As Scully Saw It

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

I didn't have to ask to know what Mulder was planning to do on Tuesday morning. I might have missed the signs that he was planning to take Roche to Martha's Vineyard, but I couldn't miss the signs that he had made up his mind: He was going to see Daniel, come hell or high water.

I couldn't argue with Mulder's motivation -- he knew, without being told, that Daniel wasn't getting better. Even if he recovered, he might well be impaired and that would mean a medical discharge.

Either way, there really wasn't much left for either of them to lose if Mulder showed up at Bethesda demanding to see him.

I decided the best thing to do was to go along and try to mitigate the inevitable damage in any way I could. I called Mulder at about 5 a.m. Tuesday and caught him on his way out the door. I told him I would meet him at Bethesda and asked him please to wait until I got there before he went in, to which he agreed.

I was nervous beyond belief as I arrived at Bethesda. Mulder was standing by the emergency room door -- the only door that was open that time of day -- wearing his black turtleneck, black jeans and leather jacket. Under any other circumstances I would have been focused on how good he looked, but all I could think of today was that it looked very much like mourning attire.

"You ready to beard the lioness in her den?" he said as I approached.

"No," I said. "But I feel sure that you're going to do this whether I'm ready or not, so why even ask me?"

He looked at me for a long moment, biting his lower lip. "I'm not eager to cause trouble, Scully," he said. "But from what you're telling me -- and what you're trying not to tell me -- I know Daniel's not doing well. I want to see him."

There were tears in his eyes as he spoke, but he kept his voice steady.

"All right," I said. "But let me go in first. Give me a few minutes to talk to his mother. Maybe we can do this amicably."

He nodded his acceptance. I patted his arm quickly, then turned and walked inside.

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

As Jill Saw It

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

I thought Jim would explode when Mom admitted she'd had Daniel's advance directives in her purse all along.

As she explained it, Daniel had mailed them to her shortly after our divorce, with a note asking her to keep them until they were needed.

"For Christ's sweet sake, Mom," Jim said. "Why the hell didn't you say something about it before?"

"I was waiting for the appropriate time, James," she said. She had her usual Bostonian cool about her -- although in her case it's not entirely authentic. The Starlingtons are from Fall River, she was born in San Diego and she was reared all around the world, just like me and every other Navy brat on earth.

"Mom, the appropriate time is now," Jim said. He was furious, and so was I, although I think I had a bit more sympathy for her than he did. "Daniel's doing very poorly. Each report we get is worse than the last. It's time for us to know what he'd want us to do if things get worse."

"I agree, James," Mom said. "That is precisely why I told you when I did."

"Mom," he said, "just tell me -- is there or is there not a power of attorney in those papers?"

For a moment she didn't answer. Finally, she ducked her head just a little and nodded. "There is," she said.

"And to whom is that power of attorney granted, Mom?" Jim said. He wasn't trying to be calm at all. Every word he said was spit through his teeth.

"To Jill, of course," Mom said, after a minute.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Mom had those papers, she knew I was supposed to be making decisions for Daniel, and she'd hidden it from me -- the person she'd always said she could trust with anything? Well, she clearly didn't trust me to take care of Daniel anymore.

Maybe she was right -- I certainly couldn't think what to do next.

Not Jim. Jim put out his hand and said, like the officer he is, "Give them to me."

Mom didn't move.

"God damn it, Mom, I said give them to me," he repeated, just barely above a whisper, and I could see the veins standing out on his neck.

Slowly, with no more fluster than if she'd been searching for her tickets to the ballet, Mom opened her purse and took out a bundle of blue-backed documents. She handed them to Jim, who quickly opened one and scanned down the first page quickly.

Then he looked at me. "Let's go see Daniel," he said.

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

The hospital was fairly quiet when we arrived. There was no one at the desk in the waiting room, and very few visitors waiting to get in. Jim found a young seaman and leaned on the kid pretty hard until he agreed to go find Dr. Montgomery, who he thought might be in a staff meeting.

When Montgomery arrived, Jim introduced himself and told Montgomery -- with a sideways glance at Mom -- that we'd located Daniel's living will and other documents. He gave Montgomery the papers and then stood back, silently, waiting while the doctor read them over.

"And you're reasonably certain these are the most recent directives extant?" Montgomery said, looking up at Jim.

"Yes, sir," Jim said. "None of us is aware of any that would supersede these."

"All right," Montgomery said, nodding. "This isn't going to change how we care for him; Dr. Reilly hasn't reached the stage where he's asked that interventions be discontinued. But I'll make the staff aware of his instructions. In the meantime," he said, turning toward me, "you are now in charge, Mrs. Reilly. Is there anything you want to tell me while I'm here?"

I started to shake my head, but a sudden movement to my left distracted me. It was Mom -- she was standing there wide-eyed, hands over her mouth in horror. I followed her gaze, wondering what could have upset her so much.

Oh. No wonder. It was Dr. Scully, of course. She looked very grim, and very determined.

"Who is that?" Jim whispered in my ear.

"That's Dr. Scully," I whispered back. "The one whose partner is ... Daniel's friend."

"You've got to be kidding," he said, straightening up. "Damn ... she doesn't look like I thought she would."

No, she doesn't, I thought to myself as she approached. She looks beautiful. She also looks ready to take out her gun and shoot somebody if she doesn't get what she wants.

"Mrs. Reilly," she said, looking at Mom, still with that irritating cool. Then she turned toward me. "And Mrs. Reilly. And you," she said to Jim, "must be Lt. James Reilly."

"Guilty as charged," Jim said, and his tone surprised me. He sounded ... flirtatious? "You're Dr. Scully?" he said.

"Dana Scully," she said, extending her hand. "I wonder if I might have a word with all of you?"

"I don't think there's anything left to say, Miss Scully," Mom said frostily, but I could see that she was nervous. Angry as I was at her, I didn't blame her for that. This had all the earmarks of a situation that could get very ugly.

"On the contrary, Mrs. Reilly, I think there's a great deal left to say," Dr. Scully said. For a woman as short as she was -- and I mean short, even with the four-inch heels -- she had a lot of presence, I'll give her that. Maybe the gun had something to do with it.

"If you like," she was saying, "we can discuss this here in the hall, in Commander Montgomery's presence. I think -- with all due respect, sir -- that we might all prefer a more private conversation?"

"That might be best," Jim said, turning to face Dr. Montgomery. "By your leave, sir?" he said.

Montgomery nodded. "Carry on, lieutenant," he said.

"Aye, aye, sir," Jim said, coming briefly to attention. Then without another word, he took Mom by the elbow and steered her back toward the waiting room.

I followed them quietly enough, but my insides were churning. Why did it have to be up to me anyway, damn it?

We all sat in a corner of the waiting room -- Mom and I on one couch, Jim and Dr. Scully on another. Everyone except Jim was looking rather stiff and formal. Jim, as usual, just looked military; relaxed, but perfectly upright.

"Dr. Scully, this is your party," Jim said. "Why don't you tell us what you wanted to talk about?"

"I wanted to talk about the same thing I talked to Mesdames Reilly about before, lieutenant," she said, calmly. "I want to ask you, one more time, to reconsider. I know that Daniel's condition is precarious. And I'm asking you -- I'm begging, if it'll make any difference -- if any of you have an ounce of Christian charity in your souls, to let Mulder go see him."

"Dr. Scully," Jim said, "If it were up to me, your partner would be in there right now. But it's not my decision. Jill has his power of attorney. It's up to her."

"Jill and I have already discussed this," Mom began, but Jim interrupted her.

"Jill is free to change her mind," Jim said, firmly. "And I think, Mom, if you'll leave her alone, she'll do the right thing."

"Mrs. Reilly?" Dr. Scully said, looking at me questioningly.

I thought I knew what I was going to say when I opened my mouth. I was going to tell Dr. Scully that I thought it best to continue deferring to Daniel's mother, because she's legally his next-of-kin since our divorce.

That's what I thought I was going to say.

What I really said was, "I want to meet him."

No one answered me for a minute. I guess I shocked them almost as much as I shocked myself. Jim spoke first.

"You want to meet who, Jilly?" he said, taking my hand, although I think he already knew the answer.

"Agent Mulder," I said, and then I looked at Dr. Scully. "I want to talk to him -- alone."

"Certainly," Dr. Scully said, rising. "If you'll wait here for a moment, I'll go get him. He's just outside." And she walked away.

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

When Dr. Scully returned, she was accompanied by a tall, handsome man dressed all in black. At first, I thought it must be her boyfriend.

It took me a second to realize that this was actually _Daniel's_ boyfriend.

I don't know what I had expected, but he wasn't it. There was nothing about Agent Mulder that, to my untutored eyes, even remotely suggested he was gay. I even had a fleeting thought that Daniel at least had good taste in men. But there were lines between his eyes, and he looked tense; tense, but just as determined as his partner.

Jim rose and offered his hand. "Jim Reilly," he said. "You must be Fox Mulder."

"Just Mulder," he said, shaking Jim's hand. "To almost everyone but my mother, anyway."

"And mine," Dr. Scully said, and I noticed that she was holding his other hand. What was the connection between these two? I didn't have time to figure it out -- when I looked up, Agent Mulder was looking right at me.

I didn't say anything; not right away, anyway. We just looked at each other. Finally, Dr. Scully stepped in.

"I think we should leave these two alone now and let them talk," she said, squeezing her partner's hand before letting it go. "Mulder, I'll be outside the ICU if you need me."

"I'll be all right," he said, but he didn't take his eyes off me. Dr. Scully nodded, and touched his arm lightly before she left. Jim got up, too, and walked out after her; then, with a backward glance at me, Mom also got up and left.

So then it was just the two of us, staring at each other in silence. Strange, that we couldn't think of anything to say, when we had so much in common.

"I know this is awkward," he said, finally.

"It's worse than that," I said, and then I shook my head. "Sit down, Agent Mulder. Please."

"Thanks," he said, and he sat down on the couch next to me, but not too close, resting his elbows on his knees. "Scully said you wanted to talk to me."

Scully. There it was again, that odd mixture of physical closeness, mismatched sexual orientation and the utter lack of a first-name basis.

"I did say that," I said. "I don't know why. It was a spur-of-the- moment thought."

"Are you regretting that impulse now?" he said, very quietly.

"No," I said, shaking my head again. "I'm not. But I very much regret that whatever I do, I'm going to make someone very unhappy. I'm trying to think of a reason why it shouldn't be you."

Oh, God, why did I say that? This man was a total stranger, even if he was Daniel's lover. I didn't know him at all.

"I know this is difficult for you," he said. "And I'm sorry."

"Are you?" I said, just a bit sharply. I didn't want his pity. "I find that rather odd, considering we've never before laid eyes on one another."

"No, we haven't, but ... I've heard a lot about you," he said, simply.

That hurt. Agent Mulder noticed it, too.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't mean to upset you."

"I'm upset, Agent Mulder, but I'm not sure it has anything to do with you," I said. "Not you personally, anyway. I don't even really know you. Would it be completely out of line for me to ask you to tell me a little about yourself? You seem to know a lot about me ..."

"It's not out of line," he said. "What do you want to know?"

"Well ..." I wasn't sure, actually, now that you got down to it. "What do you do in the FBI?" I asked, purely for want of a better question.

"Scully and I investigate unexplained events -- paranormal phenomena," he said.

"What, Project Blue Book, Roswell, that kind of thing?" I asked, dubiously.

"That kind of thing," he said, nodding. "I'm sure that doesn't exactly make you feel better about me."

"Agent Mulder, I used to live in Los Angeles," I said. "I've heard stranger things."

"That's hard to believe," he said, smiling.

"Have you been doing this your entire career?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I used to be a behavioral profiler."

"Like that guy in 'Silence of the Lambs'?" I said, and instantly regretted it. He probably heard that all the time.

But he actually didn't seem to mind. "Right, like 'Silence of the Lambs,'" he said. "Only I've never been in the movies."

"Where do you go to learn to be a profiler?" I asked.

"The FBI," he said. "I learned on the job. But first I got my degree in psychology from Balliol College at Oxford."

"Impressive," I said, leaning back and folding my arms across my chest.

He shook his head. "Not really."

"It is to me," I said. "So where are you from originally?"

"Martha's Vineyard," he said. "I grew up in Chilmark."

"We're practically family, then," I said. "I'm from Boston."

He nodded. Of course. He already knew that.

"Mrs. Reilly," he said, slowly, "you didn't ask to see me so you could find out about life at Chilmark Elementary School. Tell me what it is you really want to know."

"I don't ..." I said, then I stopped myself. "There's a lot I want to know, Agent Mulder. I'm just not sure that it's any of my business."

"If it means I get to see Daniel, Mrs. Reilly," he said, looking me in the eye, "I'll make it your business."

Good shot, Agent Mulder, I thought. Right through the heart -- as if I didn't already feel like an animated pile of shit for what I've done. Now I was feeling ashamed all over again. This wasn't some faceless man in purple pants. This was a real human being, with a real life and real needs.

Part of that need, it seemed, was to be loved by Daniel Reilly. I could relate to that.

"Mrs. Reilly," he began, but I stopped him.

"Why don't you just call me Jill?" I said. "It seems a little ridiculous for us to stand on ceremony."

"Maybe not," he said. "But if that's what you want, then just call me Mulder."

"Is that what Daniel calls you?" I said.

"No," he said, and then he almost smiled. "He calls me Fox -- just like my mother, and Scully's mother, and half the people I knew at university. But I'm working hard to reduce those numbers."

"I don't blame you," I said before I could stop myself, and then I realized what I had said. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to imply ..."

"It's all right," he said, and he really was smiling -- a very gentle, very kind smile. "I don't much care for it myself. Hence the last name."

"And why does Dr. Scully go by her last name?" I said, still watching that lovely smile -- and those eyes, those beautiful, intense and somehow haunted eyes. You could get lost in them.

No wonder Daniel was attracted to him. Who wouldn't be?

"You'd have to ask her," he said. "All I know is I never call her Dana unless I'm really serious about getting her attention."

"But you love her," I said, making it a question.

He didn't answer me right away. "Yeah," he said, finally. "I do."

"I don't understand that," I said, lowering my voice still more. "I don't understand any of this. I mean, if you and Daniel are ... I mean, I know that you're gay ... I don't get this at all."

"It's a complicated situation," he said, nodding his acknowledgment.

"Obviously," I said, and then I caught myself. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry. It just confuses me."

"Not half as much as it confuses us," he said, with that soft smile again.

"And are you equally confused about Daniel?" I said, then I caught myself. "Oh, God," I said. "That was a snotty question."

"I don't think you meant it to be," Mulder said. "You don't strike me as a snotty person."

Oh, yes I am, I thought. But it was so hard to let go, to stop being angry, because nothing had really changed. I had still lost Daniel, irrevocably. And I was still going to be alone when this was over -- maybe more alone than ever.

"You're wrong," I said, and suddenly I realized that I was about to cry. "I _was_ being snotty. I already know that you love him. I can see it in your eyes."

"I know you love him, too," Mulder said, very gently. "It shows."

No, I don't, I started to say, but I knew that wasn't the truth -- and there was something about this man that just seemed to draw the truth out of me against my will. "You must be a hell of an interrogator," I mumbled.

"I'm sorry?" he said, looking a little puzzled.

"Never mind," I said. "It's not important." I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts. "To be honest with you," I said, "I don't know whether I still love Daniel or not. Maybe I just don't know how to stop loving him -- or I'm just trying to keep a promise I didn't even know I had made to him."

"That still adds up to the same thing," he said, still speaking so quietly, with no hint of recrimination in his voice.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. "Agent Mulder," I said, and the tears were dripping down my face now. "I'm sorry. I was wrong to put you through this. I'm still angry at Daniel, and I took it out on you. Maybe I don't know whether I love him or not, but I know you do and I know why. Nobody has to tell me what makes Daniel Reilly worth loving -- or worth going through so much hell for."

He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, I could see that what I'd said had hit home. "I'm sorry," he said, very quietly. "I really am."

"No," I said, wiping the tears away with the back of my hand. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I'm sorry I let this thing go on as long as it has." I stood up, and he got to his feet, looking very uncertain. I reached over and took his hand.

"Come with me," I said. "Let's go see how he's doing."