TITLE: "It Always Rains in the
Middle of the Storm"
AUTHORS: Jen & Lauren
EMAILS: JenR13@aol.com (Jen) & JRDG1013@aol.com (Lauren)
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: tiny one for Detour, huge ones for Agua Mala.
CLASSIFICATION: SA
KEYWORDS: MulderTorture
ARCHIVE: Be our guests, we’d love to have it anywhere.
SUMMARY: Plot hole. Agua Mala. Need we say more? First person Mulder POV.
DISCLAIMER: Gee, Chris, if you didn’t have such big holes in your episodes,
we wouldn’t have to do this. But being the good girls we are, we returned
all of your characters to their proper owners at 1013 productions and Fox
Television. All were unharmed, except for the wounds on Mulder’s neck,
which one of your writers put there, not us. :-)
AUTHORS’ NOTES: Let’s just say we wanted a little more to happen
at the end of "Agua Mala." We felt the ending wasn’t as explanatory
as it should have been. So we took it into our own hands to write a fill-in-the-blank
story. We also kinda changed the ending of the episode a little, so be warned
of that :-). We have long been inspired by other peoples’ fill-in-the-blank
(Vickie Moseley - if you read this - yours are the best<g>) stories,
so here’s our own try. Chris Carter should really think about using
some money to fill in this plot gaps! :-) Be kind, it is the first post episode/fill-in-the-blank
story for us both. Also we are not doctors, we just have fun pretending to
be :-), so keep that in mind.
THANKS TO: Tiny Dancer’s script site for having the script for "Agua
Mala." Every time either of us wants to verify a line, we go there. Visit
(http://meltingpot.fortunecity.com/dakota/281/xfscript.html), it’s
a great site for any fanfic author.
"It Always Rains in the Middle of the Storm"
by Jen & Lauren
(Begun: Feb ‘99, Completed: March ‘99)
"You can't just leave him out there!" Scully's voice sounds strange on the
walls of the near empty apartment building. The rain outside sounds so close,
it's almost drowning her words. I watch as George drags her inside the apartment,
and miss their conversation, but hear the end before they slam the door,
leaving me outside.
"You couldn't save the deputy," Walter interjects.
Aw shit. I remember what happened to the deputy and I sure as hell didn't
want that to happen to me. Already my chest feels tight, and I'm not sure
whether it's these things on my neck, or sheer panic that speeds up my breathing
and makes me gasp.
I try to concentrate on something else. Blocking out the steady pounding
of the rain, I can hear noises from inside the apartment. Angela is being
loud about something. A brief thought of how pregnant she had looked all
evening crosses my mind, but then I look up at the light fixture and see
that all is not right. Swimming and writhing inside the glass is my newest
enemy: a tentacle.
Must. Get. Away. I jump up best I can, feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen
my lungs are receiving, and try the best I can to run away from the _thing_,
make it a few feet before I manage to trip over absolutely nothing and am
back on the floor again. Oh well, at least I'm a few feet away from the tentacle
now. Painfully turning my head, I can feel the mist that's coming from the
door and with a shock I realize that it's wide open. No wonder the rain sounds
so loud. Squinting to see into the night, I catch a glimpse of a creature
sitting there, stock still, watching me.
A cat. A cat that looks very familiar. That’s it! It’s the Shipley's
cat. The same cat that jumped out of the washing machine. It’s standing
near the bushes, its eyes just staring at me.
Suddenly something clicks and it makes perfect sense.
The rain.
It’s the rain.
The damn cat survived because of the water. Not the freakin’ salt water
that is everywhere and more and more quickly rearing its ugly head from the
ocean, but the normal everyday water that runs from the faucet. The cat was
in the washing machine, the only part of the room where Evan and Sara Shipley
disappeared from that contained nonsalty water.
Yes, it makes sense now.
The deputy "disappeared" from the bathtub after salt got added to the bathwater.
It was such a simple answer; I wonder why we couldn’t think of it before.
That’s how the creature got here. From the seawater that had been pushed
into the sewer system. As I take another ragged breath, I curse my brain
for not figuring it out earlier. Got to get used to investigating X-Files
again, Mulder. Yep, that’s it. This is a real X-File. I should be jumping
for joy at the fact I can go back to DC and write an unbelievable report
on this.
As I take another shallow, ragged breath, I wish I were back in DC right
now.
I’ve got to out into that rainwater.
I still see the cat watching me from my position on the floor. Right now
I need to work up the strength to get myself out into that rain. That’s
easier said than done when you’re on the floor and very close to passing
out from a lack of oxygen. I praying Scully will burst through that door
and get me a hand up now.
But no one is coming down the hall.
I can hear distant crying, like a baby’s. Amazing how good your hearing
becomes when you’re on the ground fighting the black spots before your
eyes. I shift myself, fighting the pain that has been building up in my chest,
and try to inch toward the outside air.
The damned cat is still sitting there, almost as if it were mocking me. Damn
thing. You wouldn’t be like one of those "amazing rescue cats" I saw
on cable last week would you?
Its response is to meow at me. I guess you’re not.
At this point I have gotten myself exactly two inches further than I had
been. Great, at this rate, I’ll get out there by Easter. I can hear
the tentacle swishing around in the water above me. Scully, if you would
like to pick any moment to burst out of that room, now would be a good one.
I manage to get myself about half an inch closer when I hear a crash from
outside. Another turn of my neck and I catch a glance of a tree falling into
the cat’s path. I hear another meow and the movement of four little
feet.
Great, now I have a tentacle waiting to attack again, practically close to
non-existent breathing, a useless cat, a partner trapped in a room by a man
with a very big gun, and a big tree blocking my one way out.
Well, Mulder, I’d say you were a dead man.
And then, there is a noise. A bang like nothing I've ever heard and a startled
meow. I lift my head from where it has been lying on the cold, wet floor
<when did that happen?> and close my eyes as the inevitable spots pass
before them. <Okay, okay, do you little swimmy thing, then function right,
all right? let's just get this over with> They don't do quite what I ask,
but soon my vision is clear enough to see what that horrible noise was.
I had been hoping it was Scully, or maybe even Walter (he seems okay), or
maybe even Angela (well, I wouldn't go THAT far) coming to rescue me, but
it seems I have no such luck. Blocking my view of the outside world is the
thickest tree branch I have ever seen. Heck, it might been the trunk, all
I know is that it is a new obstacle for me to get over on my trek to the
outside world. A whole three and a half feet away, and now I have to get
over this thing. Where did that come from anyway? The thunder rumbling in
the background gives me a clue.
A wild thought crosses my mind that maybe that cat was a sort of kitty god
who was going to save me from this mess I had gotten myself into. <You're
greatness, kitty, help!> But how is a little cat going to move this mother
of a tree that has fallen in front of the door? With his x-ray vision he
will levitate the tree and move it far enough away for me to get through
to the blessed rain, and then he will kill the tentacle thing (whoever it
is now) and then he will get Scully out here to save my ass. But how the
heck is x-ray vision gonna do all that? The only thing x-ray vision can do
is.... actually I have no idea. Agh, I can't breathe!
My thoughts drift back to my quite realistic predicament and I struggle to
raise myself up to my knees. No luck. Not only do I need to get out into
that rain to save my life, I'm also beginning to think that a bit of cold
rain water wouldn't be so bad right now. I'm burning up. Wait a minute....
what was the deputy's temp when we took it?
<"Either he has no temperature, or he's about to spontaneously combust.">
Damn me and my wisecracking mouth.
<"You're not far off. It's 106.">
Damn my photographic memory.
Hell, damn everything at this point.
I can hear more baby cries and yelling.
"Pick up the gun!" Scully’s voice. The black spots are back, and I
try to concentrate on my slow, ragging, barely there breathing.
"Shoot out the sprinklers! Just point and shoot! Shoot out the sprinklers!"
Scully’s voice again, impatient, and loud as all hell. God, if I get
out of this alive, I can just hear what Scully will have to say. I’ve
decided that Florida is not the perfect vacation spot. Then again, with my
luck, no place is. I can just picture the disasters that Disney World holds.
My breathing hitches again, and I gasp. I could try and find a way out down
the other side of hallway if I was able to move more than half an inch an
hour. Breathing is a difficult task now. It takes all my strength just to
struggle for air.
It feels like a lifetime has passed, yet I now it’s only been a few
minutes. Suddenly, I hear a gunshot and hear more water fall.
Water? Falling?
I turn my head again and see that about ten feet away from me the sprinkler
system has gone out. Damn it, Scully got someone to shot out the sprinklers.
Go girl.
Too bad they are too far away to help me. I push my head, and see nothing
but the black spots in front of me.
"Mulder?!"
That sound is music to my ears.
"Mulder?!"
I’m here, Scully. I just wish I could get those words to exit out of
my mouth, but all I get is a harsh wheezing sound that hurts as bad as it
sounds.
"Mulder? My God." My eyes are still seeing black, but I feel Scully’s
slippery-gloved hands on my shoulder.
"You’ve got to get toward the water. The rain, or the sprinkler, Mulder."
Well, duh, Scully, I figured that much out. Maybe you didn’t see the
tree in my way, or the fact I can’t get a good breath to even speak.
"Tree," I manage to wheeze out, and I can hear Scully turning toward the
door. I can feel her tug on me to drag me toward the sprinklers. I don’t
care that I’m a human beanbag now. I just want to be able to breathe
again. I can just imagine the bruises this experience is going to earn me.
"I need help!" I hear Scully call again. Great, Scully call the people who
locked me out of the room and you in it. This is just what I need. But when
I hear the sound of a pair of feet come closer, I’m grateful for the
help.
Finally I can feel the water on my face, and it gets a little easier to breathe.
I can still hear myself wheezing, but at least I can get a little more air
in than I could before. I open my eyes and find myself happy to see fewer
black spot than before. I can feel Scully’s cool hands on my neck.
"I’m so sorry, Mulder," she’s saying but I’m just happy
to be in the cool water. It feels so good, and I realize how hot I was before.
Obviously Scully notices, too because she’s moving her hand up to my
forehead.
"Damn," I hear her curse softly, more to herself than anything. She turns
to whoever helped her get me into the water of the sprinkler. "I need to
get my cell phone."
I hear a snort. "Good luck using it in this weather." I recognize the voice
as the gun loving, shoved me out of the door and left me to die Mr. George
Vincent. This day keeps getting better and better.
Though the cool water is flowing into my face, I’m still hot as hell.
I try to catch my breathing enough to wheeze out, "hot" to Scully. I fail
miserably, but Scully gets the idea. She turns to George.
"We need a stronger flow of water. This isn’t working fast enough.
We need to get him out in the rain."
I hear the word "rain" and instinctively remember the tree that blocked my
path. Please tell me there is another way out. I can hear a meow near my
feet.
Scully hears it to. "The cat," she murmurs, then it’s like a lightbulb
went off in her head.
"Follow the cat," Scully says to George.
He looks at her like she has two heads. "What the hell?"
"Maybe it knows a safe way out. We need to get him out in the rain."
George makes not attempt to move. I want to open my mouth to support Scully’s
argument, but I’m too busy trying to concentrate on breathing.
"Just go follow the damned cat and tell me if there’s a safe way to
get out!" she yells and I hear a pair of legs walking down the hall.
"We’ll get you in the rain and you’ll be okay, Mulder," she says
and as always, I find her voice comforting. It makes me even forget the fact
that she was inside delivering a baby while I was in hall trying to breath.
Well, almost.
I can feel my breathing begin to tighten a little, but no where near what
it was before. Still Scully looks at me concerned.
"George, we need to move him NOW," Scully's voice has lost its comfort and
takes on an ordering quality. I guess this should be a comfort to me, that
_somebody_ is taking charge and trying to save me, but instead I picture
my itsy bitsy (spider) partner yelling at good ole George, and find this
quite humorous. However, laughing is not an option right now. Not with the
little bit of oxygen that I'm presently running on.
Speaking of, I don't seem to be breathing any better. A momentary panic washes
over me that maybe the fresh water _won't_ save me after all and I'm just
going to die no matter what they do to try to help me.
I wince as I feel the floor moving under my back. I try to lift my head to
gain my bearings, but can't find the strength to keep it up. I can, however,
feel strong hands gripping my ankles, dragging me along. It's probably George.
Or Paul. Or Ringo. Or John. Or.....
Damn. Who's the fifth Beatle? I was just trying to make a joke and--
I stop before I really scare myself. My momentary lapse of sanity has me
wondering exactly what is going on in my brain right now? I can't quite grasp
it...
"Mulder!"
My eyes fly open and I see my partner's face up _very_ close to my own. I
try to push her away but can't lift my arms. She pulls away finally, and
water begins to beat down on my face. It's drenching me completely, I realize,
then figure out that I was wet to begin with.
Scully is kneeling by my head; her hand on my forehead feels so cold, but
I like it.
"His face isn't blue anymore," I hear George observe. My face had been...
blue? I think, Smurf. Wonderful. I try to catch Scully's attention. <Hey,
I'm a little bit confused here, partner. Wanna give me a hand?> But what's
a hand gonna do for me??
"He's breathing easier now." Scully. She moves out of my field of vision
and I hear her say, "Help me move him up. We need to elevate his torso."
Once again I'm being roughly handled, this time the top half of my body is
lifted, then dropped into my partner's lap, my head up slightly against her
stomach.
"That's gonna help?" George asks, and I see him finger his own neck, which
bears marks like mine, though they are fainter. Where the hell did he get
those??
"I hope so," Scully murmurs. "Will you please go back in there and make sure
Angela's okay?"
As he's rising to depart, I feel my sinuses begin to tingle and am overtaken
by a sneeze that almost propels me straight out of Scully's lap and into
the next state. I'm not sure that would be so bad.
"Hey, is he okay? Should he really be out in all this rain?" George says,
sounding tentative about leaving. Can't blame the poor guy, the choice is
between Miss Polite over in the other room and..... me.
"Yeah, just...." Scully thinks for a minute then says, "Shoo that cat away."
She leans down and speaks close to my head. "Are you allergic to cats, Mulder?"
I think this over and can't decide. "I'm not sure." My voice is sounding
better.
"Okay, well your lungs have enough problems to deal with right now, let's
not aggravate them with some potential animal allergies. George, get rid
of him please."
I hear I high pitched screech and then George's footsteps walking away and
a door opening and closing.
After several minutes of lying still letting the rain soak me through to
the bone, Scully touches my forehead gently. "You awake?" she asks.
"Yeah," I say.
"How're you doing?"
I think this one over, and finally give her the decisive answer of a shrug.
My shoulders come into contact with her knees and she says, "That rough?"
"No, not that bad, actually," I say.
"You want to elaborate on that? Your breathing sounds a little better."
"Yeah."
She laughs. "You're just Mr. Wordy tonight, huh? That's okay, save your breath.
The ambulance will be here soon."
At this I respond. "Ambulance? Scully, I don't need an ambulance. Angela,
maybe, but not me." Anything to get her to shut up. "And maybe Dougie. To
cure his pathological stealing."
I get a laugh out of Scully. "I'm glad you're feeling better, but you're
still burning up. Maybe you can't feel it, drowning in all this rain, but
I've got my hand right on your forehead, and your temp must be at least 103."
"That would explain the deal with the Beatles," I mutter.
"What?" My good old partner, always trying to figure out what the heck I'm
talking about.
"Don't worry about it," I say, and, content I'm not about to stop breathing
and/or be attacked by a killer tentacle, I close my eyes, and enjoy the feel
of my partner's cool hand on my forehead. Come to think of it, I _am_ feeling
kind of hot.
"Mulder wake up," Scully says sharply.
"Mm hm," I murmur. Whatever.
"Mulder, don't make me sing."
I groan. "I'm up, I'm up."
"Thanks, I didn't really want to have to sing. Keep your eyes open."
"You got it, Scully," I say half-heartedly. I'm not hot anymore, in fact,
I'm getting quite cold. I shudder involuntarily and she tightens her grip
on my torso.
"Just hang in there. We'll go inside in a couple minutes, but I just need
to make sure this creature is killed and gone from your body."
I lie silently for a minute then ask her, "How many minutes did you say?"
She looks back at the building. "Just a few."
"Ok," I mutter back, not caring when we go back in. The feeling of cold is
gone now, the feeling of hot is beginning to return. But as long as I don’t
see another fucking tentacle I’ll be okay. Well, for awhile at least.
I catch Scully glancing back between me and the building, looking as if she’s
debating whether or not to go back in. I now notice that I’m not only
soaking wet in the rain, but she is also.
"Go inside and get out of the rain," I tell her, my voice still a little
‘out to lunch.’ At least it’s better then the pathetic
wheezing I had a few minutes back.
Scully just looks at me. "And leave you out here? I don’t think so,
Mulder." From my position in her lap I see her turn, a look on her face.
I knew the look. Hell, I know it too well.
Guilt.
"I’m ok, Scully," I say. God, she may have left me in the hall, but
I can’t stay mad at her. She’s saved my ass so many times I’ve
lost count. I’m so grateful to still be breathing that I didn’t
even think about how I was alone in the hallway.
It really doesn’t matter.
Well, I shouldn’t say that.
Scully nods on my words, and turns away from the building; I can’t
see her face anymore from my view.
Hell, getting hurt was probably my fault. I’ve been known to attract
injuries. But even though I can’t stay mad at Scully for letting George
shut the door, I can’t shake the feeling I still have. Of being alone
in a hallway, thinking no one would come.
<But she did come, didn’t she?>
Yes, she did. She came. That’s what’s important, right?
Then why won’t this feeling go away?
Maybe some things are better left unanswered.
I can hear a noise in the distance, a siren. Guess Scully got through to
the Calvary after all. Did I really expect anything less?
I hear the sirens get closer and I can just picture all the good things to
come. Gurneys, needles, and tons of other great things associated with hospitals.
I think when I get back to DC, I’m going to see how many cases I can
go without getting myself injured. I almost laugh at the thought. With the
luck I have, I probably won’t last very long with that bet.
I can feel Scully perk her head up at the sound of the nearby siren. She
looks down at me, bringing her head down closer to mine.
"The ambulance is here. I’ll be right back, Mulder, promise." She looks
almost hesitant to leave. I don’t what to say. I take another deep
breath (well as deep as I can manage), and can almost feel the tightness
that remains in my chest. It almost seems as if it had been there for a long
time, like when I had pneumonia (thanks to another case related injury –
and not taking care of a couple of broken ribs) last winter.
Scully catches the breath I take and immediately gets up. "I’ve got
to tell them where we are," she says before she gets up. I hear her footsteps
quickly walking way from me, but don’t have the energy to turn and
watch where they are going.
I’m back to being alone.
That feeling is back.
<She’s coming back. You know that.>
My breath quickens at that thought. <She’s coming back.>
Still, I’ve almost ready to pass out with relief when I hear voices
being to round the corner.
The next few minutes go quickly, and I, as usual when an ambulance is present,
am the center of attention. Scully leads a whole mob of paramedics (guess
they all wanted to see the man who had been attacked by a giant tentacle)
over to the crime scene (that's me!) and then she leaves to check on Angela.
One paramedic kneels by me and puts his (her? I can't see in the dark) fingers
on my neck, just like Scully always does.
"Pulse okay. He's hot as hell though." She, I decide.
"Is he conscious?" Someone else asks.
<Yes, he's well and conscious> I want to say, but am having a little
bit of trouble breathing now, with all these people crowded around, and settle
for a little groan. Man that sounded pitiful.
"Yeah," she says. "C'mon, let's get rolling. We gotta move him out of this
rain."
My eyes fly open and I want Scully _right now_. Am I ready to come out of
the rain or am I going to go through _that_ again? The paramedic seems to
recognize my distress and says, "Calm down, sir, we're just going to move
you to a warm, dry place."
That phrase has never sounded so tempting in my entire life, but right now
it is also potentially dangerous.
"I dunno...." I say, my voice barely audible.
"Trust me, sir."
Get Scully, I think. "Scully--"
"What's Scully?" One paramedic asks.
"I don't know."
"I think she's the one who just went in there."
"You're partner is just fine, and you're going to be too, sir," the first
paramedic tells me. "My name is Debbie and we're going to take good care
of you."
"Debbie," I repeat and can't think of anything else to say so I lean up on
my elbow and prepare to stand. This however is easier said than done. I'm
flat on back in another second and Debbie is instructing the rest of the
conspiracy to get a backboard under me.
<A backboard?> "I don't really need that," I explain.
"Just a precaution, sir." Debbie has gone and a new paramedic, a man, I can
see in the very little light coming from the ambulance’s headlights.
Next thing I know, they've lifted me and I'm moving, like on a flying saucer,
towards the ambulance.
Once inside, they want to start up an IV, but I stop them. "Wait till Scully
comes."
"It's just Saline, sir."
"_Definitely_ don't give me that." I close my eyes again and wait for my
partner to join me.
When I next open my eyes, Scully is sitting next to me and we seem to be
moving. She immediately notices that I'm awake and leans down to talk to
me.
"Everybody else," I say, my voice still hoarse.
"They're okay, but Angela's up and bitchin' again," Scully laughs. "How do
you feel?"
"Hot." I notice for the first time my discomfort. Though its hard to tell
in the dim light inside the ambulance, everything looks bleary, even Scully
who is right up close. "Where are we going?"
"St. Mark's. We're almost there, just hang in there." She seems to be studying
me, so I turn my face away from her. Just to piss her off. I guess I must
be feeling better if I'm thinking of ways to piss off my partner. "Does anything
else hurt?" she asks.
"Not really. Sorta, my chest."
This seems to worry her. "Yeah, where does it hurt? Your ribs or your lungs?"
I shrug. "Just sort of all over. I don't know, it's probably nothing."
"Mulder, you were just attacked by a _tentacle_. And it’s you. Nothing
is ever nothing."
She’s got that right. I’m really going to try that bet of mine
after this. Really.
I guess I must have drifted off, because the next thing I know, I can feel
the rain again and hear the sound of wheels hitting pavement.
"male…..temp 103.8….some respiratory distress…"
103.8? No wonder I’m hot.
"Dextrose drip started at scene instead of saline at insistence of the doctor
on scene…."
I’m not really listening to the words that surround me. They’re
just a bunch of "medical" language I should learn, considering all my hospital
stays, but never bothered. That was Scully’s department. Speaking of
her, where was she?
I pry my eyes open to find faces above mine, but none of them the one I wanted
to see. Where was she? I got that same feeling I had in the hallway….
Suddenly a hand gripped mine. I recognized its touch right way. Scully. I
try to turn toward here, but people and weakness prevent me.
"Hang in there partner." Scully again. She leaned down toward my head, avoiding
the doctors who were probably trying to get her out of the way. Suddenly
I’m very glad Scully is very forceful in emergency rooms.
The doctor (I had no idea what her name was) starts questioning Scully about
the creature that attacked me and such, not even bothering to ask me. Hey,
I’m still alive down here. Now exactly in tip top condition, but alive.
And who would know better what happened then the person with a first hand
account?
The doc and Scully are having some conversation, but they have now moved
out of my earshot. I just try to relax as well as one can in an emergency
room with nurses and doctors around. I feel the nurse clip a familiar something
to my index finger. She turns to say something to the doctor, but I don’t
pay attention to her words. Not like they make much sense anyway.
Maybe I should have paid attention, because next thing I know the nurse is
putting the oxygen mask the paramedics removed when I got here back on. I
really hate these things; they get in your way. No one can ever understand
you. But the tightness that was still in my chest seems to lift a little,
so I’m not complaining.
"How long would you say exposure was?" The doctor and Scully are walking
back toward me and I catch their conversation.
"I’m not sure," Scully answers, and turns toward me. She gives me a
tight ‘hang in there’ smile, but it doesn’t hide the concern
on her face.
"I would say it’s not an allergic reaction," the doctor continues.
"It seems more like the symptoms due to bronchitis or pneumonia. If it weren’t
for those nasty stings and slight swelling of the throat, I’d say it
was that." Scully nods. I can almost see her medical brain thinking.
Finally the doctor introduces herself to me. "Mr. Mulder, I’m Dr. Peterson."
She proceeds to ask me a bunch of questions about how I’m feeling,
what happened, etc, etc. Then she goes on with an exam, whipping out her
stethoscope (those things are always so damn cold) and so forth.
The words around me are beginning to pick up a bit of meaning. I hear snips
of conversations like,
"What's his temp? That's.... definitely."
"Mulder... Mr.... Mulder."
I decide to join the party at around 5:30 a.m.(so the clock up on the wall
tells me). Which day, I'm not sure.
"Mulder," Scully's voice, trying to get my attention. Slowly, I turn my head
to her, groaning. My eyes take their own sweet time focusing, but then when
I get a good look at her, they slam shut again.
She looks like a drowned rat. Her hair is stringy and dark from the rain
that has long dried from it, and her clothes have lost any fashion they may
have once had. She has a blanket hanging loosely off her shoulders, thin
and pilly. The kind a hospital gives you. I groan again.
"You look like hell," I inform her. I decide to leave out the words "drowned
rat," not wanting to hurt her feelings. Whatever words I used, I'm regretting
it now. Fire erupts in my throat and zaps halfway down my chest before lingering,
hesitantly, and dissolving. My hand reaches up to my neck, where gauze has
been wrapped around my lovely bite marks.
"Uh uh uh," my partner scolds. "Don't touch those. You don't want to get
them infected." As an afterthought she murmurs, "God knows you don't need
any more complications."
It is then that I realize that _I'm_ the one who probably looks like hell.
Mentally, I assess my condition. Sore throat, sore neck, my chest feels tight.
I think I'm still dealing with a lack of oxygen. I'm about to inform Scully
that I'm not feeling so great, when a nurse who looks like she could do to
lose a few pounds walks in. She obviously is at the beginning of her shift,
cause she's cheerful as all get out.
"How are you this morning, Mr. Mulder?" At the last syllable of my name her
voice rises a whole octave, making the statement more of a children's nursery
rhyme than an inquiry. "How about we take your temperature?" Again, the voice
goes up.
I shrug, and she sticks the thermometer in my ear and clucks. She leans to
write something on her chart, and my partner, faithful to me as always, glances
over to see what she wrote.
"I'll be right back Mr. Mulder," the nurse says and leaves.
"Well?" I ask Scully.
"She's disappointed in you. One oh two."
What was it last night? "Isn't that down, though?" I ask.
"Yup. This place is very confused, Mulder. They don't know what to make of
you."
I sigh and cough a little bit, surprised to hear fluid rattling around in
my chest. I look up at Scully to see if she has an answer, and, as usual,
she does.
"They've diagnosed you with bronchitis, but you passed out last night before
they could get an x-ray to confirm anything. You get to do that today."
"Fun fun fun," I remark blandly. "But... how is that related to..."
"Your tattoos?" Scully finishes for me. "That's 'undetermined' in their books,
but,
truthfully Mulder, I think it was more exposure than anything that got you
into your current mess."
I feel exhausted, but can't pass up the chance for a good argument. "And
let me remind you, dear Watson, that exposure is what kept me alive in the
first place."
Scully sighs and leans back in her chair. "I'm not sure about that anymore.
Hell, I'm not sure about anything anymore when it comes to you. Later we're
going to get some x-rays taken to see what's going on. For now, I'm going
to get some sleep and I recommend you do too, before Nurse Cheerful comes
back to enlighten us further."
Nurse Cheerful steps in the room.
The rest of the morning was pretty much a blur. I’ve learned that time
passes a lot quicker in a hospital if you don’t concentrate on the
things around you. I learned that quickly. Just close your eyes and ride
it out. Hopefully when you next open them up, it will be a few hours later.
I follow my own advice, and just as I expected, next time I open my eyes
again, I’m back the same old hospital room, which Scully sitting by
my side. She’s changed and her hair is no longer giving her the "drowned
rat" look of before. She clicking away on her notebook computer, probably
typing up another report, no doubt. I stir and she looks up and smiles.
"Hey, sleephead," she says with a smile. A change of clothes and shower can
definitely change a person’s disposition.
"What time is it?" I ask, cringing at the sound of my voice and the accompanying
pain that comes along with it. I wonder if I really sound as bad as I think
I do. I look around and begin to notice some of the equipment I’m attached
too. The normal IV, that damn tube in my nose, and a heart monitor. Hey,
why do I need that?
Scully seems to read my thoughts. "Your pulse went through the roof about
an hour ago. It’s just a precaution," she explains. "Oh, and it’s
about 6:45 p.m."
That late? I must have really zoned out.
"So?" I decide that if I stick to one word sentences, I’ll be okay
for awhile.
She turns toward me, and I can see that someone must have convinced her to
get some sleep and a motel room, because she’s wearing some make-up
and the circles under her eyes have faded somehow.
"So, while you decided to check out on us for awhile, the doctors were busy,
once again, being totally confused by your condition. X-rays did show you
have definite bronchitis, though not a case severe enough to warrant the
breathing problems you’ve been having. As I already mentioned, your
pulse went haywire, with no real explanation. Your fever is deciding to take
a rollercoaster ride. It went down to 101.2 then up to near 104. Now it’s
settled back to its average 102 mark."
Jeez, no wonder I feel like crap.
"I guess getting out of here is out of the question then?" I ask timidly,
lowering my voice almost to a whisper to avoid sending daggers of pain down
my throat.
Scully shot me a ‘what the hell do you think?’ look before replying,
"Yes, it Mulder. One high point is that the wounds on your neck seem to be
healing well, despite everything else."
I guess that’s good news. However I still want to the hell out of here.
If I weren’t feeling so bad, I’d probably sneak out and…..
"Don’t even think about it."
Damn it! How the hell does she do that? It’s downright spooky.
<She’s probably been spending too many years with you, ‘Spooky
Mulder’.>
Guess I can answer my own question.
I try to pick my head up off the pillow to get a better look at Scully, but
regret the move when it sends a shiver down my shine. Before I know it, I’m
being pushed gently back down onto the pillow by a pair of soft hands. Scully.
The room spins for a few minutes, before it finally begins to settle. I have
to make a mental note to never do that again.
"Are you okay?" I hear Scully’s voice, but it sounds far away, and
my head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. How the hell did
I get this feeling so far? What the hell is wrong with me? All I did was
get stung by an unidentifiable creature.
I can hear Scully calling for the nurse as I finally succumb to the blackness
that has been threatening me.
Once again, I come to with a groan. Scully is standing by my side, looking
anxious, so I figure I haven't been out for too long. Otherwise she'd just
be looking bored.
"Time?" I croak.
"You have to stop doing this, partner. It's a little after seven."
"Same day?"
"Yes," she says, with a little laugh. "Same day. How do you feel?"
"Hot," I say. "Really really hot."
She places her palm over my forehead, cocks her head, as if confused, and
puts her other hand there.
"What?" I ask.
"You're pretty cool," she says. "Want me to go get the nurse...?"
"No," I say, and shut my eyes. I really feel crappy. But Scully's not ready
to let it go that easily.
"You don't feel hot at all, Mulder. Is it your neck that feels hot? Cause
it might be infected--"
"No," I cut her off, not wanting her to get any ideas. "Actually its more
like... just my leg." This is strange. I think for a minute then say, "Yeah,
it's just my leg is really hot."
Scully gives me the odd look of the century, but reaches over and pulls down
the sheet to expose the lower half of my body. I'm too tired to care.
"Which one?" she asks.
"Left," I reply wearily. I close my eyes, and feel her hand touch lightly
on my left leg. The cold of it is startling.
"Jesus, Mulder you're right."
"As always," I murmur.
She says, "That's really strange." The enigmatic Dr. Scully. "Do you feel
hot anywhere else? Does your leg hurt?"
I shake my head.
"Let me go get the doctor. I have no idea what this is."
I want to stop her, but the educated words of a doctor seems like the best
thing right now. My partner returns minutes later, leading a seemingly confused
doctor after her.
"Feel his leg," Scully says and the doctor, hesitantly, puts her hand on
my leg.
The doctor blinks, confused, then comes up to stand by my head. "Mr. Mulder,
can you tell me how you feel right now?"
The expletive I want to use right now doesn't seem quite appropriate. "Bad."
"Okay," she says suddenly, as if my "bad" has caused her to have an epiphany.
"Let's try a cold compress, and some ibuprofen, and if that doesn't help
the, uh, fever, we'll move on to something stronger."
I'm handed a cup of water and two pills which I swallow and give the cup
back to my partner. She is holding what looks like a washcloth (why can't
they just call it what it is??) and a bowl of water. She dips the washcloth
and wrings it out, then brings it over to me.
"Show me where on your leg you're hot, Mulder," she says.
"Shoulder," I mutter, my voice practically non-existant. I cough to clear
it and say, louder, "My shoulder."
Scully looks worried but says, "Okay, which one?"
"Right."
Gently, she moves the collar of the wonderfully fashionable hospital gown
to expose my shoulder and touches it with the back of her hand. "What about
your leg?"
I shrug, "I dunno. It's not hot."
She folds the washcloth over and lays it on my shoulder, immediately lessening
the heat a bit.
"Get some sleep," she says quietly and settles down in the chair beside my
bed.
I do and next time I open my eyes, it’s dark and Scully is no longer
at my side. A slight turn of my head toward the window tells me it has to
be late, maybe two or three in the morning. I can still hear the sounds of
the hospital, yet they are somewhat subdued. I don’t think I’ve
ever been up at this hour in a hospital. Usually they stick with a sedative
by now to shut me up. Yes, I can be a pain in the ass. How the hell else
do you think I can manage to get myself out of the hospital earlier then
I should be getting out?
My shoulder is no longer hot, in fact, nothing really is. I still fell like
shit but at least I’m not feeling like I was before. Maybe I can get
out of here sooner then I thought. Get back to DC until another X-File heads
my way. Yes, it’s great to be back in the basement.
I hear footsteps coming closer toward my room and having been in enough hospitals,
know it’s the night nurse doing her rounds. I close my eyes, far from
tired, but hoping I can fake sleep enough for her to leave me alone.
I guess I’m doing a good job because she goes on with her business,
checking my IV and the monitor. I feel something cold being stuck in my ear
and try to resist the urge to shiver but fail miserably.
"Mr. Mulder?"
Damn it, game’s over.
I know that the nurse knows I’m awake so I open my eyes. I’m
surprised to fin staring, but not at me. She’s looking at the aural
thermometer in her hand and shaking her head. Finally she turns her head
back toward me.
"If you’re cold, I can get you another blanket," she offers.
Suddenly the idea of another blanket seems totally unappealing. I push the
blankets off my shoulders, almost getting my IV caught in the process, but
shiver from the cold that hits me. The nurse immediately pushes the blanket
back up over my shoulders.
"Better leave it there." She continues her job telling to get some rest.
Rest is the last thing on my mind now and I know I won’t be getting
to sleep tonight, but there was no way in hell I was going to tell the nurse
that.
She left, taking my chart with her. I closed my eyes and heard her mumbling
something about talking to the doctor. Great, something was wrong with me.
Just what I needed. I sighed, not really caring much more about it. I was
going to try and do less stupid things from now on. Really.
I spent the next hour looking up at the ceiling, shoving the blankets off
and then bringing them back up when it got cold. I got my IV caught once
and almost tugged it out, purely by accident. Luckily I saw it was caught.
I didn’t want someone to come and see that I had tugged my IV line
out. Then I’d have to go through the process of getting a whole new
one, and that was not a favorite pastime of mine.
Unfortunately the same nurse reentered then, and found me awake. She shook
her head.
"Have you been awake this whole time?" she scolds, and I feel like a little
kid whose been caught up past their bedtime by their mother. "Your partner
warned the doctor you were an insomniac, even when you’re sick. First
things first." She took out the thermometer and checked my temp again. She
wrote something on the chart she had and flipped a page to check it. "Temp’s
up," she commented, "so are you going to go to sleep or do you need some
help?"
I cringed at the word help. I hate sedatives, no matter how mild they are.
They always take forever to get out of my system completely, and I can never
think straight. I close my eyes hoping to convince her, but I can almost
fell the dubious stare.
"It’s 2:56 a.m., Mr. Mulder. Your doctor is due back at 7. I would
use that time to get some sleep, and I’m sure you are exhausted."
I was really, but wasn’t ‘tired’. I couldn’t fall
asleep if I tried. Obviously this nurse, despite the fact she looked like
she’d just recently graduated from nursing school, knew her stuff.
"The doctor left an order for a mild sedative, if need be. I’ll go
get it."
Damn it all to hell. I open my mouth to argue with her, but she’s out
of the room before I can one word out. I have half a mind to get out of bed
and blow this joint, but I realize I don’t have the energy to get out
of bed if I tried. I really hate being injured, but being sick on top of
it was killing me. And I can just see the tower of insurance form to fill
out when I get back. The insurance company must _love_ me.
Miss observant nurse gets back with a nice looking needle and sticks it into
the IV port. She smiles and wishes me a good night as she walks out and I
can fell my eyelids dropping.
Jeez, how strong was that sedative anyway? I don’t have much time to
think about it because I’m out like a light before I can even say goodnight.
I wake up and Scully is there. I feel truly awful, and she seems to sense
this.
"Hold still, Mulder," she says softly. She's pressing a washcloth-- ice cold,
not like the lukewarm one she used last time-- up to my forehead. She wipes
it across my face, then lays it limply on my forehead. Limp. It feels like
I feel. Scully explains, slowly and patiently so that I can understand in
my weakened condition, what the situation at hand is.
"You're spiking fevers in various places, like yesterday. Your forehead is
burning up right now, but that's only going to last for a few more minutes,
then the fever'll move some place else. Where, I don't know, it doesn't seem
to be following any pattern. The doctors are stupefied, because when they
take your temperature it only comes up as a low grade fever, but the certain
part of your body that is hot at the present moment is somewhere around one
oh five degrees. That's too hot, Mulder," she finishes off.
I know I should feel embarrassed about her talking about certain "hot" parts
of my body, but I'm too tired. She starts to talk again, and I'm glad because
it means that I don't have to say anything. I tune in to her speaking, "The
antibodies are working well and your lungs are clearing at a nice rate. The
doctor, the one who treated you when you first came in, is coming in in about
an hour to check on your wounds. They called her a couple hours ago and the
spiking fever has her worried, so she wants to make sure the wounds aren't
infected."
She laughs, "She actually didn't seem too surprised about your 'mysterious'
symptoms. I guess she's been told about you." When this doesn't get a response
from me, she adds, "Are you listening to anything I'm saying?"
"Yeah," I say. I _am_ listening, I was just hoping to get away with not adding
anything to the conversation.
She looks at me quizzically, then says, "Are you feeling okay?"
Do I _look_ like I'm feeling okay?? "Yeah, fine."
She laughs and shakes her head. Then, turning serious suddenly, she pulls
the washcloth off my head, and the cold air hits my dampened forehead and
causes me to shiver. "Where are you hot now?" she asks gently.
Damn, why does she know everything? I take the washcloth from her and place
it on the area between the hollow of my neck and my sternum, so it reaches
all the way out to both my collarbones. The sudden cold causes me to shiver
again and I squeeze my eyes closed and wait for my body to adjust to the
change in temperature. Scully strokes my hair (damp from the washcloth) and
murmurs, "Go to sleep. I'll wake you up when the doctor comes."
I fall asleep with her hands still stroking my hair.
"Mulder, wake up." I can feel a gentle hand shaking my should slightly. I
open my eyes, surprised to see a jumble of light and not much else.
"Mulder?"
I squint and finally Scully comes into view, with a woman, the doctor, by
her side. She looks vaguely familiar, and I assume she’s the one from
the ER, though that experience is still blurry.
"Yeah?" I answer and wince at the weakness of my voice. I hate being like
this, this just isn’t me. Well, it isn’t what I _want_ to be
me.
I should have read that pamphlet I got about "Safely for a Field Agent" instead
of laughing at it and grinning as I sent it through my paper shredder.
I look at the doctor, and try to remember her name, but can’t. Fortunately
she introduces herself again.
"Hello, Mr. Mulder. I doubt you remember me. I’m Dr. Peterson. I treated
you in the ER."
"I would shake hands, but-" I extend my hand out and it tugs on the IV line.
She smiles and launches into her "doctor" act asking me how I’ve been
feeling, where the hot feeling had been, and taking pulse and such as she
was doing it. I answered honestly, just wanting to find out what the hell
was wrong with me so I could get the hell out of here.
Finally Dr. Peterson turns toward the stings on my neck. "Let’s take
a look at this." She unwraps the gauze from around my neck, and I bit off
a curse at the pain I feel as the gauze brushes my neck. I didn’t feel
pain there before. What the hell was going on?
"Did that hurt?" the doctor asks after she has finished removing the gauze.
I nod, trying to not move my neck. The doctor frowns, and I know if I turned
to look at Scully, I’d see a frown on her face as well.
"It’s healing well, actually," she says as she leans in for a closer
look. "I could understand some pain, but not as severe as you are experiencing.
Did you feel pain there before?"
"No." I think I would have remembered feeling pain like _this_ before.
"I pulled one of the _thing’s_" -Scully put emphasize on that word-
"tentacles out of the deputy before he died. Do you think that could be causing
the problems?"
Jeez, I forgot all about the fact that the damn thing had tentacles. What
was scarier was the fact one of those tentacles could still be in me. Just
great.
The doctor looked up at Scully. "Tentacle?"
Scully nodded. "Frankly I should have thought about it sooner, but his symptoms
were confusing the hell out of me. Mulder had a totally different reaction
from the deputy. I figured it was because we got him into the rainwater.
_If_ the tentacles things" - I got a feeling Scully didn’t like using
the word "thing" to describe it - "are still in Mulder they should be dead.
Maybe the simple fact that they are still _there_ is enough to cause this
type of reaction."
The doctor was listening to Scully intently. "Where did you find these ‘tentacles’,
Dr. Scully?" Dr. Peterson was listening, yet she sounded a little doubtful.
Hell, Scully sounded a little doubtful herself.
"I dug inside the wound on pulled it out. It wasn’t long, about ¾
inch long."
"The wounds are almost healed, surprisingly. I’d have to reopen them
and dig around."
Dig around? This is sounding more and more unpleasant by the moment.
Scully steps a little closer to me to inspect the wounds. "You’re right."
Dr. Peterson shrugs. "It wouldn’t hurt. If they are ‘tentacles’
in there, it would be best to get them out, whether they’re causing
a reaction or not."
How about we talk about this ‘treatment’ with the patient first
before we go ahead and do it??
"Hey," I say, trying to remind both Scully and doctor that I am here, still
alive and….hoping to get well.
The two women turn to me.
"We’re going to do what?" I ask, almost afraid of the answer.
The two women exchange knowing glances. Damn, I hate when people when people
do that, exchange glances that say they know more then you do. In this case
they knew more about what they planned to do to me. And this was information
I wanted to know.
"We’re going to have to a little wound ‘exploring’," Dr.
Peterson started.
Exploring? That sounded painful.
"I’m not doctor or anything, but isn’t that going to hurt like
hell?" I ask, my voice still weak.
"I’ve give you a local to deaden your neck before we start." She glanced
around the room. "And you’re going to an exam room so I can get a better
look." She smiled. "I tend to work better with more light."
I try to smile back. <This is going to be fun> I thought sarcastically
as Scully shot me a sympathetic look.
Half a hour, I’m back in an exam room, IV and all, lying on a table,
letting the doctor have complete control over my now numb neck.
I don’t care what they say about a local anesthetic, but as soon as
Dr. Peterson got to work I sure as hell felt something, and it wasn’t
exactly _nice_.
I feel a squeeze on the hand not encumbered by an IV. Scully. I can’t
look up at her to make sure, but I can tell it’s her. She’s there
for me as I’m being to make some sort of medical history.
You could publish quite a medical journal on Fox Mulder alone, Scully.
"I think I’ve got something."
Just great.
I can feel the doctor tugging on something inside my neck. It doesn’t
hurt; it feels pretty strange though.
"Here we go." She holds up a slimly little worm-like thing about ¾
inch long, just like the one Scully pulled out of the deputy. I take on look
at it and gulp.
I don’t know what happens next, but I get pretty dizzy. I don’t
know whether it was from the shock that the thing was _really_ in me, or
something else, but the room is tilting at strange angles now.
Was this what it feels like to be extremely high?
When things settle back down, I realize I’m no longer in an exam room,
but back in my hospital room. Scully is back clickly-clicking at her computer
and smiles when she notices I’m looking at her.
"How are you feeling? You zoned out on us and gave the doctor quite a scare."
"Just the doctor? I’ve lost my touch, Scully." My voice still sounds
like a bunch of rusty nails, but immediately I notice I feel better. No more
hot flashes, for lack of a better term.
Scully laughs. "How are you feeling?" she asks as she reaches for the pitcher
of water by my bed.
"Better." I take a sip of water before continuing. "What happened?"
"Well, Dr. Peterson removed one of those ‘things’, and you went
white and decided to check out on us. After that she removed six more of
those ‘things’, all dead. Your temp went down within the hour
along with the strong episodes of different ‘hot’ body parts."
I resist making a comment on that sentence and let her continue. "You’ll
still running a low grade fever, but the doctor thinks that will disappear.
And if it does you should be out of here by tomorrow, perhaps."
My eyes light up at the idea of getting out of here tomorrow. "Really?"
She smiles. God, Scully could turn on the world with her smile. I have to
get her to do more often. "Really. Then we can go back to normal until you
injure yourself on another case."
"I’ll going to be more careful next time, Scully. I’ll be fine
as long as you are there to back me up."
I see her face drop at the words "back me up". She sighs. "I’m sorry,
Mulder."
I pause for a minute. "I’m ok, Scully, really." I hope she understands
I could never say mad at her. "And it’s because of you." And that’s
the truth.
She nods, though she looks less than convinced. "I’ll back you up,"
she whispers before returning to her keyboard.
-----------------------------------------------
My first day back in the real world and it's raining. I'm not sure about
Scully, but I would be perfectly content if I never saw another day of rain
in my life. Anyway, I'm sitting in the passenger seat of the car (Scully
insisted on driving), waiting for my partner to return. We're at a the local
pharmacy, so Scully can pick up my meds (the doctors didn't let me off _so_
easily, I'm going to be on some pretty strong stuff still for the next two
weeks). I'm feeling a lot better, better enough to be annoyed by the fact
that they wouldn't let me out of the hospital until noon, and then further
annoyed that it is raining. I watch the windowwipers swish back and forth,
leaving a only a single triangle and an arch at the top of rain where they
can't reach.
Scully slides into the car and slams her door. She pulls down her hood and
wipes some of the water off her face that got past the hood.
"You okay?" she asks. She places a paper bag in my lap, containing my medications.
"Great," I say. "Let's blow this joint."
She smiles. "That sounds like the Mulder I know." She sticks the key in the
ignition and the car rumbles and moves. She pulls out of the parking lot
and we are on the road. I sit silently, just feeling happy and tentacle-free
(shudder). I watch the rain that hits the curved portion on the top of the
windshield, that the wipers can't reach. The rivulets flow upwards, pushed
by the wind against the moving car.
"Hey, what are you thinking?" Scully asks.
I shrug. "Not much." I look out at the window, turning my head from Scully,
and cough.
"G-man, you may be over the symptoms those tentacles were giving you, but
you've still got a nasty case of bronchitis. Do you want to tip your chair
back and close your eyes for a few minutes?"
I shake my head. "No, thanks." The truth is, I feel guilty for making her
stay here the extra few days with me, because I know that she had wanted
nothing more to get out of this hellhole, and because of me, she'd had to
stay. "Scully," I say. "I'm sorry you had to stay here because of me."
"What?" She glances off the road for a minute. "Oh, don't worry about it.
It's partially my fault you had to go through this all, anyway."
"I shouldn't have been out there in the first place. _You_ didn't tell the
tentacle to attack me." Wow, this is a new one. Rather than playing the "No,
it's _your_ fault," game, we're playing the opposite. No, really, it's all
_my_ fault! I laugh and Scully looks over at me.
"What?" she asks, smiling.
"Nothing," I say, and decide _to_ lean my chair back. I fumble for a minute
with the lever, then feel my seat back reclining, and relax into it. I close
my eyes against the rain that is still pounding on the metal ceiling of the
car and all the windows. It's nobody's fault.
The End.
