WASTED BREATH by Rae Lynn (rae_lynn05ATyahoo.com) RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: story, mild medical MT SPOILERS: "Brand X" KEYWORDS: Post-episode. Mulder/Scully UST. ARCHIVE: Please inquire within. SUMMARY: Post "Brand X," what if the tobacco beetles left something behind? DISCLAIMER: All characters contained within are the property of Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions. No profit will result from this story and no copyright infringement is intended. * * * Mulder was coughing again. Scully suppressed a sigh as she swung her legs out of bed and wearily checked the clock: 3:42 AM. There was no telling how long he had been awake; she thought of him stifling his coughs and her chest ached in sympathy. She knocked briskly on their connecting door and turned the doorknob without waiting for a reply. Mulder was shifting restlessly in bed, his palm pressed against his mouth. But it was useless; the next fit of coughing was harsh and seemed to leave his whole body shuddering from the effort. Alarmed, Scully hurried to the bed and grabbed his forearms. "Mulder, sit up," she commanded. Mulder gave her a look she couldn't interpret, but he complied, pulling his knees up to his chest and hunching over them to draw in several painful-sounding breaths. Scully handed him the inhaler he had been keeping on the nightstand, but he waved it off. She sat down on the bed next to him, rubbing his back in small circular motions. "Are you finished?" she said quietly. Mulder's response was a grumble that turned into a wheeze. "You mean...do I need...to hack up any more of...my lungs?" he said. "No...thanks." Gradually, Mulder's breathing evened out and, with great effort, he lifted his head to look at her. "Did I...wake you?" he said, his voice little more than a gritty whisper. "The walls are thin," she replied. Mulder tiredly closed his eyes. "I could have...been watching...porn in here," he rasped. Scully's mouth quirked as she eyed him skeptically. "You don't think after seven years I can't tell the difference between heavy breathing and my partner having an asthma attack?" she said dryly. Mulder shot her a glare. "I was not...having..." he started to say, then paused as he sucked in a breath that seemed to sear his throat. "Mulder." She resisted the impulse to brush her hand over his forehead, settling instead for taking his hand in her own. Mulder jerked a little as if her touch had burned him. "If you're having trouble breathing," she said gently, ignoring his uncharacteristic withdrawal, "you need to tell me." Mulder looked at her for a long moment as if he intended to argue, but instead he flopped back against the pillows and spoke in the direction of the ceiling. "Okay," he said, his breath coming in short gasps. "I'm having trouble...breathing. Are you...happy?" Scully studied him critically, forcing herself to take in what she had been studiously trying to ignore for weeks. Mulder looked downright haggard, his eyes sunken into his gray face. It had been two weeks since he had been released from the hospital in North Carolina, and his restlessness in D.C. had led to Scully's reluctant agreement to take this case in Florida, where she thought at least the moisture in the air and the warm weather would be good for Mulder's health. But despite Mulder's insistence that he was managing, something was obviously very wrong. "No," she said finally. "No, I'm not happy. Mulder, we need to get you checked out." Mulder nodded wearily and closed his eyes. "It can wait...until morning," he said. Scully sighed. "I think we need to go back to D.C.," she said carefully, steeling herself for his objection. "You need to see a specialist." But to Scully's surprise, Mulder's protest never came. "Local...PD...can take it...from here," he murmured. "It was...a wasted...trip." It wasn't at all like Mulder to acquiesce to relinquishing a case so easily, and Scully frowned. "Mulder," she said, "how long have you been experiencing this kind of difficulty breathing?" Mulder grimaced. "How long since...North Carolina?" he replied. Scully stared at him. "This isn't right," she muttered, more to herself than to her partner. "Your lungs were clear, there were no signs of infection." She paused, a horrible idea forming in her mind. "Unless the larvae from the beetles released some kind of toxin..." She glanced over at Mulder, who seemed to be concentrating more on his own breathing than on her. "Mulder?" she said, concerned. Mulder drew in a deep breath. When he looked at her, her heart twisted. He was wearing his panic face. "Scu..." he started to say, then tipped his head back with a strangled wheeze, his throat constricting with effort. "Mulder! Damn it!" Scully swore out loud as she dove for the phone. Other than his inhaler, Mulder hadn't carried supplemental oxygen in weeks, and the desperate sound of his inhalation left her no choice but to call 911. "I'm calling an ambulance," she said firmly even as she reached for him. "Breathe for me, Mulder, you need to breathe for me." His hand reached up and somehow found hers, and she almost crumbled at the look in his eyes. Mulder was frightened. And so was she. * * * "Thirty-eight year-old male in respiratory distress, his partner says he's recovering from some sort of..." The EMT glanced at Scully, who met his skeptical gaze with a cool glare. "Larval infestation of the lungs," she concluded. "Pulse ox is down to 89, breath sounds are shallow and labored. 02 administered at the scene." "Okay, people, let's get him stabilized," the ER doctor replied briskly. He leaned over Mulder. "Sir, I know you're having some trouble right now, but we're going to give you something to help you breathe, all right?" From underneath the oxygen mask, Mulder nodded, his eyes bright. He reached up with a shaky hand and pushed the mask aside. "Sir, you need to leave that in place, it's going to help you breathe," a nurse objected, but Mulder's head twisted in her direction. "Scully," he rasped. She stepped forward and squeezed his hand. "I'm right here, Mulder," she said. "Just try and relax, I'm not going anywhere." Mulder nodded and let his eyes slip shut as the doctor touched a stethoscope to his chest. "All right, the wheezing's a little bit less pronounced," he said, "but I'd still like to have him admitted." He glanced at Scully. "You said he's recovering from an infection?" Scully nodded. "Larvae from a strain of tobacco beetles worked its way into his lungs. He was released from the hospital two weeks ago with no sign of infection in his lungs." She hesitated. "It was an...unusual case." The doctor eyed her uncertainly for a moment before replying. "Right. Look, I'm Dr. Coff. And you are...?" Dr. Coff, Mulder will love that, Scully thought wryly. "I'm Dana Scully, Mulder is my partner. We're federal agents." She paused. "I'm also a medical doctor. I'd be happy to discuss the specifics of his condition with you." Dr. Coff gave her a measured look. "I'm sure we'll want to get to that, Dr. ...Scully, was it? But in the meantime, you said his lungs were clear?" Scully nodded. "Is it possible this episode might have been the result of a good old-fashioned panic attack?" Scully allowed her glare to crystallize to its full effect before directing it at the doctor. "He can't breathe," she said icily. "Let's get him a chest X-ray *now*." The doctor held up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. "You're his partner, you're a doctor, I trust your judgment. I just prefer to consider every possibility before subjecting my patients to more tests." "Don't worry," Scully said grimly, gently stroking Mulder's hand with her own. "He's used to it." * * * Dr. Coff approached her outside the X-ray room with a grim expression on his face that made Scully's heart sink. Wordlessly he tacked Mulder's films onto the lightboard. "I'm sorry, Dr. Scully," he said finally. "But we'll need to discuss his options for treatment." Lodged like a bullet in Mulder's lung tissue, no more than four centimeters in size, was a cluster of small tumors. It was a moment before Scully could speak. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, his lungs were clear two weeks ago, there's no way a tumor could generate that fast. This has to be related to the infection." "In that case," the doctor responded slowly, "he may not respond to traditional surgical treatment." He looked back at the film. "How did you treat this...infestation?" Scully hesitated. "We injected him with nicotine," she said. "It nearly stopped his heart." She swallowed, thinking back to that terrifying moment in North Carolina when Mulder's head had slammed back as the monitors wailed and she was sure she had lost him. "It also destroyed the larvae," she continued. "But there's no way that treatment could have caused the growth of these tumors. Mulder is not a smoker." She had made sure of that after he had revealed that package of cigarettes to her two weeks ago; Mulder had grumbled as she continued to pester him, but he had assured her that he had not taken up smoking. "How much do you know about these...tobacco beetles, Dr. Scully?" Dr. Coff asked. "Not as much as I would like," Scully admitted, studying the film. "Well, we're going to need to find out all we can." Her eyes met his. "Where is my partner right now?" she said. "I need to see him." * * * Another day, another unconscious Mulder, Scully thought ruefully as she stood over her partner. In the past seven years, she had been in this position far too many times -- waiting for Mulder to wake up, willing him to come back to her. In the early days of their partnership, she had been surprised at the level of alarm she felt every time she found herself in a hospital with Fox Mulder; now it hit her like a familiar jolt in the pit of her stomach, a buzzing behind her eyes that never seemed to cease: Please, let him be all right, please... Mulder began to stir; sometimes Scully thought it was as if he had some kind of radar, a homing device that alerted him to her presence even as he slept. A moment later, he groggily opened his eyes and blinked at her. "Hey," she said softly. Mulder swallowed and was silent for a moment; then he laboriously croaked out, "...God?" She swatted lightly at his arm. "Don't do that to me," she said, allowing herself a small smile. Mulder closed his eyes again and nodded briefly in satisfaction. "It *is* God," he murmured. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was piercing. "What's the...verdict?" "Well, Mulder," she replied, "it doesn't look like you'll be making it to the World Series this year." Mulder mock-groaned in disappointment. Then he reached out and took her hand. "Gonna tell me why you look...mopey?" Scully fixed him with a level stare. "I do not 'mope'," she said severely. "Bet you...moped over David Cassidy." She raised her eyebrows at him. "No, sorry, that...was me," Mulder amended, but he punctuated the remark with a fit of small coughs. "Did you know...the doctor's name is...Coff?" he asked. He shifted a little in the bed, taking careful breaths. "Know how he...chose his specialty." Scully nodded. "Mulder," she began slowly, "your chest X- ray showed something troubling." Mulder drew in a deep breath. "More...beetles?" he asked. Scully shook her head. "There appear to be several small masses in your lungs." His eyes widened a little. "...tumors?" Scully nodded reluctantly. "I'm not sure I can explain it, but I think their formation has to be somehow related to either the beetle infestation or the nicotine we gave you to treat it." Mulder shifted as he tried to absorb this. "I ever tell you...I was a smoker?" he asked suddenly. Scully stiffened; he knew perfectly well he had not. "No," she said. "When I...joined the Bureau. In the ISU, nicotine...was a...food group." "When did you quit?" Scully asked. Mulder was watching her carefully. "When I...got divorced," he replied. Scully nearly choked; Mulder had a habit of parceling out the details of his past as if they were secrets he didn't dare reveal, and this was a secret she had never anticipated. "I didn't know you were married," she said neutrally. Mulder shrugged. "I didn't intend...to keep it secret," he said. "We met...at a conference, she wasn't an...American citizen. I was...young, and stupid, and we...got married." "So what happened?" Scully asked quietly. Mulder hesitated. "She wanted a...white picket fence," he said finally. "I wanted...the basement." Scully closed her eyes briefly. There had been a time, she thought, when she'd wanted that white picket fence too, and instead she'd gotten the basement. And Mulder, she reminded herself. And Mulder. "Any other dark secrets of your past you'd like to share with me?" she said dryly. Mulder considered it. "There was this time...I got my partner involved with these...beetles," he tried, and then sucked in a hoarse breath. Scully was alert in an instant. "Mulder," she commanded as her partner made a faint gagging sound and then fell back against the pillow. He looked up at her, nodding. "I'm...okay," he said, though the cough that escaped his lips belied the statement. "I'm okay." Scully regarded him carefully. "Mulder, we're going to figure out what's caused this," she said. "It could be that the larvae from the beetles released some kind of toxin in your lungs that stimulated the production of a tumor." She paused. "If that's the case, surgery to excise the tumor may not prevent it from forming again. I think we need to study the beetles we were able to collect to figure out what kind of hormones they may have been secreting." Mulder nodded. "I trust...you," he said, his voice raspy. Her voice was soft. "I know you do, Mulder." She touched his arm gently and then reluctantly pulled her hand away. "Try to get some rest," she said. "I'm going to contact Skinner, see if he can have some of the larvae we collected sent down for analysis. "Don't let the...tobacco beetles bite," Mulder said, but the humor in his voice was only half-hearted. "I won't," she promised as she turned to leave. "And Mulder?" she added, stopping in the doorway. Mulder looked at her expectantly. "The basement's not so bad," she said quietly as she left the room. * * * Scully didn't even bother to check her watch before dialing Walter Skinner's phone number; he had been shaken enough by Mulder's ordeal in North Carolina that Scully knew he would understand the urgency of her call. Sure enough, Skinner sounded completely alert as he answered the phone, as if he had been waiting for such a call since they had returned to D.C. two weeks ago. Either that, Scully thought, or Skinner always seemed at attention, even at 5:30 in the morning. "Sir, it's Scully," she said. "I'm calling from Florida." She could almost feel him tense. "Something's happened to Mulder," he said grimly. "He's been having trouble breathing," she replied. "A chest X-ray showed evidence of tumors in his lungs." There was a pause. "Tumors?" Skinner asked. Scully sighed. "I can only speculate," she said, swallowing back the tears that had suddenly threatened to overtake her, "but I believe that the larvae in Mulder's lungs may have secreted some kind of venom that stimulated the growth of a tumor." "There was no evidence that that was the case with the other victims," Skinner said. "None of the other victims lived long enough for us to find out," Scully responded flatly. "Sir, I need you to get us some of the beetle larvae that we brought back to D.C. for analysis. It's the only thing I can think of to try to understand these tumors before they metastasize." "What's his condition right now, Agent Scully?" She closed her eyes briefly. "They've got him on oxygen, he seems to be responding. But his system is still compromised. It may not be much longer before he'll need to be on a ventilator." The phone was silent as Skinner considered this. "You'll have that sample by the end of the day," he promised. But the North Carolina doctor's ominous words still hung in her mind like a shroud: Waiting would definitely kill him, sooner or later. Scully hung up the phone and squared her shoulders. Mulder had waited long enough. * * * "Did you ever...think about...marriage, Scully?" Scully glanced over at her partner; even with the oxygen cannula, he was breathing in small gulps and seemed to be trying to conserve energy by lying very still. "You mean to David Cassidy?" she said mildly. Mulder rolled his eyes and she shifted in her seat. "No, I guess I never really thought about it," she admitted. "Why do you ask?" Mulder shrugged. "Just...thinking. It was a long...time ago." He closed his eyes. "I'm...tired, Scully. Never had to...concentrate on...breathing before." As if to prove his point, he drew in a deep breath that seemed to drain all his energy. Scully stood up and laid her palm flat on the center of his chest; it barely seemed to rise. Breathe, Mulder, she thought; breathe for me. "Why did you quit smoking, Mulder?" she asked impulsively. He cracked his eyes open as he considered the question. "Anna always told me...I had enough...bad habits." She watched his throat work, her eyes tracing the movement of his jawline. "I guess it seemed like...wasted breath." He paused as a small cough escaped him. "Lot of...good it did me," he said with a wry smile. Anna. That must be the wife -- ex-wife. Before or after Diana Fowley, Scully wondered; before or after Mulder's stunning success in the ISU, before or after his growing obsession with the X-Files. Before, Scully decided. The Mulder she knew had never been open enough to be married. "Scully?" Mulder was looking at her with concern; slowly she removed her hand from his chest as she shook herself out of her reverie. "I spoke with Skinner," she said smoothly. "The lab is sending down the samples. It's not much to go on, but I have a feeling that we can find something that might give us a way to help you." Suddenly the echo of a field report she had written years ago came back to her: "Ultimately," she had stated with confidence, "it was science that saved Agent Mulder's life." And Mulder's voice: "The truth will save you, Scully," he had murmured in her ear. "I think it will save both of us." What will save you now, Mulder? she thought. "You will," Mulder said. Scully looked at him, startled. "What?" "You'll find...something," he whispered. She rubbed his hand and tried to smile. "Sorry, Mulder. For a second it was almost as if..." She hesitated. "As if you had read my mind." Mulder looked at her strangely. "No, that one was five... visits to the hospital ago. But who's...counting?" "I am," she said bleakly. "And believe me, Mulder, it seems like more than five." She paused. "Get some sleep," she said. I'll be back as soon as I know more." The sound of his breath stayed with her long after she had left the room. * * * "Ah," Dr. Coff said the next day as he peered into the microscope. "You may be onto something here, Dr. Scully." Scully's pulse quickened. "What?" she said as she hurried to his side. "There. See?" He moved aside to show her. "This is a sample of human lung tissue. Now, I've allowed your beetles here to harvest in it, and then I simulated your treatment of Agent Mulder by squirting the little buggers with nicotine. Then, like a fine stew, I allowed the whole mixture to percolate overnight, and voila." "A tumor," Scully breathed. The doctor nodded. "Too small to turn up on an X-ray, but definitely the microscopic beginnings of one," he agreed. "Which makes me think your beetles are like their insect brothers and sisters the bees. Attacked with terminal force, they have no option but to defend themselves similarly. You flood them with nicotine, they automatically release a solution which stimulates the growth of a tumor. I think these masses in your partner's lungs are like the...mutant tobacco beetle larvae equivalent of a bad bee sting, if you will." Scully gave him a look. "In my spare time I'm an amateur entomologist," he explained with a grin. "So you're suggesting, what? That we treat these tumors with bee sting venom?" Scully asked. "No," Dr. Coff said. "I'm suggesting we treat them as we would treat any other type of lung tumor -- with surgery to excise the mass. What I'm saying is that I don't think Agent Mulder will have to worry about suffering a recurrence." Scully shook her head. "Thinking that is too risky," she said. "We have to be sure." Dr. Coff blew out a breath. "With all due respect, Dr. Scully, it took just two weeks for your partner to develop tumors in his lungs large enough to impede his breathing. Quite frankly, at this point I'm worried about rapid metastasis more than I am about possible regrowth." She fixed him with a level gaze. "Then prove it," she said firmly. "Remove the tumor from your sample and see if it comes back." "That's going to take time," he said. "At least another day. We could have to intubate him, he might be too weak for surgery by then." Her voice was tight. "Then that's a risk we'll have to take," she said. The doctor looked at her for a moment and nodded slowly. "Okay," he said. "I'll see what I can do." * * * "What's up...Doc?" Mulder croaked as she entered his hospital room. Scully shook her head. "Your jokes are getting worse, you know," she said. "Give...a guy...some credit...for trying," he protested weakly. "Okay, Mulder," she said fondly as she took his hand. "For trying." She paused. "It looks like we may be onto something, Mulder. Dr. Coff treated an infected lung sample with nicotine and a tumor began to form. We think we may be able to treat your lungs surgically." She could tell by the look on his face that he knew there was more. "But?" he prompted. She sighed. "But I'm worried about the possibility of recurrence. We won't know until we wait another day and see what the tests show us." Mulder nodded, his breath coming in short gasps. "I can...wait...another day," he said. "The mass in your lungs may be growing," she said quietly. "Dr. Coff thinks if we don't operate immediately, we could have to put you on a ventilator." Mulder grimaced. "Hate...tubes," he said. She rubbed his hand. "One would think you loved them, considering the number of times you've required the services of one," she replied dryly. "Ha...ha," he said, but the second 'ha' transformed into an explosive bout of coughs that left him wheezing for air. "Mulder," Scully said sharply. With great effort his eyes tracked to hers. "What...do you...think?" he said. The sound of his rasping breaths rang in her ears. Not wasted breath, she thought. Not yet. "I think we need to wait," she said softly. "It's the only way to be sure." He nodded. "Okay," he said. "We...wait." "Mulder, if you want a second opinion from your doctor..." He shook his head. "You're...my doctor. We...wait." Impulsively she reached out and brushed a gentle hand over his forehead, and Mulder's eyes slowly closed. "If your breathing becomes more labored," she cautioned, "we'll have to intubate until we can perform the surgery." Mulder nodded, his throat working. "I can...wait," he promised in a thin whisper, "until I'm blue...in the face." She swallowed. "Funny, Mulder." He let out a measured breath. "Credit for...trying," he murmured faintly, and then he fell silent as the machines began to shriek. "Mulder?" Scully said in alarm. "Mulder!" She ran to the doorway. "I need some help in here!" she screamed. In the hallway, Dr. Coff turned towards her. "Dr. Scully?" "He's crashing," she said urgently, and flew back to Mulder's side as a nurse grabbed a cart and wheeled it toward them. "SATs are down to 70. Dr. Scully, we're going to need to intubate." She nodded. "Do it." She sagged back against the wall as she watched the doctor carefully insert the tube in Mulder's throat. Breathe, Mulder, she thought again, a little desperately; breathe for me. As if he had heard her, Mulder's body obeyed. * * * The insistent trilling of her cellular phone startled Scully back into awareness from a fitful sleep. She'd been dreaming, she thought, about Mulder; he had been smoking a cigarette and wearing a wedding ring. "Nicotine will save you, Scully," he had hissed ominously just before the phone jolted her awake. She shook her head wearily. "Scully," she answered. "Scully, it's Skinner. How's Mulder doing?" "Not well," she said reluctantly. "He's not breathing on his own." "Have you had any luck with the larvae samples?" She twisted her head back and forth, trying to ease out the kinks in her neck. "Maybe," she answered. "We think it might be possible to remove the masses surgically. We should know more about the possible after-effects later in the day." Skinner's voice was deep with concern. "Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything, Agent Scully." "Thank you, sir," she said quietly. "I appreciate it." She glanced up to see Dr. Coff striding towards her. "Sir, I have to go. I'll keep you updated." Scully was surprised to see that Dr. Coff was grinning. "Good news?" she asked, her pulse quickening. "Bingo," he replied. "No trace of the tumor in the lung sample we studied. Zip, zilch. I think we're good to go, Dr. Scully." He paused. "I think you were right to wait, by the way. And I want to tell you I admire your fortitude." She nodded. "Thank God," she murmured with relief. "I'll tell Mulder." The smile faded from the doctor's face. "He's unconscious right now, Dr. Scully," he said gently. "You slept for a long time." Scully stared at him for a moment. "I promised him I wasn't going anywhere," she said in a low voice. Dr. Coff hesitated and then placed a hand on her shoulder. "You didn't," he said. "Let's get him up to surgery now." "I'm scrubbing in," she said sharply, and the doctor nodded mutely as if he didn't dare disagree. * * * Mulder was so still, Scully thought. The sight of her partner motionless where he was usually so animated never failed to stun her into a quiet sense of fear. Scully always played the role of the reassuring doctor: "Mulder, you're going to be fine," she had said a dozen times in a dozen different hospitals. But the sense of dread always clawed at her, and her unspoken fears always hung in the air: Mulder, you nearly died. Mulder, I almost lost you. But not this time, Scully reminded herself. Mulder was going to be fine. An alarm at the bed suddenly sounded, as if warning Scully her thoughts were tempting fate. She hurried over to Mulder's side; his eyes were open. He was awake, she thought, and fighting the vent. Mulder's hands were confined by soft restraints; Scully privately thought he hated to be strapped down much more than he hated the ventilator itself. She slipped her hand into his and gave it a soft squeeze. "Mulder," she commanded; they had been through this too many times. "Breathe with the ventilator, Mulder. Breathe for me. Breathe for me," she repeated. Mulder nodded at her, his eyes wide, and gradually his breathing fell in sync with the machine. "Let me get the doctor," she said. "We'll try a trial separation and if it goes well we can remove the tube." But there was no need; Dr. Coff was already at the doorway. "My miracle patient," he exclaimed heartily. "Agent Mulder, if you don't mind, this is one for the books." Scully glanced back at Mulder. "That's at least the third time a doctor has wanted to document your condition for a medical journal," she muttered, though the corners of her mouth curved into a small smile. "Let's make it the last, okay?" Dr. Coff moved over to the bed. "I'm going to disconnect the vent and see how you manage on your own," he told Mulder. Then he looked up at Scully. "Don't hold your breath," he joked. She rolled her eyes; he had Mulder's sense of humor, she thought. But she *was* holding her breath. Mulder had been ill for so long, and the tumors in his lungs had severely compromised his breathing. If the surgery hadn't been successful... She refused to let her mind finish the thought. Instead she focused on her partner -- alive, she thought; it was a start -- as he closed his eyes and took a deep, concentrated breath. His breathing was still harsh and ragged around the edges, but it was his own. Dr. Coff nodded, satisfied. "That's the ticket," he said. "Let's get this tube gone." Scully flinched at the gagging sound that always accompanied the removal of Mulder's ET tube. "Well," Dr. Coff said. "If you'll excuse me a moment, I do have other patients in this hospital." He gave Mulder a pointed look. "I'll have you puffing into a spirometer in no time," he said as he left. Mulder let out a small sigh as he looked at Scully. "How'd...I do?" he croaked. She reached out to rub his fingers. "Looks like you may not make it to the Super Bowl this year, either," she said wryly. "And I was gonna...be the starting quarterback, too," Mulder responded. She took a seat by the bed. "Fine, Mulder," she said softly. "You did just fine." Mulder let out a breath of relief and then looked at her again. "You're...sure," he said. "You got it all." She nodded. "We got it all. The tissue sample Dr. Coff and I studied showed no signs of recurrence. You'll have to be in the hospital for a few days, and it will take a while before your lungs feel fully functioning again, but you won't suffer permanent damage, Mulder." Mulder eyed her thoughtfully. "Good thing I...quit smoking after all," he rasped. "You'll have to thank Anna for that," Scully said without thinking. Mulder gave her a measured look and Scully closed her eyes briefly. "We shouldn't have waited," she whispered suddenly. "It could have killed you, Mulder." "But it didn't," Mulder said. "You figured...it out, Scully. You put the pieces together." He gestured weakly at his chest. "You put me...together. And even if you hadn't..." He paused and his mouth curved in a small grin. "You get credit...for trying," he finished. She smiled at him. "Well," she said, her voice thick. "As long as I get credit for trying." They sat in silence for a moment before Scully found herself impulsively asking a question that had been on her mind for days. "Why didn't you ever tell me you were married, Mulder?" Mulder shifted in the bed. "Just trying...to preserve some of the...mystery, I guess," he said. Her eyebrows arched. "Is that what you think makes this partnership endure? Mystery?" He pretended to think about it. "That and your technique...with a defibrillator," he responded. Her mouth quirked. "Ah," she said. She glanced at the empty pitcher on the table. "I'm going to get you some water, Mulder," she said. "I'll be right back." Scully slipped into the hallway and came face to face with Mulder's doctor. "Dr. Coff," she said, surprised. "Are you this attentive with all your patients?" The doctor smiled at her. "Actually, I was hoping to talk with you, Dr. Scully." She gave him a questioning look. "I hope this isn't too presumptuous of me," he began, "but I was wondering whether you...might like to have dinner sometime." Scully looked at him, startled; it had been a long time, she thought, since anyone had asked her out on a date. "I know you're not going to be in Florida very long," Dr. Coff continued hastily, "but we made a pretty good team solving our beetle mystery, so I just thought..." He paused and shook his head. "I'm sorry, you must think this is silly of me. I don't even know your first name." Hurriedly Scully shook her head. "No, I'm sorry, it's not that," she said. "I was just surprised." Her eyes flickered to the doorway of the room where her partner lay. "And I'm flattered," she continued. "It's just that..." Dr. Coff's eyes followed her gaze. "Oh. *Oh,*" he said quickly, his eyes widening. "Dr. Scully, I'm sorry, I didn't realize...man, you must think I'm a total..." She shook her head. "No," she said quickly. "Not at all. It's...it's complicated," she concluded reluctantly. Dr. Coff attempted a smile. "Well, now that I've made a total jackass out of myself, I'll just check in with Agent Mulder and call it a day," he said. Scully waited until he had left before re-entering Mulder's room, her head reeling. Mulder comes close to death and I get asked out on a date, she thought; it hardly seemed fair. "You forgot...the water," Mulder pointed out in a thin whisper. The jig is up, Scully thought. "What did...the doctor want?" She hesitated. "He wanted to ask me out," she admitted reluctantly. Mulder's eyebrows raised. "But he's not...the David Cassidy type." She fixed him with a meaningful look and he glanced away. "What did...you say?" Mulder asked. Scully regarded him thoughtfully. "I told him I already had plans for the Super Bowl this year," she said. "I hear my partner is supposed to be the starting quarterback." She hesitated. "I was thinking about what you said, Mulder," she began slowly, "about how you considered your smoking habit to be just wasted breath..." She took a deep breath. "What if we're given a finite number of breaths in our lives? What if we've...what if we've been wasting our breath on the wrong moments?" The silence in the room hung between them, but the gratitude in Mulder's eyes was unmistakable. After a moment, his eyelids began to droop; instinctively Scully reached out and squeezed his hand. "Get some sleep, Mulder," she said softly. "I'll be here when you wake up." "Mmmm," Mulder mumbled sleepily in response. "Scully?" She regarded him expectantly. "I was breathing for you," he murmured. * * * END. ABOUT THE AUTHOR: This is Rae Lynn's second story about "Brand X," the gift that just keeps on giving. She wrote this while she should have been writing about Tomie dePaola and Jean Piaget. She savors feedback at rae_lynn05ATyahoo.com; it doesn't pay off the student loans, but it reminds her who to blame when the Department of Education comes calling!