By Michele (starshine24mc@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC17
Fandom: X-Files
Pairing: M/Sk
Date: February 16, 2002
Beta: none
Spoilers: various and sundry, nothing of note, really...
Boring but necessary disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I’m just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!
Summary: It's just a flesh wound...dedicated to all members, instigators and victims alike, of Scottish Nose Fountains Anonymous...

***

Skinner looked away from the glass partition between him and the I.C.U. as Scully approached him. He had been leaning heavily on said glass wall, but now he turned towards his lover’s friend as she walked slowly towards him, and came to a halt at his side. Instinctively, she reached for his hand, and they gazed at one another, her worried expression mirrored perfectly in his dark eyes.

“Are you all right, Dana?” He took a moment to be concerned for her as well as the man on the other side of the glass. The white bandage wrapped high on her forehead stood out in stark contrast to her red hair, and the blue smudge that bruised and puffed out her cheek. He glanced down at the hand he was holding, saw that the wrist was wrapped in a thick tensor bandage, and immediately let up his grip, even though she’d voiced no complaint.

“I’ll be fine, sir. The doctor here tells me Mulder was awake.”

“For a minute, yeah. They slapped him on some heavy dope, though. So they could—you know—repair—uh—“

She saw that he was wincing, most likely unaware that he was doing so, but she could imagine. For one moment she felt entirely grateful not to be a man, not to have to hear about what had happened to her partner, never mind having it actually happen.

“He asked for you,” Skinner said. Scully gave him a startled look, and he added, “He woke up in the ambulance, remembered seeing you. I couldn’t seem to convince him that he wasn’t dreaming.” He paused a moment, some kind of sad grin on his face, one that spoke of relief and horror vying for first place in his heart.

“What did his doctor tell you?” Scully wanted to know.

Skinner shrugged, and there was tension there that looked like it wanted to be anger. In fact, the doctor had been less than helpful, first demanding that Skinner get ‘the hell outta the way already!’ when Mulder had first been rushed into the emergency room, then informing the almost-out-of-his-mind-with-worry man that “he could get a statement later—much later!” As if the man lying so pale and still on the hospital table was nothing more than any old victim of any old crime. Some part of Skinner wanted to be reasonable, to understand that the doctor was simply putting the needs of his patient first, and that to him, Skinner was simply there in an official capacity, as law enforcement, rather than as family.

But his rational self was soundly kicked out of the game when Mulder had cried out his name in a high panicky voice even as interns and nurses were bustling around him, injecting and masking and wheeling him off to an operating room, and the doctor was suddenly confronted, not with an FBI agent in charge of a case, but with an unfettered grizzly bear who was about to tear him a new asshole if he didn’t get some answers.

Still, the doctor showed remarkable, or possibly foolhardy courage, when he calmly informed Skinner that until he could assess the damage for himself, at this point all he could tell the man was that his patient was suffering from some sort of infection, and obviously NOT self-inflicted wounds to the groin.

And then he was gone, and Skinner had been made to wait in some tacky little anteroom, with nothing but stale coffee and old magazines for comfort. A call on his cell phone had confirmed that the scene had been sealed off, but that no other persons had been found, and that all records of what exactly had been taking place in that cabin had been confiscated by the Bureau. The faceless officer on the phone also added that Agent Scully was on her way in a second ambulance, and that she would be there soon for debriefing, along with the rest of the officers that had finally turned a two-person rescue into an actual investigation.

Scully still hadn’t arrived by the time Mulder had been brought back from surgery, and Skinner was beginning to get concerned, although he could barely keep most of his thoughts from Mulder, who was now “resting comfortably” in an ICU bed. Despite bringing all his considerable if not-often used charms to the fore, he was unable to get the nurse to allow him into the room.

And so he had been standing here, separated from Mulder, by only a few feet, which may as well have been the Grand Canyon, when Scully had arrived.

“What can you tell me, Dana?” he asked softly.

“Well, probably only a little more than the doctors know at this point. Mulder seems to have been suffering from some sort of viral infection, although it doesn’t seem to be anything much more than a particularly nasty version of the flu. However, between the exposure from being wounded and outside for a prolonged period, coupled with the—um—procedure that he underwent, the infection spread much more rapidly than it normally would have, and—well, let’s just say he’s going to need as much chicken soup as you can feed him.”

Skinner gave her the small smile she was hoping for, then swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and asked, “Did you find out anything from those files? What did they do to him?” When she looked hesitant, he added, “I need to know.”

“Well, I haven’t been able to find out everything, sir,” she replied. “But from the documents I was able to study on the way over here, it appears that agents unknown seem to have set up some sort of-uh-‘sperm bank’. Collecting samples from donors whose only known connection that’s recorded is, um, unusual encounters.”

Skinner seemed to mull this over a moment, then gave Scully a skeptical look, “They were taking sperm from abductees?”

“I recognized some of the other names on a list in one of the files…from X-Files.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, sir, I can’t say that I do either, but at this point, all we know is that, at least in Mulder’s case, it was NOT a voluntary procedure. At all.”

Skinner winced.

“Recovery from that sort of trauma is going to be a long time coming…if at all.” She suddenly grew teary eyed, and added, “I’m so sorry, sir.”

“He’s a fighter, Scully,” Skinner replied, trying to drive the horror show out of his head.

“You’re right, sir…”she squeezed his hand, “Walter…”

*Walter?

*Shhh, Fox, don’t try to talk…

*What—where am I?

*You’re okay. You’re going to be okay…

*Is Scully here?

*We’re taking you to the hospital, Fox. You’ve been hurt

*Don’t call me Fox…you know I hate it when you do that!

*Take it easy…Mulder. Come on, hon, lie back—

*Is it really you, Walter? I’m so hot…

*Is there something you can give him?

*Walter? Who else is here? Where’s Scully? Am I dreaming?

*Easy, son, you’re going to be all right. I promise. I’m right here, Fox, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you…

*You must be real…

*Of course I am. I-I love you

*I know

“…I know”

Scully smiled at him.

“You don’t have to tell me, sir. He’s the most stubborn man I know, too. Well, maybe the second most stubborn.” She gave him a knowing look and he couldn’t help the embarrassed grin in return.

“Why don’t you see if you can go in and sit with him a while, Dana. They’d probably be okay with that, you being his doctor and all. And I think he’d like that.”

“Will you be all right, sir? I could try—“

Skinner could see her wrestling with the dilemma.

“Of course. I have a dozen agents to debrief, and a hundred files to decipher.”

He looked suddenly younger to Scully, and she realized what a weight she had lifted from him, just with her simple explanation, based on what little she knew.  After a brief struggle, her desire to be near her partner, to assure herself of his safety, won out over her need to play helpful best friend and ace investigator for Skinner.

He understood completely. He glanced one last time at Mulder, then gave Scully’s shoulder a pat and, in a voice suddenly rough with emotion, said, “Tell him I’ll be in to see him as soon as it’s allowed. And please, call me if he—if he needs anything.”

“Yes, sir,” She was on the other side of the glass a moment later, and Skinner felt his heart leap when he saw Mulder’s head turn towards her. He found himself unable to pull himself away from the scene, feeling somehow like an intruder, but somehow welcome as well.

As he watched, Mulder’s eyes opened, closed, then opened again. He seemed unsure of where he was, and his gaze moved restlessly around the room. He looked across to where Skinner was standing, appeared to see him, and then looked away again. Then he was focusing on the woman pulling a chair up beside the bed, and Skinner saw him smile before he turned and walked away.

***

Mulder frowned at Skinner’s retreating back for a moment, then turned his attention to Scully as she spoke.

“Hiya, partner,” she smiled and took his hand, felt him squeeze it almost imperceptibly. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel like I did something immoral with a Shop-Vac*” He paused, cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “How bad is it, Scully?” he asked, his gaze drifting to the spot that Skinner had just left vacant. He felt Scully’s grip on his hand tighten.

“I won’t kid you, Mulder, it was bad. Add on a nasty bug on top of what happened, and, well-well, it’s just a good thing that whomever did this to you was at least half-ways competent.”

He tried to make light of it, but even with the medication he’d apparently been given, he could still feel a dull throb between his legs, and a solid mass of bandages formed an almost obscenely large bump in the sheet covering him. And Scully read the terror in his voice when he smiled sickly and asked, “Tell me, doc, will I ever play the violin again?”

“I’m sure everything’s going to be fine, Mulder.”

He hoped she was right.

“Rest a little more, Mulder. Give the meds a chance to do their work.”

“You’re the doctor,” he agreed easily, fatigue thickening his words. A yawn suddenly broke from him, and he said, “Stick around a little?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks,”

His eyes slipped shut, and a trembling sigh gusted out of him. He continued to hold her hand tightly as sleep crept in to claim him, and for the briefest of moments, Scully wondered what he dreamed…

***

Walter? Walter? Please, I just want to go home. Wait for me, please, I just have to—I won’t, I can’t. Oh, no, please don’t leave me here. I just want to be with—I’m sorry, whatever it was—whatever I did, I promise I—just please don’t go…oh, yes, yes, that’s what I—I dreamed of this—I’ve dreamed of you. If only we could just—wait, no—I said I’m sorry. I’ll be what you need. I just—You can’t leave me like this. Oh, please Walter, I’m so sorry…don’t leave me!