Fletcher2: Rollercoaster 
By: Dana Starbuck
Feedback: dks_starbuck@yahoo.com
Disclaimers:  See Chapter 1
WARNING:  The next few chapters contain some violence and "ick".
THANKS:  Once again, big thanks to Athos, Selena & Rad (welcome back, Rad).
 Your help, feedback, patience and friendship is greatly appreciated.  I
can't do it without you.  And a special thanks to my cyberbro deejay. 
Words can't express my thanks and gratitude.


<<Chapter 22>>

Cambridge County Hospital
Monday, December 7th, 1:00 PM

Mulder felt like he was floating as he followed the doctor through the
trauma center.  He was afraid to look, afraid of how bad Fletcher could be.
 And he was afraid of what he was going to have to tell Scully.  <How do I
tell her that I wasn't next to Fletcher, that I wasn't covering her ass? 
That I let my partner get shot?>

The doctor led him into a private room and slid back the flimsy white
curtain.  Mulder took a deep breath.  Fletcher was lying on a gurney,
several pillows propping her up.  She was dressed in a blue paper gown, and
a large, white bandage loosely covered the right side of her head.  It
started from just above and behind her ear, to just above her right eye. 
They hadn't done a very good job of cleaning her up for there was still
some blood on her face, shoulder and chest.  Her hair around the bandages,
what was left of it, was sticking out in every direction.  The haircut was
definitely done out of necessity.

Her left eye popped open and she raised her left hand, encased in a splint
up to the middle of her forearm.  There was an I.V. set up in her other
arm.

"Hey, Spooky," she croaked.

Even on the worst of occasions, Mulder could joke. "Who does your hair?"

"Little girl I go to.  Name's Lizzie Borden."  Fletcher's mouth twisted in
a painful smile.  "I hope it looks better than I feel."

"Christ, you're a sight," he blurted.

"That's how I feel."

He quickly stepped to her side and took her right hand.  Once closer to
her, he saw that her right eye was swollen shut.  There were dozens of tiny
little cuts and scratches on her face from falling into the bushes.  Mulder
had more than just a few of them himself on his face, arms and hands.

"I thought you were dead."  His voice almost cracked.

"It takes more than a measly little Terran bullet to stop _this_
extraterrestrial," she replied, her voice shaky through her false bravado.

"What'd the doctors say?"

"That I'm really lucky.  A millimeter more and it would've got me good." 
She grimaced once.  "What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"No.  I was looking at the note and – Damn!  The note!  Did somebody bag
it?"  She started to sit up, wincing with the effort.

"Dave McHugh took care of it."  He waved her back down.  "He stayed on the
scene after we left."

Fletcher suddenly realized she didn't know if Mulder had been hit or not. 
She cocked her head and looked at him.  "Are _you_ okay?" she asked
worriedly.

"Just a few scratches from the bushes," he reassured her.

"Good, good."  She sank back against the pillows, relieved.  "So tell me,
what happened?" 

"I was getting the evidence bag and some gloves out of the car when I heard
the shot.  I looked up and saw you fall over into the bushes."

"The hill across the street...is that where the shot came from?" she asked,
both eyes now shut, her hand tightly squeezing Mulder's.

<Why aren't they giving her anything for the pain?  What's the matter with
these doctors?>  "Yes.  How did you know?" he asked.

"I thought I saw something when we got out of the car.  A reflection or
something.  Some flash of light."

"McHugh's got a team checking the hillside.  No sign of shell casings so
far, but there's plenty of places for one of those little buggers to hide.
Piles of leaves, fallen trees, gopher holes..."

"He could have picked up his brass, too," Fletcher ventured.

Mulder nodded. "He set us up."

"Yup.  Question is, how did he know we'd be there?"

Her grip on Mulder's hand eased and she opened her eyes.

"Fletcher, what else did the doctors say?" he asked, concerned.

"I don't know.  I wasn't paying attention.  I was a little distracted."  
She let go of Mulder's hand and raised her hand to her bandaged temple.

His expression hardened. "Bullshit.  They must've told you _something_."

She didn't look at him. "I sprained my wrist when I fell."

"And?"

"And that's it. The bullet just grazed me.  I'm just waiting for the
plastic surgeon to come down and put in the stitches."  She took a peek and
saw that his expression hadn't changed.  "And I've got a little concussion.
 Nothing else."

"I can always get a copy of your chart and have Scully tell me what it
says," he warned her, a tiny smile softening the threat.

"You would, wouldn't you?" she groaned.

<Shit!  I never called Scully,> Mulder suddenly remembered.  <I wonder if
she knows anything?  I'm sure someone's said something.  Word travels fast
through that place.  She must be worried sick.>

"What's wrong, Mulder?" Fletcher asked, seeing the look of distress pass
across his face.

"I don't think anyone's called Scully."

"Why would they?"

"Uh, Fletcher, I don't know how to tell you this, but you – we – made the
news.  Those reporters following us..."

"What about them?" she asked, her one 'good' eye growing dark.

"Dave McHugh told me they were interviewed on CNN.  The press has been all
over this story.  Between the murders and you getting shot..."

<Oh fuck oh shit oh damn damn _damn_!>  "Where's my cell phone?  I've got
to call her!"



Quantico
Monday, 1:10 PM

Scully stared at the open folders on her desk, but didn't see anything. The
photos, the blood, the desecration of human beings that had loved and been
loved... None of it touched her.  Neither did the toneless text in the
reports that came with the pictures.  Years of training and experience had
taught her to shield herself against the horrors that were presented to her
on autopsy tables, in freezers, at crime scenes.  Not feeling anything
about the carnage in front of her was nothing new.  At least, any other day
it was nothing new.  On those days she would seal off her feelings and look
for the clues that were there in the violated bodies, the pleading faces,
the empty eyes. 

Now there was nothing.  Nothing.  No clues.  No answers.  No solutions. 
Just an inexorable sense of time moving much too slowly, and silence being
far too loud.  She'd always counted on her willpower, her ability to
concentrate, to get her through the worst of times.  Today, it was failing
her, and if she hadn't been so worried about Fletcher and Mulder, she
would've been angry with herself.

<Why hasn't one of them called?  I know I heard Roy say _one_ of our agents
had been shot.  Not _both_ of them.  It's got to be a madhouse, but there
had to be _one_ moment where they could be alone, could get away, could get
to a phone.  Don't they know how worried I'd be?  How worried I _am_?>  She
flipped through the file, still not seeing anything.  <What if it's
Fletcher?  Oh, God, I don't know what I'd do if I lost her.>  She put her
hand to her mouth.  <If it's her, I'll never forgive myself for not... Why
didn't I get up with her this morning?...>

"Dana?"

Scully looked up from her desk to see Elly standing in the doorway.  <Easy.
It could be _good_ news...>  "Yes?"

"Mulder's okay.  It was just on CNN."

<Too ambiguous, Elly.  Was Mulder shot and he's okay, or is Mulder okay
because it was _Fletcher_ that was shot?>  "What they'd say?"

"Nothing official -- they don't even have names. But they _did_ have a
photo from the scene.  Mulder was helping the paramedics carry Fletcher to
the ambulance.  He wasn't the one that was shot.  It was Fletcher."  Elly
watched her new friend.  <Funny.  She doesn't look very relieved.  If
anything, she's finally starting to look a little worried.>

"Did they say how she is?" Scully asked, trying to sound casual even though
inside she was shaking.

"Nothing's been released, but an eyewitness said it was a head shot."

<Oh, God, no!>  Scully blinked once, twice.  Her fingers clutched her
pencil so hard she thought she'd snap it in half.  Her stomach lurched, a
wave of nausea threatening to overtake her.  <Oh, Fletcher...>

"Roy said he'd call as soon as he got there," Elly added.

"Let me know if you hear anything else," Scully said, amazed at how calm
she sounded.

"I will."  She took a closer look at Scully.  "Can I get you anything,
Dana?  You look awfully pale."

"I'm fine," Scully said, maybe a beat too quickly. "Thanks."

As soon as Elly left the room, Scully's face crumpled in anguish.  She
struggled for a moment to regain her composure.  <I've got to get out of
here.  I can't let anyone see me like this.>  She left the room at a fast
trot and headed for the ladies' room, the only place she could be assured
of any privacy.  She locked herself in an empty stall and put her head in
her hands.  <A head shot?  Could the news be any worse?  Is she even
_alive_? Is  _that_ why Mulder hasn't called me?>  

She stayed in the bathroom for twenty minutes, sobbing silently.  Back in
the office, Scully's cell phone rang and rang.



Cambridge County Hospital
Monday, 1:30 PM

"Agent McHugh!"

McHugh turned towards the authoritative voice. <Oh, shit. The Eagle has
landed.>  He felt himself coming to attention, and wished he had someplace
to stash the can of Dr. Pepper he'd just gotten from the vending machine.

Roy Tupper had made it through the cordon of press surrounding the
building, and past the police who stood guard at the entrance as if the
shooter would come through the doors any moment and start blasting.  Two
nurses were following him hectically, insisting he couldn't just barge into
a hospital area, no matter _what_ his badge said. He ignored them with no
trouble at all.

"Yessir?" McHugh didn't salute, but only because he told himself not to.

"Where are Mulder and Buchanan?"

"In there," he answered, gesturing with his head toward the Trauma area. 
"Agent Mulder just went in to see Agent Buchanan about half an hour ago."

Roy's eyes went to the swinging double doors. "How is she?"

"Lucky to be alive, from what the doctors have said."

Tupper nodded. You couldn't see it through his blue wool overcoat, but his
shoulders relaxed momentarily. "Is Crocker handling the press?"

"Yes, but he's not telling them much.  He's confirmed the shooting, but
that was already public knowledge.  He's holding back details, though,
including Fletcher's name.  He wanted to talk to you first."

"Get him for me.  I'll meet with him after I speak to Fletcher and Mulder."

"Yessir."  McHugh trotted off, glad to have something to do.  The waiting
had been getting to him, too.

Roy nodded his thanks, then went into Trauma.  Another set of nurses tried
to stop him, and met with the same results their predecessors had.  One of
them was good enough to direct him to Fletcher's room.  When he got to the
door, he had to give himself a second.  <Come on. McHugh said she was all
right.  No, he didn't.  He said Fletcher was lucky to be alive.  Shit,
Tupper, you're not going to find out _anything_ standing out here in the
hall.>   He squared his shoulders and knocked on the door. 

"Fletcher, it's Roy," he called out, sticking his head into the room.

Fletcher disconnected her cell phone.  She was baffled that Scully hadn't
answered.  "C'mon in, Roy.  Join the party."  She put the phone down and
gave Mulder a look that said <Keep trying.>  He nodded imperceptibly.

"I thought the party wasn't for another couple of weeks," Roy said, trying
not to show how worried he was.  He walked over to her bed and took her
hand.  "Hell of a start you're getting as second whip."

"That which doesn't kill you, makes you stronger," she returned, trying to
smile.

"Pump iron. It's safer."  Roy's smile was thin.  The banter was not doing
much to relieve his anxiety.  "How are you? Straight up."

"Straight up, I'm fine.  Just some stitches, a little concussion and a
sprained wrist.  It looks a lot worse than it is.  Really."

"I'll want to speak to the doctor."

<Of course you do.>  It was a battle not to sigh.  "He'll be back."

"I'll leave you two alone," Mulder said casually, heading for the door. 

"Don't go far, Mulder.  I need to talk with you, as well."

"I'm just going to find a cup of coffee."  <And a quiet place to make a
phone call.>



Quantico
Monday, 1:40 PM

Scully's face was still damp as she tried to focus on her work.  The
moisture wasn't from tears -- not completely, anyway.  When she was finally
able to pull herself together, she'd splashed cold water on her face and
dried it with paper towels.  They were about as absorbent as used
sandpaper, felt about the same, and it took a lot to do a little job.  She
thought about the towels in Fletcher's bathroom.  They were bright white,
thick terrycloth, and so nice to wrap yourself in after a long hot shower.
<Don't go there,> she ordered herself.  <You'll start all over again...>

When her cell phone rang, she jumped.  She took a deep breath and answered
it as calmly as she could. "Scully."

"It's me," Mulder said.

Scully's heart pounded in her chest.  "How is she?" she asked, bracing
herself for the worst.  <I can do this... no, I can't... I don't want to
end up burying...>

"Okay.  It looks a lot worse than it is," he said, looking up at the TV and
seeing the photographs.  The doctor's lounge was deserted. 

"You're not lying to me, are you, Mulder?"

"Scout's Honor.  She's talking to Roy right now."

<Thank you, God,> Scully thought, tears springing to her eyes.  "What does
the doctor say?"

"I just talked to him.  Fletcher's got to stay overnight.  She's got a
concussion, and she shouldn't go far from a bottle of Advil for a couple of
days."  The smell of scorched coffee wafted through the room. The pot was
almost empty.  Mulder had turned it off out of habit. <Better make a fresh
pot.  Got to back up my exit line...>

"Someone here said it was a head shot."

"It was.  The bullet grazed the side of her head, by her temple.  Took out
a chunk of tissue, from what the docs say."  His voice dropped.  "She was
lucky, Scully.  Another millimeter..."

"Mulder..."

He stopped, wincing.  "Too much information.  Sorry."

"Is she really okay?"  Her voice was incredibly small.

"Full of piss and vinegar, as usual," he assured her.  "I was with her not
five minutes ago.  She even tried calling you herself, but she didn't get
an answer."

<A watched phone never rings, but if you leave it behind when you go off to
fall apart...>  "Tell her I love her, Mulder."

"You can tell her yourself in a few minutes, when I get Roy out of the
room."

<I'd rather tell her with a dozen roses and a hug.>  "Are you coming back
today?"

"No.  I'll stay here until Fletcher's released."

"Thanks.  You know I'd be there... I'd fly up there if I could..."

"She knows that, Scully."  He heard her choke back a sob.  "She's fine,
Scully.  Don't worry."  He knew his words weren't offering her much
comfort.  "Is there anyone you can call?"

"Ummmmm... Yes, I should call Marva and Karrin, let them know," she said,
completely missing the meaning of Mulder's question.  "Maybe call her
Reserve commander.  I don't know about notifying anyone from her family.  I
guess the Bureau can handle that..."

"Scully?" Mulder's voice was gentle.

"Yes?"  <I'm babbling.  I know.  I'm happy.  She's alive!>

"I'm sorry I didn't call sooner.  It just got so crazy, and I didn't know
how Fletcher was..."

"It's okay, Mulder." She sniffed. "Just bring her home to me."

"That I can do."

-end-