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Accountability 
by Pam Gamble
eksphyl@yahoo.com

Chapter 15


Mulder tried to imprint the words onto his brain,
willing himself to believe. Believe the words the
doctor had said, believe they were not just an effort
to placate a hysterical man convinced he was
losing...everything.



In his mind, the words captioned a continually looping
image of Scully's pale face, eyes rolling back in her
head as her body swayed, then wilted to the floor an
instant before he lunged for her. Shouting her name,
trying vainly to be heard over the fierce pounding of
his own heart.

As she had fallen, the heel had broken off her right
shoe, and Mulder still held it in his palm like a
talisman. He could fix it for her. Repair it so there
would be no sign it had been broken.

No sign. They had told him there was no sign of her
cancer. Once nearly three years ago, as he'd sat on
what he'd believed to be her deathbed, hands clasped
beneath the sheets away from her brother's prying
eyes.

And again, a few minutes ago, as the doctor delivered
results of a preliminary blood test.

There had been such a tiny window of time, maybe their
first two or three cases, when she could have walked
away from him, her presence barely registering on his
radar. After that, there was always a sense of her,
hovering in his peripheral vision. Now he no longer
thought of their time together in terms of cases, but
of long days and sweet, sleepless nights. He realized
he could live without her, but couldn't fathom why he
would want to.

She'd asked him once if he didn't feel as though they
had given up, some days, when mundane office tasks
filled their schedules. He'd told her no, he'd just
found something he didn't know he was looking for.

There was a shift in the air, her energy swirling
around him once again. He looked up from the requisite
bedside chair to see her head turn slowly on the stiff
white pillow.

Drowsy eyes were drawn to the half-sunlight peeking
through the blinds. She didn't have to look for him.
She just knew.

"Wha 'appened?"

He stood, bending low at the waist to press his lips
to her forehead, lingering there, inhaling her. "I
love you." A dark chocolate voice, rich and sweet,
saved for words that were normally taken for granted. 

Mulder settled at her side, absorbing her existence,
and wondering how things could go so badly so quickly.

"I don't know. We were talking to my sister and her
husband in the hallway outside Lauren's room." The
statement came out as a question, and she nodded.

"And then you just..." He drew his fingers through the
hair above her ear, eyes closed as he watched it all
happen again. "You just slumped over. You said 'No',
then you were on the floor." He bit his lip, stilling
the panic that threatened to revisit him. "There was
no blood. I had them do tests, so far they've all came
back negative." He wanted to be angry, to feel
anything other than fear. "You should have told me you
were sick, Dana."

He hated the disoriented look on her face. Especially
in this setting, where it was too familiar. "But I
wasn't Mulder." She searched her mind for any sign
that should have warned her. "I haven't had so much as
a headache in weeks." She gave him a tiny, ironic
smile. "I really am fine."

He rose and stalked to the window. "Well, obviously
you're not."

"I'm sorry, Mulder, I don't have a good explanation
for this, but I feel fine now." She rubbed the spot on
her arm, sore from the prick of the needle while she
was out.

He turned quickly, dragging a hand through his hair.
"You're not leaving until all the test results come
back."

Scully raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to give
her an order again.

"I am not laying in this bed when there's nothing
wrong with me." She'd had enough of hospital beds for
one lifetime, thank you very much.

"Dammit, Scully," he reached into his jacket pocket
for the discarded heel of her shoe, fidgeting with the
useless piece of rubber and plastic. "Do you know how
much I envy you?" He'd never seen quite that shade of
surprise on her face. "If something happens to me, you
know how to fix it." He was back at her side,
desperately trying to make her understand. "I don't
know how to...to put you back together. I just feel so
fucking lost when you're sick."

The door opened, admitting the same doctor Scully
remembered from the hallway. He flipped rapidly
through her chart, rattling off numbers and words
Mulder didn't understand. He did catch that they had
run a pregnancy test, which obviously was negative.
Had to cover all the bases, though.

Scully nodded, throwing a sympathetic glance at the
man by her side. "Which, when translated, means, I'm
fine."

"If she just fainted, why was she out for so long?"
Defiantly begging for an answer he could accept.

"Sometimes these things just happen. Stress, lack of
sleep, diet." He shrugged almost happily. Mulder's
wary glance told her that he didn't think these things
'just happened' to Scully.

"So I can go?"

"I don't see why not."

The physician rushed out the door as quickly as he'd
come in, thrilled to lessen his caseload by one.

Scully swung her legs over the bed and began to dress.
Her partner slumped down on the edge of the bed, on
sheets still saturated with her body heat.

Once she'd dressed, Scully stood between his knees in
her stocking feet, giving her the rare experience of
looking him straight in the eye.

Her hands wrapped around his neck, cool fingers
smoothing over the crazed rhythm of his pulse. Worry
and relief warred in his eyes, and as much as she
wanted to be angry at him, she couldn't. In his shoes,
she'd have felt the same way. Knew that feeling very
well, actually.

"I know you're scared," she sighed. She nuzzled his
hair, and his forehead fell to her shoulder as his
arms circled her waist.

Her warm breath caressed his earlobe, her head tilted
just a fraction to rest on his. "And I love you, too."



Stay tuned for Chapter 16, unofficially titled "The
shit hits the fan":)