Mulder gulped air greedily, holding the oxygen mask to his nose. He looked up and the room spun sickeningly around him. He could feel his stomach wanting to give up the lousy canapés he'd munched on earlier in the evening, and held back the urge to vomit through sheer force of will. A blur of red and black came into sharp focus, and then Scully was there, her hand soft and cool on his sweating brow.

Scully looked over again at the crowd that had gathered around the children and the driver that had saved them. Phoebe Green was shaking the man's hand, smiling brilliantly, and completely oblivious to Mulder, who had been there first, and who by all accounts should have been the one on the receiving end of that smile.

Mulder started coughing again, and Scully turned her attention back to him. His eyes were slipping shut, and he lost his grip on the oxygen mask.  Scully grabbed his shoulders as his consciousness left him and he slumped over. As she struggled to hold her partner upright, a shadow loomed over her, and she heard a deep quiet voice say, "I've got him, Agent." Then she was pushed gently aside as a tall well-built balding man wearing a tuxedo that was obviously tailored to emphasize his wide shoulders and narrow waist slipped between her and Mulder. The man put the oxygen mask back over her partner's face with a gentleness she didn't think was possible from such large hands.

In one smooth motion, the man scooped Mulder up in his arms, letting the unconscious man's head loll against his chest, then turned to Scully and, in that same velvet in deep snow voice, said, "Does he need to be in a hospital?"

Scully exchanged a long look with the man, her ice-blue eyes locked on his dark brown. Questions unasked and unanswered flew between them, and then, for no reason that she could pin down, Scully made her decision. She hoisted the oxygen tank and said.

"No, sir. If we can just get him to his room…"

"Do you know the number?"

"Yes, sir."

***

Mulder woke up abruptly, surprised to find himself in the bed in his hotel room, unclothed save for the black silk boxers he'd thrown into his suit bag earlier, along with his rented tuxedo and some unformed hopes.

Immediately his lungs caught fire, and he started coughing violently, unable to catch his breath. Scully was in front of him a moment later, holding a glass of water and smiling kindly at him.  He reached for the glass with shaky hands, and took several tiny sips of the cool liquid, effectively dousing the coughing fit.

"You were really out," his partner commented. He gave Scully a measured look, tried to piece together the last few things he remembered, and asked quietly,

"Where's Phoebe?"

"In the room down the hall," Scully replied flatly.

"The kids?"

"They're okay…" She seemed to hesitate for a moment, and Mulder felt a dull flush of shame stain his cheeks as he assumed she was thinking about the same thing he was—his completely botched rescue, and how he'd almost gotten himself killed, along with those kids.

Her next question caught him completely off guard.

"Mulder, how well do you know Assistant Director Skinner?"

It was then that Mulder noticed two black suit jackets draped over the chair next to the bed, and he began to wonder what exactly was going on…