Part 2/2

    Scully reaches out to take his arm, to reassure him.  He pulls 
away from her, his sharp features betraying a mixture of anger 
and vulnerability.  She lets her hand fall back to her side, 
meeting his eyes and holding him there with intensity only a 
doctor can confidently display.  "We are not going to let you 
die.  That's why we came here."
    Langly studies her for a moment, then visibly backs down.  
He looks down at the floor and nods slightly, his jaw tightening 
as he struggles to control himself.  He lets Scully take his arm 
this time as she leads him back to the metal table.  "I need to 
take the implant out now," she says as she sits him down on 
the table.  She reaches back toward the counter to grab the 
syringe and tiny vial she had retrieved earlier while waiting 
for the X-rays to develop.  
    "This is a general anesthetic.  I'm going to give you a small 
amount to put you to sleep while I remove the chip, but it won't 
leave you unconscious for very long.  I need you awake for as 
long as possible.  The tumor is developing quickly, and there is 
a good possibility that you could slip into a coma within several 
hours."  She hates having to tell him this, but it was necessary 
for him to know what was happening.  
    She prepares the syringe and gives him the injection as 
quickly and painlessly as she can.  Still, he winces and keeps his 
eyes closed for a moment.  "Okay, I want you to lie down on your 
side," she instructs him, and he complies obediently, lying on his 
right side with his back to her.  He folds his long legs up close to 
his body for balance.  Byers again places his folded jacket under 
Langly's head. 
    "No, Byers...I don't want to get blood on your jacket," the 
younger man weakly protests as the anesthetic begins to take 
affect.
    "Don't worry about it, Ree...you already did earlier," Byers 
quietly replies, rubbing Langly's back in small circles with his 
hand.
    "Mm'sorry," Langly mumbles sleepily.
    Byers can feel his friend's breathing become slow and even, 
relaxing under his hand.  He looks up at Scully and smiles sadly.  
"He's out."
    She nods and turns back to the counter to get her equipment; 
a scalpel, a tiny pair of scissors, an empty glass vial, gauze and 
tape.  She pulls on a pair of surgical gloves.
    Byers moves to the other side of the table and reaches across 
to hold Langly's long blond hair out of the way, exposing the back 
of his neck.  Scully uses the scalpel to retrace the original 
incision, and Frohike holds a piece of gauze below where she is 
working, wiping away the blood trickling down their patient's 
neck.  The agent finds the implant, removes it with the scissors 
and places it in the vial.  She cleans the blood off his neck and 
tapes a gauze bandage over the incision, knowing she will need 
to keep it open to replace the implant later.  
    The group was so absorbed by their task that they did not 
notice they were being watched.  The observer waits until Scully 
finishes checking Langly's breathing and pulse before speaking 
up.  "Agent Scully, would you care to explain to me what is going 
on here?"
    Scully's head snaps up at the unexpected visitor.  Assistant 
Director Skinner is standing in the doorway.  
    Byers and Frohike instinctively move in front of the table to 
hide their partner from the authority figure.      
    "Sir, I'll speak to you outside."   Scully strides across the 
room and physically pulls Skinner out into the hall by his arm.  

    In the hall Skinner shakes away from his agent's grip.  "What 
the hell are the Gunmen doing here, especially at this time of 
night?"  He demands.
    Scully takes a deep breath and slowly releases it.  "Sir-" she 
begins, but is cut off.
    "Is this the 'case' you two have been working on?"
    She looks at her boss and nods.  "Yes, sir.  Four days ago 
Langly disappeared from a meeting place.  We have been helping 
the guys look for him."  She pauses.  "This morning he came back, 
injured and under great distress.  Shortly after his return we 
discovered the implant in the base of his neck, identical to mine."
    Skinner's eyes grew wide.  "He was taken by the same people?"
    "It looks that way, sir."
    "But you said he was only missing for four days, and you were 
gone for several months..."
    "He was not returned to us.  He escaped, judging by his 
injuries, his mental state, and..." she trails off, her unsteady 
voice giving away her emotional attachment.
    "And what, Agent Scully?"
    She lowers her voice, glancing at the trio through the window 
of the closed door.  "The implant was not activated.  He has a 
tumor, and it is growing rapidly.  He could die in a matter of 
hours if we can't figure out how to turn it on."
    Skinner studies the woman in front of him for a moment, then 
glances into the lab.  He had known of the Gunmen for years, 
mostly as obscure references by Mulder.  On the few occasions 
he spent time with them, (often in hospital rooms waiting for 
Mulder to wake up from his latest adventure), he saw them as a 
graceful tandem act, three people moving, speaking, thinking as 
one unit.  They were so confident, yet so paranoid.  What he saw 
in the room now made his throat tighten in sympathy.  The 
youngest, lying unconscious in a jumbled pile of long limbs and 
long blond hair.  The quietest standing over him, watching him 
breath, assuring himself that his friend is still alive.  The short 
one, standing aside with his arms crossed over his chest, 
glancing around suspiciously while standing guard over his 
young partners.  Skinner had seen this kind of loyalty and trust 
so rarely in his field of work.  The thought of them losing one of 
their members...
    "Is there anything I can do to help?" Skinner finally asks, 
turning his head back to face Scully.
    "Just give us time, sir.  Agent Rollins is going to try to 
activate the implant.  Assuming he does, I'll put it back in and 
take Langly to the hospital.  I need to keep a close eye on him; 
these three did so much to help me through this same situation, 
I feel I owe it to them to return the favor."  
    Skinner nods, returning to his professional demeanor.  "I 
expect a report on this case as soon as it is resolved." 
    Scully gives him a grateful smile.  "Yes, sir.  Thank you."
    The lab door opens and Frohike walks out, the vial with the 
implant in his hand.  "Scully, I'm going to get this down to Doug, 
let him get started," he tells her quietly while peering 
suspiciously at Skinner.  
    "Okay, thanks, Frohike," she replies, and he disappears 
down the hall.
    Skinner watches Frohike walk away, then turns back to his 
agent.  "Take care of these guys, Scully," he says softly, then 
walks away in the opposite direction.
    

10:42pm

    "Langly, you should really stay off your feet--" Byers whines 
as he watches his friend restlessly pace the medical lab.  Langly 
had woken up shortly after Frohike went back to the lab to start 
working with Doug on the implant.  After shaking off the fuzzy 
after-effects of the anesthetic, he began wondering around the 
room despite Byers attempts to settle him down.  
    "Yeah, well, I should really cut my hair, but it's just not 
going to happen," Langly cuts him off.  "Besides, the last 
place I want to be right now is sitting on that autopsy slab 
with nothing to do."  He digs through several drawers, 
eventually coming up with a handful of rubber bands.  "It's a 
start," he mumbles as he takes one and drops the rest 
back into the drawer.  He carelessly pulls his hair back and 
ties it into a messy ponytail behind his head, avoiding the 
bandage at the base of his neck.  This task complete, he goes 
back to rummaging.  
    "What exactly are you looking for, besides trouble with the 
FBI?"
    "This," he declares triumphantly, wielding a notepad and a pen.  
His mission fulfilled, he strides back toward Byers and hops onto 
the table, crossing his legs under him and leaning forward to start 
writing.
    Byers raises his eyebrows, strangely amused.  "If that's your 
will, make sure to leave a note for us to burn all those ratty 
t-shirts of yours."
    Langly gives him a wary but equally amused glance.  "No way, 
John.  This isn't my will, but thanks for the reminder.  Mulder gets 
the shirts, so you guys have to stare at them FOREVER!"
    "Great," Byers mumbles under his breath.  "Then what are you 
writing?"
    Langly pauses, not looking up.  "It's, um...it's just a note," 
he replies hesitantly.  A few scribbles later he tears the page 
off the pad and folds it carefully, then scrawls a single word on 
the outside.  Setting it aside, he quickly writes a series of 
numbers on the next page, and tears it off as well.  He considers 
the two papers for a moment, then holds them out toward Byers.  
The older man hesitates for a moment, then reaches out to take 
them.  He glances at them quickly; a local phone number, and the 
folded note with the name "Moire".  Stunned, he looks back at 
Langly.
    "Your sister?" 
    Langly nods, avoiding eye contact.  "Um, could you, I mean...
just in case," he stumbles uncomfortably to say.  He finally 
meets Byers' eyes.
    Byers places his hand on Langly's right shoulder.  He knows 
what Langly is asking; that he give Moira the note only if some-
thing goes wrong.  "I'll call her when we get you to the 
hospital," he says in that calm, reassuring tone he always seems 
to have.
    Langly gives him a weak, grateful smile.  "Thanks, man."


2:58am

    "He got it!" Frohike blurts ecstatically as he charges into the 
medical lab, Mulder and Doug following at his heels.  
    Scully looks up at the three men and smiles tensely.  "Thank 
god."  She looks back down at Langly.  He had gradually gotten 
weaker over the past few hours, eventually forcing him to 
remain on his back on the table.  At the sound of Frohike's much 
awaited announcement he shakily pushes himself up onto his 
elbows.
    Byers reaches out to take the glass vial, then hands it over to 
Scully.  She considers it for a moment, then turns back to 
Langly.  "You ready?"
    He hesitates for a moment, his wide eyes again giving away 
his fear.  He nods.
    Scully gives him the injection of anesthetic she had prepared 
a while earlier.  Langly lies back on his side, the drug taking 
affect quickly because of his weakened condition.  Byers and 
Frohike take the same positions they had when she took the 
implant out.  The agent focuses intently on her task, replacing 
the chip where she had found it earlier. This time she closes the 
incision with a few stitches, then covers it with a flesh-colored 
adhesive bandage.  
    "Let's get him to the hospital," she says quietly to the room 
in general.
    Byers gathers Langly up into his arms carefully.  He looks to 
Frohike for help.  Wordlessly the older man gently places 
Langly's head against Byers' shoulder to avoid causing any 
more damage to the young man's neck.  The two standing Gunmen 
nod thanks to Doug and walk silently out of the lab, Mulder and 
Scully right behind them.

Georgetown University Medical Center
3:30am

    "Excuse me, we need some help here.  I'm a federal agent and 
a medical doctor, *his* doctor, and I need you to follow my 
instructions exactly, with no questions asked.  Understood?" 
Scully speaks in her most controlling tone to the first nurse she 
can grab when they enter the hospital.  The nurse, who's name tag 
reads "Lisa", is stunned by the sight in front of her but nods and 
follows Scully obediently.  Lisa glances back at the four men 
following close behind them; the skinny blond is held tightly in the 
arms of the tall bearded man, the other two staying close.  
'What is going on...'
    "Good," Scully says.  She leads Byers toward an empty room 
in the ER and Byers carefully lays the unconscious Langly down 
on the cot.  Scully turns back to Lisa, who has grabbed a clipboard 
and is prepared to take notes on the chart.  "We have a..." she 
starts, then turns to Byers, embarrassed.  "How old is he?"
   "Oh...thirty-three."
   "Thirty-three year old male.  He has a large nasal pharyngeal 
mass that is rapidly pushing into his brain.  He has received 
treatment that will put the cancer into remission, but we were 
unable to catch it early enough to prevent serious complications.  
He is also dehydrated.  Order a blood chem. and call upstairs to 
oncology.  Tell them we need a short round of chemotherapy: 
angio inhibitors, corticosteriods, and carbamazepine.  Get 
another doctor in here," she rambles, stopping a moment to take 
a breath. Lisa is stunned by what she is hearing, but does not 
stop taking down the instructions.  "As soon as I take his vitals 
and get a saline IV started we need to get him upstairs."  
    Lisa nods briskly.  She hands Scully a blank chart to take 
down the vitals then hurries away to carry out her orders.


9:15am

    Scully glances warily at the sleeping Langly.  It had been a 
very long night for all of them, but she had refused to leave 
him.  The other guys had been in and out all night, helping her 
with their patient.  The short round of chemotherapy had made 
him so sick, especially in his already weakened state.  He had 
first regained consciousness about an hour after the chemo, 
feeling very ill.  He had not eaten anything in four days, but 
that did not stop his weak stomach from protesting.  Every 
forty minutes or so he would wake up trembling, lean his head 
over the edge of the bed and dry-heave.  Scully remembers 
doing the same thing during her short stay at Dr. Scanlan's 
clinic, undergoing chemotherapy.  She knew how much it hurt, 
how helpless she had felt.  Penny had been there for her, and 
now Scully would be here for Langly.  All she could do was 
hold his hand, stroke his back gently and talk to him softly.  
It did little to relieve the pain, the nausea, but she could tell 
he was grateful for her presence, her support.  
    Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door 
opening.  She turns around in her chair to see who it is.  It is 
Frohike, with a tall, blond haired young woman following 
cautiously at his heels.  
    Scully stands up to greet the stranger.  "Good morning," she 
rasps, stopping to clear her throat.  "Sorry."
    Frohike takes over the introductions, keeping his voice 
down to avoid waking the room's silent occupant.  "Agent 
Dana Scully, this is Moira Langly, his sister.  Moira, this is 
Agent Scully, his doctor and a friend of ours."
    Scully smiles pleasantly and extends her hand out to the 
younger Langly.  Moira hesitates for a moment, then takes 
Scully's hand in greeting.  "Is Patrick okay?  What's wrong 
with him?" she asks without taking her eyes off her brother.  
She cannot believe the pathetic, shockingly thin figure curled 
up on its side in the bed is her normally strong and energetic 
sibling.
    Scully pauses, following Moira's line of sight.  She 
catches Frohike's eye, silently asking him if it is all right to 
tell her the truth.  Frohike nods slightly.  "Moira, he was 
given a rare and fatal form of cancer; a tumor that grew 
into his brain." 
    Moira's eyes immediately fix back on Scully, alarmed.  
"What do you mean, given?  How can...I mean, how long has he 
had this?"
    "He was abducted four days ago by people we are trying 
very hard to stop.  He came back yesterday and we found out 
they gave him this cancer.  It's a long story and very difficult 
to explain.  All you need to know is we are doing everything 
we can to beat this.  He has been treated.  We just need to 
wait."  
    Moira stares at the agent in front of her, not knowing 
what to say.  She can feel her throat tighten, choking back 
any words.  Giving up, she walks past the other woman to stand 
over her brother, silently studying him.  She absently drops her 
backpack next to the chair.  He is curled up on his right side; 
long legs pulled up close to his body with the white blanket 
covering him up to his abdomen.  His right arm is lying on the 
pillow next to his pale, drawn face, while his left arm is draped 
over the edge of the bed, hand hanging loosely.  Squatting down 
to his eye level, she gently takes his left hand in hers, careful 
not to disturb the IV lines taped to the back of the hand.  
    Scully watches her for a moment, then quietly speaks.  
"We'll be outside if you need anything," she says, then leads 
Frohike out of the room with her.  
    Moira does not acknowledge their departure.  With her 
right hand she reaches up to brush the loose yellow hair away 
from Langly's face, slowly stroking it with her fingers.  He 
stirs slightly, sighing in his sleep.  She can feel his left hand 
tighten in hers for a moment.  "Patrick?" she whispers, not 
sure if she wants to wake him, and not knowing what to say 
if she does.
    He whimpers softly and presses his face into the pillow.  
She squeezes his hand gently to get his attention.  He turns his 
head to face her, hesitantly opening his eyes.  Without his 
glasses it takes him a moment to figure out who is there.  
Another whispered "Patrick?" shatters his disbelief.
    "Moira?" he mumbles, struggling to lift his head up.  
    "Shh...yeah, it's me.  Lie still, you're okay," she strokes his 
upper left arm.  
    He pulls his right hand under his head so he can look at his 
unexpected guest.  "What are you doing here...I told Byers to 
call you, didn't mean to make you come here..." he babbles 
sleepily.
    "I get a call this morning from one of your friends saying 
you're seriously ill in the hospital and you think I'm not going 
to come see you?  Jesus, Patrick...I know it's been a few years, 
but you are still my brother!" she struggles to keep the emotions 
from overwhelming her voice.  
    "Mmm...yeah." 
    "Umm...Byers gave me that note this morning.  I'll take care 
of it," she feels her throat threatening to choke her words 
again.  Taking a deep breath, she focuses her attention on him.  
"How do you feel?"
    He gives her his patented smirk.  "Honestly?  Like shit...
but better than last night.  How do I look?"
    "Honestly?  Like shit.  But I don't know how you looked 
last night so I have no frame of reference."
    A breathy laugh.  "I knew I could count on you to tell me 
the truth."
    Moira reaches up to stroke his hair again.  "You need to 
get back to sleep, and I need to talk to your friends."
    Langly pulls his right hand back and lets his head drop 
back onto the pillow.  Closing his eyes, he smiles.  "You're 
right," he mumbles.  He hesitates for a moment, then 
continues.  "I'm glad you came."
    "Me, too.  I...I love you, Patrick."
    Still smiling, he squeezes her hand again.  "Love you too, 
sis," he whispers as he drifts back to sleep.  
    Moira can feel his hand relax in hers.  She waits until 
his breathing slows, until she knows he is asleep before letting 
go of his hand and sitting back onto the floor, leaning against 
the chair.  She shuts her eyes tight and finally lets the tears 
escape that she had been holding from the moment she entered 
the room.


    After a few minutes Moira swipes her hand over her cheeks, 
wiping away the moisture.  She reaches into her jacket pocket 
and pulls out the note Byers had passed along to her when he 
picked her up this morning.  She pauses to stare at her name on 
the outside flap, then unfolds and reads it again:

*Dear Moira,
    I was hoping never to do this to you, but it looks like I don't 
have much choice.  If you are reading this, it means I'm in 
pretty bad shape.  
    I need you to give Agent Dana Scully a copy of my sealed 
medical records.  You and I are still the only ones with them.  
Agent Scully has taken over as my doctor, and she will need 
those records.  Please, make sure she knows that they are still 
sealed; no hospital personnel sees them under any circumstances.  
The only people with access are Agents Fox Mulder and Dana 
Scully, John Byers and Melvin Frohike.  It's been sixteen years; 
guess that's long enough.  
    I can't leave without telling you how much you still mean to 
me.  I know I haven't been the best influence on you over the 
years, and I understand that you don't want to deal with me 
anymore.  But I can't die without you knowing how much I love 
you and miss you.
    Love, Patrick*

    'Damn it, why can't you tell me these things when you aren't 
dying?' she thinks as she folds the note again and returns it to 
her pocket.  Taking a moment to compose herself, she stands, 
picks up her backpack and heads for the door.


    Four heads turn in unison as Moira steps out of the room and 
quietly closes the door.  She considers the group for a moment, 
then makes a decision.
    "Agent Scully," she turns to the only other woman in the 
group. Reaching into her backpack, she pulls out a brown paper 
folder.  She holds it out to the agent.  "Patrick wants you to 
have these."
    Scully takes the folder, glancing apprehensively at the 
young woman.  She pulls the stack of loose papers from the 
folder and glances over them.  Several words catch her eye:  
Ringo Patrick Langly, critical condition, suicide watch.  
"These are medical records," she states questioningly.  
    Moira nods.  "He and I are the only ones who have them.  He 
had them sealed when he turned eighteen," she says quietly.  
She motions for them to follow her to the more private waiting 
room down the hall.  Scully moves to follow, but the others stay 
back hesitantly.  Moira turns back to them.  "Come on, he wants 
all of you to hear this."  
    Glancing at each other curiously, the three men obediently 
follow.


    "How much has he told you about what happened to our 
parents?" Moira asks as her group settles into a tight cluster of 
chairs in the waiting room.
    Byers and Frohike look at each other uncomfortably, and 
Frohike answers for both.  "He mentioned that they were killed 
in a plane crash several years ago, but he never went into any 
detail."  
    "We don't really know anything about these guys' past," 
Mulder explains reluctantly, getting embarrassed glances from 
the Gunmen in return.
    Moira nods.  "I figured."  She pauses, gathering her thoughts 
before continuing.  "Patrick was seventeen when he and our 
parents took a private plane from our home in California to spend 
a few days on the east coast; our parents had business meetings, 
and Patrick was going to check out some colleges since he'd 
graduated high school early.  MIT had shown some interest in 
him.
    "The plane never made it out of California.  Shortly after 
takeoff one of the engines caught fire and they went down 
in the Valley.  There were seven passengers including my 
family; the only survivors were the co-pilot and Patrick.  When 
help arrived five hours after the crash, our parents were 
already dead, and Patrick was barely alive.  He had massive 
internal injuries and several broken bones; it's all in that 
record.  He spent nearly two months in the hospital and in 
that time he became extremely despondent, to the point where 
he was on 24-hour suicide watch.  He felt guilty that he had 
survived but our parents didn't.  After he was released he was 
assigned to a psychiatrist.  When he turned eighteen he 
stopped seeing the doctor and tried to get custody of me, but 
they said he was too unstable to care for a nine-year old child.  
They wouldn't even let me see him.  After the custody hearing 
he basically disappeared.  I didn't hear from him again until I 
turned eighteen, when I got those medical records from him in 
the mail.  He included a note saying that he had his records 
sealed, hacking into the hospital computers and erasing any 
evidence of his stay.  I finally tracked him down here in DC 
a few years ago; you guys know the rest."
    No one knew what to say.  In their stunned silence they could 
only glance at each other, exchanging looks of shock, concern, 
and understanding.  
    Scully is the first to break the silence.  "Moira, I'm so 
sorry.  We had no idea about any of this.  But why now?  Why 
after all these years does he want us to know?"
    Moira gives her a sad smile.  "He trusts all of you.  You're his 
doctor now, Agent Scully.  He wants to make sure that no matter 
what happens, you know what his wishes are.  Look at the last 
page of the file."
    Scully hesitates, then turns to the page at the bottom of the 
stack.  It only takes her a few seconds to find the three bold 
letters printed in the center of the page:  DNR.
    "Oh my god," she whispers, her face losing all color.  She 
snaps her head back up to look at the young woman.  "DNR--
Do Not Resuscitate."  She pauses, not bothering to hide her 
shock since the three men next to her were matching her face.  
"But--I mean, this was his order...he signed it..." 
    Moira nods, her stinging eyes threatening to break her 
control.  "He hasn't changed it, not in fifteen years.  He won't 
tell me why," her voice cracks as she struggles to hold back 
her tears.  


2:30pm

    Frohike leans back in his chair, crossing his arms.  As he 
watches Langly sleep, his mind races.
    'Damn, he's too young to have given up on life already.  
Doesn't he realize how much he means to us?  I know he 
understands death; Jesus, he's seen enough of it in his short
life.  And he's always been here for us, sometimes risking
his own life to save a friend.  He was the first person to spot
Mulder down in Bermuda.  He was all ready to jump over-
board and pull that idiot agent out of the water himself. 
Then Vegas...damn, that trip turned out weird.  But what he 
for Suzanne.  Wonder if he even thought about the fact that 
he could have easily been killed by that gung-ho security 
there?  Not even brain-washed, he just walked right in, 
opened fire in Suzanne in front of all those people and left.
I can't believe he pulled it off...he may have been shooting 
blanks, but the guards wouldn't have been.  Then dragging 
us into that damn VR game he was working on, knowing full-
well that people were dying in there.  Does he ever stop to 
think?  Or does he really just not care if he lives or dies?'

  
6:17pm

    "Hey, you.  You're looking better already," Scully says 
happily as she approaches Langly's bedside.  The agent had 
gone home and slept for several hours when they saw that he 
was resting peacefully, the worst effects of the chemo past 
him.  He is sitting up with his back against the headboard, 
messing with a piece of electronic equipment that Scully can 
not identify.  "What's that?" she asks curiously. 
    "Don't know; I pulled it out of that machine over there," he 
replies, looking at her with a completely straight face.  
    Her eyes grow wide, and she frantically looks around to 
see what machine he is talking about.  
    He laughs softly, grasping her wrist to get her attention.  
"Scully, I'm joking.  It's just something I was working on 
before...all this.  I asked Frohike to bring it in, give me some-
thing to distract myself."
    Scully sighs.  "That was not funny."
    "Yes, it was," he insists, turning back to the small device 
in his lap.  
    She sits in the chair next to his bed.  "How are you feeling?" 
she asks seriously.
    Langly only gives her a quick glance.  "Better, thanks."  He 
pauses, then looks at her this time.  "Actually, I'm kind of hungry."
    Scully smiles at him, pleased with his honestly.  "That's a 
great sign.  I'll see what I can do," she says warmly, standing up 
to go find him something to eat.  
    "Scully, wait," he says quietly, but with an intensity that 
stops the agent in her tracks.  She turns back to face him.  He 
continues hesitantly.  "Um...my sister gave you a copy of my 
medical records, right?"
    The agent sits back down.  "Yes, she did."
    He nods, avoiding eye contact.  She can tell he wants to say 
something, and makes an educated guess.  "We are all wondering 
about the DNR order," she encourages him gently.
    He finally meets her eyes.  "I know.  I haven't thought about 
it in so long; it's never come up until now."
    "Can you tell me why you did it?"
    She gets a shrug as a reply.  Obviously, he is not ready to talk 
after all..  She decides to change the subject, at least for now.  
"I looked over your MRIs from this afternoon."  
    He gives her his full attention now, putting the electronics 
down.
    She smiles.  "The tumor is gone; your cancer has gone into 
remission, as expected."
    He grins at her, letting go of the breath he did not know he 
was holding.  Scully takes his hand, sharing in his relief, then 
continues.  "Of course, the doctors here are just amazed by 
your 'miraculous' recovery."
    "What did you tell them?" he asks.
    "I just flashed my badge and said it was classified."
    "Thanks, Scully."
    She squeezes his hand, then stands up again.  "Miracle or not, 
you are recovering very well.  I talked to the doctors; they agree 
that we can take you  off the IV later tonight, and assuming no 
problems come up, you can be released tomorrow afternoon.  
You'll have the fastest recovery of a terminal cancer patient in 
the history of this hospital, at least."  
    He remains silent for a moment, reflective.  Scully watches 
him as he appears to come to a mental decision.  He smiles at her, 
a calm sweeping over his features that she had not seen in a long 
time.  "I have you guys to thank for that; especially you."  He 
pauses, taking a deep breath.  "Can you get everyone in here 
tonight for me?  I...there's something I need to discuss with 
all of you."
    "Of course."


10:24pm

    Scully is sitting in the chair with Mulder at her side.  Frohike 
and Byers are standing on Mulder's other side, and Moira is 
sitting on the bed next to her brother's legs.  
    Langly considers the people before him quietly, one at a time.  
Finally, he speaks.  "I know all of you want to know why I put a 
DNR order on those records back then.  At the time, it made 
perfect sense.  I was eighteen, I'd just watched my parents die,
and my little sister was taken away from me.  I was alone.  I'd 
already been through the hell of a long, painful recovery and I 
didn't want to ever go through that again.  The way I figured it, 
no one cared whether I lived or died, either way."  
    He pauses to consider his next words.  "It wasn't until all of 
this that I realized how much all of you cared about me.  You've 
spent the past few days helping me; you saved my life.  It's made 
me realize that I'm not alone anymore;  I have someone to live 
for.  There's something I need to do," he breaks off, his 
throat tightening as he realizes what he is saying.  
    Scully hands him the folder with the medical records, and a 
pen.  He pulls out the last page and sets it on top of the stack.  
Without a hint of hesitation, he takes the pen and carefully 
crosses out the letters "DNR" from the page, not stopping until 
there is nothing left but a black box of ink. 
    This gesture has the desired affect.  A weight is lifted from 
his heart, as well as the hearts of the other people in the room.  
He looks up shyly, smiling at his friends.  
    Moira leans over and embraces him tightly.  When she finally 
lets go, Mulder reaches over and shakes his hand, smiling proudly.  
Finally, Byers and Frohike both take his hand, their three-way 
bond stronger than ever.  
    Scully is the first to speak.  "Okay, guys, it's getting late.  
I need to take care of some things here, and you all need to get 
some rest."


    Now it is just Scully and Langly.  For some reason, neither can 
stop smiling.
    "Okay, this is going to hurt for a second," she tells him as she 
carefully peels the tape off his left hand that is holding the IV 
in place.  She pulls the needle out of his hand and quickly covers 
the puncture wound with a tissue.  He takes over, wiping away 
the small amount of blood from his hand.  
    "Thanks, Scully.  For everything," he adds appreciatively.  
    "You're welcome, Langly."  She finishes cleaning up and looks 
at him pointedly.  "It's been a long day.  You need to sleep, too." 
    He smiles and nods, scooting himself down and curling up on his 
side, setting his glasses on the table.  
    Scully pulls the blanket over him, covering his shoulders.  As 
she turns to leave, she hears him mumble sleepily.  "Night, party 
girl."
    She smiles.  "Night, cutie."

..............
The end.