Sign In Sign-Up

Welcome!

Close

Would you like to make this site your homepage? It's fast and easy...

Yes, Please make this my home page!

No Thanks

  Don't show this to me again.

Close

By dee_ayy@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and 20th Century Fox. Don't sue me.

RATINGS: PG-13 for language (Mulder does tend to swear). Fair share of MulderAngst and Pain, but nothing life-threatening. MTA Rating? Maybe a 4. You decide.

THANKS: To everyone who sent encouraging responses to my first attempt at this fan fic stuff, particularly Shirley Smiley herself (even though she is a Red Sox fan), Debbie Goldstein (that first scene with Skinner is for you!), and especially Vickie Moseley, who brought me over to the dark side. I really, really hate you, Vickie. ;-)

ARCHIVE: Sure. Anywhere. Send it along. I don't care.

SPOILERS: Mention is made to events in END GAME and ANASAZI.

COMMENTS: Are welcome. I can take it. dee_ayy@yahoo.com

SUMMARY: A followup to PAIN IN THE NIGHT, but you should be able to follow this without having read that. Mulder is forced into elective shoulder surgery, and tries to take it like a man.

_________________________________________________________

Shouldering Responsibility

By dee_ayy

The sun coming in the window woke Mulder up and he smiled. It was the first decent night's sleep he'd had in three weeks, since he'd been forced to wear that damn shoulder immobilizer. Popping his shoulder out in his sleep had definitely thrown him for a loop, and he'd actually _worn_ the damn thing like he was supposed to--unlike with past slings after past dislocations. But three weeks was up yesterday, and he'd gotten the okay to discard the thing from the staff doctor at work. Discard the thing? No, he'd learned _that_ lesson, too. The contraption was stuffed on the shelf in his closet, but he was keeping it. Just in case.

He could _finally_ go running again, and that was his first order of business.

 * * * * *
Skinner's secretary Kimberly was not at her desk, so Mulder knocked on the office door.

"Come in."

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Come in and sit down, Agent Mulder. How's the arm?"

"Good as new, sir. What's up?"

"I received an interesting piece of information from Staff Health Services this morning."

Mulder blanched. This sounded like trouble.

"When you were in there yesterday, the doctor you saw went through your records. You have suffered this particular injury six times in the last three years. I'm sure you are aware of this?"

"Well, to be honest I haven't been keeping count."

"Doctor Brown was alarmed enough to notify me, and make a recommendation."

Mulder shifted uneasily in his chair. He knew what was coming next, and his mind was racing ahead to come up with a response.

"I was not aware until now of the dangers posed by an agent in the field with an unstable shoulder socket. I am ordering you to have this problem surgically repaired. And until it is, you are out of the field."

"But sir! It's a minor injury! Inconvenient, sure, but easily fixed! I do _not_ need surgery!"

"Agent Mulder, did I mistakenly give you the impression that this matter was open for discussion? Your shoulder is unstable enough to come out in your sleep. What if it came out when you were in the field, following a suspect or backing up your partner? Your condition puts you, Agent Scully, and anyone else out in the field with you at risk. The matter is _closed_ agent. Here is a list of orthopedic surgeons who have worked with the members of the Bureau in the past. Choose one, make an appointment, and keep me apprised of when you will be taking medical leave. That is all, Agent Mulder."

Mulder knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't help it. He also couldn't think of a thing to say. He'd been ambushed. He just took the proffered list from Skinner, got up, and walked out.

 * * * * *
Mulder knew Scully would be in their office, so despite the incredible urge to slam the door as violently as possible, he just walked in quietly.

"Hey, look at you. Back among the two-armed again!  Where have you been?"

"Huh? Oh, right, yeah. Got sprung from the sling last night. I was up in Skinner's office."

"What did he want?"

"What? Oh, nothing. Just to see how the arm was."

While returning to the basement Mulder had decided not to tell Scully. He knew she'd want to take care of him if she knew, and he didn't want her to have to do that. Not this time, when it wasn't an emergency, when he was doing this by choice. <Ha! Some choice!> He'd take care of this himself, during the upcoming holidays. She'd go to her mom's, he'd tell her he was going . . . somewhere . . . and get it fixed then. By the time she got back to work it would be a done deal, and his partner would have been spared another trip to a hospital at his expense.

"So, what's on the agenda, then, now that you are sprung from the desk? Surely there's some case you've been dying to get out and investigate."

"Well, actually, that's what Skinner wanted. I'm on the desk until after the holidays. He said it was 'Just to be cautious.'" Mulder slumped into his chair dejectedly.

"I'm sorry Mulder. But it's not a bad idea, and it's only two weeks until Christmas. It's not forever. You should use the time to go over to the gym and work on strengthening your shoulder. Maybe that would keep this from happening so often, since I know I'll never get you to have the surgery."

Mulder almost laughed at what she said. Little did she know! <You know, this will probably be a nice Christmas gift for her. She'll be able to stop nagging me about it.>

 * * * * *
"Scully, it's me. I'm gonna be late. I ran my dishwasher before going to bed last night, and something went wrong. I have water all over the kitchen floor. I'll be in as soon as I get it mopped up and get the super up here." He hung up, guilty not only about the blatant lie, but about chickening out and leaving a voice mail rather than talking to her directly. He hated lying to her. He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. He was going to be late for his doctor's appointment.

 * * * * *
Mulder waited in the examination room nervously. He'd been offered a seat, but decided to stand. Something about the dynamics of the patient on the exam table and the doctor standing always made him uncomfortable. This was too weird for him. He was well-acquainted with the medical profession, but hardly ever this side of it. A nice suburban office, with a waiting room, and well-appointed exam rooms. He chuckled when he realized he'd probably be more comfortable, more in his element, in an ER.

"Agent Mulder? I'm Doctor Sumner. Nice to meet you." Mulder noted that the doctor wasn't much older than he was. He wasn't sure whether or not that was comforting. The two men shook hands. "You have some x-rays for me?"

Mulder handed over the large envelope he'd picked up from the hospital that morning. "These are from three and a half weeks ago."

"And I understand that was the sixth time you'd dislocated the left shoulder?"

 Mulder smiled slightly. "I see my reputation precedes me?"

Dr. Sumner also grinned. "You may work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Agent Mulder, but you aren't the only one with sources! Actually, the Bureau health office sent over what they had in their records. It was pretty sketchy. I'm still going to need a lot of information from you, and we're going to have to track down the rest of your x-rays. It will determine what surgical approach we will take."

The doctor snapped the x-rays on the light board and flipped the switch. Mulder was fascinated. He realized he'd never actually _seen_ the pictures of his dislocated shoulder before.  It was easy to see the problem. There was a space of black nothingness where his humerus should be, and instead the arm bone was a little below and to the left. _Clearly_ where it shouldn't be. "Shit, no wonder it hurts so damn much."

"No doubt, Agent Mulder, it's an excruciating injury. The muscles, tendons, and ligaments in the shoulder are generally very tight, to allow the great range of motion of the joint. So when the ball pops out of the socket, it really wreaks havoc in there. There's no room for it outside of where it belongs. But we'll discuss the whole mechanics of the thing later. I understand this particular injury occurred in your sleep?"

"That's right. I woke up and it was out. Much to the amusement of the folks at the hospital. But I've been told it's not _so_ freaky."

"No, not at all. It happens. But you achieved a complete dislocation in your sleep, which is pretty rare. Most are only partial, where the ball is only partially out of the socket--what we call sublexations. This is a clear indication that the joint is completely unstable. It is the dead giveaway that it is time for surgical intervention. I suspect that's why you are here?"

"Well, to be honest, I'm here because I've been ordered here by the Bureau."

"They're right, Agent Mulder. You need to do something about it. Once it's over you'll be thankful. Why don't you take your shirt off, and I'll do a quick exam of your shoulder, and then we can reconvene in my office so I can get the rest of your history."

Mulder removed his jacket, shirt and tie, and sat on the dreaded exam table.

"How old is this bullet wound?"

"Ummm, it's a few years old. It was a through-and-through. Nothing serious." Mulder twisted around to show the doctor the exit wound.

"God, I just love working with FBI agents! 'Nothing serious!' I assure you, Agent Mulder, in the rest of the world any bullet wound is something serious! Did your shoulder dislocate when you were shot?"

"No, it didn't. Not that I am aware of, anyway. I'm sure someone would have told me, though."

"Well, your records didn't indicate it. But they failed to mention the bullet hole altogether. It was a line-of-duty injury, I trust?"

"Well, yes and no. It's a _long_ story, Doctor Sumner, one you definitely don't want to hear. I am sure my shoulder did not dislocate. My partner is a medical doctor. She . . . ummm . . .  was there when it happened, and I am positive she would have told me if it had."

"Okay, I'll take your word on that. I'd still like to get a look at the hospital records from the shooting. It could be important. Where did it happen?"

"Ummm, there are no hospital records. I didn't go to the hospital. I told you, it is a very long story. I couldn't go to the hospital, and my partner took care of me."

"Well then, I'll speak to her."

"Ummm, you can't. I mean, I don't want you to. I don't want her to have to be involved in this. It's yet another long story."

"I didn't realize I was dealing with a _secret_ agent, Agent Mulder! We'll finish that discussion later. Let's get on with this.  What I am going to do is manipulate your shoulder in various directions. I want you to tell me the second your shoulder feels unstable."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Tell me when it feels like it's about to go out. You'll know it when you feel it."

The doctor started by placing Mulder's upper arm against his body, with his forearm straight out in front of him. He rotated it away from his body at the elbow, keeping the upper arm in place. He got to about 50( when Mulder suddenly pushed his arm back forward, alarmed.

Dr. Sumner smiled. "See, I told you you'd know when it happened. These are controlled motions--not things you would normally do in life. But it gives me an idea of how much ligament damage there is--of just how unstable it is."

"And?"

"Well, watch this." The doctor performed the same test on Mulder's right shoulder, and the arm rotated to a full 90(, even a little beyond, until his forearm was pointing straight out at his side, away from his body. "That's what normal looks like. We only got about half-way there on the other side before the stability was compromised. The tendency toward dislocation is probably already robbing you of significant range of motion in the shoulder, and you don't even know it."

"But I have never felt anything like that, like if I kept doing something it would dislocate."

"Well, that's not uncommon. I imagine you are very active?" Mulder nodded. "Well, you probably aren't paying close enough attention to the signals your body might be giving you. Or it happens too quickly, and it is too late by the time you have processed the warning. Also, you are right handed?" Mulder nodded. "Well, since this is not your dominant arm, you don't use it as much, and you don't pay it as much heed. If the injury was to your right, and kept you from writing or pulling your weapon, you probably would have been in here three dislocations ago."

Mulder suddenly found himself wishing Scully _were_ there. She'd know the right questions to be asking. Instead Mulder just found himself nodding, blindly accepting whatever the doctor was telling him.

Sumner finished his exam, rotating Mulder's shoulder in various positions, and noting the results on a chart. He performed each of the same ministrations on the right arm as well, for a point of comparison.

"Okay, that does it. Put your clothes back on and join me in my office. It's right across the hall."

As Mulder buttoned his shirt he decided that this guy was okay. Probably because he hadn't been _too_ snotty about the abuse Mulder had put his body through. If there was one thing he hated it was holier-than-thou doctors who gave him those "Your body is your temple, respect it" lectures. This guy was matter-of-fact, without being judgmental. He could handle that. He went across the hall, and knocked.

"Come on in and sit down, Agent Mulder."

The guy hadn't yet suggested he call him "Fox," and Mulder decided to head off the inevitable. "Why don't you just call me Mulder, Dr. Sumner. Only my boss calls me 'Agent Mulder,' and I only let about three people on the planet call me 'Fox.'"

The doctor smiled. "Okay. You have a fairly unstable shoulder, Mulder. But from the results of the exam, and the one set of x-rays we have here, I would bet that every dislocation has been anterior--or toward the front. When it is out of the socket, does it feel like there is a tennis ball in your armpit?"

"Well, it actually feels like it hurts like hell, but yeah, that's a fairly good description of the sensation, pain aside."

"It's never been anywhere else? Toward the outside, or toward your back?"

"Umm, no, not that I know of. But a couple of times I have been unconscious, so I couldn't tell you about those."

Dr. Sumner looked up incredulously at that. "Okay, I think it's time to get the entire history of your shoulder problem, Mulder. Tell me what you were doing each time it went out. "

"Each time?"

"It's vitally important that I know the circumstances surrounding each injury."

"Okay. But I'm going to give you the abridged versions! The first time was in 1995.  I was in Alaska, chasing a perp. We were handcuffed together, I had the cuff on the left wrist. I was, ummm, exposed to a virus, and became violently ill, totally incapacitated, thus allowing the suspect to escape, provided he could get the cuffs off. I don't remember much, but I do remember him dragging me up and down stairs by my arm, and I remember falling a long distance into the snow once we were separated. I don't know when exactly the shoulder dislocated, but when I woke up at a military hospital I was told I had dislocated my shoulder. I'd been in a coma from the virus, so by the time I was up and around I was told the shoulder had healed."

Dr. Sumner's eyes had widened as the story had progressed. "So you don't know if the arm was pulled out of the socket, or if the fall caused it?"

"I really have no idea. But my shoulder was the least of my worries at the time."

"And you had no physical therapy on the shoulder, were not given any strengthening exercises to do?"

"No."

"Well, no wonder you're here. Okay. That's one. Two?"

"Playing basketball, three-on-three. I was blocking Agent Smith, who is a good four inches taller than me. Had my arms up to guard him, and he gave my left arm a good whack backwards, and out it went. A blatant offensive foul, but I never did get to take those free throws. He still apologizes when he sees me!"

"Okay, now THAT is a scenario I am used to hearing! Three?"

"Ummm, don't remember that one, either. I was hit by a car. A van, actually. On Pennsylvania Avenue, no less. The tourists must have LOVED it. Dislocated shoulder was on the long list of injuries when I regained consciousness from that little incident."

"Any other injuries to your left arm from the accident?"

"Nothing aside from pavement rash."

"Four?"

 "Ummm, I fell. I was in Syracuse, in a foot pursuit. It was raining, and I slipped on the side of the road and fell down an embankment. When I stopped rolling down the hill, it was out. But my partner caught the guy, so all was well."

"Five?"

"Playing basketball again. And another fall. I put my hands out to break the fall, and it popped out."

"That's very common. And that brings us to six, the sleeping one."

"Yup, that's all of them."

"Anything else relevant? Any other injuries to your left arm or shoulder that you can remember? Tell me anything. It might be important, it might not."

"Nothing much that I can think of. A sprained wrist or two. Oh, and I broke the small bone in my forearm once when I was a kid--hit by a baseball bat. And the gunshot wound, of course."

"Speaking of that, there's no way I can talk to your partner about it?"

"I'd really rather you didn't, doctor. I want to give her a break here. I'm a complete pain in the ass when I'm injured. She always gets caught up in it. And she's going home for the holidays, anyway. She's not around." Lying was becoming natural where this procedure was concerned.

"Okay, I'll let it go for now. First we need to collect as many of the x-rays as we can, and I want to schedule you for an MRI of your shoulder. That will give me a clearer picture of what's going on with everything in there. How many of these injuries happened locally?"

"Ummm, four of them. And the other two were Alaska and Syracuse. But the Alaska records have to be here somewhere. I was still ill when I came home, and all of my records came with me. But I'm not sure where they ended up."

"Can you find out?"

"I can try. I know who would know where they are."

"Do. Being able to see the exact presentation of the injury in each case is invaluable in deciding how to proceed. Jot down the hospitals you visited for the others, and we'll have you sign a request for release of medical records for each one, and get the x-rays." He called the front desk and asked that the forms be prepared.

"So, how soon do you want to proceed? After the holidays?"

"Well, doctor, I was kind of hoping we could do this OVER the holidays. It really is the perfect time, work-wise. Even the bad guys seem to take time to celebrate."

"Well, no hospitals do elective surgery right before Christmas. They try to give their staffs a break. But Northeast Georgetown gets back on schedule on the 26th, and I have privileges there. I'm not going away for the holidays, and this is a short procedure. How would that be? In a week and a half we should be able to get most of your records."

"That would be perfect. Exactly how short will the procedure be?"

"Well, until I get the rest of your records, I can't say for sure. But I suspect you'll be needing the standard Bankart's repair. It is the most effective for recurrent anterior dislocations, and you retain 99% of your range of motion, which I know will be vitally important in your line of work. The procedure only takes about an hour. But I really don't think we need to go into it until I get the MRI and your x-rays, in case I do need to do something different. I'll go through the whole procedure step-by-step the next time we meet."

"How long of a hospital stay am I looking at?"

"Well, some doctors actually do surgical shoulder repair as an outpatient procedure, but I refuse to do that. No matter what procedure we decide on you will be in considerable pain when you wake up, and I have found that patients just cannot manage that pain at home on their own. Ideally I like to do the procedure first thing in the morning, and keep you over night. So you're looking at 24 to 36 hours in the hospital, barring complications."

Mulder cursed silently. He'd picked the wrong doctor after all. But if he told Scully, maybe he could get out in the same day, with her to manage the pain. No, he wasn't going to do that to her over Christmas. It was just one night. No problem. Then the last thing Sumner had said sank in.

"Complications?"

Sumner smiled. "Hey, I have to say that, don't I? I'll go over the whole thing when we meet to discuss the procedure. It's a simple surgical procedure, Mr. Mulder. I do as many as three or four a week. Nothing to worry about." He stood to signify that the meeting was over. "On your way out, sign the records release forms that should be waiting for you. And have the receptionist set up an MRI appointment for you this week. We'll call you for an appointment next week when we have all the records from the other hospitals. And you try to find those Alaska records. Pictures of the _first_ dislocation are the most helpful."

"Will do, Doctor. Thanks." The two men shook hands again, and Mulder headed out toward the receptionist's desk.

"I'm Fox Mulder. You have something for me to sign?"

The receptionist looked up and smiled a big smile at him. "Sure do, Mr. Mulder. Several somethings. These are standard legal requests for release of medical records. We need one for each hospital that has x-rays. Just fill in the name of the hospital on the top, and sign the bottom. We'll fill in the rest. I didn't know how many you'd need, so there are a bunch there."

Mulder did as he was told, and didn't even bother to read the form. Scully would have a fit if she knew that. In the end, he had three forms. If he'd known that they'd want all of the x-rays, he could have gotten two more sets this morning when he'd picked up the ones he'd brought. He handed the forms back to the receptionist. "Umm, I need to set up an MRI appointment?" Scully would be proud to see him handling this whole thing so responsibly.

Mulder had to chuckle to himself. He was determined to spare Scully this little drama, yet here he was, anticipating what she'd think or say if she WAS here. There was just no way of escaping his partner. None.

"Mr. Mulder??" The receptionist was trying to get his attention. She had the phone to her ear.

"Ohh, sorry. Daydreaming. Yes?"

"How is tomorrow at 2pm for the MRI? You're lucky. They had a cancellation."

"Oh, right. That's fine."

He took the appointment card from the receptionist, pretended to listen to her directions to the radiologist's office, and raced out the door. This had taken much longer than he thought. He was _late_.

 * * * * *
Scully looked up when her partner came in. "Hey, how's the kitchen?"

"What?"

"The dishwasher! Is it fixed?"

"Oh, right. Yeah, it wasn't serious. The drain was clogged, or something like that."

"You should scrape the plates before you put them in the washer, Mulder." He just shot her a look, and she smiled.

"I tried to call you about an hour ago, but the machine picked up."

"Oh? Ummm, I was probably downstairs talking to the super." <Keep it up, Mulder. More lies. White lies. >

They both worked quietly for a while, or at least that's how it looked. Mulder was actually hard at work trying to figure out how to get on the subject of his medical records from Alaska. Finally he just brought it up.

"Scully, whatever happened to all my medical records from Alaska?"

"WHAT? They are with the case file, I think, Mulder. The retrovirus certainly qualified as an X-File. Why do you want to know? What's up? The virus hasn't surfaced again, has it?" She was definitely alarmed.

"Ohh, no. Nothing like that. I was just thinking about my shoulder. The first time it went out was up in Alaska. I was wondering what the records said about it. That's all."

"It's very unlike you to show interest in your medical condition, Mulder. What's up?" She paused. "Are you thinking about having the surgery!?"

God, she was good. "No, Scully, are you kidding? It's nothing, really. I was just reading something about shoulders the other night, and it got me thinking. And it is totally untrue that I have no interest in my medical condition. I have interest. But then, I have you, so I don't have to worry about it, do I?"

"You do have me, and you're damn lucky to, Agent Mulder."

"I know, Dr. Scully."

They continued working quietly for some time. Then Mulder spoke again.

"How much time are you taking for the holidays, Scully?"

"Just the usual. Week between Christmas and New Years. But since Christmas is on Tuesday, that means it will be a good 11 days before I'll be back in the office."

"You gonna be at your mom's this year?"

"Yeah, the baby is one now, so they're coming east. I'll be around the whole time. You know you are invited to Christmas dinner. You always are."

"I know, Scully, thanks. I'm actually thinking of getting out of Dodge for the holidays this year. Maybe visit my mom, maybe go skiing, maybe go to New York and OD on Knicks games. I dunno." More lies.

"I think that's a _great_ idea, Mulder! What brought this on?"

"Well, thanks to Skinner if I stayed here I'd just be riding this desk. May as well get out of here."

"Very true. Wait a minute. You ski?"

Mulder looked conspiratorially at his partner. "There are many things you don't know about me, Agent Scully."

"Maybe so. But we have had PLENTY of opportunities for you to strap on skis, and you have never done it. You _don't_ ski!"

"Okay, I don't ski. But it's never too late to learn. And what about all those little lodge bunnies you hear so much about?" Scully rolled her eyes, and smiled at her partner.

"Well, let me know what you decide to do."

"Why, so you can check up on me?"

"Someone needs to."

 * * * * *
Mulder entered the doctor's office in a rush. He was late.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Mulder!" The cheerful receptionist remembered him a week later? <Oh, wait, she has the appointment book. Who else would you be?> "Dr. Sumner will be with you in just a minute."

"I'm late. Sorry."

"No problem. He's running a few minutes behind schedule himself. Have a seat."

Mulder stood. Paced, actually. running his fingers down the crease of the x-ray envelope he had with him. It took him the better part of a day, but he had found his x-rays from Alaska, misfiled in the Staff Health Services records department. The medical records about the virus had been in the X-Files; Scully had been right. But the pictures were elsewhere. And he hadn't been about to risk making Scully suspicious again. He'd tracked them down himself.

He finally had Scully convinced that he was going to spend Christmas with his mom in Greenwich, then head up to Vermont for some R&R and skiing lessons. It was perfect. He'd be in a sling when they got back to work, and she would assume it was the result of a skiing accident. Perfect. But why was he lying to her? Really? Sure, he wanted to spare her. That was a huge part of it. That really was the main reason. And he wanted to take care of this himself. This aspect had become increasingly important to him, he had realized, as he had weaved his way around insurance forms, doctors' appointments, tests, and the like. Scully always took care of this stuff, and he always let her. It gave him some level of comfort to think he could maneuver the maze that is the health care system on his own. And he had to face it, it was also a matter of pride. She'd been telling him for years that he was going to need to do this. She'd never actually SAY "I told you so," not while he was in pain. But every time he looked at her, that's what he'd see: "I TOLD YOU SO" written right across her forehead. He didn't need that.

"Mr. Mulder?" He'd zoned out on the poor receptionist _again_.

"Oh, sorry."

"Dr. Sumner is waiting for you. Shall I show you to his office?"

"I remember where it is. But thanks." He headed down the hallway. The office door was open, and he peeked his head in.

"Hi Agent Mulder, come on in."

"Just Mulder, remember?"

"Right. Sorry. I see you have something for me?"

"Yeah, here's the Alaska x-ray. I'm told it's not very good, and there's only one."

Sumner put the x-ray on the lighted board. "Well, you were told right. It's not very good, but good enough. That's 5 out of 6 dislocations, all presented in exactly the same location. That's good news. Makes the repair fairly straightforward."

"Five? What about the sixth?"

"Oh, your Syracuse x-rays were destroyed in a flood in their records department. But I'm sure it would have looked exactly like the rest." He sat down behind his desk, where he had a plastic model of a shoulder joint sitting in the middle of the desk. "So, everything is all set for the 26th. You're on the surgical schedule for 9am. Let me tell you exactly what we'll be doing in there." He picked up the model. "Basically, the idea is to reattach torn ligaments to the glenoid portion of the scapula. . ."

Mulder felt his chest get tight. What the hell was he doing? Tests and forms were one thing. Now it was getting a little too real. Reattach? He took a breath, swallowed, and forced himself to pay attention. Scully wasn't here to pay close attention and ask pertinent questions, allowing Mulder the luxury to phase in and out of the conversation. As Dr. Sumner's descriptions got more technical, Mulder began to seriously question his decision to leave the doctor in his life out of this equation.

"Wait a minute, what is the glenoid?"

"It's the name for the socket part of the ball and socket joint. The ball of the humerus should be centered in the glenoid."

"Can you do me a favor and just call it the socket, then? Socket I understand. Glenoid sounds. . . well, alien."

Dr. Sumner smiled. "Sure, sorry. We doctors tend to do that. Anyway, as I was saying, in a normal shoulder the ball is centered in the _socket_. You'll notice in the model that the socket is much smaller than the ball of the joint. Roughly speaking, it's like a billiard ball resting in a teaspoon. This allows the great range of motion you normally have in a shoulder. Around the socket bone is cartilage, which further supports the joint. That's called the labrum. And the two bones themselves are connected with ligaments. What you suffer from is traumatic anterior instability of your left shoulder, which means that the ligaments and perhaps even the labrum--I mean the cartilage--have been forcibly torn away from the socket bone. Consequently when you put your shoulder joint into certain positions, the humerus is in a position to slip out of the socket and into the area where the ligaments are torn and therefore can't keep it in place, The torn area is called a Bankart's lesion. Do you understand?"

"I think so. Lesion?"

"Just a word, Mulder. Every one of your dislocations has been complete, where none of the ball of the humerus is still in the socket, which indicates that the area is pretty well torn up. The MRI indicates that, as well."

Mulder realized he had been holding his breath. "Okay, so what do you do?"

"It is a simple procedure, really. We reattach the ligaments to the bone."

"Simple for you, maybe!"

"Very true. I'm not making light of this, Mulder, believe me. What we do is make about a three-inch incision starting basically at your armpit and going up toward your shoulder."

Mulder cringed. "You can't do this with those little cameras and things?"

"You mean arthroscopically? No, we can't. People have tried it, but it just isn't effective yet. It's just too tight in there. You need a better field of vision than you can get with the camera. We have to open you up. Have you had surgery before, Mulder?"

"I have. You don't want to see my left leg. I was just hoping maybe I'd luck out here."

"Sorry. Anyway, Once inside, we assess what is torn, and reattach it. 90% of the time it is nothing more than reattaching the capsule of ligaments to the socket bone. This we do by drilling tiny holes in the bone, and suturing the ligaments back in place through those holes. Sometimes we have to reattach the labrum cartilage in the same way. It's called the Bankart suture repair, if you are interested."

"You DRILL?? _Holes_?"

"Very small ones, Mulder, and your body fills them in over time, and the ligaments become stronger over the sutures. It is 95% effective with excellent results. You should regain full range of motion and strength within about six months."

"MONTHS?"

"Oh, absolutely. This takes time to heal, and it is imperative that you give it that time. Otherwise you could undo the repair, and be right back where you started. But after about eight weeks you should be able to function in your day-to-day life with no problem."

Mulder took another deep breath. What WAS he getting himself in to? That thought was crossing his mind a lot. "Okay, so tell me what happens after surgery." Surgery. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation.

"Okay, assuming there are no complications--and I do not expect any--you will be released from the hospital the day after surgery. Your arm will be immobilized for four weeks."

"You mean with that thing that straps around your chest?"

"Oh, you're familiar with it? Yes. that's it. This time allows the surgery site to heal--the work inside and the incision as well. I won't kid you. You'll experience discomfort during this time. But it should get better each day, and you will have pain medication. During this time you will also be doing some physical therapy, to keep the rest of your arm strength, and to keep your shoulder from freezing."

"Freezing?"

"It'll never happen, Mulder. That really is only a risk for the very old."

"But I take it that is a complication? What else?" Scully always asked about complications.

"Well, as with any surgical procedure, there are inherent risks involved. Adverse reactions to drugs we use, hemorrhaging requiring blood transfusion--though this surgery is not a very bloody one, the standard risks of general anesthesia. And in your particular case I am concerned that we may encounter some scar tissue from the gunshot wound that could complicate your surgery and prolong your recovery. The MRI did not indicate this will be the case, but we really won't know until we get in there. I cannot stress enough how routine this procedure is, though, Mulder. When I say there's nothing to it, surgically, I mean it. I have literally done hundreds of them--many of them on shoulders in much worse shape than yours. Try not to worry."

"Well, thanks, doc, but how many times have you had it done to you?"

"True enough. Okay, where was I? Post-op, right? After four weeks or so you will lose the sling, but you will be far from healed. You will only have a fraction of the normal range of motion in the arm, you won't be able to lift anything with that arm, or do _anything_ with it, basically. We will train you in the exercises you will need to do at home to regain your range of motion. Over the next several weeks the motion will return, and we will then work on restrengthening the shoulder joint. After about six months you will be good as new. Nothing to it!"

"You're making light of this again, Dr. Sumner."

"I'm sorry. That usually puts my patients at ease. Not you, huh?" Mulder shook his head in the negative. "Hard habit to break. I'll stop."

Mulder was trying to run through the calendar in his head, to figure out how long this was going to take. He was beginning to think it wasn't a good idea at ALL, but then he remembered it wasn't his idea in the first place. "What about work? When will I be able to go back to work?"

"Well, as soon as your pain is manageable without narcotics, you can return to work in the sling. Usually a week or two."

"I'm a _field agent_, Dr. Sumner. I want to know when I will be able to return to the FIELD. You know--carry my weapon, chase bad guys."

"Oh, right. Well, I don't know. We'll have to play it by ear. If this were your "gun hand," as it were, you'd be looking at the full six months out of the field. But maybe just three or four if all goes well."

Mulder visibly slumped in his chair. He'd already been benched for the last four weeks. Now he was looking at three more months. He was never going to be able to stand it. Nor was he going to be able to keep the truth from Scully.

"No one likes to hear that news, Mulder. Look at it as a vacation, though! Make the best of it. And be thankful you're not a baseball pitcher. You'd be benched for a year."

Mulder gave his doctor a glare that said "You're doing it again." and Sumner just smiled.

"Do I sense second thoughts, Mulder?"

"Second, third, fourth, tenth thoughts, Sumner. But unfortunately this is NOT up to me, remember? Mother FBI seems to think she knows what is best."

"In this case, she does. You would eventually be miserable, as your shoulder dislocated more and more often. I've had patients where slamming a door was enough trauma to pop it out. You do not want to get to that point. Trust me on that."

"I know, I know. But I still don't have to like it." The agent ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.

"Well, I think we have covered just about everything. But before you go we can draw your pre-op blood work here, and that will be one less thing to worry about. We're close enough to the surgery date. Just don't go getting pneumonia or anything in the next five days, okay?" He pressed a button on his phone. "Do you have any questions?"

"Yeah. Where did you go to medical school?" Mulder smiled when Dr. Sumner burst out laughing.

"References _are_ available on request, Agent Mulder! Just say the word! If there's nothing else, then, here is a packet of material for you to take home and read. There's a page of pre-op instructions in there. PLEASE follow them all, particularly the one about not eating before the procedure. The surgical consent form is in there, too. Read it at your leisure, but don't sign it until you are actually being admitted--you have to sign it in their presence. But I give it out early so you don't have to get to the hospital so early. It takes an hour just to read the damn thing. As I said earlier, the surgery is scheduled for 9am. But you have to be at the hospital by 7 to sign your paperwork, get admitted, and get you to pre-op. Normally it would be even earlier, but I'm practically the only nut working that morning, so we should have the whole place to ourselves. But if something changes, and we need you in earlier, we'll call. Are you going anywhere over the holidays at all? If you are, leave a number at the desk so we can track you down if need be." The doctor looked past Mulder, at the door. "And here's Nancy to draw your blood. I'll see you in a few days. Have a Merry Christmas." Dr. Sumner stood and offered his hand, which Mulder shook.

"You too. Thanks." Mulder followed the nurse down the hall. "Should I mention that I hate needles?"

"Not to worry, Mr. Mulder. I'm a pro. You won't feel a thing. Trust me. Which arm are you having surgery on?"

"The left."

"Well, then, better roll up your right sleeve. Let's inflict our damage over there."

She was right. Mulder didn't feel the stick in the crook of his elbow. But he made the mistake of watching her fill vial after vial of blood. The sight made him queasy, and he just wanted out of there. As soon as the gauze was in place he grabbed his jacket and raced for the door.

On his way out, the chipper receptionist shouted out "Good luck Agent Mulder, and Merry Christmas!" The best Mulder could offer was a distracted thanks as he pushed through the door and out of the office, heading for the car. <She's way too happy.>  He couldn't get out of there fast enough.

 * * * * *
As Mulder closed the car door he noticed that his palms were sweating. His heart was racing, too. <Suck it up, idiot. This is nothing.> Well, not _nothing_ exactly. It was something. It definitely was the first time he was voluntarily putting _himself_ under the knife, and the very thought made him nervous. He wanted to be angry at someone--at Skinner for forcing him into this. At that asshole who dragged him around that sub by his wrist, starting this whole thing in the first place. But he wasn't angry. He was. . . scared? His instinct was to call Scully. His instinct was always to call Scully. <Not this time, buddy.> He started the car, and pulled out of the parking lot.

 * * * * *
"Assistant Director Skinner?"

"What is it, Agent Mulder?"

"I just wanted to give you my request for medical leave."

"When are you having the procedure, agent?"

"Next Wednesday morning. I'm not sure how long I'll be out of the office. I just put in for complete leave until the 2nd of January, and then after that I will be on partial disability, but I should be able to make myself useful around here."

"I'll look over the request, Agent Mulder. I'm glad that you are taking care of this so quickly." The AD took the paper from Mulder, put it aside, and lowered his head, in his usual indication that they were through.

"Uhhh, sir?"

Skinner looked up. "What is it?"

"Could you do me a favor, and not mention this to Agent Scully if you see her? She leaves for her holiday break tomorrow, and I don't want her to be worrying about me."

Skinner raised an eyebrow. "She doesn't know you are doing this?"

"No, I haven't told her. It's not serious. I don't want her to feel obligated to look after me. I can take care of this myself."

"She certainly will find out, Agent Mulder."

"I know, but after-the-fact. I have all of the details worked out. I don't need her, and I want her to enjoy her vacation."

"Very well, Agent Mulder. She won't hear it from me."

 * * * * *
Mulder sat on his sofa, and poured the contents of the envelope he had been given at the doctor's office yesterday onto the coffee table. He had felt terrible that afternoon, saying good-bye to Scully when she left for the airport to pick up her brother and his family. He had wanted to blurt out the truth, but it was way too late for that now. He knew he'd been moody. But he also was quite sure Scully just attributed it to the season--an unexpected benefit of doing this around the holidays. He looked at the pile of pamphlets and papers. One of them was entitled "Care of your incision." <Jeezus, what am I doing? How can I be doing this without her? She takes care of incisions! I don't know what the hell I am doing! What have I gotten myself in to?>

He rifled through the pile, finally found the pre-operative instructions the doctor had told him about, and started to randomly read the points. Don't take any medication, even aspirin, for 24 hours before the procedure. <Makes sense.> Don't bring anything of value to the hospital. <Of course.> Don't eat anything for 12 hours before surgery. Don't even drink water, if you can help it, in the four hours before. <Hopefully I'll be asleep then.> Get a good night's sleep. <Easier said than done.> Bring someone with you for moral support. <Oops.>

He tossed that paper aside, found the surgical release form and tried to read it. It was gibberish. Gibberish in legalese. <SCULLY! You sign these damn things! Where are you!> From what he gathered, by signing this he signed over his life, and exonerated the hospital from any responsibility if things went wrong. He didn't care. He really didn't. He tossed that aside, too, and leaned back on the sofa, rubbing his temples. He had a splitting headache. The holidays, the prospect of surgery, not to mention weaving an elaborate web of lies to deceive your partner and best friend, can do that to a guy.

 * * * * *
It was still a little early, he knew that. But if he didn't call first, and she tried him at his mom's, he'd be screwed royally. He dialed Mrs. Scully's number. The answer came on the first ring.

"Merry Christmas!" The greeting threw Mulder for a second. <Right. It _is_ Christmas day.>

"Mrs. Scully? It's Fox Mulder. Merry Christmas."

"Fox! How wonderful to hear from you. Thanks for the gorgeous flowers. They're our centerpiece. Are you coming for dinner?"

"No, no, I'm at my mother's." <Great. Lie to her, too, while you're at it.> "I just called to say Merry Christmas. Is Dana there?"

"Yes, she's upstairs with the baby. I'll get her."

As Mulder waited for Scully on the phone, he noticed that he was nervous. He was afraid to talk to her. Afraid he'd slip. He really hated lying to her. He wasn't even sure he was doing the right thing in keeping her out of it any more. But it was too late now. Much too late.

"Hey partner! Merry Christmas! How's your mom?"

"Oh, she's fine, fine. She sends her best. How's things at Casa Scully?"

"Oh, great. The baby is walking. It's really cute. He keeps falling down."

"Really?" <Watch it, dumbass. Don't sound _too_ interested. She'll _know_ you are up to something.>

"Yeah. What are you up to today? We're going to church in a bit."

"Oh, I don't know. Just hanging around here. There's football on TV."

"Wow, don't knock yourself out with all that excitement! When do you go to Vermont?"

"Umm, tomorrow." <If only he was going to Vermont tomorrow!>

"Do you have the number there? Just in case?"

"No, I don't. I'll call you when I get up there. Look, Scully, I have to go. Give your mom a kiss for me, and enjoy the rest of your week." He had to get off the phone fast. He hated this.

"Oh, okay. Merry Christmas, Mulder."

"You too, Scully. I'll talk to you soon." He hung up, and screamed in frustration. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He didn't want to go through this. He didn't want to go through this _alone_. He was angry and frustrated with himself for putting himself in this situation. <You made this bed, buddy. Deal with it.> He decided to go running--the last time he'd be able to do that for quite a while.

 * * * * *
Mulder's alarm went off at 5:30am. When it woke him he was surprised to realize that he had fallen asleep after all. Not for long, though, He distinctly remembered watching the digital numbers flip to 3:00am. <Well, it's the big day.> He got up and made his way into the shower.

 * * * * *
Scully slammed the "off" button on her alarm clock immediately. It was only 6:00am, and she didn't want to wake the rest of the house. Her mom would have a fit if she knew Dana was heading in to the office on the day after Christmas, but there were two little things that were nagging her, that she wanted to finish and get to Skinner so she could enjoy the rest of her week without them popping into her head all the time. She grabbed her towel and made her way in to the bathroom she had shared with her siblings growing up. The house was quiet for the time being, but the baby would probably be up any minute.

 * * * * *
Mulder contemplated his closet. <What does one wear to surgery? They forgot to put _that_ on those pre-op instructions.> His stomach grumbled. <Shut up.> He'd gladly give his left arm for a cup of coffee right now. <Shut up!> He decided casual was the proper approach, and chose a pair of jeans, black t-shirt, and running shoes. <Not like I'll be wearing them for long.> He heard the cab he had called lay on its horn <It's the crack of dawn, asshole. I hear you. Be quiet!>, grabbed his overnight bag--packed with  a toothbrush, shaving gear, change of underwear, as specified in his instruction sheet--and headed out the door.

 * * * * *
Scully got into her car for the hour-long ride to the office from her mom's. With any luck, she'd be done and back before lunch. Then she'd be free and clear for the rest of the week, without a care in the world.

 * * * * *
Mulder walked in the front door of Northeast Georgetown Medical Center. He couldn't remember ever going through the front door before.

"Can I help you?"

"Where is admitting?"

"Take a left down there, and you'll see the sign. It's on the right. Your name, please?"

"Fox Mulder."

The woman at the desk typed his name into her terminal. "There you are. They'll be expecting you. Go on down."

 * * * * *
Scully pulled into the garage at the Hoover Building. It was just a little after 7. She'd made good time, which was no surprise, considering the day. No one was working this early on "Boxing Day."

 * * * * *
"Okay, Mr. Mulder, have you read the surgical consent form? "

"I have. But don't quiz me on the contents."

"Don't worry about that! Do you have any questions about it?"

"No."

"Well, then, sign here. . . and here." Mulder did as he was told.

"I see that your blood work results are already in the system. Do you have any allergies?"

"Hayfever. That's it."

"No allergies to medications?"

"Ummm, no. Ativan makes me sick to my stomach, though."

"Well then we won't use any of that! I'll make a note."

"You are up-to-date on your immunizations?"

Mulder looked at her like she was crazy. "I'm 37 years old. I hope I'm up to date on my immunizations!" Fact was, Mulder had no idea. That was Scully's area of expertise, he realized ruefully.

"We have to ask. You'd be surprised. When was your last tetanus booster?"

"You've got me there. I have no idea. " <Bet Scully knows.>

"Okay, that's fine. It says here you are on the Federal Employees Health Plan. Can I verify your numbers?"

Mulder offered his ID and insurance card, and decided not to ask how she knew so much already. The admitting clerk checked the numbers, and printed something out.

"I need you to sign this, which states that I took your medical history." Mulder signed. "And this, which states that Dr. Sumner fully explained the procedure to you." He signed again. "And this, which states that you will pay for any services that your insurance carrier refuses."

"You can do that?"

"Well, we have to have some assurance that we will be paid. But you shouldn't worry about it. Your carrier has approved this surgery in advance. You know that, you filed all the forms! You're covered."

Mulder signed. He didn't read any of it. Scully would have killed him. <Hell, Scully WILL kill me when she finds out about this.>

"Now I need you to fill in this form, telling us who to contact in an emergency. Is someone with you today?"

"No, not today."

"Well then, fill in the name and phone number of your next of kin."

Mulder smiled forlornly as he filled in the blank next to "next of kin": Special Agent Dana Scully, FBI. <Hope to hell they won't be using THIS information!>

"Last I need to know if you have what is commonly called a 'Living Will'--a legal document stating what measures you wish to be used to prolong your life. Do you have one?"

"Geezus, I'm here for orthopedic surgery, you know!"

"I know, Mr. Mulder, but we have to ask. It's the law. Do you have such a document?"

"Yes, I do."

"Do you happen to have a copy with you?"

Mulder snorted. "No! I certainly didn't think I would need _that!_" <Would Scully have brought it if she were here?> "The woman on that form there--my next of kin--Dana Scully--she has a copy."

"Is she your sister?"

"No, she's my partner."

"She isn't a blood relative?"

"No, she isn't." Mulder was used to this. "But she's my partner. She has my power of attorney for medical decisions should I become incapacitated. It's all legal and settled and everything. Believe me. "

The clerk went over to a machine, and came back with a hospital bracelet, which she firmly attached to Mulder's right wrist with a stapler-like gadget. <So that's how they do that.> He looked at the bracelet with horror. <This is surreal. I am willingly walking into a hospital, a perfectly healthy human being. I'm out of my mind.> "Room 1013?"

"Well, that's where you will be eventually. But right now we've got to hustle you to pre-op. Leave your bag and coat here, and I'll have an orderly deliver them to your room. Leave your watch, too. It will be fine. Follow me."

Mulder removed his watch <8:07am. Great. 53 minutes to kickoff.>, put it in his bag, and like a lamb being led to slaughter, silently followed the admitting clerk away.

 * * * * *
Scully had barely been in the office an hour, and she was already done with the finishing touches on one of the two reports she had wanted to get to Skinner, and was almost done with the second.   She'd be done and back to her vacation within the hour. She looked at her partner's empty desk, and imagined him on a ski trail, taking lessons with a bunch of six-year-olds. The picture in her mind made her smile.

 * * * * *
Mulder felt stupid. He was sitting, practically naked, on a gurney in the pre-op room, waiting. They'd taken his clothes to his room, they'd said. At least they'd let him keep his boxers on. A nurse had taken his BP, pulse, temperature a few minutes ago, and left. He was alone, it was freezing in this room, and all he had was a sheet. He shivered.

"Are you cold, Mr. Mulder?" The man speaking to him from behind was dressed entirely in blue scrubs, from the tops of his shoes to the top of his head.

<Where did he come from?> "Aren't you? It's freezing in here."

"It is a bit chilly, isn't it." He walked to the other side of the room, picked up a blanket, and handed it to Mulder. "That should help. I'm Doctor Panther, your anesthesiologist. I'll be making sure you don't feel a thing."

Mulder folded the blanket over his legs, and pulled it up to his chest. He used the opportunity to wipe his sweating palms on the blanket.

"Nervous?"

"Quite honestly, yeah. I've had surgery before, but I have never gone willingly before. This is a new experience for me."

"Well, that explains the heart rate and BP noted here." Mulder noticed that this man had his chart. "And it also answers my first question. You have had general anesthesia before?"

"Yes I have."

"Any adverse or allergic reactions to it?"

"No, not that I can think of."

"Good, good. Well, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to put in an IV now, and give you some valium to relax you. It will make the rest of your morning go much smoother, believe me. I won't give you enough to knock you out, but if you feel like drifting off, be our guest. Once we're in the OR itself, we'll tell you everything we're doing until you're asleep. Fair enough?"

Fair enough? Mulder wanted to jump off the bed and run like hell. "Sure. You're the doctor." He turned his head as far as he could to his left as Dr. Panther  prodded, poked, and slapped his right arm in search of a vein. He felt the needle go in, in the middle of his forearm. A very strange place for an IV. Mulder was accustomed to the back of the hand or the crook of the elbow. He looked at the needle in place, then looked quizzically at the doctor.

"Strange location, right? Well, you won't be using that left arm when you wake up. Having your IV here will give you as much freedom of motion for your right arm as possible. You'll be able to move both your elbow and your wrist." Well, that made perfect sense.

"Here comes the valium. You'll be feeling better in about two minutes." The doctor emptied the syringe into the IV. Both doctor and patient looked up to see Dr. Sumner enter the room in street clothes.

Well, the gang's all here. Good morning, Mulder, nice to see you. Morning Dan. Ready to go?"

"Sure enough, Greg. I'm all set. Just waiting on you. Mr. Mulder here is well on his way to being relaxed and ready to go." Mulder HATED it when people talked about someone like they weren't even in the room.

"Is that true, Mulder? How are you feeling? A little nervous?"

Thank God for this guy. "Yeah, I guess so. But they took my clothes, so I think I'm stuck here."

Sumner smiled. "Oh, you've figured us out! Did you have a good Christmas?" He was flipping through Mulder's chart as he spoke. Mulder figured he wasn't even listening.

"Oh yeah, great. In anticipation of today I had a five-course meal at 10pm, and a fifth of vodka at midnight." Wrong. He was listening, and he looked up with a smile.

"You'd better be joking. I have to go change and scrub. Any last minute questions?"

"No."

"Well then, I'll see you inside."

Mulder leaned back on the raised head of the gurney. He was very tired all of a sudden.

 * * * * *
"Kimberly! I didn't expect to see you today! What are you doing here?"

"Well, when he's here, I'm here. And he's here. Aren't _you_ on vacation Agent Scully?"

"Yeah, but these two reports were bugging me. I couldn't enjoy myself until I got them finished. Can you see that he gets them?"

"Sure enough."

 "It's. . ." Scully looked at her watch. "9:07am, Kim. I am officially no longer here. In fact, I never _was_ here. See you next week."

"Have a nice time, Agent Scully." She looked down on her desk and saw something. "Agent Scully!" She caught her just as Scully was about to close the door.

"Yeah?"

"Are you going back to your office before you leave?"

"Yes. My coat is down there. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Can you drop this on Agent Mulder's desk for me?" She held out a piece of paper.

"Sure thing."

Agent Scully was in the elevator before she looked down at what she had in her hand. "Request for Medical Leave of Absence." "Fox Mulder." "Approved, Walter Skinner." When the doors opened in the basement, she pushed a button, and went right back up, to Skinner's office.

 * * * * *
Mulder was alone again. The fact that he _could_ make a break for it if he really wanted to was not lost on him. And he _really_ wanted to. His stomach was queasy, and he had a lump in his throat so big he was wondering if soon he wouldn't be able to breathe. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. This was not good. <Breathe, Mulder. Breathe. It'll be over in an hour.> He leaned forward, and put his head down into his lap. If Scully were here, he knew she'd be telling him to put his head between his knees. Deep breaths.

"Are you alright, Mr. Mulder?" Mulder didn't pick up his head, he just turned it, and peeked out at the nurse addressing him from his right.

"Ummm, I think so. Yeah. I don't know. Just trying to relax."

"Weren't you given some valium? You shouldn't be in distress now."

"I was. It's in there. I'll be okay."

"Well, it's time to head into surgery. Are you wearing anything under there?" She pointed to the blankets covering his legs.

"Umm, yeah."

"Well, it's time for them to come off. Don't worry, we won't peek." She winked when she said this. "And you need to put this on. Wouldn't want any stray hairs getting where they shouldn't." She unceremoniously put what looked like a shower cap on his head. <Great. Add humiliation to the mix. Perfect.>  "Just put your shorts on the table. They'll be delivered to your room. Someone will be back in two seconds."  She left, and Mulder removed his boxers.

 * * * * *
"Agent Scully? I thought you 'weren't here'!"

"I wish I wasn't, Kim. Is Assistant Director Skinner in his office? It's urgent."

"I'll tell him you are here. Can I ask what this is about?"

"This." And she held up the medical leave form.

 * * * * *

"Mr. Mulder?" Mulder was back with his head in his lap. He was basically sitting in a ball on the gurney. He looked up when he heard his name.

"Mr. Mulder, I'm Bob. I'm here to take you into the OR. You okay? You don't look so good." Mulder nodded. Only one word could adequately describe the look in the silent patient's eyes. Panic.

"Can you sit back for me? Wouldn't want you to fall off. They'd have my ass if you fell off." Mulder sat back. The orderly released the brake on the gurney, and wheeled it through the double doors.

 * * * * *
"You can go in, Agent Scully."

When Scully entered Skinner's office, he was finishing a phone call. "So you'll call me when it is finished?" He motioned Scully to take a seat. "I would appreciate that. Thank you very much."

"What is it, Agent Scully. I was under the impression you were on vacation."

"Sir, what is wrong with Agent Mulder? Where is he?"

"Excuse me?"

"Kimberly asked me to deliver this to Agent Mulder's desk. It is a medical leave form. Effective this week. What is wrong with him?"

"Nothing is wrong with him, Agent Scully." Her raised eyebrows made it clear she was not buying it.  "Agent Mulder requested permission to take medical leave to take care of a personal matter, and I granted it. As you can see there, he should be back next Wednesday. You can speak to him about it then."

"With all due respect, sir, I know you are hiding something. What is going on here?"

"I am sorry, I am not at liberty to say."

"SIR! This is Agent Mulder we are talking about here. If he is in trouble . . . if he needs me. . . ."

"He's a grown man, Agent Scully. I assure you, he will be fine."

"He asked you not to tell me, didn't he."  It wasn't a question. She knew she was right.

AD Skinner leaned forward, placed his elbows on his desk, and matched each of the fingertips on his left hand with those on his right. He was in a quandary. He knew he should tell Scully the truth, that it was the right thing to do, but he had given his word to Mulder. But of course, who could have predicted that she would come in to the office, and that Kim would inadvertently hand her Mulder's form.

"Sir, I will not tell him how I found out. Tell me what is going on." Suddenly she remembered the conversation about medical records and shoulders they'd had a week or so ago. "His SHOULDER! Is he having his shoulder repaired?"

A small smile played on Skinner's lips. He wouldn't have to break the confidence after all, not if she guessed it. "I knew he'd never keep it from you. He is having the surgery as we speak. The phone call when you came in was about that. He was being taken into surgery at that moment."

"Where?"

"Northeast Georgetown Medical."  Scully was out the door before Skinner finished saying it.

 * * * * *
The gurney pushed into the OR, and Mulder looked around wildly. He'd never even seen the inside of an operating room before. There were several people, all looking identical, swathed in blue scrubs, milling about, taking care of things. <What things? What are they doing?> He was sure he wasn't breathing. He was sure he couldn't speak, and hoped no one asked him to.

"Mr. Mulder, you need to slide over onto the table. Can you do that for me?" The orderly was talking to him like he was two. Mulder tried to do it, but when he released his death grip on the blanket covering him, he--and everyone else in the room--noted that his hands were shaking. A nurse approached him.

"Mr. Mulder, are you okay?" He nodded. The look in his eyes must have said otherwise, though. "You look flushed. Let us help you move over." The nurse and the orderly helped him slide from the gurney to the OR table, blankets and all. It was hopelessly narrow. "Can you lay down for me? We need to get started." Everyone was talking to him like he was two. His eyes darted all over the room. He overheard the nurse tell someone "Get Doctor Panther, will you?" He couldn't catch his breath, and he couldn't lay down. He just couldn't.

 * * * * *
Scully was weaving through traffic like a lunatic. It's the day after Christmas, for God's sake. Why was there so much traffic? She was furious. She was worried. She didn't know what she was. She flipped open her cell phone and dialed.

"Hi, mom?"

"Dana! Where are you? You didn't say where you went in your note."

"I'm in the car, mom. I went to the office for a bit."

"Tsk, tsk, Dana! I trust you are on your way back? Your nephew misses you."

"I can't, mom. I have to go see Mulder."

"Fox? I thought he was going to Vermont!"

"So did I, mom, but he's not. I just found out he checked himself into the hospital for surgery on his shoulder! He didn't tell me!"

"Why would he not tell you, Dana?"

"I have no idea, mom. None at all."

"Do you want me to meet you at the hospital?"

"Oh, no, mom, but thanks. This really is a pretty simple surgery. I just want to make sure he's okay. I'll try to be home for dinner."

"Okay. honey. Keep me updated, and give Fox my love."

"I will, mom." Her love or a kick in the teeth. She hadn't decided yet.

 * * * * *
"Wasn't he given valium?" Mulder could hear everything they were saying. He knew they were talking about him. He was just incapable of doing anything about it. He was sitting on the OR table with his knees to his chest, and his arms wrapped around his legs, still swathed in his blanket. He wasn't sure, but he might have been rocking back and forth. He was covered in sweat. He wanted to vomit. He couldn't breathe right. He knew what was happening. He knew he was having a panic attack. But knowing it and doing something about it are two entirely different things. He felt a hand on his back.

"Mr. Mulder? Dr. Panther, remember? Can you look at me?" Mulder looked the doctor in the eyes. "Listen to me, Mr. Mulder. Looks to me like you're having an anxiety attack." Mulder nodded at that. "Have you had them before?" Mulder nodded again. "How often?"

Mulder knew he had to speak, but it was an effort. "Umm, a lot. As a kid. Umm. Once or twice since high school. Not for years, though. I can't breathe."

"Sure you can. You are--it just feels like you aren't. You're doing just fine. If this has happened before, you know it will pass. And in this case, I can help. Let us do our jobs. Let me put you to sleep, and when you wake up it will be over." As he spoke, Dr. Panther was gently unwrapping Mulder's arms, and pressing him down on to the table. Mulder let him.

"Okay, I promised I'd keep you informed of what we are doing. Do you still want me to tell you? Maybe you'd be more comfortable if we just got to work?"

"No, tell me."

"Okay, we're prepping you now. It will only take a couple of minutes. We need to hook you up to an EKG." with that a nurse attached the leads to Mulder's chest. The machine sprang to life with the sound of very very rapid heartbeats. Mulder didn't know his heart could beat that fast.

Mulder felt a piece of the table under his right arm move away, and he jumped. Everything was vaguely out-of-focus. He wanted to know what was happening, but he didn't. He wanted to throw up. He stared at the ceiling, and concentrated on not throwing up.

"Easy, Mr. Mulder. Concentrate on taking deep breaths. Try to calm yourself. You're doing great. We need your right arm out from your side so we can hook you up to some monitors and have access to your IV." Someone took Mulder's right arm and placed it out on the repositioned arm of the table. He felt something clip onto his index finger. "That gizmo will measure the oxygen level of your blood." Something was wrapped around his upper arm. He wanted to look at what they were doing. But he couldn't. He just stared straight up, and concentrated on the sound of Dr. Panther's voice. "That's just a BP cuff." Mulder felt something being fastened around his right wrist, binding it to the table. Reflexively he pulled his arm away. He heard the doctor even though he was trying to whisper. "No, wait to do that." Mulder felt a gloved hand take his, and place it back on the arm of the table. It gave his a little reassuring squeeze before letting go. He heard the OR doors open. He could hear everything.

Dr. Sumner's eyes were looking at him. "Having a bit of a tough time, Mulder? Well, the easiest way to take care of that is to go to sleep. I'll see you when you wake up." Mulder saw him nod to someone.

"Mr. Mulder, I am going to hold a mask over your mouth and nose. I want you to take several deep breaths. As deep as you can manage, okay?" The mask was hovering about an inch over his face. Mulder took a breath. Anything to make this feeling go away.

"Deeper."

Mulder forced himself to take a deeper breath. It didn't feel any deeper than the last one. He repeated the effort.

"Good, good. Now I want you to count backwards for me, from 100."

<Huh. So they really make you do that.> The best he could do was a whisper. "100. . . 99. . . 98." That's as far as he got.

 * * * * *
"Excuse me! Ma'am! Ma'am! Can I help you?" The desk clerk snagged Scully as she tried to rush past.

"My name is Special Agent Dana Scully of the FBI. My partner is a patient here. He is having surgery. I need to see him." She flashed her badge.

"And what is his name?"

"Mulder. Fox Mulder."

The clerk typed in his name. "He is in room 1013."

"No, he isn't. He is in surgery right now. I know he is."

"Well, why don't you wait for him in his room. He'll be back there eventually."

"No. Can you please direct me to the surgical wing?"

"Take that bank of elevators to the sixth floor. Turn right. You'll see it." She handed Scully a flimsy paper "pass," and the agent was on her way.

 * * * * *
"Excuse me, I am looking for information on Fox Mulder? He's in surgery."

The woman at the desk did not even look up. "The waiting room is to the left. Someone will be out to speak to you as soon as the procedure is complete."

"No, you don't understand. No one knows I am out here. Can you please notify the surgeon that I wish to speak to him as soon as possible?"

"And you are?"

"Special Agent Dana Scully of the FBI. Agent Mulder is my partner. Please make sure the doctor knows I am out here."

"I'll send word in."

"Can you at least tell me if he is still in surgery?"

The woman typed some information into her computer terminal. "Yes, it looks like he is."

Scully looked at her watch. It was almost 10am. "I'll be in the waiting room."

 * * * * *
Scully was absentmindedly flipping through a magazine, not even stopping long enough to see the contents of the page, when she heard someone clear his throat. She looked up to see a man in scrubs. Had to be the doctor.

"Are you Agent Scully?" Scully nodded. "Nice to finally meet you. You're the doctor, right?" Scully nodded again. <How did he know?> "I'm Dr. Sumner. I just finished up on your partner."

"How is he?"

"Oh, fine, fine. Once we got started it went well. There was a great deal of damage in there, but we stitched him back together. In time he'll be good as new."

"Once you got started?"

"Mulder was a little. . . anxious before we got started. Luckily we had plenty of drugs at our disposal, and we calmed him down. Actually, we knocked him out is what we did." He smiled.

Scully groaned. "Was it bad?"

"Bad enough. But I have seen much much worse, believe me. You just feel bad for the patient when that happens. No on wants to see someone in that much distress. But all things considered, he was quite cooperative. He did the best he could."

"Where is he? Can I see him? Is he awake?"

"He's in recovery. He should be waking up in the next hour or so. We brought him up for a minute in the OR, of course, but he went right back to sleep. Why don't you go up to his room. You'll see him the minute he gets back that way."

"No, you don't understand. I don't want him waking up alone. Can I please see him in recovery? I know exactly when to get out of the way."

"I don't see why not. It's pretty quiet around here today. Follow me."

 * * * * *
Doctor Sumner approached the recovery room nurse and spoke to her in hushed tones. Scully saw him point to her. She, however, only had eyes for her partner. The head of his bed was elevated--he was practically sitting up. The EKG showed a steady heartbeat. He looked like he was simply asleep, no tubes or wires. Nothing except an IV in his right arm, the bandage on his shoulder, and the ace bandages attaching his arm to his chest. Only his hand was sticking out. She sensed the doctor come up behind her.

"Did you use the Bankart's repair?"

"So you really are a doctor."

"Yup. But I've been after him to do this for over a year. I did my homework, that's all."

"Yes, we used Bankart's. Modified it a bit, because the cartilage was torn as well, but like I said, it went well."

"No complication from the gunshot wound?"

"No. I was concerned about that going in, but it was far enough away so as not to be a factor. Mulder told me you treated it."

Scully chuckled. "Did he tell you I inflicted it as well?"

"You what?"

"It's true. It's a long story. You don't want to hear it."

It was Sumner's turn to chuckle. "I've heard that before. Look, if you are okay here, I'm going to go and finish up a few things. I'll be notified when he wakes up, and I'll be back then."

"Umm, Doctor... Sumner was it? Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"How long ago was this scheduled? I mean, when did Mulder contact you?"

"I saw your partner for the first time just a couple of weeks ago. He specifically requested that we move quickly, and do it over the holidays. Why?"

"Because he didn't tell me, that's all."

"Ohh, right. He did mention something to me about not wanting to burden you with this. I had wanted to speak to you about the gunshot wound."

"And he wouldn't let you?" Scully could feel the anger rising.

"No. He said he didn't want to ruin your holidays, I believe. I think this is something you should be discussing with your partner, not me. He'll be waking up soon, and I'll be back then." Dr. Sumner left Scully alone with her sleeping partner.

 * * * * *
Mulder could hear the beeping of his heart monitor. He stirred, but before he could even open his eyes, his stomach flipped over, and he started to retch.

"Nurse! Nurse! He's throwing up!" Mulder heard that voice. <Scully?> In what felt like one movement, Mulder felt his head lower, and his whole body was rolled onto his right side. He felt something plastic under his mouth. He kept retching and retching, bringing up nothing but bile. He still hadn't opened his eyes. But he heard her. "Ohh, Mulder." And he felt her. She was holding his head. She was rubbing his back.

Finally his stomach stopped, and he was rolled back onto his back. He finally noticed the intense pain shooting through his entire left side, starting at his shoulder, and he groaned. He felt her hand on his forehead, and someone wiped his mouth. "Mulder? Mulder? Come on, open your eyes." They seemed to be sealed shut, but finally he pried them open, and there she was, looking at him, concerned. He hadn't been dreaming.

"Scully, what are you doing here?"

"Me? What are _you_ doing here? Mulder, why didn't you tell me!"

"Didn't want to bother you. Wanted to take care of this myself. I'm fine."

"Yeah, you _look_ fine." She'd said that before. "How do you feel?"

"It hurts, Scully."

"I bet it does. The doctor will be here in a minute."

"I think I'm gonna be sick again."  Scully and the nurse rolled Mulder partially onto his right side, just in case. They kept his right arm out straight in front of him, so as not to compromise his IV. The movement made Mulder scream in pain. "Ohhh, Geezus!" The nurse propped pillows behind him, so he wouldn't roll onto his back, and placed an emesis bowl in front of him. But the nausea passed.

"What do we have here?" Dr. Sumner had entered during the flurry of activity. "Nauseous, Mulder?" He was behind his patient, so Mulder could not see him. All he could do was groan.

"Can I see his chart?" Scully wanted to check something. Sumner nodded, and the nurse handed over the chart. Scully started flipping through the records.

"How are you feeling, Mulder?" Dr. Sumner had moved around to Mulder's side of the bed, and was looking down on him.

"Like hell. You didn't tell me about this."

"It's no doubt a reaction to the anesthesia. It's not uncommon. If it doesn't stop in a little while, we'll give you something."

"It _is_ the anesthesia." Scully handed the chart back to the nurse. "I could have told you that before, if someone had told _me._ The anesthesia you used made him ill once before." <It did?> Mulder had no recollection of this. "It lasted for hours. You may want to give him Compazine now."

"Well, there you go. I don't know why you didn't want her around. She comes in handy. How's your pain?"

"Excruciating."

He looked to the nurse. "Let's get you some morphine."

Scully's head shot up. "No! He doesn't react well to morphine. It gives him the shakes. Demerol works better, even though you need a higher dose."

"Good Lord, Mulder! Is there anything you _can_ take? You didn't tell us any of this."

"He probably doesn't even know, Dr. Sumner." Scully smiled at her partner, whose eyes were closed.

"Well, Mulder, let's make you more comfortable. You might like to know that all went well. We'll talk more when you're up to it."

Mulder's response was to suddenly start vomiting again. But his stomach was empty, so nothing came up. He just retched and retched. Scully stood behind him, and supported his back, trying to lessen the movement of his shoulder, which she knew must be blindingly painful.

"Well, I've seen enough of that. Don't want you ripping open all of my handiwork." Sumner had returned with a syringe. "This is Compazine, Mulder. It's for your nausea. It's most effective given intramuscularly, so I'm going to put it in your hip."

"Whatever." Scully knew he must be feeling like shit. He didn't object, nor did he flinch when the needle went in. She watched the nurse inject what she knew to be Demerol into Mulder's IV.

"With this double-whammy of Demerol and Compazine, Mulder, you're going to be asleep in a matter of minutes, which is the best thing you can do right now. When you wake up you'll be in your own room, and hopefully you'll be feeling a lot better. Try to rest, and I'll see you later." Dr. Sumner patted his feet on the way out.

Mulder's eyes were still closed. "Shit, Scully, what did I do to myself?"

"It'll be all right, Mulder. Go to sleep."

 * * * * *
Scully settled into the chair in room 1013. Mulder had been settled into his bed, and hadn't even woken up. She picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hi mom, it's me."

"Dana. How's Fox?"

"He's okay mom. He's asleep."

"It went well?"

"So they say. Mom, I can't leave just yet. I need to make sure he's really okay."

"I understand honey. Call me later."

"Thanks mom."

Mulder stirred. But he didn't wake up. Still, Scully decided not to use the bedside phone for her next call. She moved to the other side of the room and flipped open her cell phone.

"Assistant Director Skinner's office."

"Hi Kim, it's Dana Scully. Is he in?"

"Yes, he is, and I think he's waiting to hear from you. Agent Scully, I'm _so_ sorry. I had no idea I wasn't supposed to let you see that form."

"No, no, Kim. I'm glad I saw it. You did me and Agent Mulder a favor. Don't worry about it."

"Thanks, Agent Scully. I'll put you through."

"Agent Scully. How's he doing?"

"He's out of surgery."

"Yes, I know. It was successful, I take it?"

<He _knows_?>  "Yes sir. Completely. I'm told it went well."

"That's good to hear. Very good. Thank you for the update, Agent Scully."

"Sir, can I ask you a question?"

"What is it?"

"How long was Agent Mulder planning this?" She was still trying to put the pieces together in her head.

"I ordered him to have his shoulder repaired two weeks ago."

"You _ordered_ it?" Suddenly it made more sense. She had been having trouble reconciling the Mulder she knew with the man in the bed, who had willingly checked himself into a hospital for elective surgery.

"That's right, Agent Scully. I felt that his condition put him--and you--at risk in the field." Scully flashed back to Mulder saying Skinner had benched him until after the holidays, and she knew immediately when all this had started.

"Thank you, sir."

"Keep in touch, Agent Scully."

"I will."  She hung up, and smiled at her partner. It was beginning to make sense.

 * * * * *
"Mmmmmmm"

"Hey. How do you feel?" Seems she said that every time he woke up in a hospital bed. But what else was there to say?

"Scully? You're still here? I'm thirsty."

"Of course I'm still here." She put the straw from the glass of water in front of his mouth, and he captured it with his lips. "Small sips." He took about three, and leaned his head back.

"What time is it?"

"It's just after five. You've had one helluva day, huh?"

"You too. Have you been here the whole time?"

"Where would I go, Mulder?"

"Maybe home to your family? It's Christmas, Scully." Mulder's head was clearing, and he was able to take stock of the bandages and wraps enveloping his left side. "Wow."

"Quite a contraption, huh?" Scully smiled. "It's not Christmas any more, Mulder. And they'll be there when I get there. They're not going anywhere."

Mulder sort of grinned. Just barely. "Neither am I."

"How's the pain, Mulder? You okay? We can get you some more Demerol. You're due."

"It's about an eleven, Scully." She pressed the call button. "Scully?"

"Yeah Mulder?"

"I think I'm gonna be sick again."

She grabbed the emesis bowl and put it under his chin, and leaned his head forward. She supported his head while he wretched, bringing up nothing more than the little bit of water he had just swallowed. "Oh, Mulder."

When he was finished Mulder laid back on the elevated head of the bed. He was breathing quickly. There were no words to describe the pain he was in. It was a constant sharp, stabbing pain, from his shoulder through his arm and all the way down his left side. It wasn't intermittent spasms, like when he dislocated it. It was one on top of the next on top of the next, each stronger than the last. He honestly thought he might pass out. "Christ, Scully, I had no idea it would hurt this much."

"Hang on, Mulder, I'll get the nurse."

 * * * * *
"Hello, Mr. Mulder. Welcome to 10 West. My name is Sherry. I've got something here for your pain." She emptied a syringe into his IV. "You should feel relief in a few minutes."

"What about the nausea?" Scully was here, and taking control, much to Mulder's relief. What had he been thinking?

"The doctor didn't leave any instructions for nausea. He must have thought one dose of Compazine would do the trick. We've put a call in, though. Can I get you anything else, Mr. Mulder?"

"No."

"Well, you just call if you need anything."  And she left.

Scully pushed Mulder's hair off his forehead, and wiped his face with a damp cloth.

"Come on, Mulder, admit it. Aren't you glad I'm here?"

"Yeah, Scully, but I could have taken care of this myself."

"Oh, sure you could have. But why do it when you don't have to? I'm your partner. You shouldn't try to hide things from me. Don't you know that by now? Imagine how I felt when I saw that medical leave form. You scared me. I thought something was really wrong."

"That's how you found out?"

"Yup. And lucky for you I did. Did you think I'd never find out about this?"

"No, I was going to tell you. I was just going to take care of the hospital part by myself. I wanted to cut you a break on this."

"Mulder, if I want a break, I'll let you know. Please stop trying to protect me."

"I wasn't trying to _protect_ you, Scully. I just wanted to do this on my own, okay? Be responsible for myself for a change."

"Okay, Mulder. I understand. Feeling any bet..." She didn't have a chance to finish. Mulder was vomiting again.

 * * * * *
"What's this I hear, Mulder? Still throwing up?" Dr. Sumner had breezed in, chart in hand.

"Yeah. I feel like shit."

"I can imagine. You've been through a lot today. How's the pain?"

"Better. They just gave me something. Still hurts, though."

"It does? How long ago did you get the Demerol?" Mulder looked to Scully, deferring to her. All was right with the world.

"It was about 20 minutes ago."

"Well, let's give it a little more time. If you are still uncomfortable in another 20 minutes, let the nurse know. I'll okay an increase in your dosage. Let's take a look in here." He lifted the bandage covering Mulder's incision, and smiled. "Looks good. I do nice work, if I do say so myself." Mulder didn't dare look.

The Doctor then took Mulder's left hand, which was peeking out of all the strapping. "Can you squeeze my hand for me? As hard as you can."  Mulder complied, and winced from the pain. "Sorry about that. But there's nothing wrong with that grip!" He then looked closely at the hand, particularly Mulder's fingernails. "Everything looks fine. Sometimes the bandages are too tight, and it sort of cuts off circulation. Any tingling in your fingers?"

"No."

"Great. How many times have you vomited since you woke up?" He picked up the call button and pushed it as he was speaking.

"Ummm... three?" Again Mulder looked to Scully for the answer.

"It's coming about every 20 minutes. Three times since he woke up."

Dr. Sumner didn't bother addressing Mulder this time, and turned to Scully. "Was there anything in his stomach?" Mulder didn't mind.

"Just a tiny bit of water the first time. Nothing since."

"Hmmm." The nurse came in, answering the call. "Can you give Mr. Mulder another 5 mg of Compazine IM, please. And hang another bag of saline, wide open." He turned back to Mulder. "I'm concerned about dehydration. The extra fluids will prevent that."

"When is this going to stop?"

"I don't know, Mulder. In a couple of hours, once your system has flushed out the anesthesia, hopefully. Extreme pre-operative anxiety can exacerbate post-operative nausea as well. Are you still feeling anxious?" Mulder looked confused. "You don't remember, do you?"

"Only vaguely."

"Well, you weren't too happy in the OR before the procedure."

Mulder cringed. "Did I make an ass of myself?"

"You won't win any 'best patient' awards, Mulder, but you did just fine. We've all seen _much_ worse. Your anxiety was hardly worth a mention in the grand scheme of things. You seem okay now, though. Are you?"

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"Good. You up to hearing about the procedure?"

"Why not."

The nurse had returned, and plugged the extra bag of saline into Mulder's IV. She stood there with the syringe of Compazine, not wanting to interrupt the conversation. "I'll take care of that, Sherry." and he took the syringe from her. "I'll need your hip again, Mulder."

"Isn't there some other way? Can't I take a pill?" That her partner was trying to avoid needles again was not lost on Scully. He must be feeling at least a little better.

"And toss it back up? That would sort of defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? I much prefer intramuscular Compazine. So it's either the shot, or a suppository."

"I'll take the shot." Scully smiled.

"I thought so." He pushed the blankets down, pushed aside Mulder's pajama bottoms, and gave him the shot. "That should work within a few minutes. It's gonna make you drowsy again, though. More so than the Demerol, even."

"Great."

"Now, on to business, before you fall asleep again. I told you in Recovery that all went well. And it did. Quite well, in fact. There was a lot of tearing, but we were able to reconnect everything. Turns out you had torn your labrum--that's the cartilage surrounding the socket bone, if you remember. So we reattached that as well. If you take care of yourself, and do the prescribed therapy, there's no reason not to expect a complete recovery."

"What about the bullet wound? You were worried about that." Scully was impressed. Seems Mulder HAD been paying attention without her.

"It wasn't an issue, Mulder. No problem."

Mulder looked at his partner. "You lucked out, Scully." He smiled, and so did she.

"Look, I'm going to head out. Get some rest, and I'll see you first thing in the morning, okay?"

"I go home tomorrow, right?"

Dr. Sumner paused. "I know that's what I said, but I can't send you home until the nausea has stopped, and you can keep something in your stomach. We'll see how you do overnight, okay? Get some sleep."

"Easy for you to say. What _is_ all this stuff? I can't move." Mulder was looking at the wrapping around his arm.

"That is precisely the point, Mulder. You think it hurts when you _don't_ move it? You don't want to know what it would feel like without all that. We'll give you something a little more manageable when we send you home. But in the mean time, leave it alone. I'll see you in the morning." And he was gone.

Mulder turned to his partner. "Go home, Scully. I'm about to pass out, anyway."

"You sure, Mulder?"

"Yeah. What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

"Go _home_. Your brother is gonna kill me for keeping you all day. And you're missing time with your nephew. Let me get to sleep."

"Okay, Mulder." She put the emesis bowl on his tray table, and put it right by his right hand, which she gave a little squeeze. "Just in case. I'll be back first thing in the morning."

"No, Scully. Stay with your family. I'll call you if I need you."

"Forget it, Mulder. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night." She flipped off the overhead light on her way out the door.

 * * * * *
Mulder woke up with a start. For a second he didn't know where he was, and then he remembered. Or, rather, the throbbing in his shoulder reminded him. He shifted his feet, trying to get comfortable. More than anything, he wanted to roll onto his side. He grabbed the bed rail with his right hand, and gingerly started to lift the left side of his body, turning on to his right side. The second his left shoulder blade left the mattress, the pain in his arm tripled. Mulder stopped for a second, and waited for the pain to subside, but it didn't. Stubbornly, he continued his journey on to his side, using his right hand and leg to shift his body over. The pain increased, and took his breath away, but he stayed put. If he just waited a second, it would get better. Mulder realized that not only was his arm about to fall off, but his right side was hurting too. <Shit.>  This had to pass.

It didn't. Everything still hurt, and he started to feel the now-familiar feeling of a wave of nausea overcome him. He tried to reach for the bowl, but with the weight of most of his body now resting on his right shoulder, he couldn't.  He reached through the bed rails, banging his IV in the process, but he couldn't reach it. It was inevitable. He was going to puke all over himself.  The heaving started,  sending the most excruciating pain he could remember coursing through his body. But nothing was coming up. Absolutely nothing. With each spasm he felt the pain in his side, and he realized that must be from the vomiting. He just grabbed the bed rail with all his might, and rode it out.

When it stopped, he considered his options, and decided to try and go back to sleep. There was no evidence that he'd been ill, so no one needed to know. But he knew he'd never get to sleep on his side. It just hurt too damn much. So he gingerly rolled back onto his back. Having support behind his left shoulder definitely made it better, but 'better' was a relative term. He was still in agony. It had to stop. It just had to. Jesus Christ, what had he done to himself. He turned his head and looked toward where he knew the window was. It occurred to him for a second that he wanted to cry, but he shook the feeling off.

 * * * * *
When the door opened he turned and peered into the darkness. "Yeah?"

"You're awake, Mr. Mulder?

"You could say that. What time is it?"

"It's almost one in the morning. I need to take your vitals, and it's time for your pain meds."

"Thank God."

"Why didn't you call when you woke up in pain? We could have been here sooner, you know."

"It's all right. I'm going to need to get used to this, I think."

"There's no need for you to be in so much pain you cannot sleep. None at all." The nurse flipped on the light over Mulder's bed. She was in her mid-50's, very maternal-looking. "What happened here??" Mulder looked, and saw that his IV was dripping on to the floor. It had become disconnected from his arm--when he'd banged it, no doubt.

"Uhhh, I don't know?"

"I bet you don't. Well, we're going to have to start a new IV. There's no way of knowing if you pierced the vein while doing 'I don't know' enough to knock this out. I'll be right back." She smiled, so Mulder knew she wasn't _too_ angry.

"I'll be here."

She was only gone for a minute. When she returned she flipped the overhead light on, and Mulder squinted at her from the harsh light. She was carrying a tray filled with IV equipment.  "Sorry about the light, but I trust you want me to see what I'm doing?" Mulder just looked at her blankly. "Let's take care of the other things first." She took his pulse and his blood pressure, noting them on his chart. Then she stuck the aural thermometer in his ear. She pulled it out and looked at it. "Well, no fever."

"Should I have?"

"Oh, no. We just check--it's the first sign of post-op infection. That shouldn't be a problem because you are..." she looked at the disconnected IV "...you _were_ getting antibiotics in there."

"Oh."

"Any more nausea?"

"Uhhh, no." He didn't know why he did it. He just lied.

"Good. Now let's get you reconnected." She pulled out the old IV, and taped a piece of gauze over the spot. Then she picked up his hand, and started lightly slapping the back of it.

"Can't you put it where the other one was? So I can move my hand?"

"Sorry, Mr. Mulder, but I'm not as good as those anesthesiologists. I'd be here all night trying to pick up one of those veins. I'll try to keep it as far away from your wrist as possible, though, okay?" She flattened the skin on the back of his hand, and Mulder squeezed his eyes tightly closed as she started to insert the needle. <You are a complete asshole, Mulder. Why do you do these things to yourself?>

"There. Nothing to it." She firmly taped the apparatus to his hand, and attached new bags of saline. "Now let's take care of that pain of yours. She picked up the prepared syringe she had brought in the first time, and emptied it into the IV.

Mulder watched her do this warily. He could feel it rising again, and was willing himself to keep it together until she left the room. But he wasn't going to make it. He was going to be sick again. She was packing up her tray of supplies when the retching started. She looked up, saw what was happening, picked up the emesis bowl, and leaned him forward, supporting his back. Again, nothing came up.

When he'd finished, she handed him a glass of water. "Here, rinse your mouth out. Don't swallow it, though. I don't think you want anything in your stomach right now. She held the bowl under his mouth, and he spit the water out.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Are you sure this didn't happen before I came in earlier?" <Geezus, what is she, psychic?> He remained silent. "Mr. Mulder, you have to let us know how you are feeling. It's the only way we can help you."

"All right."

"Let me go get something for that nausea."

"No. It's okay. I don't want anything. It will pass."

"It _will_ pass, Mr. Mulder, whether you feel the effects or not. So why not let it pass in comfort?"

"Because I won't know when it's over if you give me something to make it stop. I don't want anything."

"What about your shoulder? You don't want to do any damage there, do you?"

"I'm wrapped up tighter than a drum here. I couldn't move it if I wanted to. I don't want anything."

"All right, Mr. Mulder, I can't force you. But call when you change your mind." She rinsed out the emesis bowl and handed it to him. "Here. You won't want to be far away from this. Call if you need me." She left with her tray.

Whoa, he hoped he was making the right decision here. But it could be over right now. That could have been the last time. If they drugged him for another six hours, it would be another six hours before they knew if it had stopped. He wanted to be on his way home by then. <Shit. Shit. Shit.> He closed his eyes, willed his stomach to be still, and tried to go to sleep.

 * * * * *
He wished he knew what time it was. He wished he knew how long it had been since the last time it started. He wished he'd just puke up his stomach, and be done with it. He wished he knew what he'd done to deserve this. He wished it would stop.

 * * * * *
"Good Morning. I'm Dana Scully. I'm here to see Fox Mulder." The nurse looked up, startled. "Oh, hi. You're Sherry, right? We met yesterday."

"That's right. Go on in. He was awake a few minutes ago."

"How is he?"

"Go on and ask him."  The nurse smiled.

"He won't tell me. Not the truth, anyway. How was his night?"

"Eventful, apparently. He refused his nausea medication. Was up most of the night, according to his chart."

"He _what_?"

"Yup. They told us in report this morning that he said he wanted to ride it out. Didn't want any more drugs."

"He's still taking the Demerol, isn't he?"

"Oh, sure. He's not _that_ crazy!"

"Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I wonder. Is he still vomiting?"

"Not for a couple of hours now. We're hoping he's over the hump."

"Has he eaten anything?"

"Heavens, no. We're not going to try that until after the Doctor has been in."

"He hasn't been?"

"No, not yet. I'd expect him soon, though."

"Thanks." And Scully turned toward Mulder's room.

She heard the television before she opened the door. "Morning, Mulder! Here. These are from mom." She handed him a small bouquet of flowers obviously plucked from a prepared arrangement. He looked tired. But definitely more "with it" than he had yesterday.

Mulder smiled. "That's sweet. Tell her thanks." He reached over and dropped them into the glass of water on his tray table.

"So, I hear you had a busy night last night."

Mulder rolled his eyes. "Whatever happened to doctor/patient confidentiality?"

"Oh, come on, haven't you learned by now that you can't keep anything from me? Seriously, though. Why did you refuse the Compazine?"

"So I'd know when it was over. So I'd be able to go home. I think it's over, Scully. It's been hours since I was sick. And I'm actually feeling hungry."

"I'm glad for you, Mulder, but I think you might find out that this is gonna backfire on you. You better hope Dr. Sumner is the understanding sort."

"Why is that?"

"You could have hurt yourself, vomiting all night like that. If he's the cautious type, he may want to keep you here another night. And he looks to me like the cautious type." She noticed the new IV location--and the large black bruise on his arm where the old one had been. "Mulder, what happened to your IV?"

"It fell out."

"They don't just 'fall out,' Mulder. What did you do?"

"I banged my arm on the bed rail, that's all."

"You're more trouble than you're worth, Mulder. What's on TV?"

 * * * * *
"Good Morning, Agent Mulder. What is it about you FBI agents, always causing trouble? What were you up to last night? Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'Doctor knows best?'" Mulder had been resting, with his eyes closed, when Dr. Sumner came in, so he was startled. He jumped, and it felt like someone stabbed him in the shoulder. "Still in considerable pain, I see. That's to be expected. Is it any better than yesterday?" He started to peel away the bandage to have a look.

"Yeah, it's better. I don't want to jump out the window any more. I just want to rip my arm off."

"That sounds like it's MUCH better. So what's this I hear about refusing medication?"

"I just didn't want any more. I hate the way that stuff makes me feel."

"You preferred the feeling of puking up your esophagus?"

"Helluva tradeoff, huh? But it stopped. I knew it would stop. It's been hours. I'm hungry."

"Well, we'll try you on some clear liquids, and see how you do. Did you vomit up anything?"

"No, nothing."

"No blood?"

"_That_ would have been hard to hide, don't you think? Nothing at all."

"Well, that's good at least. Aside from hungry, how does your stomach feel now? Any pain?"

"I'm sore. My sides ache."

"That's what you get when you choose to vomit all night. Let me take a look." He lowered Mulder's bed, and started poking and prodding Mulder's abdomen. Several times Mulder grimaced. "I'd say you pulled an abdominal muscle or two, Mulder. You're gonna have to take it real easy for a while."

"At home?"

"Not a chance. We're way behind schedule here. We haven't flexed your shoulder yet, we haven't moved you to oral pain meds yet, you haven't eaten anything yet. You haven't even gotten on your feet yet. Maybe tomorrow."

"MAYBE?"

"Okay, I'll say tomorrow. But it's mostly up to you, Mulder. Just do what we tell you, will you?"

"Okay."

"I'll have them send a tray up. You keep that down, then we'll get you out of bed. If you manage that, then we'll move on. Okay?"

"Okay."

Dr. Sumner left, and Mulder looked over to his partner. She was leaning against the wall, her arms folded across her chest, and she had that look on her face. That smug smile. She'd never actually _say_ it, not while he was in pain, but she didn't need to. Mulder could see it, practically written across her forehead: I TOLD YOU SO.

"Don't say a word, Scully."

 * * * * *
"Scully, it's _green_."

"It's Jello, Mulder. It's all the same, ultimately. Just eat it, will you?"

He stared at his tray in disgust. Mulder's lunch consisted of chicken broth <salt water is more like it>, tea <no milk?>, apple juice <What am I, two?>, cranberry juice <Yuck!>, and the dreaded green Jello. This is what he had to eat to get out of here. The Jello was actually the most appetizing thing on the tray, so he decided to start with that.

But he couldn't. Not one-handed. It just slipped right off the spoon. Every time. Scully tried to stifle her laugh. "Do you want help, Mulder?"

"You mean do I want to be fed like a baby? No, I _don't_. Just open the apple juice for me, will ya?" He picked up the fork on the tray, looked at her triumphantly, and successfully speared a Jello cube.

 * * * * *
"How was lunch, Mr. Mulder?" Nurse Sherry had entered pushing a portable IV stand. She pushed the tray table aside, and started taking his pulse.

"Oh, yummy."

"More important, has it stayed down? It's been an hour now, right?" She was strapping the BP cuff around his upper arm.

"Yeah, about that. So far so good."

"That's good to hear." She stuck the thermometer in his ear. "Are you up for a little walk?"

"Absolutely. I'm going crazy."

"It will probably hurt."

"I don't care."

"Well, let me go and get someone to help. We'll need someone on each side of you."

"That's ridiculous. I don't even need _you_."

"Oh, you'd be surprised. You haven't been vertical in over 24 hours. But regardless, two is the rule around here. There's nothing worse than trying to pick up a patient who has slid on to the floor!"

"Go find my partner, Scully, then. She'll help. She went to get a cup of coffee." As he finished the sentence, Scully walked in, coffee in hand. "It's black, Mulder. Want a sip?" She looked up and smiled at the nurse.

"No, I want to get up. But Sherry here says that takes two. Want to lend a hand?"

"Absolutely."

Sherry lowered the side of the bed, and Mulder sat up. The movement made him wince, but the pain was a fraction of what it had been yesterday. He turned, and eased his legs over the side of the bed. "Ms. Scully, you stay on his injured side. Support his back, and the shoulder blade if you can. Mulder, I want you to lean on me, okay?" She attached his IVs to the portable stand, and slipped slippers on his feet. "Ready?"

Mulder slid his feet to the floor, and pushed himself up. The pain, and the head rush, made him woozy for a second, but it passed. He leaned on Sherry, and Scully had her arm around his waist. He took one step, and the pain shot through him. "Ohhh, SHIT!"

"I told you it would hurt. Just go slow. It will ease." Scully pressed her hand into his back at the left shoulder blade. "Does that help, Mulder?"

"Yeah, it does. Sort of." Mulder took two more tentative steps. He let go of Sherry, and took the IV stand instead. "Let go, Scully. I'm okay." She did, and he took two more steps toward the door on his own.

"You want to keep going, Mr. Mulder?"

"Can I?"

"As far as you want to. You're doing great. The nurse's station is an island. Patients do laps around it. Just don't go anywhere without someone by your side, okay? Not yet." Mulder looked at Scully.

"I'll walk with him, Sherry. You go ahead." Mulder shuffled toward the door.

 * * * * *
"Come on, Mulder, that's enough. I can tell you're tired. Let's go back to your room."

"No, Scully, I want to keep going. I feel better. I do. It just feels good to move."

Sherry approached with a syringe. "Hey, Mr. Mulder, it's time for your meds. I'll put it in here, but then you have to head back to bed. We don't want you wandering around doped up on Demerol."

"Dr. Sumner said something about switching to pills. Why can't I do that?"

"Next time, Mr. Mulder. You'll be glad you're mainlining this stuff when you find out what Dr. Sumner has in store for you. It's time to move that arm of yours. He's on his way up, so why don't you head back to your room."

 * * * * *
"Why do I have to move it so soon, Scully?" Mulder was settled back on his bed.

"Well, you _do_ want it to move, don't you? You have to do it some time, and the sooner the better. It's probably so scar tissue doesn't form."

"Good guess, Dr. Scully. That's part of it. But also just to get it moving, keep the circulation going, keep your muscle tone. It's important." Dr. Sumner had entered the room with Sherry. "But I'm going to tell you right now. This is going to HURT LIKE HELL."

"Oh, Joy."

Sumner and Sherry sat Mulder up, and unwrapped what seemed like miles of Ace bandage. Little by little his torso and left arm came into view. "Don't move it, Mulder. Let me do that."

"No problem. I'm actually not too keen on moving it right now." The doctor finished unwrapping the arm, and kept his hand under Mulder's left elbow. Mulder was flexing his hand and wrist, glad for the feeling of freedom.

"You can lean back, Mulder. Are you ready?" Mulder sat back, and Scully took up position on his right side. She looked apprehensive.

"I guess so. You're probably just making it sound terrible so it won't be so bad."

"Wish I were, Mulder. If you need to scream, go ahead."  Mulder looked wide-eyed at the doctor.

"Geezus, just get it over with, will you?" Scully silently took Mulder's good hand in hers.

"Okay. I'm not going to move it much. Just up and out slightly."

"All right already. I'm prepared. Do it."

There was _no_ way to prepare for the pain. Dr. Sumner lifted Mulder's upper arm up about three inches away from his torso, with the elbow still bent. Mulder gritted his teeth. He braced his feet on the mattress as best he could, and pushed his head back into the bed. He squeezed with his right hand, as hard as he could. Suddenly he realized he was crushing Scully's hand, and he let go like it was on fire, transferring his death grip to the bed rail instead.

Sumner kept going. He lifted the arm another inch. and pushed it to the side, away from Mulder's body. Mulder couldn't stay quiet any more.

"Oh, geezus. geezus. Shit, Shit, Shit, FUCK! " Sumner was straightening Mulder's elbow.

Mulder had his eyes squeezed closed so tightly his face was totally scrunched up.  Scully could see a tear escape the corner of his right eye. Just one. She put her hands gently on his right arm. She couldn't stand to see him in so much agony.

Sumner put Mulder's arm back against his body. "That's it. we're through. Longest ten seconds of your life,  huh?"

"What were you trying to do, kill me?" Mulder was out of breath.

"I warned you. But it had to be done."

"So what did that torture show you?"

Sumner smiled. "That it still works!" The doctor looked around the room. "Where is that thing? Must have forgotten it. I'll be right back. And I don't think I have to tell you this: Don't move your arm." and he went out the door.

"God, Mulder, are you okay?" He was still panting from the pain.

"I can't believe that sonofabitch made me do this. I want you to tell him. Make sure he knows what hell he's putting me through."

"Who, Skinner?"

"Yeah."

"Mulder, he didn't do this. Maybe he made you take care it sooner than you were prepared for, but the sooner the better. You couldn't have kept living with it popping out two, three, four times a year. Besides, if you'd told _me_  beforehand, the whole nausea episode could have been avoided.

"I knew you'd get around to the I-told-you-so's." Scully smiled.

"He's been checking up on you, you know."

"Who, Skinner?" She nodded. "What do you mean?"

"On how you're doing. He called three or four times yesterday. A couple of times today. The nurses told me."

"Why doesn't he call _me_?"

"I don't know, Mulder. He's your boss. Maybe he doesn't want to look _too_ concerned."

"Or maybe he feels guilty."

"Maybe. Just a little."

Dr. Sumner returned with an immobilizer similar to the type Mulder had used before. "Let's see how you do with this." He positioned it around his chest, and put the arm loops around his upper and forearm. "Okay?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Has the pain subsided?"

Mulder hadn't noticed, but it had. "Yeah. It's okay."

"Great. Things are going considerably better today than they did yesterday."

"Great. So let me go home."

"Nope, sorry. Hospital policy: No one can go home with only Jello in their stomach Let's see how you do with dinner. Then we'll talk, okay?

It was almost five, anyway.

 * * * * *
"Here come the dinner trays, Mulder." Scully was peeking out the door.

"Scully, I think you want me out of here more than I do. Why don't you go home. Go have dinner with your family."

"No, Mulder, really. It's fine. I'm right where I want to be."

"Bullshit, Scully. How often do you get to see Matthew? Twice a year? And this is your chance. Look at me. I'm okay. I'm REALLY okay. I'll call you if I need anything. You know I will."

"Are you sure, Mulder? Why don't I just stay through dinner."

"Get out of here, Scully. I can eat my own dinner. I'll watch HARD COPY. I'll be fine."

"You'll call me?"

"I'll call you. GO."

"Okay. I'll see you later, then." She passed the orderly delivering the dinner tray on her way out.

Mulder lifted the lid on his dinner. "What is THAT?"

 * * * * *
Scully found Mulder sitting in the chair in his room, looking out the window. The morning sun was streaming across his face.

"Hey Mulder. I thought you were going to call me last night."

"Why? I didn't have anything to say."

"What do you mean? Did the doctor come back? What did he say? How'd you do with dinner? There was plenty to report."

"Sure, if you like talking about hospital food, which I don't. Dinner was fine. I don't know what I ate, but I ate it and it stayed where it belonged. Same with breakfast this morning. Look." He held up his right hand to show that the IV was gone. "The doctor said I could go home today, as soon as he came by, and the physical therapist came by."

"They haven't yet?"

"No. So, you gonna give me a ride home?"

"My pleasure, Mulder. My pleasure." She grinned.

"Thanks, Scully. You know, Dr. Sumner was right."

"About what?"

"When he said you come in handy." He smiled at her.

"Aww, gee, Mulder, you're gonna make me blush."

"Shut up, Scully."
 

<THE END.>
<For Now.>
<Painful physical therapy available if you beg for it.>

Want more? Go straight to Shouldering the Blame.

Like it? Hate it? Let me Know.
Back to Stories.
Go Home.