Personal Mementos
By Mary Kleinsmith (Buc252@aol.com)

Category:   Missing Scene, MT, MS Friendship/UST or MSR, 
depending on your viewpoint.  Nothing overt
Rating:  PG (but only for language)
Spoilers:  Memento Mori
Summary: He Ran
Acknowledgments:  Thank you to Laura for the beta and support, 
and to Vickie, Debbie, and Sara for keeping ATF up and running.  
And a special thank you to all the readers who support me and my 
work.  Oh, and a special acknowledgment to whichever author it 
was (sorry, I can't remember) who first had Scully use the 
expression, "like something the cat hacked up."  I loved the 
expression so much, I had her use it in my story, too.  I hope, if 
you're reading, you don't mind.
Author's Notes:  Written for After_The_Fact's Memento Mori 
challenge.
Feedback:  It's like food for the gods (forgive me, I wrote this 
while watching The Ten Commandments). <g>

Personal Mementos
By Mary Kleinsmith (Buc252@aol.com)


He ran.

As soon as he heard the click of the electrified latch, he pushed his 
way through the door like a thoroughbred coming out of the 
starting gate.  He banished from his mind the memory of the 
assassin coming toward him, firing shots through the bullet-proof 
glass until he'd managed to make a hole.  Bullets had flown behind 
him as he cleared the door, their wind displacement almost 
tangible on the back of his neck.

He ran.  

His arms pumped, his feet flew, and he made it back to the van.  
He hadn't even hesitated when a stitch in his side showed he 
needed a break.  For safety's sake, they'd parked nearly a mile 
away, and he covered the distance with astounding alacrity.  
Throwing himself into the open back doors, he shouted at the 
driver.

"I'm in!  Go! Go!"

"I'm on it," Frohike said, yanking his microphone/earpiece from 
his ear as he stepped on the gas.  Langley sat silently beside him, 
the intensity of the situation suppressing even the verbal barbs he 
normally would have thrown at his partner.  

"What about Byers?"

"He's out and okay," the driver confirmed.  Byers had taken his 
own car, knowing that if one of them got caught, they didn't all 
have to.  "He was on his way before we were."

"Good," Mulder said, pushing himself to a sitting position from 
where he'd flung himself in his mad dash into the van. 

The vehicle, license plate carefully concealed, sped off into the 
darkest night.  Mulder didn't have to tell them where their next 
stop had to be.


Nearly eight hours later . . .

She hadn't wanted to let him go.  His arms had felt so good around 
her, soothing away the aches and pains, mental as well as physical.  
Even his lips on her forehead had felt wonderful.  A blessing.  A 
benediction.  

It was something she had that Penny hadn't.  A Mulder.  
Somebody in her life besides another abduction victim to sit by her 
side when she was unwell, to help when she was feeling tired, or 
just talk to when she was feeling alone.  

Dana Scully walked the halls of the hospital back toward her room, 
almost ready to take the turn into the adjoining hall before she 
realized he wasn't following as expected.

"Aren't you coming, Mulder?" she asked from nearly a hall's 
length away.  Somehow, he heard her voice, even though she 
hadn't spoken loudly enough to wake the other patients.

"I'll be there in a second, okay?" he said, looking slightly 
embarrassed, but she couldn't imagine why.  "I need to make a 
phone call."

"Who are you going to call at five o'clock in the morning?"

"I promised Skinner I'd let him know how you were doing.  And I 
guess I should give him a verbal report on Scanlon, at least."  He 
smiled gently.  "Meet you in your room?"

"I'm standing here in my bathrobe, looking like something the cat 
hacked up.  Where do you think I'd go?"  She smiled.

"I heard of a big slumber party at a sorority house down the street . 
. ." Mulder volunteered, smiling as well.

"Meet you in my room," she said in simple answer.  

The hospital room seemed cold without him there, but a little 
warmth remained when she picked up her journal.  He said he'd 
read her words.  Her first instinct had been to feel disappointed; 
she'd decided to destroy it, just as she'd told him.  But now, 
something seemed comforting . . . right . . . about her being able to 
hold them in her hands and know he'd read them and still accepted 
her.  Still wanted her in his life with a desperation they both held 
for their relationship.  It was filled with her innermost thoughts and 
feelings, which she hadn't ever shared with anybody.  And now, 
she could assure herself that he knew her – all of her.

Setting the book back on the nightstand, a shadow on her fingers 
drew her attention.  The lights were dim, the room bathed in a 
semi-dark quietness.  But there was enough illumination to see 
something there.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she flicked on the overhead light.  It 
bathed her in it's white glow, and she could see her hands clearly.  
Could see the red flakes that adorned them.

It looked like nail polish, after it had been on for too long and 
began to chip in tiny flakes.  Burgundy nail polish . . . but she'd 
had none on in any color when she was admitted.  Studying her 
fingers more closely, she wondered where she could have picked 
up the unidentified substance.  She knew they had been clean as 
she held Penny's hand through her last moments of life.  And the 
only thing she'd touched since then had been . . .

"Isn't it past your bedtime, young lady?" the voice came from the 
doorway.  She looked up sharply, startled.  

"Mulder!  You nearly gave me a heart attack," she said, 
momentarily distracted.

"Well, if you're going to have one, there isn't a better place," he 
smiled sitting down beside her.  "What had you so fascinated that 
your sharp, detective's instincts didn't take note of me in your 
doorway?"

"I picked up this red stuff somewhere – it's all over my hands," she 
explained.  "I think it's on you, Mulder.  You're the only thing I've 
touched."

"Thing?" Mulder smiled.  "Thanks for the compliment, Scully."

Scully slapped at his arm tiredly.  "You know that's not how I 
meant it.  But we'd better get it off you before you get red paint all 
over the hospital."

"Scully, I haven't been anywhere where there was red paint," he 
denied as he shed his leather jacket.  "I don't know where you got 
it, but it wasn't from me."

His denial fell on deaf ears.  "Turn around, Mulder. I'm betting it's 
on your turtleneck."

"There is nothing on my shirt!" he disagreed adamantly, but turned 
as he was ordered.  

Suddenly, Scully was yanking at the black cloth.  "Mulder, you've 
got a rip back here a couple inches wide."  She retracted her hands 
and found more red flakes.  Suddenly, she thought she knew what 
it was.

"Oh, my God, Mulder.  This looks like dried blood."  He looked 
over his shoulder, trying to see the place she was examining.  
"Where exactly were you tonight?"

"It doesn't matter, Scully.  Just forget it."

But she wasn't forgetting it.  She was still fussing with his shirt; 
any residual weakness was ignored in favor of a closer 
examination of her partner.  Finally, she un-tucked an edge and 
lifted the shirt, gasping in astonishment at what she revealed.

"Mulder, you have a gash here a mile wide!  What the hell 
happened to you?  Where were you tonight?"

"Nowhere special.  Just hanging out with the Gunmen."  He was 
lying, and she could see it.  Or, at least, not telling the whole story.

"Hanging out where?  Deadman's Alley?" she accused.

He didn't know what to say to her.  Should he tell her about the 
raid?  About the clones, and the ova?

And more to the point, how had he gotten cut?  Reviewing the 
night's events, he couldn't think of any time he was near anything 
sharp enough to make the mark Scully was describing.

"We were just looking into the Gregories and this Dr. Scanlon," he 
said when she looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.  

"<Where> were you looking into them?  And how did you get 
this?" she asked, waving a hand at his side.

"It was just this clinic the Gunmen dug up."

"Didn't you feel when this happened?  The least you could have 
done was cover it with a handkerchief to keep it from bleeding all 
over your shirt and getting infected.  Haven't you even learned the 
basics in all our years together?"

He sighed in frustration.  She was never going to believe it, but . . . 

"I don't know <when> it happened.  I didn't even know anything 
was wrong until five minutes ago when you started yanking at my 
shirt like a sex crazy teenager!"  The joke distracted her for a 
moment.

"Very funny, Mulder."  She turned to the wall behind the 
headboard, pushing a button.  A voice came back a few moments 
later.

"Yes, Miss Scully.  What can we get you?"

"My friend seems to have suffered a minor cut," she said, sending 
a message with her eyes that he should remain silent.  He didn't 
disobey.  "Could you please bring me a large syringe filled with 
sterile normal saline solution, some Betadine, and a few gauze 
pads with saline as well?"

"Would you like me to send in a nurse to take care of it?" the voice 
asked not unkindly, and while he was sure Scully probably thought 
he'd jump at the chance, he knew the truth – he'd rather she do it 
than anybody.

"No, thanks.  I think having medical credentials qualifies me to 
bandage a scrape myself."  It may have sounded harsh, but she said 
it with a weak smile in her voice that was apparently recognized by 
the staff when she answered.

"I'll send the supplies right in."

"Thank you."

A nurse's aid brought in the tray a few silent moments later, and 
Scully thanked the girl and let her go back to her duties.

"Okay, off with the shirt, and lie down." 

"Scully, I . . ."

"Mulder!" she snapped, and he looked at her as if seeing her for 
the first time.  "Look, I'm tired, I've been up all night, I haven't 
gotten completely over the after-effects of the treatments, and the 
last thing I need is to get into a pissing match on this.  So, please . . 
."

He could argue with her until the cows came home over theories 
and aliens, but he couldn't deny the exhaustion in her voice.  He 
pulled off his shirt.

"This is so undignified," he commented under his breath as she 
pulled him down to the bed, positioning him half on his stomach 
and half on his side so she had the wound where she could most 
easily work on it.  

"Indignity is the worst of your problems, Mulder," she said 
seriously.  "You know how I feel about your taking off without 
me."

"Well, I had to . . ."  he'd been prepared to say "save you," but bit 
back the words as unproductive. It would just start an argument.  
Fortunately, Scully let it drop at that.

Instead, she'd taken a gauze pad and soaked it with saline, 
touching the pad in gentle swipes to the injury on Mulder's flank, 
just removing the loose flakes of dried blood from around the 
injury.  It came off gradually, as she'd planned.   She didn't wish 
to put undue pressure on the wound and do any more damage.  

"You still say you don't remember how this happened?"

"That's my story, and I'm sticking to it," he responded, then 
flinched when she hit a particularly tender spot.  "Ouch!"

"Sorry, Mulder.  I'm almost done."  She wiped a bit more, slowly 
revealing the damage done to her partner.  Finally, she set aside the 
gauze pad, taking a closer look at the injury.

"Mulder, this looks like a gunshot graze!"

"I've been shot?!"

"It sure looks like it," she said, continuing to examine the wound.  
"I'm going to ask you again.  Where were you tonight?  How did 
this happen?"

Mulder seemed to reach deeply into himself, into his mind and his 
memory.  She believed him when he said he didn't realize he'd 
been hurt, but that didn't mean he didn't know how it had 
transpired.  Somewhere deep in the recesses of his brain.  She let 
him stew over it for a bit.

"You're damn lucky, because it doesn't seem to be getting 
infected.  I need to clean it out to be sure, though.  This isn't going 
to be comfortable."

"Why does that sound like an understatement," Mulder chuckled.

"I could give you a local.  Numb the area, then debride it."

"Nah, just do it, Scully.  Get it over with, so you can get back to 
resting."

"It's not a strenuous activity, Mulder.  But it is one that needs to be 
done."

"Then do it," he said with no hesitation.

"As long as you're sure."  She began to clean the inner area of the 
wound, being sure that anything taken into the wound by the bullet 
or his clothes was removed.  She directed streams of saline from 
the syringe into the wound, over and over, catching the overflow 
with the towel. "If we'd caught this when it was fresh, I'd probably 
have recommended stitches, but in this case, we can probably 
make due with two or three butterflies."  It was a type of bandage 
Mulder knew well.

He held his tongue well, only letting loose of a few quiet grunts 
while she continued her treatment.  She called on the intercom and 
asked for the butterfly bandages, which were delivered quickly by 
a nurse.  

After she handed them to Scully, she stood by.  "Would you like 
some assistance, Dr. Scully?" she asked.

"If you can wait just a minute, I'd appreciate it if you could 
dispose of the garbage," she answered, motioning toward the tray 
now full of red gauze.  

The nurse nodded, and watched while Scully applied all three 
bandages, using them to pull the wound closed.  She then took the 
tray and left the room, leaving the two.

"I just don't see how you couldn't have noticed this when it 
happened," Scully said in confusion as he rose with a flinch, sitting 
on the bed beside her.

"At the time, all I was thinking about was getting back here.  I was 
running, and there was a stitch in my side, but I figured . . ."

"Did you hear gunshots then?"

"No, there weren't any.  The only time I was shot at was . . ."

"So you <were> shot at!  Why didn't you tell me."

"It didn't seem important."

"It wasn't important that somebody tried to kill you?"

"Well, we <were> trespassing in a top-secret facility."

"Doesn't sound like you did a very good job."  But she was 
smiling gently.  "What did the three stooges screw up this time?"

Sighing, he seemed to realize that there was no holding back.  
"They were a little slow in getting an electrified door open."  
Quick to defend, he added, "it wasn't their fault.  It was on a 
redundant system."

The image in her mind amazed her.  "Why aren't you dead?"

There was a glass door I closed behind me.  Bullet resistant, at the 
very least.  The shooter was firing directly at me, but the glass 
protected me until they could unlock the door.  He broke through 
just as they succeeded.  That must be when I got winged.  Maybe it 
was even a ricochet."  

Through his story, she could feel her eyes welling up.  He'd done it 
for her, to help her, she knew.  And he'd almost been killed.  

"Mulder," she said, taking his hands in her own.  "You have to 
promise me not to do anything like that again."

"But . . ."

"No, let me finish.  I know you felt you did what you had to do, 
but you need to understand.  I said I was going back to work, and I 
meant it.  But I've got a big fight on my hands – probably the 
biggest of my life.  Because it <is> my life that's at stake."

He nodded, his own eyes growing wet.  

"But I can't fight this fight without you.  You're my partner.  And 
my best friend.  I need  you, Mulder.  And mostly, I need to be sure 
you're going to be here – with me and for me – until I've won.  
Promise me, Mulder.  No more stunts like this."

"I was trying to save you from the battle," he whispered softly, not 
raising his eyes from where their hands were clasped together.

"That's not possible," she said equally as softly, laying her hand on 
his chin and raising his eyes to look into her own.  "All you can do 
is commit to be here with me through it.  It's my fight . . . but you 
can give me the strength of your beliefs."

"Always," he answered, unable to say any more.

She blinked back her tears, reaching to her bedside.  "I want you to 
have this," she said, giving him the journal.  

"To remember you by?" he laughed bitterly.  "That doesn't sound 
like you're going to fight."

"No, not to remember me by.  To remind you of what you mean to 
me.  When you feel the impulse to run off again, read it.  And, for 
me, call for backup before you go anywhere."  Thinking of the 
Gunmen, she added, "that means Bureau backup."

He nodded, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.  No more need 
be said.

Suddenly, the exhaustion overtook her, and it seemed that the same 
was true of her partner.  She lay back against her pillows, drawing 
him with her until they both rested, side by side, on the pillow.  It 
had been a long night, and even longer days lay ahead, but she felt 
confident now that she could go through it, and come out the other 
side.  With him at her side, how could it be otherwise?

As she drifted off, she heard a drowsy voice beside her.  "Bastards 
probably ruined my favorite leather jacket."

It made her smile as she gave into her exhaustion, falling into a 
sound and contented sleep.

The End