Author; Ann Rivers e-mail ann.rivers@virgin.net
Spoilers; None
Disclaimers; The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Byers, Langly and Frohike are the property of Ten Thirteen Productions, Chris Carter and Fox Broadcasting.
No profit is being made from their use here, and no infringement of copyright intended. Spoilers; None
Summary; A disillusioned and seriously injured Byers finds incentive from an unlikely source.
All comments welcome (especially if accompanied by freshly baked blueberry muffins) … but gently please, guys, I’m new to all this !!


ALL THE PRESIDENT’S MEN

Frohike’s call, and the bombshell it carried, took Mulder completely by surprise.

For a start, it came direct to his office – something which the Gunmen had always sworn would never happen. And there was the tone of Frohike’s voice too – so quiet that Mulder could barely hear him, let alone any bug which may have lurked on his phone line.

“Frohike ?” In spite of his surprise, Mulder allowed himself a teasing smile as Scully, writing up her latest report, visibly cringed at the mere mention of her admirer’s name. But after listening for a few more moments, the smile dropped from Mulder’s face – so abruptly that Scully, sensing that something was wrong, moved instinctively to his side, searching his face for clues.

“Oh, my God…” The shock of whatever Frohike was telling him was all too evident as Mulder’s face lost all colour. “Okay, Frohike, where are you…? Okay, Scully and I are on our way over…”

Replacing the phone in its cradle, Mulder glanced up at her, as helplessly as Scully had ever seen him.

“Byers has been shot…” he said at last, watching his own shock mirror itself on Scully’s face.

“Shot…?” Scully paled, her mind jumping to the same horrific, initial conclusion as her partner’s.

“But… I – I mean, deliberately…?”

“No, he – he went to help a mugging victim and the mugger turned out to be armed…” So it hadn’t been an assassination attempt. But that held very little comfort for either of them as Mulder met her eyes once more, his voice now as quiet and dread filled as Frohike’s had been. “But it’s bad, Scully… real bad…”

No strangers themselves to Washington Memorial’s A and E department, Mulder and Scully traded apprehensive glances as they spotted two familiar figures slumped in the waiting area. Frohike at least managed a brief smile as he stood to greet them, but Langly, white faced and visibly shaken, remained seated – staring fixedly at the swing doors beyond them.

“How bad is it…?” Mulder asked Frohike, the latter nodding in both acknowledgement and thanks as Scully squeezed his arm in sympathy before moving on to console the shellshocked Langly.

“Bad…” Frohike replied softly, close to the edge himself as he met Mulder’s eyes. “The kid he was just chasing suddenly flipped and began firing blind… there’s a bullet lodged near his heart and a serious head wound… he’s still with us, but… Christ, Mulder, he never stood a chance…” About to continue, Frohike suddenly found both strength and faith deserting him and he sat heavily down again, staring up at Mulder with stricken eyes before shaking his head.

Mulder knew better than to try and pursue the point – already aware that with such severe injuries, Byers’ chances for survival were dangerously slim.

Instead he placed a hand on Frohike’s shoulder while glancing uneasily towards Scully. Now came the wait. The long, anxious, terrifying wait…

As that wait entered its third tortuous hour, Mulder could only hope the old adage was true – that no news was, indeed, good news. Not for the first time, and he was sure not for the last, he valued Scully’s steadying influence. And while Frohike and Langly remained unusually but so understandably silent, Mulder knew they appreciated her presence as deeply as he did.

Finally that wait ended – and even the devoutly atheist Langly felt compelled to offer up a silent prayer as he and the others stood to meet the green suited doctor who now approached them. Ten seconds later he hit the floor in an all out faint, oblivious to the three anxious friends who tried in vain to catch him before he hit the deck.

Three familiar, worried faces hovered fuzzily over him, then slowly came back into focus and Langly groaned as he started to sit up – still too muzzy headed to wonder why he was lying on the floor with his head and shoulders cradled in Dana Scully’s lap, let alone enjoy the experience. Then he saw another face, unfamiliar but just as concerned. Remembered where he was and why he was there – and his already shaky elbows suddenly refused to support him.

He remembered the doctor introducing himself as Dr Canning, chief thoracic surgeon and remembered his next words – “I’m sorry…” before he’d dropped into a horrified blackness, not needing or wanting to hear any more.

Now he wished he’d stayed in the refuge of oblivion, rather than return to the horrors of reality. Then he realised that Frohike was smiling at him – and not just in relief at his recovery. And Langly felt his tightened heart relax just enough for him to voice the hope that suddenly coursed through him.

“Frohike, is he…? I – I mean, the doctor said he was sorry, and we knew how bad it was, and…” “The doctor was apologising for the delay in getting news to us…” Frohike explained, trading an amused smile with Byers’ surgeon.

“Oh…” Langly looked suitably sheepish for a moment, before his concerns swung inevitably back to his injured friend. “So… I – I mean, he’s…”

“Critical, but still with us…” Frohike continued to smile, but even in the euphoria of his relief, Langly knew it was way too soon to start celebrating.

“Critical…” he echoed softly, smiling his thanks for Scully’s supporting arm as he sat upright, wondering if he really wanted to know the answer to his next question. “How critical…?” The answer was every bit as harrowing as he’d expected.

Langly stood at Byers’ bedside, only vaguely aware of Frohike and Mulder beside him – all three struggling to believe that the pitiful figure before them, half hidden by life support units, really was the elegant and eloquent John Byers.

The rust red hair that was normally so impeccably groomed was now tousled and tangled beneath a widely wound bandage, with several further dressings taped across his chest.

Heart monitor wires carried a slow, erratic signal to the corresponding display screen while blood, saline and God knew what else gently filtered through a network of IV lines.

In fact, the only shred of normality was the trademark calmness of his face, still handsome and oddly peaceful in spite of the ugly but so vital respirator tubes which fed into his mouth. But that was of very little comfort to the three shocked friends who now stared down at him. In fact, it brought them no consolation at all.

Langly swallowed hard, feeling the room start to threateningly swim again, before resolutely shaking himself out of it – trying hard to return Frohike’s concerned but proud smile.

“Come on, Langly, he’s gonna make it…” Frohike said at last, trying to both rally and reassure the youngest Gunman, though not altogether sure that he himself believed his own words.

Inwardly, the sight of Byers lying there, fighting for his life, was tearing Frohike apart. He’d been the first to notice the young woman struggling with her assailant. But it had been Byers who had gone rushing to the rescue. A rescue which had gone so horrifically wrong.

He’d shouted a warning, cursing the damsel in distress syndrome which he’d first seen at that Baltimore computer convention and which had led him to somewhat sarcastically label John Byers as the geek’s Sir Galahad.

Now, as then, that warning had gone unheeded. But whereas in Baltimore Byers’ heroic streak had merely lost him the girl, now it might well cost him his life.

Just as Langly had done a few moments before, Frohike shook himself free of his fear and shock – suddenly feeling all his forty nine years as he took a seat at Byers’ bedside, but still somehow managing a grateful smile as Langly followed suit beside him, both then reaching carefully through a maze of monitor wires and IV lines to give Byers’ shoulder a heartening squeeze.

Whatever happened, they would see this nightmare through as they did everything else. Together.

Watching them in renewed concern, Mulder then glanced back to where Scully was chatting quietly to Byers’ doctor, nodding occasionally while she studied his charts.

With Scully’s medical background, this was hardly surprising - and, perhaps, just as well too. In all honesty, Mulder doubted whether anything the doctor was saying would have registered with Frohike and Langly, who were both now oblivious to everything but their injured friend.

Once the doctor had left, Scully rejoined him – her near helpless expression and the sudden need to reach for her partner’s hand showing all too clearly just how critical Byers’ condition was. Both Mulder and Scully had faced this battle for life themselves, and each had been forced to confront their worst fears and nightmares before that battle could be won.

Now, as they took their places beside their shellshocked friends, each couldn’t help but uneasily wonder over the battle which was being waged beneath that deceptively calm expression – what personal demons John Fitzgerald Byers was about to face, and whether he had the strength to overcome them…



The room was dazzlingly bright, enough to make him instinctively shield them as Byers opened his eyes.

“Jeez, guys, no wonder our electricity bill was so high last month…” he muttered, shaking his head in mock exasperation as he raised himself up on his elbows.

Byers then winced - an increasingly severe headache effectively saving Frohike and Langly from yet another lecture on saving energy. God, he hadn’t felt this lousy since his eighteenth birthday, when good old cousin Will had seen him into adult life with enough alcohol to float a battleship.

“Byers, you are really going to have to learn to hold your drink…” he admonished himself instead, gratefully lying back and closing his eyes once more, consoling himself with the fact that by the time he woke up again he’d be feeling a damn sight better than this.

Except something wasn’t quite right. Something that niggled him enough to make him open his eyes again. Something which, as he looked around him, took him from initial puzzlement and confusion to mounting unease and, finally and inevitably, outright fear.

Where the hell was he ? He was in a room, sure, but… where ? It was too large to be any room from his own apartment, and way too clean to be the shared bedroom at the TLG office.

The clinical whiteness of the walls and ceiling made him instinctively think of a hospital room.

But somehow Byers doubted whether even top flight medical insurance would normally extend to the very best silk sheets. And he was still fully dressed, in one of his favourite suits.

“Well, Toto…” he said at last, now decidedly uneasy as he swung his legs to the side of the bed and climbed somewhat gingerly to his feet. “Something tells me we’re not in Kansas any more…”

Gradually he became aware of another presence approaching him and he turned with intuitive speed to confront it – only for that fight or flee instinct to desert him in the shock of the sight which now met wide, stunned eyes. The shock of the totally and obscenely impossible.

A familiar figure now stood beside him, regarding him with a mixture of amusement and concern.

“Well now, young Byers…” John F Kennedy said at last, smiling through the scars of a painstakingly restored face. “Didn’t you just choose one hell of a day to be born…?”

Faced with this impossible sight, it was only natural for Byers to try and find a logical reason behind it.

“No, this – this isn’t for real… I - I must be dreaming…” he told himself, even going so far as to rub his eyes in the hope of believing what they were telling him. That he was standing face to face with John F Kennedy. No, this had to be a dream, or a lousy practical joke, or…

But he wasn’t dreaming. Hell, not even Langly and his box of electronic tricks could have set this up. Which meant…

“Oh, sweet Jesus…” Byers whispered, stricken with panic now as the penny finally dropped. “Dear God, I – I’m dead…!”

It was difficult enough to try and come to terms with that bombshell, let alone have the hand of a ghost settle on his shoulder.

His companion was still smiling at him, maybe a little sadder now – certainly more concerned as Byers spun away from him, back pedalling away in confusion and terror, as though faced by the devil himself.

“No, John, you’re not dead…” Kennedy said soothingly, holding up his hands in additional appeasement while nodding towards one of the walls. “See…?”

Still in a panic stricken retreat, it took several seconds for Byers to find the courage to obey – his eyes widening in renewed disbelief at the scene before him.

It was rather like being in a cinema. Except the lights were still full on. And he was the only person in the audience.

Not to mention the fact that he himself was the star of the show – the sight of himself lying on a hospital bed, surrounded by life support machinery proving so surreal that he didn’t even notice that Kennedy had now not only rejoined him but had also replaced his hand on his shoulder.

“No, you’re not dead, John… you’re just at what we’ve come to call the half way house…” Kennedy said gently, relieved that this second attempt at reassurance hadn’t brought that soul destroying reaction of utter terror that he’d seen from Jackie and Bobby.

He’d been following this young man’s quest for several years now, feeling an affinity towards him that went beyond the two names that they shared, and the day in history which had brought life to one and death to the other. Denied the truth behind his murder and the countless other conspiracies which threatened both his country and countrymen alike, he’d seen John Byers as his personal means to ensure those conspiracies were exposed.

Except the boy had become disillusioned of late, frustrated by spending his life as a fugitive, looking constantly over his shoulder.

“So I’m not dead…” Byers said at last, his voice inevitably choking as the scene panned back to show an exhausted, grim faced Frohike and Langly keeping vigil at his bedside. Finding that scene too painful to dwell upon any longer, he then turned to face his companion with eyes that were confused now rather than fearful. “So in that case, what am I doing here…?”

The cruelly maligned face of the man who had so shaped his life now smiled gently back at him. “Because I need your help, John… and so does our country…” he said at last, his smile widening at the expression of startled wonder which now settled on his young charge’s face.

The invitation to sit down on the bed was gratefully accepted, since Byers wasn’t sure how much longer his legs could have supported him.

“My help…?” Byers repeated slowly, shaking his head in open bewilderment. “But – But how…? I mean, to be having an out of body experience like this must mean I’m close to death, so…”

Curiosity and a morbid fascination with his own mortality compelled him to glance once more towards the viewscreen and the surreal sight of watching himself fighting for his life.

“Yes, John, you are having an out of body experience…” Kennedy agreed, meeting Byers’ somewhat alarmed glance with a reassuring smile as he came to sit beside him. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re going to die, John… not when you still have so much to do in your lifetime…”

More composed now, Byers was astonished to find himself smiling back – deciding that he was just going to accept what was happening to him and not waste time in trying to understand it.

“You mean to keep on searching for the truth…?” he said at last – encouraged by Kennedy’s prompting nod to continue more with more confidence, “Including the conspiracy that led to…?” Suddenly realising what he was about to say, Byers stopped himself just in time and began to mumble an awkward apology – greatly relieved to see his faux pas being kindly smiled away.

“You know, John, I’ve been asking myself the self same question over and over again for the past thirty five years…” Kennedy replied, his voice tellingly and understandably quiet as the viewscreen beside them played out the shocking events of that fateful November day.

Seeing Byers swallow hard in still awkward sympathy, he then reached across to gently pat his companion’s shoulder. When he spoke again, both voice and smile had regained their strength.

“As you see, John, I was denied the chance to find out the answers – and now I’m relying on you to find them instead… not just for me, but for our very country itself…”

Kennedy paused once more, studying the spellbound young man before him as though trying to decide whether to voice his thoughts – encouraged by the curiosity in his eyes to continue.

“John, I know this was hardly the life that you expected to lead – on the run, looking constantly over your shoulder. And I know how frustrated you feel at times, how discouraging and frustrating it must be to come up against so many brick walls. But you have to keep fighting these people.

You must keep on protecting the truth. Because if it weren’t for people like you and Mulder, Frohike and Langly and everyone else who believes, then… well, they will have won.

And believe me, John, if they are allowed to take such complete control of our country…”

“Then it will be the beginning of the end…” Byers said softly, suddenly more aware than ever of just how much was at stake. How vital his role in both exposing and protecting the truth was.

With awareness, though, came even more questions – the most obvious one asked with rather more tact and thought than the earlier one he’d had to so hastily stop.

“So, the theory behind your death… I – I mean, you’re talking about ‘they’ and the threat which these people pose to our country. But who are these people…? Are they really part of our own Government ? Were they really responsible for murdering you ? Their own President…?”

Kennedy was silent for such a long time that Byers dreaded that he’d overstepped the line again. Eventually though he smiled, albeit sadly, and shrugged his shoulders.

“These people believe in power and control as fervently as you and I believe in the truth…” he said at last, growing silent once more while he pensively fingered his reconstructed face before favouring Byers with a proud if somewhat rueful smile. “As for the theory of the lone gunman… well, let’s just say that it’s kind of ironic that there are three of you…”

The blue in Byers’ eyes became islands in white as he considered this latest twist in an already incredible theory. Everyone knew about the supposed shots fired from the grassy knoll, but… a third gunman…? If anyone had ever considered that theory, then he had yet to know of it.

And, as Frohike never tired of playfully teasing him, no one knew more about the John F Kennedy conspiracy than his rather less well known namesake.

A third gunman, though…? Oh boy, wait till Frohike and Langly and Mulder heard about this… Lost in both thought and the repercussions of what he’d just learned, it took some moments for Byers to remember who he’d learned that bombshell from – grateful that his embarrassed glance upwards was met with another amused smile of understanding.

“Speaking of gunmen…” Kennedy said at last, still smiling while nodding towards the wall. “I rather think that they’d like you to come back fairly soon…”

Byers followed his gaze, concern tinging an affectionate smile as he watched Frohike and Langly continue their long and anxious vigil, with Langly’s whispered plea still somehow reaching him.

“Come on, dude, you’ve got to come through this… I mean, how am I supposed to keep control of old Doo Hickey on my own…?”

“I heard that, Gangly…” came the inevitable response from the opposite side of the bed.

Laughing at the rueful face which Langly pulled in reply, Byers enjoyed this exchange of affectionate nicknames and the brief but welcome, tension breaking grins that passed between his friends before he turned back to regard the just as amused Kennedy with new purpose in his eyes.

“We won’t let you down, sir…” he said – thinking how odd it was that an experience which had initially shocked and terrified him was now one that he was almost reluctant to leave.

Struck by a sudden thought, he then asked hesitantly, “Will I still remember any of this ? I mean, meeting you and realising how much more there is still to do and…”

Kennedy just smiled and nodded, again reaching to place his hand on Byers’ shoulder. “Yes, John, you’ll remember all of this. After all, what’s the point in finding incentive if you can’t remember any of it…?” he replied, enjoying the blush of comprehending embarrassment which crept up Byers’ cheeks.

“Point made…” Byers grinned, making a mental note that once he was back in the land of the living and able to relate this momentous encounter, certain parts of it would come in for some carefully judicious editing.

First, of course, he had to get back amongst the living…

Damn. Another potentially embarrassing question – one which the now mischievously smiling Kennedy seemed to have anticipated.

“Well then, John, we’d better see about getting you back where you belong…” he said at last, the smile widening to an all out grin of schoolboyish wickedness as he added innocently, “Now I know you’re not exactly in Kansas, but… well, try tapping your heels together anyway…” Byers felt his eyes widen in surprise at such a flippant remark. Then again, he thought, sufficiently recovered enough now to enjoy and return the President’s mischievous smile, I’m having an out of body experience here. Why shouldn’t JFK be cracking jokes…?

A sudden inexplicable wave of tiredness washed over him, and Byers realised it was time for this incredible encounter to come to an end.

Perhaps it was the tiredness which was rapidly engulfing him, but the figure of John F Kennedy was now moving backwards, his parting words fading with him into a haze of glowing white light.

“Keep fighting for the truth, John… keep fighting for our future…”

Barely awake now, Byers still managed an answering nod of agreement before closing his eyes – a smile of contented purpose settling on his face as he felt himself begin to drift.

“There’s no place like home…” he murmured, savouring the comforting warmth which now wrapped itself around him. “There’s no place like home…”

His next awareness was of waking on a road with a four way sign above him. Climbing somewhat wearily to his feet, Byers allowed himself a final smile to the now distant light behind him and waved to a shadowy figure within it, before he picked up his jacket and began walking down the long road which lay ahead of him.



Mulder handed Scully her coffee and returned her smile before following her gaze towards two chairs on the other side of the room – and in particular the two sleeping figures who were sprawled out on them.

Although both were exhausted by this harrowing wait for Byers’ recovery, Frohike and Langly had firmly insisted on staying with their colleague rather than go home and catch up on some long overdue, much needed sleep.

Now, as that wait entered its second night, that same exhaustion had brought them the ideal compromise, courtesy of a couple of spare easy chairs from one of the neighbouring wards.

“Still crashed out then…?” Mulder said at last, still regarding his two friends with sympathetic concern before turning back to Scully.

Scully just nodded, sharing his concern – knowing from her own experience how draining and harrowing it was to watch someone you loved fighting so hard to stay alive.

“How’s he doing…?” Mulder added after a slight pause, his attention drawn back to the room’s other still and silent occupant.

“No change, although…” Scully hesitated then nodded towards Byers’ eyes, which were now twitching rapidly beneath still firmly closed lids. “With such pronounced REM as this, I’d imagine that he’s dreaming…”

“Or having an out of body experience…” Mulder said softly, glancing questioningly back at her. Five years ago, the devoutly Christian, scientific minded Scully might have dismissed such an outlandish suggestion.

But now, after seeing so much that neither faith nor science could explain, not to mention her own still unfathomable experience, she simply nodded her concurrence before turning back to gently squeezing Byers’ hand.

Watching her, Mulder smiled to himself. While she’d been openly sceptical of them at first, even scornful of the Lone Gunmen’s belief of a conspiracy round every corner, Scully now respected this unlikeliest of trios as highly as Mulder, just as she valued their friendship – the fact that they trusted and respected her so much in return speaking volumes for both parties.

Of the three of them, she seemed closest to Byers – no doubt thinking that anyone so courteous and mannerly couldn’t possibly pose any threat to her. A view which was hardly surprising, considering his two, far rougher diamond colleagues.

Then again, even if it had been Langly or Frohike lying there, fighting for his life, Mulder knew that Scully would be holding their hand too, trying to bring them through that darkest and loneliest of battles.

Or maybe they were related…

Now that was an outrageous thought, even for him. Byers and Scully related…?

Mulder shook his head, not sure what he’d overdosed on to come out with that crazy thought – either caffeine or sunflower seeds…

Mind you, the more he thought about it…

Both had red hair, although Byers’ was somewhat darker. And Scully had once archly told him that she was not a redhead but a strawberry blonde, with changes in season accounting for the swings from rich red to coppery gold. And there was he thinking it had all come out of a bottle…

Both had striking blue eyes, normally calm and gentle until something piqued their passion. Then Scully’s would flash with Irish temper - hence Mulder’s wise decision to keep these thoughts and this particular theory very much to himself.

Even so, both families had hailed from Ireland… from the same area too, if memory served… Hm, suddenly this crazy notion of his didn’t seem so crazy after all… or maybe it was just an exhausted mind putting two and two together and somehow coming up with Einstein’s theory…

Mulder shut his eyes, trying to force his mind to come up with the much more accurate four – a deep drink of coffee helping to bring his runaway imagination back under control.

Even so, he couldn’t help but still idly wonder… Dana Scully and John Byers somehow related… now what an incredible X file that would make…

Movement from the other side of the bed interrupted his musings – which, considering the puzzled glances that Scully was now casting him, was probably just as well.

Winking reassurance back at her, Mulder then teasingly waved his coffee beneath the waking Frohike’s nose.

“You know, Frohike, when it comes to sniffing out coffee or just food in general, you could put Pavlov’s dogs to shame…”

Still half asleep, Frohike just pulled a face at him – then called Mulder’s bluff so beautifully that even Scully had to smile as Mulder’s coffee suddenly found a new owner.

“Any change, Dana…?” Frohike asked, too anxious in watching Scully check Byers’ chart to notice Mulder’s look of mock indignation.

Before she could respond, however, another voice beat her to it.

“Hey, what’s happening…? Is he coming round…?”

The questions were more yawned than spoken as Langly uncoiled his lanky frame and sat up, carefully rubbing the inevitable stiffness from his neck and shoulders while regarding Frohike’s hijacked coffee with hungrily envious eyes.

The eyes of Fox Mulder rolled in mock exasperation as he rose from his seat and headed yet again for an already much frequented coffee machine.

“Byers, you’d better hurry up and come round…” he murmured, somewhat ruefully studying what was a rapidly depleting supply of loose change before keying in his latest selection. “Either that, or Frohike is going to do some fancy hacking so we get unlimited free coffee…”

Byers obliged him with seventy cents to spare – although his anxiously awaited return to the land of the living almost scared Langly out of it…



It had been one hell of a long walk – one which, to his sore and aching feet, seemed to have lasted for days rather than hours.

Finally though, Byers stood on the crest of a riverbank, staring somewhat uncertainly at the fast flowing stream which ran below him.

The stream wasn’t that wide, and with his long legged athleticism he was pretty sure that he could jump across. But ever since that freak sailing accident which had nearly drowned him as a child, Byers had secretly harboured an understandable phobia around free flowing water.

Hell, he didn’t even stay in the shower any longer than he had to.

Besides he was so tired now - leaden legs now adding to the misery of blistered feet and the grandmother of all headaches.

Suddenly feeling more miserable than he’d ever have thought possible, Byers was still nervously staring down at the water when a familiar voice made him look up, startled.

“Hey, Byers !”

It was Langly, standing on the opposite bank, with Frohike scrambling up to stand beside him – both eagerly beckoning for him to join them.

“Hey, what are you waiting for…? Get on over here…!”

“Come on, Byers, what’s the matter…? Scared that natty suit of yours might shrink…?” Damn, this was embarrassing, Byers thought ruefully. Here he was, thirty five years old and six feet tall – scared stiff of a little running water.

Still trying to work out how to explain all this without sounding like a total wimp, Byers was both surprised and immensely grateful to discover that explanation might not be needed after all. Anchored by Frohike, Langly was now putting those long arms of his to inspired use, leaning across the water while calling for Byers to jump.

“Come on, Byers, that was just a freak accident. Don’t worry, I’ll catch you… come on, jump…” Byers felt his eyes widen in surprise. Now how the hell did Langly know about the accident ? He’d never had cause or inclination to tell them, unless…

Of course. This was an out of body experience, where he’d already met John F Kennedy – so to have Langly somehow know about the cause for his fear of water wasn’t just possible, it was also seemingly vital for getting him back to the land of the living.

He’d have to be quick, though. That stream of water was wider now, flowing faster by the second. If he didn’t get across it soon…

Taking a deep breath, Byers looked up and waved to show that he was ready to attempt it. After backing up a few strides, he mentally braced himself, then took a running jump… Somewhere during that scrambled flight, a strong hand grabbed hold of his wrist – and Byers, simultaneously terrified and exhilarated, gripped that hand as though he’d found the last life belt on the Titanic…



Langly came to with a start and tried to release his hand from whatever was gripping it so tightly – then stopped and stared as he realised the cause for that searching, near frantic grip.

The movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, but Byers’ fingers were undoubtedly moving. Then Byers began to whimper, stirring fretfully against Langly’s attempts to quieten him – and Langly’s delight reverted swiftly to alarm again as Byers became more and more agitated.

Suddenly he wished the others hadn’t left him to go and get something to eat as Langly tried to settle his restless friend. If ever he needed Scully’s calm medical expertise, it was now.

Then from being alone, the room was suddenly full of people – specifically a small army of nurses who now set to work around their patient with practised, reassuring calm.

“No, don’t let go of his hand…” one of them told the relieved yet still somewhat unsettled Langly, smiling at him before nodding towards Byers’ still twitching fingers. “You’re his link from where he’s just been to where he’s trying to return… whatever you do, don’t let go…”

Langly just nodded, guessing what she had meant – using his other hand to reinforce that precious link while offering three anxious faced, newly returned friends a tensely hopeful smile.

“He suddenly turned real restless… must have figured it was lunchtime…” he explained – noting with some amusement how quickly other appetites were forgotten and meal trays discarded as Frohike, Scully and Mulder clustered round him, all waiting eagerly for the moment which had been so anxiously awaited and just as fervently prayed for.

“He’s breathing well on his own now…” the nurse who had spoken to him earlier now reported, glancing briefly up at them and casting Langly in particular an encouraging smile before returning to her task of carefully disconnecting the respirator. “Yes, I’d imagine he’ll feel a lot more comfortable without all this stuck down his throat…”

With so much machinery to attend to, it took some time to free Byers from it.

Finally though he lay calm and settled again, the respirator attachments now replaced by thinner, far less unsightly oxygen tubes which ran round his head and under his nose.

“He still needs oxygen, but he’s over the worst of it, and his vital signs are already improving…” the nurse went on, checking that her patient was as warm and as comfortable as possible before smiling across at four hopeful, expectant faces. “I’d imagine he’ll come round soon…”

It was the moment they’d all waited for. And if they hadn’t been so exhausted by the trauma of waiting for that moment to come, four anxious friends might have had the strength to celebrate. Instead they turned to whoever was closest to them - Langly to Mulder, Frohike to Scully - and held them, each praying they hadn’t just willed their imagination to make that moment happen.

Eventually they released each other, as one turning to let the proof of sight finally allay their fears - and were once more thrilled to find those prayers had been answered too.

IV lines and monitor wires still hung around him, but not even that couldn’t detract from the sense of delight and renewed optimism which now brought thrilled smiles of relief to four no longer quite so haggard faces. For the first time in almost four days, John Byers actually resembled a human being rather than a lab experiment.

It was Langly who finally voiced the inevitable, hesitantly hopeful question.

“He – He’s going to be okay, isn’t he…? He’s going to make it…?”

He would have settled for that rather attractive nurse to say yes, maybe even a rough idea of how much longer they were going to have to wait for Byers to regain consciousness.

What actually happened next was more than any of them could have expected or hoped for. After several false starts, Byers’ eyes finally opened – blinking as they adjusted to the light, before they tried to focus on the four hazy figures who now leaned carefully over him.

While thrilled by his recovery, Langly couldn’t help but trade an uneasy glance with Frohike – clearly unsettled by the alarming blankness in normally bright, lively eyes.

The CAT scans had all come back clear, but they’d still been warned that Byers could still be affected by amnesia after such a severe head injury.

But then those eyes cleared a little, and Byers even managed a weak, near embarrassed grin – signs of recognition which changed anxious uncertainty to thrilled relief.

“Welcome back, kiddo…” Frohike said at last, leaning carefully closer to give Byers’ shoulder a gentle pat of encouragement. “Easy now, you’re going to be okay… just rest easy…”

Byers nodded in sleepy acknowledgement before favouring both with a shyly grateful smile – and five weakly whispered words.

“Th - Thanks for catching me, guys…”

That remark alone caused considerable intrigue – especially to the now totally bewildered Langly.

“Catching me…?” Langly echoed, his puzzlement only increasing at seeing Frohike’s calm nod of comprehension.

“I’m guessing he’s had some sort of out of body experience, and we helped him through it…” Frohike explained, exchanging a confirming nod of agreement with Mulder before he glanced back at Langly and grinned. “Should be quite a tale…”

He may have explained one mystery, but Frohike was as stunned as everyone else by the follow up which Byers left them with as he drifted back to sleep.

“It’s okay, Mr President… I’ve made it… I’m back in Kansas…”

“Kansas…?” Scully echoed, trading quizzical grins with Mulder before both glanced at Frohike. “I thought you said Byers came from Vancouver…?”

“He is… I - I mean, he does… and as far as I know he’s never been to Kansas in his life…” Frohike replied, just as nonplussed as he stared down at his now peacefully sleeping friend.

“Never mind birthplaces…” Langly chimed in, determined as ever to pursue the main issue. “I mean, did you hear what else he said…? Mr President…?”

With the immediate crisis now over, Mulder couldn’t resist lightening the mood a little. “Don’t tell me you boys have been buzzing the White House again…” he said dryly, favouring each Gunman in turn with a teasingly reproachful grin.

“Who ? Us ?” Langly protested, with an expression of injured innocence which only heightened Mulder’s suspicions.

Scully, knowing better than to get involved, just inwardly shuddered at the mere thought of it. The Lone Gunmen running riot in the White House, happily eavesdropping on the very heart of American government… no, that degree of chaos and conspiracies didn’t bear thinking about…

“Yes, well, whoever he’s been talking to, he looks to have enjoyed the experience…” Scully said, nodding to where Byers was now resting quietly, smiling in his sleep.

Reaching to gently brush back his fringe, letting her hand run on down the length of his cheek, she then looked up just in time to see three hastily disguised grins and felt her face redden to pretty much the same shade of her hair.

“Hey, Dana… any chance of you tucking me in as well…?” Frohike asked, ever hopeful – knowing there was now a very real chance of ending up on the critical list himself, but figuring it was worth the risk regardless.

At any other time, Scully’s glare would have frozen him where he stood.

Now though, with so much to be thankful for, she simply smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

“Maybe…” she replied, a coquettish wink causing three mouths to collectively drop in surprise.

Allowing herself a grin at this inspired turning of tables, she then linked her arm through the still stunned Frohike’s while nodding towards the peacefully sleeping Byers.

“Well, Byers looks to be settled now… even having good dreams…” she went on, concern now mingling with amusement as she studied three emotionally exhausted faces, leading her to add more seriously, “Speaking as both doctor and friend, I suggest we get home now and do the same…”

“Amen to that…” Langly agreed – the thought of tumbling into his own bed and finally getting a full night’s untroubled sleep one which was growing more attractive by the second.

Even so, that didn’t stop him and the others in turn from giving Byers’ arm one last reassuring squeeze before they left him to sleep on in peace.

Needless to say, all four were still quietly theorising over the identity of Byers’ president, and were still trading suggestions as they made their way along the corridor.

But the solution behind that cryptic statement, and the reason why Byers was now smiling so contentedly in his sleep, would remain his secret for just a little while longer...



The End.