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She's Okay

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The doctors have said they don't know when or if she'll regain all of her memory. It's not something I want to hear, comforting her mother in the ER. But I know something they don't. This is Scully. She's been through hell and back, so a little amnesia isn't going to set her back.

Mrs. Scully excuses herself to call her sons; they'll all want to be here to help. I acknowledge her and she insists I call her Margaret like she insists on calling me Fox. I just smile and nod and turn to towards the double doors that lead to the trauma unit. Scully's behind those doors.

This isn't the first hospital we've been in and I somehow doubt it will be the last. But we've seen too much of them lately and I'd rather be anywhere else, but it's Scully and it's my fault she's here. We're somewhere along the border of Louisiana and Mississippi, I forget the name of the town; I was more interested in the fact it had a hospital I could bring Scully to. We came down on reports of something in the bayou, possibly the south's version of Nessie. Turned out it was just an alligator, a very large alligator.

Our little expedition was caught off guard by said 'gator, our little boat overturned by one swing of its tail. The guide we hired had scrapes and a mild concussion and was already on his way home. I got scraped up and a broken wrist. But Scully ended up with the worst of it. Arm broken in two places, twisted ankle, bumps, bruises, scrapes and the knock to the head that made her forget who she was and everything else. Doctors said it could be temporary but there was no way of knowing.

Mrs. Scully says I shouldn't blame myself. Scully has always known what she was getting into by working with me.

"Dana is as stubborn as they come, Fox. She follows you for a reason, you'd know if she didn't want to go somewhere."

Intellectually I know that's true, but deep down, I blame myself for everything she's gone through, even the cancer. If Scully hadn't been my partner she could be married with kids by now. But the looks she gives me, I don't dare quantify what they mean out loud. It would mean giving voice to my own feelings for Scully. In our line of work that could be dangerous because it would makes us vulnerable, something we can't afford to be.

That's why I rarely call her Dana and she almost never calls me Fox. It would imply an intimacy I only dream of. It's a beautiful dream, one I'd give up if it meant she was going to be okay, going to remember. I'd rather have a Scully who remembers all our work than one who only remembers the underlying sexual tension. One is nothing without the other.

Mrs. Scully has returned, worrying her rosary. She's brought me a coffee; it's sitting on the table beside me. I give her a smile in thanks as I take a sip. She just nods and continues praying. The double doors open and a doctor approaches us. We both stand.

"Mrs. Scully?"

"Yes, how's Dana?"

"She'll need to stay off her feet for a while and will eventually need physical therapy for the arm, which I'm sure she can get at home."

"Her memory?" I ask.

"We still don't know for sure. She remembers her name and the date, so that's a very positive sign. She's resting now, but you can visit her, one at a time please."

I turn to Mrs. Scully, indicating she can go, but she gently pushes me towards the doctor.

"Go on, Fox, she needs you more than me."

The doctor leads the way to the doors. I glance back to Mrs. Scully, but she just nods as she sits back down. I think she suspects how Scully and I feel and this is her seal of approval. We leave the waiting area and enter the ward. It's filled with the hushed tones of doctors and nurses exchanging information. Monitors and machines bleep and whir in an odd cadence just out of rhythm with each other. The doctor shows me to a room at the end of the hall. Government insurance equals private room.

"Ten minutes," he says.

I nod as he opens the door and I slip inside. Scully is beautiful amidst the wires and tubes, her skin pale against a stark white pillow. Her left arm is raised up from the bed by a foam….thing. I bet she'll let me be the first to sign her cast. I drag a chair to the right side of her bed, taking her hand in mine.

"Hey, Scully, it's me."

This scenario is all too familiar; many times it's been me in that bed, listening to Scully's voice.

"Your mom's out in the waiting room saying some things to the guy upstairs. I'm not entirely sure how she got out here so quickly, but I'm not going to question it. She's called your brothers, so they might show up at some point. Skinner's on the next flight out. He's gonna rip me a new one for getting you into a mess so soon after…." I stop, choked up for a moment. "Frohike sends his love. He'd come on by but the guys are on a deadline and the bayou is a little out of their territory. "

There's not much else to say. I've still got seven of my ten minutes and if Scully were awake this is where the awkwardness would creep in and I'd shuffle off to find her mother no matter how much time I had left.

"I'm sorry, Scully," I whisper, my head bend over her hand.

Nothing but beeps and drips and the too quiet breathing of Scully to fill the room now.

"Mulder?"

I look up and Scully is stirring.

"I'm here, Scully. I should go get the doctor."

I start to get up, but she grips my hand, eyes wide and curious.

"Did we at least get the alligator?"

I shouldn't do it, but I can't help it as the laugh bubbles up and out. I'm grinning like an idiot but it doesn't matter, Scully's going to be okay. That's the most important thing to me right now. Scully's okay.