Uncommon Cold, and the Cure for the Uncommon Cold (two parts)
Written by Surreal (feedback!!:  surreal666@hotmail.com)
Rating:  PG
Archive:  Anyplace, anytime
Disclaimer:  Not mine, just a variation on a theme
Spoilers:  Post Requiem
Summery:  The Gunmen try to help 

July 6th, 2000
Lone Gunmen Headquarters
6:20pm 

    Well, here I am again.  Twice in two days, I'm standing
at the heavy metal door to the Lone Gunmen's office/home,
waiting for one of them to unlatch all those deadbolts and 
chains to let me in.  Since Mulder's been gone, I've found
myself at their place more often than I ever thought 
possible.  They may drive me crazy sometimes, but they are 
still our closest friends and the only people we can completely
trust.  
    "Hey, Scully.  Come on in,"  Langly greets me pleasantly.  
I walk past him into the cluttered main office; I can hear him
locking the door behind me.  
    Frohike is seated in front of one of the computers on the
worktable.  He raises his head and smiles at me when I walk
up.  "Hello, Scully.  Couldn't stay away, huh?"
    I sigh.  "Skinner practically threw me out of the office.
I wasn't getting anywhere, anyway.  Any satellite photos
taken over Oregon that night are locked down, classified
by the CIA.  Not even Skinner can get access."  
    Frohike and Langly nod silently, understanding the 
frustration of not being able to get any information about
what happened the night Mulder disappeared.  
    After a moment of silence, I look around, feeling like I'm
missing something.  Ah..."Where's Byers?"
    The guys exchange a look, half concern and half...I 
can't tell, exactly.  Amusement?
    "He's holed up in the back room.  He was up all of last 
night searching online newspaper articles," Langly explains.
    Frohike picks up the story.  "This afternoon he said he 
was feeling sick, so he grabbed a laptop and has been back 
there since then."
    Sigh.  Great;  they are as bad as Mulder and I about 
getting so absorbed in work that they start to ignore their
health.  "Is he okay?  Have you guys checked on him?"
    There's that look again;  this time, more frustrated than
amused.  Frohike answers, "We tried; every time we go to
check on him he tells us to go away."  
    Langly shrugs.  "We don't know what else to do."
    "All right, I'll try to talk to him," I say, not knowing
what I've stepped into.
    I stride across the office to the closed door to the small
room that I consider their "living room".  I knock softly on
the door, and wait a moment.  Silence.  I knock again;  
"Byers?" I call.  
    After a second a muffled voice finally responds.  "Go 
away, Langly, or I'll kick your ass."
    It's all I can do not to laugh.  I don't know what's funnier;
the thought of Byers kicking ANYone's ass, or the fact that
his voice sounds so pathetic that I can't imagine him even
being able to stand up under his own power.  
    "I'm not Langly, Byers.  It's Scully, and I'm coming in," I 
warn him.  
    I push the door open and stand in the doorframe.  Well,
this is a Byers I've never seen before.  He's (kind of) sitting 
sideways on the couch, his legs stretched out in front
of him, his upper body and head leaning heavily on his left
side against the back of the couch.  He's got the computer
resting on his lap, his hands laying on the keyboard but not
moving.  What strikes me most unusual is his clothing;  
he's wearing dark blue sweatpants and what appears to be 
one of Langly's black hard rock t-shirts.  Man, he must 
really be sick to be reduced to that.
    Shaking off my initial amazement, I walk over to him
and crouch next to the couch and look up at him.  He
reluctantly opens his eyes and looks down at me.  "Hi,
Scully," he greets me weakly.  
    "How are you feeling, John?" I ask him gently, fully
aware that he won't tell me the truth, because he's a guy
and that's what guys do.
    "I'm okay," he says, giving me a shaky smile.  I can 
see he is considerably less that 'okay'.  His eyes are 
glassy, his face flushed and upon closer inspection,
his hands are shaking.  
    "You're lying," I tell him.  I reach up and place my 
hand on his forehead; he's burning up.  Moving my
hand down, I press my fingers against his throat to 
check his pulse.  He winces at the contact.  His pulse 
is faster than it should be.
    "Byers, you're sick.  Have you taken anything?  
Aspirin?"
    He shakes his head slightly.  "Allergic to aspirin," 
he mumbles.  
    "John, you need to take care of yourself," I reprimand
him.  I pull the laptop away from him and set it on the 
short table next to the couch.  I turn around and call out
the open door.  "Frohike?"
    I can hear rapid, thumping footfalls and the short man
sticks his head in the door.  "Scully?" he asks, looking at
Byers with new concern.
    "Do you guys have any Tylenol or anything without
aspirin?"  He nods.  "Can you bring it here, and some 
water?"  He nods again, and disappears.  
    I turn back to Byers, who appears to be fighting his
exhaustion.  I take his hand; I notice the shaking is not 
from weakness as much as from the chills.  There is a 
blanket piled at the foot of the couch;  I grab it and pull
it up over his legs and hands.  
    "Thanks," he whispers, keeping his eyes closed.
    Frohike returns with a container of pills and a glass
of water, with Langly following close behind.  
    I shake two Tylenol into my hand and place them in
Byers' hand.  He considers them for a moment, then 
places them in his mouth.  He reaches for the water, 
but I can tell he's shaking too badly to hold onto it.  I 
raise the glass to his lips and let him take a sip.  His 
painful grimace tells me that his throat is sore, too.  
I make him take another drink of water, then set the 
glass on the table.  
    Byers sniffs and sags against the couch.  Okay, he 
needs to get some sleep before he simply passes out.  
I gently push his shoulder back to get him to lay down. 
He tries to resist, mumbling, "Mmmm...no, have to find 
Mulder..."
    "He's delusional," Frohike says flatly.
    "No, he's exhausted," I counter.  Finally Byers
gives in and lays back, resting his head against the 
arm of the couch.  I pull the blanket the rest of the 
way up to cover him up to his shoulders, and watch 
silently as he falls asleep. 
    I hear movement behind me and remember that
Frohike and Langly are still there.  
    "Scully?"  Langly's voice is very quiet, but filled
with amazement.  I turn around; he's picked up the
laptop and is staring at it incredilously with Frohike.
    "What is it?" I ask, not moving from Byers' side.
    Langly looks up at me, his eyes wide.  He hands me
the laptop; I see it is an article from a Eugene, 
Oregon newspaper, 'The Register Guard'.  The head-
line catches my eye:  "Twenty-three people return
myseriously; several missing residents of Bellefleur".
    Frohike finally speaks, his voice quieted by his
shock.  "He found Mulder."
    "Oh, my god," I manage to whisper.  Frantically
digging for my cell phone, I hit the speed-dial 
and wait for Skinner to pick up.  Listening to
the ringing, I absently reach up and brush the fringe
of hair away from Byers' flushed forehead.  
    "Thank you, John."

******************

Part 2.

July 7th, 2000
Lone Gunmen's Headquarters
1:47am

    The movement on the front door survaillance catches my
eye.  It's Scully; man, when she wants something done, she 
moves FAST.  It was only a little over seven hours ago when
Byers found the article about Mulder and the others showing
up at the hospital in Eugene, Oregon.  After getting a hold of 
Skinner and telling him what happened, she started making 
calls to Oregon.  She called the hospital first;  apparently 
the article was misleading.  The people had shown up at the 
hospital on their own, although they were disoriented and 
appeared to be lost.  The online post was very hasty and went
up only a few minutes after the group showed up.  We had 
assumed that since no names or photos were released, that 
meant the people were unidentifiable.  She even managed 
to get them to let her talk to Mulder.  After talking to his 
partner for a few minutes he began to remember things; his 
name, his life, us, etc.  But none of them remembered much
about the abduction, unfortunately.  He was all right;  in 
fact, he was very much alive and very excited to be back.  
Through the local police he managed to work his way onto 
a flight back to DC right away, which meant he would be 
home a little over two hours ago.  
    As I run to unlock the door for her, a second figure on
the screen draws my attention, and I grin.  Suddenly I can't 
open the door fast enough.  
    "Mulder, dude!!"  I don't even wait for him to enter before
wrapping my arms around him, convincing myself he's really
here.
    "Langly, easy!!  I just spent five hours on a plane and 
could really use some space!"  he laughs, but returns my hug.
    Frohike has joined us and also hugs Mulder, but a little 
less frantically than I did.  "Guess this means I gotta return
the tapes I borrowed," he tells the agent. 
    Mulder laughs and waves him off.   "It can wait."  He 
glances at Scully, who is grinning just as widely as the rest
of us.  God, it's good to have them back here, together!
    Scully turns to me.  "Hey, how's Byers feeling?"
    I shrug, then see Mulder looks confused.  Ah, she hasn't 
told him what Byers did.  Guess that's my job, now.  "He's 
doing okay; his fever is down and he's stopped shaking.  
Even got him to take some more Tylenol a while ago," I tell 
Scully first, then turn to Mulder.  "Byers has been practically
killing himself looking for you.  He spent all of last night and 
most of today searching online newspapers; he was the one
who found out you turned up back in Oregon.  By the time he
let any of us check on him, he was already sick; looks like a 
bad cold."
    Mulder shakes his head in amazement.  "Man, I can't leave
you guys alone for five minutes without someone getting in 
trouble of some kind.  Where is he?"
    "He's still crashed out on the couch in the back room.  
Sleeping, I hope," I add.
    "I'll let him rest; you guys can update me on what's 
been happening here in the last six weeks," Mulder says. 
    Frohike and I oblige him, pulling out issues of "The Lone
Gunmen" and pointing out the important stuff.  The four
of us are so absorbed in our discussion we don't notice
another presence quietly joining us.
    "Mulder?" Byers wonders softly.  We turn to see him 
(barely) standing behind us, the blanket hugged tightly around
him.  He looks only half-awake, but the light in his eyes tells 
us that he is fully aware of what's going on. 
    "Byers, you shouldn't be wondering around," Scully tells 
him as she helps him walk over to join us at the worktable.  
He nods thanks to her, and looks up at Mulder.  
    The agent smiles at his friend proudly, and wraps his arms
around the weakened figure.  "Thank you, John," he echoes
Scully's earlier words, his voice muffled in Byers' shoulder.  
"If you hadn't gotten Scully to call over there, who knows
how long it would have taken for me to get my memory back?"
    Byers smiles as Mulder pulls away from him.  "Just doing
my job, Mulder," he says weakly, swallowing hard.  
    I can tell he's about to fall over, so I wrap a supportive 
arm around his shoulders.  "Come on, buddy.  You're going
back to bed."  
    He leans against me gratefully, and turns to look at the 
agents again.  "It's good to have you back," he whispers,
and lets me guide him to his room so he can sleep off this cold.

*****************
 
The end.