, as astute as ever.  "Um...I'll go get 
some ice."

"I'm fine, guys," Scully answered at last, the soiled 
cloth falling into the sink with a soft, wet plop.  She 
turned towards them, removing her hand from the edge of 
the sink at the same time, and wavered a bit, feeling 
light-headed.

"Scully!" both Frohike and Byers exclaimed at the same
time.  Hands grabbed her arms, held her steady.

Embarrassed and ashamed at the sign of weakness, she 
repeated herself.  Although the words came out as a 
whisper, they were unintentionally spoken with some 
asperity.  "I'm *fine*, guys."

The hands left her, and the two of them retreated back 
a step.

Frohike inhaled with a sharp, whistling breath then, 
as Byers gasped.  "Scully...what...Jesus, who did...
who did this to you?" the shorter man got out haltingly, 
his disbelief obvious.  Two pairs of eyes were focused 
on the blood covering her sweatshirt.

Scully opened her mouth to reply, but could not find the
words.  How could she explain what had happened, explain
the very evident injury?  That it had been an accident?
What could she tell them of Mulder's absence?

Somehow, Frohike intuited that it was Mulder who had hurt
her.  "Scully," he said, now meeting her eyes.  He had
straightened to his full height, his chest swelled with
what she took to be his anger and indignation.  Or perhaps
his protective instinct at the forefront.  "Where is Mul-
Where the hell did that bastard go?" he hissed.

"I...I don't know," she confessed.  Suddenly overwhelmed,
she struggled not to cry.  Biting her lip, she ducked her
head down, staring at a drop of blood on the toe of one
sneaker.

Frohike barked out an expletive, and her head shot up,
sending a fresh wave of light-headedness through her 
body.  He was leaving, most likely intending to hunt
Mulder down and...she was afraid to think of what he 
might do.  She couldn't let him go without hearing what 
had happened.  "Frohike, wait!" she cried out, and 
stepped after him.

Byers immediately grabbed one of her arms again, and she
flicked him a glance of thanks.  He stepped back another
two steps, and assisted her out of the bathroom, after
Frohike, who was standing a few feet away with his fists
clenched and a scowl on his face.

Langly joined their uneasy trio then, holding up a bulky-
shaped tea towel in one hand.  "Ice," he said unnecessarily.
He looked from her face to her bloodstained chest, his 
eyebrows rising above the thick rims of his glasses, then 
to Byers' hand on her arm, and finally to Frohike.  "What 
gives?"

"Mulder!" Frohike snarled, his lip curling.

"Dude?" Langly uttered.  He gestured at Scully, his face
blanching.  "Mulder did this?"

"It was an accident!" Scully blurted out.  "I moved...just
as Mulder lifted his arm, and..."  her voice faded away
weakly.  Both her voice and her story sounded pathetic in 
her ears.  She had also left out the part about Mulder 
ignoring her all day, and the fact that he had been about 
to dribble his basketball at the time.  And that she 
thought she had been partially to blame, for digging and 
digging when he had told her to leave it alone.  It all 
made the story sound much worse.

"If it was an accident, then where the hell is-"

"Agent Scully, you should sit down," Byers broke in loudly,
cutting Frohike off in mid-sentence.  The voice of reason. 

Scully watched him shake his head minutely at Frohike, 
caught the little man's pained, angry grimace, and then 
Byers was tugging gently on her arm.  She allowed him to 
guide her to Mulder's couch, where she sat down with 
relief.

The other two Gunmen followed them, Frohike swearing and 
mumbling not quite under his breath.  She was able to make
out snippets of his comments.  Heard 'Can't believe he did 
that to her, Mulder wouldn't...' and 'Bastard' and 'How 
could he leave her?'

Langly awkwardly attempted to bring the makeshift ice bag
to her face then, and Scully instinctively flinched back, 
before he could make contact.  "Uh, here," he mumbled, and 
thrust it towards her.  When she had taken the wrapped ice 
from him, he moved back to stand a few feet away, looking 
uncomfortable and ill at ease.

"Thank-you, Langly," she murmured, and gingerly held it
against the bridge of her nose, shivering as goose bumps 
rippled over her flesh in reaction to the icy coldness. 
She tried not to think of the numbing pain from it as 
well, knowing she needed the ice to keep the swelling at 
a minimum.

The silence was heavy, broken only by the occasional foot 
shuffling, and the creaking of Frohike's leather vest.

She was wondering how long they would stand there and wait
for her to speak, when Frohike took the initiative.

"Scully, what do you want us to do?" he asked.

Soft thuds indicated he had walked over to stand closer 
to her.  Lowering the ice pack, she held back a wince and 
opened her eyes to meet his.  "Find him," she said simply.

"Frohike and Langly will go look for Mulder," Byers spoke
then.  "I'm taking you to the hospital."  His tone, while
modulated and even, brooked no argument.

She resisted however.  "That's not necessary," she told 
him.  "I'm fine, I just need to go home and lie down." 
It was a little white lie, she wasn't fine, but she really
didn't want to go to the hospital.  There would be many
questions asked there as well.

"Scully-" Byers said in protest.  Her name was quickly
repeated twice more, once each by Frohike and then Langly,
with equal concern.

"Guys," she said loudly, wincing inwardly at the pain that
shot through her head.  "Really, I'm fine."  To prove it,
she started to rise from the couch.

And promptly fell back into the cushions when her vision
grayed again.

This time her name was chorused in a trio of concern.

Byers then said, "Agent Scully, I must insist that you 
allow me to take you to the hospital."  Earnest, determined.

Unthinkingly, Scully brought her hand up to pinch the 
bridge of her nose, and had to stifle a moan of pain.

"Please, Scully?" 

Hearing Frohike's quietly spoken plea, she acquiesced.
"Let's go," she said simply.

Frohike sprang forward and offered her his hand, while 
Byers came to her other side, hovering uncertainly. 
Langly remained where he was, watchful.

Sliding forward slowly, Scully placed her left hand in 
the little man's finger-less gloved left one, and pushed 
up as he pulled.  With too much force on both their parts, 
as it turned out, for she once again wavered.

His grip tightened as his other hand came up to clasp
her arm, while Byers grabbed the elbow of her other arm,
murmuring, "Easy, we've got you," as if she were a 
skittish horse. 

Scully thought, vaguely, that she should be offended. 
Instead, their attention was strangely comforting.

The tea towel had fallen to the floor, but thankfully 
had not spilled open to deposit ice cubes everywhere. 
When the three of them had shuffled around the coffee 
table, Langly darted in and retrieved the bundle, 
mumbling, "I've got it."

They left Mulder's apartment in an awkward group, Langly
again saying he had it and then locking the door behind
them, to make their way outside.

There was an awkward pause as they stood by the Gunmen's
decrepit-looking van, and then Scully tugged free of 
Byers' grasp to dig her car keys out of her pocket, 
handing them to the bespectacled man.  "You and I can go 
in my car," she said, sounding nasal again.

Frohike released her arm, reluctantly it seemed, and 
muttered, "We'll find him.  Give you a call."

His tone indicated he might do a lot more to Mulder when
he did find him, but she was too tired and in too much
pain to care at that point.  Barely nodding in response,
she allowed Byers to take her elbow once more to guide
her to her car.

~~~

Arlington Hospital
Arlington, VA
12:25 am


Scully had sat for over an hour in the emergency 
department waiting room after registering with the 
triage nurse at the front desk.  Byers had been a 
steady, silent presence at her side the entire time.

When the nurse had called her name, he had been quick 
to rise from the hard, plastic chair.  His hand had 
curled around her upper arm, solicitously helping her 
to her feet, walking with her to the examination cubicle 
where she now currently lay, an ice pack over her nose, 
her body huddled under several blankets.  Awaiting the 
results of the x-rays that had been ordered by the ER 
doctor, and completed a short time ago.

Byers had waited with her until the doctor had come, 
and then had stepped out while she had been examined.

Missing all the questions the doctor had asked to 
check her higher mental functions.

Do you know where you are?  What day is it?  What year 
is it?  Who is the current President of the United 
States? 

Her answers had come correctly, and without hesitation, 
her voice steady, if somewhat clogged.  Scully had 
smothered her irritation as well, knowing it was 
necessary.

The questions had become a little more difficult then, 
for she had to explain how she had been injured.  She 
had managed to gloss over the fine details, carefully 
revealing only that a friend had been dribbling his 
basketball and she had gotten too close. 

It was true, in a roundabout sort of way. 

The doctor had held her gaze for a moment before he 
nodded, then had informed her he was ordering a series 
of x-rays.

Byers had re-entered the room once the doctor had left, 
to wait with her until the orderly had cometo take her 
to the X-ray Department.  The lone Gunman was currently 
out in the lobby, trying once again to reach Langly or 
Frohike, to check for news on Mulder.

At his last call to them, roughly an hour ago,there had 
been nothing to report. 

Fresh out of suggestions for places to check, she tried 
not to let her mind run amok, and imagineall sorts of 
frightening possibilities.

The curtain around her gurney swished noisily then, 
and Scully reached up to remove the ice bag, dragging 
her eyes open to see who was there.

It was Dr. Phillips, the ER attending, carrying what was 
presumably her chart and the envelope with her films.

Once upon a time, before the X-Files, and before Mulder, 
she might have been interested in such a man -- amusing, 
good-looking, with a wonderful bedside manner.

But this was now, and she wasn't the person she had been 
back then. 

"Hello, Dr. Scully," Dr. Phillips said, when he saw that 
she was awake.  "I've got your x-rays right here," he 
said next as he moved over to stand to herleft. 

Tucking her chart under one arm, he pulled one of the 
films from its protective sleeve.  Holding it up towards 
the light, he tapped at it with the end of his pen. 
"It's as you suspected, you've got a broken nose.  The 
orbital bones are fine, however."

Scully shivered slightly as she stared at the scan of 
her face and skull.  Remembering another time when she 
had stared at the very same image.  Only then there had 
been something more to her x-ray. 

Her tumor.

The doctor's voice pulled Scully from her morbid 
melancholy.

"There will be bruising, as I'm sure you are aware, and 
the swelling will most likely remain for several days. 
Ice is recommended, as is Tylenol for thepain."  He 
tucked the film back inside the envelope and laid it at 
the foot of the gurney, then began reading her chart 
over. 

"Normally I would advise the patient to remain here
under observation with a concussion, but yours is 
very mild, and your protestations have been noted," 
he said after a moment.  He lifted his head to meet 
her gaze, a slight smile on his lips.  "Your very 
vehement protests, I might add." 

She did not return his smile, merely waited for him to 
continue.  She had expected some form of resistance 
about her not remaining for observation once diagnosed 
with a mild concussion, but was fully prepared to sign 
out AMA if necessary.

Dr. Phillips cleared his throat then, looking somewhat
uncomfortable.  "Uh, well, Dr. Scully, that's it for 
me, then.  The nurse will be in shortly with your
discharge instructions."  He started to turn away,
stopped, then said, "Take care of yourself."

"Thank-you, Dr. Phillips," Scully said, letting her 
lips curve just slightly.  Once he had left, pulling 
the curtain closed behind him, she shoved the blanket 
down and swung her legs around to dangle over the edge 
of the gurney. 

Sitting up had made her feel just a little woozy, soshe 
remained seated for the moment.

By the time she had carefully eased herself off the
gurney to stand shakily on the floor, the nurse arrived.

Together they got her sneakers on and laced, and then
the helpful woman was handing her two sheets of paper
with post-trauma care for her broken nose and concussion.
The nurse remained beside her as Scully walked out of 
theroom, ensuring she was stable.

Byers was back at his post, and immediately stepped
forward and offered his arm.

Tired and sore, Scully did not refuse the assistance,
and they made their way slowly through the emergency
department and outside to her car.

Once in the cool night air, Scully murmured hopefully, 
"Anything?"

Byers' voice was solemn and quiet.  "Not yet."

~~~
End Part 2 of 4