Title: Ever this Day Author: Michelle Kiefer Email: msk1024@aol.com Episode: Herrenvolk Category: Post-ep Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Not mine. Summary: Never in her life had she ever seen anyone in such despair, and it made her feel helpless. Written for the Herrenvolk episode challenge for After_the_Fact. Other stories written by the list member authors can be found at: http://after-the-fact.tripod.com/ Author's notes: Thanks to TSC for beta and to Jennifer for my lovely website: http://members.aol.com/msrsmut/MichelleKiefer.htm Travelodge Motel, Providence, RI 2:35 a.m. "Dear God in Heaven. What happened to you out there, Mulder?" She keeps her voice a whisper, not wanting to wake him. He stirs, as if in response to her voice, his hands clutching the bedsheets. Arching her back, she tries to relieve the ache of what just might be the longest day in history. She should be in bed herself, but she lacks the energy to leave the desk chair by Mulder's bed. Her eyes burn, and she passes a tired hand over them as her thoughts drift back to that evening. It had been a major effort to get him to leave his mother's side. He'd been in shock when she first saw him, stumbling down the hospital corridor. His skin had been icy cold, and his muttered words hadn't made any sense to her. Never in her life had she ever seen anyone in such despair, and it made her feel helpless. So, she did the only thing she could do, the only thing that anyone could do under the circumstances. She'd held him in her arms as he wept. Later, he'd warmed up a bit and seemed calmer as they talked by his mother's bed, but she wasn't fooled into thinking he was himself. The sorrow still clung to him, an almost palpable presence in the room. She'd only gotten Mulder to leave the hospital with her after she threatened to call one of the doctors to look at him. They both knew he would have been admitted on the spot. Allowing Scully to drive him to a motel and examine him was the least objectionable choice, if only by a small margin. He'd reeked so strongly of gasoline that she needed to open the car window as she drove him to the motel. She asked how he got in that condition, and he'd mumbled something about "keep the bees away," causing her to worry that he was hallucinating. Scully's first priority upon reaching the motel was definitely to get his clothes off before he came in contact with an open flame. Knowing Mulder, he'd find a lighted match somewhere. She'd been shocked when she helped Mulder off with his clothes. Shocked at his passivity as she stripped off his shirt and slid her hands over his arms, checking for broken bones. Shocked at the ugly bruise that covered his left side from shoulder to hip and the vicious fingershaped marks on his upper arms and his wrists. His only reaction had been a gasp when she pressed along his side. She was sure he had at least one hairline rib fracture. "Did you hit your head, Mulder?" she'd asked, looking into his eyes. His negative response was almost drowned out by the hiss of the shower. She tilted his head to the side, to get a better look at a scrape on his jaw. The bathroom had begun to fill with warm steam from the rushing water, but Mulder was shivering. He'd stood before her, swaying on his feet and holding on to her shoulder for support as she unzipped his trousers, allowing them to drop to his ankles. Too tired to undress himself, he'd failed even to comment when in the most matter-of-fact doctor manner possible, pulled off his boxers. The lack of innuendo had worried her more than the hallucinations. She'd pushed him under the shower spray, hoping he could stay upright long enough to get clean. With a glance at his shadow behind the shower curtain, she stooped to gather up his discarded clothes. He seemed to be leaning against the shower wall, but his hands were moving as he washed. Satisfied that he hadn't fallen asleep under the shower's spray, she left the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She'd held her breath as she bagged the offending suit in a plastic sack found in the closet. Even now, she can smell the faint odor of gasoline, though she stashed the plastic bag outside the motel room door. She's pretty sure the fumes aren't strong enough to be harmful. She watches Mulder sleep, clad only in boxers, tangled in the bedsheets. The bathroom light casts a faint glow over his skin. She can't see the bruises in the dimness, but she know they're there. She's seen them up close. Mulder turns in his sleep and moans softly. She thinks that his guardian angel probably worked overtime today. Scully remembers a picture, probably from a Catholic children's bulletin of her youth--sweet-faced children crossing a street, a guardian angel's hand resting on their shoulders. She smiles as she tries to imagine Mulder's overworked guardian angel: robe smudged, wings ruffled, halo askew. Maybe Mulder has a whole platoon of guardian angels running interference against the dangers in his life. A prayer comes to mind, remembered from childhood. Scully pictures the sunny kitchen with yellow gingham curtains, and her mother helping her to form chubby little hands into the correct prayer shape. Was that the kitchen in Pensacola or Norfolk, she wonders? She hasn't thought of the prayer in years, but she can recall every word. Rising from her chair, she crosses to the man in the bed. Mulder would laugh at her, she thinks. He'd find the concept of a guardian angel quaint but unrealistic. Well, just in case, she'll say the prayer in his name anyway. "Angel of God, My Guardian Dear to whom God's love commits me here. Ever this day be at my side to light and guard and rule and guide." Mulder opens his eyes at the sound of her soft voice, and regards her solemnly for a moment before drifting off to sleep again. She rests a hand gently on his slightly damp hair as she stifles a yawn. Crossing to the door, she turns to the bed. One hand on the doorknob, she whispers, "Good night." End.