As Jill Saw It

************

We stayed at the hospital most of Saturday and on into Sunday night, coming back early Monday morning. By the time the 7-to-3 shift was leaving Monday afternoon, it was clear to me that Daniel wasn't improving much at all. His vital signs were relatively stable, but not as good as I would have liked to see, and he was making very little headway in coming off the ventilator.

Dr. Montgomery was worried, and so was I -- and I think he knew there was no point in trying to hide it from me. I didn't spend four years getting a bachelor's degree in nursing for nothing.

"I've cut back as far on his medication as I can," Dr. Montgomery said. "I don't want him in pain; that would only put him under more physiologic stress, and that won't help him right now. All we can do is try to get him to wake up and breathe for himself."

I didn't go in the ICU again. It was cowardly of me, but really, I doubted very much that Daniel was going to feel better with me there. Mom visited him, although I could never persuade her to say more than a few words to him. She couldn't believe it was possible for him to be more than marginally aware of his surroundings.

The nurses talked to him, though. Daniel's always been popular with nurses wherever he was stationed because -- although he has high standards -- unlike some surgeons I could name, he's not an arrogant ass.

But the nurses told me they couldn't get anything from him except a few twitches of his eyelids or an occasional muscle spasm. Daniel was somewhere inside himself where no one could reach him.

By nightfall, I was about to despair. Daniel should have been awake by now; instead, he seemed to be slipping away by inches, and there was nothing any of us could do about it.

Mom was almost beside herself, absolutely sick with worry and with the guilt of thinking that her last conversation with Daniel -- the one where she and Dad ordered him from the house -- might turn out to be the last words she ever spoke to him this side of the grave.

And I knew, too, that she wasn't expecting to see him in heaven. Nothing I could say was going to change her mind about that.

When it became clear that she wasn't going to calm down, I sent her back to the hotel, practically ordering her to take a sleeping pill and get some rest. I promised to call the minute there was any change in Daniel's condition.

I was sitting in the waiting room, head in hands, rocking back and forth like a child when I heard a familiar voice say, "Jill?"

I looked up. It was Jim, Daniel's little brother, wearing his dress blues and looking so much like Daniel that I could have wept. He knelt down beside me and hugged me.

"It's not that bad, is it, Jilly?" he said, patting my back. "Daniel's going to be all right, isn't he?"

"I don't know," I said, and then I did start to cry. "I don't know, Jimmy, I just don't know."

************

As Jim Saw It

************

I don't know what I expected to see when I went into the ICU to visit Daniel. I'd talked to him on the phone and we'd exchanged letters and e-mails a time or two, but I hadn't actually seen him since shortly after his divorce.

Divorce. Ain't that a crock. Okay, I'll quit dicking around: What I really mean is I hadn't seen him since right after he told Mom and Pop that he was gay.

Ever since then, it was like I had two brothers: One, the big brother I'd always known and looked up to and the other the mysterious "gay man" who'd replaced him. I didn't know that man, although my family assured me he existed. Sometimes I'd try to imagine Daniel the way they seemed to, all dolled up in drag and mincing around, and I'd just have to laugh. There was no goddamn way. Daniel was never Mr. Macho, but I couldn't imagine that he'd changed that much.

And anyway, he's still in the Navy; if he'd gone all swishy, somebody would have noticed. Sailors watch for that kind of thing.

But I still expected him to look different when I went to visit him, and he did. He looked about half dead, if you want to know the truth, and it pissed me off. He'd damn well better not die on me.

Pretty goddamn funny, right? Getting pissed at my big brother for getting himself shot, especially when it didn't piss me off when he came out of the closet.

Shit, he never had to tell me anything, anyway. We shared a bedroom until he left for college. I knew what he had hidden under his mattress, and it wasn't Playboy, either. It was muscle mags and shit like that. He tried to pass it off as part of his interest in weight- lifting, but I knew better. I just didn't want to acknowledge it. When he started dating Jill his senior year in high school, I was relieved -- just not really convinced.

But when he finally admitted it, I realized that I didn't really give a shit if he was gay or straight or something in between. I didn't care if he wanted to wear women's underwear and prance around on tiptoe like a ballerina. He was my big brother, and he was a great brother, too. Sure, he'd pick on me and tease me sometimes, but basically, I thought he hung the fucking moon. He was always smarter than me; never had any trouble with his grades. Wish I could say the same. But he always tried to help me with my schoolwork when he could.

He never picked fights, either, although he had to fight a few battles for me and even more for himself as we were growing up. There's always some guy in the locker room who thinks he'd like to test out his pugilistic skills on some kid who doesn't seem quite like the others. Daniel got his nose bloodied plenty of times until he started working out and learned to fight back.

And then I got bigger, too, and I let it be known that anyone who had anything to say about my brother could say it to me.

After that, they left him alone. I think.

Daniel never told me that Pop had thrown him out of the house. I found that out about a year later while I was home on liberty, working out the details of my own divorce. Mom called to see how I was doing; I gave her the answer she wanted, and then asked her if she'd heard from Daniel lately. And that's when she told me.

I went ballistic. I stormed over there and told Pop he was out of his fucking mind, that he ought to be proud of Daniel's courage in facing up to this.

He damn near blew a gasket. He told me if I was the face of the modern Navy, the country was in worse shape than he'd thought. He told me he'd never allow a fucking faggot to command a combat mission or even to serve under his command.

A faggot. That was what he called Daniel, his firstborn son -- my brother.

I reminded Pop that Daniel's a medical officer and not likely to be commanding anything except a hospital staff in peace or in war. Okay, I was snide about it. Too fucking bad -- I was royally pissed off.

Pop told me to shut my fucking mouth and not mention that name again in his house.

So I left. I haven't been back, either, although Mom's called and written and cried and begged me to. But I won't. If Daniel's not welcome there, I'm not either.

Grace and Hope were torn up about it. On the one hand, they always looked up to Daniel, too, although they never hero-worshipped him the way I did. On the other hand, they're both Navy in one way or another, and Pop's not just Pop, he's a frickin' captain -- retired, but he's still got quarterdeck air in his lungs. They didn't want to defy him. They were also furious at me for making Mom cry.

End result: I'm the only one still speaking to Daniel. And the only one -- except Mom, of course -- who came to see him in the hospital.

Oh, yeah. Jill was there. That didn't actually surprise me, either. Jill's all right. She and Daniel started dating when I was about 14, so she'd always been like another sister to me, and I thought she was pretty cool. When I found out they were getting a divorce, I damn near cried thinking that Jilly wouldn't be my sister anymore. It upset me almost as much as that fucking "Dear John" letter I got from Elise a few months earlier.

I burned that letter. I don't want to think about it ever again.

But Jill's tough under that pretty blonde exterior. She'd been through hell with losing Daniel, but she had enough tough stuff inside her to come here and sit by his hospital bed and keep Mom from coming apart.

Yeah, Jill's okay. That's why it shook me up to see her crying like that. She'd always been the strong one, I thought.

But when I saw Daniel, I knew why she was crying. He looked like a wax model of himself. He looked like the fucking Bionic Man with all the tubes and machines and shit hooked up to him. He'd lost weight, too, and his face was drawn and pale, and there was blood on some of the bandages on his chest.

I stood there looking at him for the longest time, and then I grabbed his hand and I spoke to him.

"You listen to me, you stupid son of a bitch," I said, real gruff so I wouldn't sound all weepy. "You'd better get well and get your ass out of that bed before I pull you out and beat the crap out of you -- sir," I added, just in case he was awake enough to hear me.

Yeah, he's my brother, but he's also my superior officer, and I respect that.

As I looked at him lying there in that bed, I prayed -- for the first time in years -- that God would give me just one more chance to tell him, to make it up to him for all the silence and for everything else he'd lost.

I wasn't going to let him down again.

***********

When I came out of the ICU, Jill had fallen asleep on one of the couches. I sat down next to her and put my hand on her shoulder to wake her up.

"Jill," I said, quietly. She opened her eyes.

"Jim," she said, sleepily. "Did you see him?"

"I saw him," I said, grimly. "He looks like hell. Jilly, what's wrong with him?"

"Aside from the obvious?" she said, trying to smile and failing utterly. "I don't know. He ought to be awake and breathing by now. He's not, and I don't know why."

"Is that why you sent for me -- to try to wake him up?" I asked.

Jill looked puzzled. "I didn't send for you," she said. "I thought the Navy notified relatives of things like this."

"The Navy notified me, but somebody pulled some strings to get me here this fast," I said. "I thought it was you -- I thought maybe your father ..."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "It wasn't me. I don't know who it was."

"Well," I said, "I guess it doesn't matter. I'm here, and I'll be able to stay for a while, anyway. Let's get you back to your hotel and let me go find a place to sleep."

************

When we got to the hotel, Mom -- who apparently had defied Jill's instructions to get some sleep -- insisted that she and Jill could double up and that I should take her room. Jill said that was fine with her, so I did, with some misgivings. I didn't really feel like having a confrontation with Mom but it was bound to occur at some point, so I might as well stay.

Jill said she wasn't sleepy either, so I took Mom's car and went out for burgers and a newspaper. It was late, and the Tuesday early editions were hitting the streets.

"Look at this," I said when I got back. "There was a serial killer loose in Boston, Mom."

"A serial killer?" she said in horror, taking the paper from me. She read it for a minute, and I could see her jaw tighten. "Well, well," she said, in disgust. "Look who's in this story, Jill."

Jill took the paper and read the article. "Oh," she said, looking -- guilty? What the hell did she have to feel guilty about?

"Somebody want to tell me what's going on?" I asked, looking from Jill to Mom and back to Jill again.

For a minute, neither of them spoke. Finally, Jill broke the silence.

"It's the FBI agent who shot the killer," she said. "He's Daniel's ... um ..."

"Lover?" I said, and they both winced. Too fucking bad -- it was time for both of them to start dealing with it. "Sorry," I said, although I wasn't. "You did know Daniel was gay, didn't you?"

"James, for the love of God," Mom said furiously.

"Jim, please," Jill said, almost at the same time, but she wasn't angry -- she was honestly pleading with me.

I didn't say anything for a minute. I took the paper back from Jill and glanced over it. "So Daniel's boyfriend is an FBI agent named Fox Mulder," I said. "And this serial killer is the reason he's not here?"

The silent treatment again. I looked up. Mom was tight-lipped and Jill was looking even guiltier than before.

"All right, what the fuck is going on?" I demanded. I don't usually swear like that around my mother, but this was getting on my last hanging hemorrhoid. "There's something you two aren't telling me."

"It's ... Mom thought it was best if ...," Jill began, and then she stopped and looked at Mom.

"He's not allowed to visit," Mom said, coldly. "Immediate family only."

"I'm betting that's not based on hospital policy, either," I said.

"Jim, you have to understand," Jill said, taking Mom's hand. She always did cling to Mom a lot; it made me wonder what her relationship with her own mother was like. "Mom's worried that if this man were seen with Daniel, it might ... cause trouble."

"Trouble as in what?" I said. "As in he might out my brother?"

"James, you know perfectly well how these people behave sometimes," Mom said, with that perfect, stereotypical but completely phony Bostonian tone in her voice. "We can't have that kind of thing in the hospital where Daniel is stationed. He could lose his entire career, everything he's worked for."

"Mom, somehow, I don't think Daniel's going to hook up with someone who's a risk to out him," I said. I was going to say more, but then I caught that pleading look in Jill's eyes again. She wanted this to stop. She always did shrink from controversy.

"All right," I said, conceding the battle -- for now. "We'll talk about this in the morning. But I don't think you're going to be able to keep this Mulder guy away once Daniel wakes up."

"We will deal with that," Mom said, firmly, "if or when the time comes."

************

As Mulder Saw It

************

God, I am such a colossal fuck-up.

I've been in the FBI for more than 10 years and I didn't have the sense to realize how badly I was being played. I mean, I fucking profiled John Lee Roche. I knew what a con artist he was, and I let him get to me.

I have no idea how Roche did what he did. I couldn't begin to tell you how those dreams came to be or how he knew what he did about Samantha's disappearance.

I'd like to think that at any other time I'd have seen right through his little game, but the truth is I'm not sure.

Jesus H. Christ, what a cluster fuck that was.

I felt lucky to escape with only a world-class reaming out from Skinner and a three-day suspension. If old Blood and Guts hadn't covered for me, I'd have been out of the Bureau on my ass, and with good reason. There was scarcely a regulation I hadn't violated, and I'm pretty sure I broke a law or two along the way.

I don't know what the hell happened. Things were just coming at me so goddamn fast; I couldn't even think clearly anymore.

I remembered feeling this way as a child when I sneaked out one night to go body surfing with some friends. I was standing in the surf about 20 feet offshore when a wave knocked me down. I tried to get up, but the next wave knocked me down again and I went under. I lost all sense of direction as the waves kept pounding along, dragging me under until I thought I was going to drown.

Finally, I figured out which way was up and I struggled to the surface long enough to get a breath.

That did it. I caught the crest of the next wave and surfed to shore, then limped back home and sneaked back into my bedroom. Mom and Dad didn't even notice I'd been gone.

That was what this felt like: Schnauz, then Daniel, then Daniel's homophobic mother, then Roche. The only reason I hadn't gone completely over the edge was the two nights I spent in Scully's arms. Now, between the Roche case and the knowledge of Daniel's worsening condition, I was at my wits' end. Scully was trying to hide the truth from me, but she ought to know better than that.

I knew perfectly well that Daniel was in serious trouble and there was every chance it could get worse.

Fuck it, then. If he was going to die, there wasn't a damn thing left to lose if I went to that hospital and tried one more time to see him, and Georgiana Reilly be damned.

He might die. But he wasn't going to die until I got one more chance to tell him what I needed him to know.

***********

As Jim Saw It

************

Mom might have thought that conversation was over, but it was only just beginning as far as I was concerned. I got up early on Tuesday, without having slept very much at all, and I made Jill and Mom get up too.

Mom, having finally taken the sleeping pill Jill had gotten for her, was still pretty groggy. That was okay with me -- for what I had in mind, a slightly tranquilized Mom was about the best thing I could hope for.

I took them to an all-night diner not far from the hotel and we ordered breakfast. As soon as the food arrived, I called the meeting to order.

"We are going to the hospital today," I announced, in my best Navy officer take-no-prisoners tones. "Before we get leave here, we are going to have reached an agreement. When we arrive at Bethesda, we will implement that agreement. Are there any questions before we begin?"

"An agreement about what, James?" Mom said as she cut up her bacon and ate it with a fork. It gives me the shivers when I see her do that. I'm not sure she's ever even touched a peanut butter sandwich with her fingers.

"An agreement," I said, slowly and firmly, "about letting Daniel's boyfriend in to see him."

"That is simply out of the question," Mom said, putting down her fork and blotting her mouth delicately with her napkin before returning it to her lap. "I thought I had made my reasons quite clear last night, James. That man cannot be allowed in the hospital. It is simply too dangerous."

Jill hadn't said anything yet. She was just sitting there methodically eating as though a plate full of runny, undercooked eggs was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen.

"Jill, do you have anything to add to this?" I said, but I was trying not to sound harsh. Jill seemed unusually fragile right now, and I didn't want to make matters worse for her.

"No," was all she said, and she went on eating her eggs.

"Jill agrees with me," Mom said, calmly, taking a sip of her orange juice. "We've discussed this already."

"Actually," Jill began, and then stopped.

"Actually, what?" I said. "Actually, you don't agree? Because I don't think you do, Jilly."

"You don't know what I think," she said, her eyes going back to the entrancing sight of eggs and toast.

"You're right," I said. "I don't. But I do know you're a decent, caring human being, and I know that you realize that keeping this man away from Daniel is an act of monstrous cruelty."

"How dare you?" Mom said, coldly, putting her glass down with a thunk. "James, I will thank you to remember to whom you are speaking."

"At the moment, Mom, I'm speaking to Jill," I said, just as coldly. I didn't want to hurt my mom any more than I wanted to hurt Jill, but at this point Mom was making herself an obstacle, and you know how we deal with obstacles in the Navy: Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.

"Jill," I said. "I have a feeling that this decision ultimately comes down to you. Am I right?"

For a minute, she didn't answer, and then she raised her eyes to mine. "Agent Mulder's partner told me a few days ago that Daniel's advance directives are still in force," she said, quietly. "She said they think I have his power of attorney. Maybe I do. I did when we were married, and it doesn't seem that he's ever signed another one. But they can't find it."

"So this is your call," I said, sitting back. "Where would Daniel put those directives?"

"I don't know for certain," Jill said, shaking her head. "Probably in his safe deposit box. But Daniel's the only one who can open that."

"Not if we have the key," I said. "I look enough like him to fake my way past the bank officers, and we have to get those directives, Jill. If he's got a living will, we may be forced to implement its terms at some point, and I know," I added, with a sharp glance at Mom, "that we all want to be sure we're doing what Daniel would want."

Now, you'd have to know my mother to understand how unusual what happened next really was.

She didn't say anything.

Nothing.

"Mom?" I said.

Still nothing.

There was something in her face that I couldn't quite put my finger on. I think Jill saw it, too; we both stared at Mom for a few minutes, and then we glanced at each other.

What the hell was going on here?

"Mom?" I said again, and this time she looked at me. I had never seen that expression on my mother's face before. She looked ... almost ashamed.

"I know where those directives are," she said, slowly.

"You do?" I said, stupidly. "Where?"

"In my purse," she said. Then she picked up her orange juice and -- delicately, so as not to spoil her makeup -- took another sip.