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 23>>

Doctor's Lounge, Cambridge County Hospital
Monday, December 7th, 4:30 PM

"My kingdom for a microbrew," Mulder said to no one as he fired the empty
Styrofoam cup into the wastebasket.  That had been either his fifth or
sixth cup, and his stomach was telling him to cut it the fuck out.  He kept
the shades drawn, doing his best to avoid the press that had managed to
slip past the assortment of law enforcement officers prowling the
corridors.  He'd noticed that Roy had ordered a guard posted by the Trauma
room, but wasn't sure if it was to keep the press out or for Fletcher's
protection.

Roy had been a whirlwind -- meeting with the other officers, on the phone
with the Bureau, setting up a press conference.  Mulder had steered clear
of it.  There were only two things he really wanted to do – be with
Fletcher or find Algernon – and he couldn't do either.  The doctors
wouldn't let him see Fletcher <Said she needed more tests.  Right.> and Roy
wouldn't let him work the crime scene. 

He looked up when the door swung open.  Roy strode into the room,
expression hard as a rock. <Why do I feel like he's here to bust my balls?>
 Mulder's insides started to churn again.

"How's Fletcher?" he asked.

"They're moving her up to her room in a few minutes, if you want to go with
her."

"I do," he said, getting up, eager to be doing _something_.

Roy held up a hand. "Wait a minute, Mulder."

"What?"

"We need to talk about what happened.  I want to know how it went down."

"Can't it wait?" Mulder snapped.

"Better to get it over with now, while it's still fresh in your mind," Roy
said gently.

<He's right, he's right.>  "I don't _know_ what happened exactly," Mulder
began, rubbing his palms on his thighs.  "We'd just arrived.  Fletcher
spotted the note on the door and told me to get an evidence bag."

"Did you see anything else, hear anything?"

"No.  Fletcher told me a little while ago that she thought she saw some
sort of reflection on the hill when we first got out of the car.  I
didn't... or if I _did_ see it, I don't remember."

"What happened next?"

"I was in the car when I heard the shot," Mulder continued in his usual
monotone.  "I saw Fletcher grab her head and fall off the front steps and
down into the bushes.  I drew my weapon and went to check her out.  No more
shots were fired and I didn't see anyone else except the reporter and the
photographer parked on the street."

"Did you see the note?"

"'Why? Because I can. Algernon,'" he said, his voice even flatter. "Red
ink, block letters, just like the last one."

"Can you think of anything else?" Roy looked off in the far corner of the
room.  <I hate this part.>  "Any way to have prevented it?"

Mulder didn't hesitate.  "No.  I don't know how he knew we were even _in
town_, let alone which crime scene we'd be at."

"We've got a leak," Roy thought aloud.

"But how did he find out from the press?" 

"I don't know.  Crocker's trying to get those two reporters alone so he can
question them.  They'll scream about the right to free press, and how all
sources are confidential, et cetera et cetera.  The usual bullshit."  Roy
cleared his throat.  "Mulder, make yourself available around five
forty-five."

"Why?"

"We're having a press conference here, out near the main entrance.  Fox and
MSNBC have followed CNN's lead, so they'll be here along with the local
crowd.  You won't have to say anything," he added quickly.  "I just want us
to present a united front."

Mulder nodded and stood up.  "I'm going to go see Fletcher."



Quantico
Monday, 5:30 PM

"Why does he cut 'em open if he doesn't want to look around?" Elly stared
at the husband's autopsy photo, taking another sip from her water bottle. 
Her expression lay somewhere between 'annoyed' and 'perplexed'.

"My thoughts exactly."  Knowing that Fletcher was okay <Well, not okay, but
not dead either>, Scully had thrown herself back into her work.  <If I
don't work, I'll go crazy.  I've got to stop thinking about Fletcher.  But
it's so hard.  It's so hard keeping it all inside.>

Gabe had postponed their three o'clock meeting and rescheduled it for early
Tuesday morning.  Elly, thankfully, had kept busy with her own work, and
was too locked into the aborted-amateur-autopsy question to pursue anything
else at the moment.  <She's got a sharp eye,> Scully thought.  <It wouldn't
take her long to see through me.  I don't really feel like having to
explain anything to anyone.>

Gabe poked his head into the office.  "I don't know if any of you are
interested, but Roy's holding a press conference in fifteen minutes.  I
heard CNN will be carrying it."

"Thanks, Gabe.  We'll be right there to watch," Elly replied.

<I suppose I'd better go.  My absence would cause more talk than my
presence,> Scully thought as she put the pictures back in the folder.  <I
don't know why I'm so suddenly worried about what _anyone_ else thinks.>

Elly waited by the door.  "C'mon, Dana.  I want to get a table near the
band."

- - - - -

Most of the chairs in the cafeteria had been moved near the television. 
The front rows were filled, so Scully and Elly grabbed two seats by the
vending machines. Gabe sat next to them, still chewing his unlit pipe.
Scully idly wondered how many pipe stems he chewed through in a year.  They
looked up at the TV, which had been tuned to CNN all afternoon.

There were only a few microphones set up at the makeshift podium.  Roy
stepped up and a few cameras flashed. Mulder hovered in the background, 
trying to hide behind Dave and Bill.  A state trooper standing beside
Mulder glared at him and his inability to stop fidgeting.

Scully watched Mulder carefully.  Knowing him as well as she did, she could
tell by body language alone if he'd been lying about Fletcher's condition.

"I have a short announcement," Roy started, his voice rough.  He licked his
lips nervously.  <Head of the department only a week and my second whip
gets shot.  Happy fucking holidays.>  He cleared his throat.  "At
approximately ten fifty this morning, SAC Fletcher Buchanan of the FBI's
Investigative Support Unit in Quantico was shot and wounded by person or
persons unknown at..." He glanced down at his notes. "...575 Sanibel Lane,
in the township of Kennedy.  She was assisting the New Jersey State Police
and local law enforcement in their investigation of a multiple homicide. 
Agent Buchanan was treated here at the Cambridge County Hospital for a
minor gunshot wound to the head."  

<How minor is it?  How minor can _any_ gunshot wound to the head be?>
Scully worried.  She nervously raised one hand from her folded arms and
brought it to her mouth.  Beneath her fingers, she chewed her lip.  <I know
I'd feel a lot better if Fletcher were out there behind the podium with
Mulder.>

Roy cleared his throat again. <Should have had them put a glass of water on
the podium.  Then again, I'm not going to stay up here for hours like a
performing seal.>  "Although she suffered a concussion and minor abrasions
to the face, her condition is good.  Her partner, Agent Fox Mulder, was
uninjured.  We appreciate the quick response by Kennedy Township EMS and
state police officers, and the quality care provided by the staff here at
Cambridge County.  Both were instrumental in Agent Buchanan's present
condition being as good as it is." 

Roy looked off to his side, his head cocked for a question that couldn't be
heard over the broadcast.

"Mulder.  M-U-L-D-E-R."  He cupped his ear, listened, then replied, "SAC. 
Special Agent in Charge."  He listened again.  "Buchanan. 
B-U-C-H-A-N-A-N."

"Barry Pearson, Daily News.  Is this investigation linked to the multiple
murder on Columbus Day in Blenheim, or the slaughter of two people in
Townsend on Labor Day Weekend?"

"No comment."  <He even _talks_ like a tabloid.>

"Margo Joseph, West Caldwell Journal.  Was a note found at the scene?"

"No comment."  <Damn.  We don't want that released yet.>

"Another question, if I may, Mr. Tupper," she said before anyone else could
ask their own question.  "Who is Algernon?"

"No comment." Roy felt like his head was in a vise.

"Will you be answering _any_ of our questions?" she persisted.

"It is not the habit of our office to release any information that could
jeopardize an ongoing investigation.  That's all we have at this time. 
Thank you very much."

Ignoring the shouts of the reporters, he turned and headed back into the
hospital, surrounded by his agents and other police officers and state
troopers.  

"Well, _that_ was enlightening," Elly said sarcastically. "I feel _so_ much
better now."

"They can't give out _all_ the details," Gabe pointed out. "Algernon could
have cable, too."

Scully got up and turned to the vending machines, searching her pockets for
quarters.  <I've got all the details _I_ need.>



Cambridge County Hospital
Monday, 5:52 PM

Once inside, Roy grabbed hold of Mulder's upper arm.  "We've got to meet,"
he whispered.  "They know about Algernon."

Mulder nodded. "We should include Fletcher."

"Only if she's up to it."

"I don't want to face her if we _don't_ include her."

After a quick look over his shoulder, Roy nodded his assent. "Get Bill and
Dave and meet me up in Fletcher's room."

"What about the locals?"

"Not now.  I'll meet with them tomorrow."

- - - - -

Fletcher was bored and she had a pounding headache.  The last place she
wanted to be was in a hospital bed.  <They won't even bring me my goddamned
laptop.  This sucks.  How can I get any work done?>  She picked up the
remote and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels until she found
ESPN.  Chris Myers was talking to someone about the Yankees and their
recent World Series victory.  <No way. I'm not watching that.  The
Yankees.>  She cringed.  The Yankees were her least favorite team in her
least favorite sport.  She continued to channel surf.  <I don't want to be
here.  I won't stay here.  Not tonight.  There's only one place I'm
sleeping tonight, and it ain't here.  I belong home in my own bed, with
Scully next to me.>

Roy pushed the door open.  "Feel up to some visitors, Fletcher?"

"As long as they're entertaining.  I am _so_ bored.  Even the home shopping
networks are beginning to look good."  She sat up, trying not to wince.

<And you're in a lot of pain, too.  I can tell.  You're not doing a very
good job of hiding it.>  He reconsidered.  <Maybe this isn't such a good
idea.  She's supposed to be resting.>

"What's up, Roy?  Something's bothering you."

"Mulder will be here in a few minutes.  He's bringing Dave and Bill with
him."  He paused.  "That reporter, the one at the scene..."

"What about her?"

"She was at the press conference.  She asked me about Algernon."

Her face fell.  "Shit. They must've seen the note on the door."

"And I'm sure they have a photograph of it, too, as well as other
photographs."

"Meaning?"

"The only shots they showed on CNN were, uh, very 'ungraphic', considering
the circumstances."

"I'm not following you, Roy."

"I had the photographer, Brian Hedges, checked out.  Apparently he's a
stringer for the New York tabloids.  Be prepared to see your bloodied body
displayed all over the place tomorrow."

"Fuck.  He'll be selling his shots of the note, too."

"Won't be long," he agreed.  "Plus I wouldn't bet against the reporter
selling the story.  This could get her out of small-town newspapers and
into the big time."

"Goody for her."  Fletcher flopped back down.  "Jesus. No news _is_ good
news."

Mulder appeared, Bill and Dave on his heels.  The meeting could now begin
in earnest.



Baltimore, MD
Monday, 6:25 PM

Maggie Scully turned on the small color TV that sat on the kitchen counter.
 Her grandsons had given it to her last Christmas.  It was cable-ready,
though she didn't have cable in the kitchen.  Still, it made for good
company as she prepared her dinner.  <A glass of wine would really taste
good,> she thought, stopping to take out the bottle of chablis she kept in
the fridge.  She didn't really pay attention to the news until she heard
"FBI" and "shooting" used in the same sentence.  She turned the volume up
as she poured herself a glass of wine.

The local NBC affiliate was showing a clip from MSNBC's coverage of some
kind of press conference.  She looked closer as she sipped her wine.  <That
looks like Fox in the background.>  She automatically looked for Dana, but
didn't see her.  Her ears pricked up.  <Wait a minute.  Did that man say
'Buchanan'?  Isn't that...>  

The scene switched to the studio, where a man with perfect hair smiled
reassuringly into the camera.  "No further information on Agent Buchanan's
injuries was released.  It was said to be a minor gunshot wound to the
head.  New Jersey officials refuse to confirm or deny that the FBI agent
was there to investigate a possible serial killer."  He paused then began
to give details on the latest story from Congress.

<It _was_ Dana's...'friend'.  I should call Dana, see how she is.>  She
picked up her phone and dialed her daughter's apartment.  After four rings,
the answering machine clicked on.

"Dana, it's Mom.  I just saw the news.  The FBI agent who was wounded, the
one that was shot, is that... is she your... friend?  Call me, honey.  I'm
at home."



Cambridge County Hospital
Monday, 7:35 PM

"I gotta get out here.  I'm fine.  I don't need to stay here.  We both know
where I need to be tonight."

"No doctor is going to release you," Mulder objected.

"Then I'll check out AMA."

"And how will you get home?  I'm sure Roy won't approve of it, and without
Roy, no chopper."

"Get me my cell phone.  I'll get a seat on one of the Newark to DC
shuttles."

"And then?  How will you get home from the airport?"

"I'll rent a car and drive myself.  Jesus, Mulder, a little _positive_
reinforcement would be nice right about now!"

Mulder knew Fletcher would do it.  She was an even worse patient than he
was.  <She'll go ahead whether I help her or not.>  "If you can get a
doctor to release you, I'll talk to Roy."

- - - - -

Half an hour later, Fletcher was signing the papers that she was checking
out against medical advice.  Mulder had managed to talk Roy into having the
chopper return them to Quantico.  He would only agree if Mulder saw to it
that Fletcher got home safely and if she promised to take a few days off. 
Fletcher wasn't happy about it, but she also knew it was the only way she'd
get home.

"Now, where are my clothes?" she asked Mulder, getting out of the bed.  <I
can't wait to get out of this damn hospital gown.>

He found the paper sack that contained them.  "Dave's making sure our bags
will be on the chopper."

"Good."  <We should keep an eye on Dave.  We can always use some fresh
blood in the department, and he's done a good job here.>

Fletcher pulled her clothes out of the bag.  Her pants were in decent
shape, but her jacket and shirt had been cut off of her.  She held what was
left of her tan corduroy blazer up in front of her, amazed that all the
blood on it was hers.  <So much for _this_ jacket.  Shit.  I didn't realize
I bled that much.  No wonder everyone was worried.>  "Mulder, I need a
favor."

"What?"

"I need you to use your boyish good looks and charm to get a nurse to give
you a scrub shirt for me."

He grinned.  "Consider it done."  He left the room in search of a nurse. 
<I'm surprised Fletcher doesn't try to charm a nurse or two herself.>  He
went off in search of the cute brunette that had been in Fletcher's room
several times.  <Now what was her name?>

As soon as Mulder was gone, Fletcher sat back down.  Her headache was worse
and she felt dizzy.  <Damn.  I thought I was in better shape.  Maybe this
isn't a good idea.  Maybe I should stay.  No, I'll get better faster in my
own bed.>



Fletcher's House
Monday, 7:45 PM

Scully opened the liquor cabinet and poured herself a double scotch.  <What
a horrible day.  I wish I could go to New Jersey, make sure Fletcher's
okay.>  She opened the refrigerator to see if there was anything she could
pick at.  <I'm not really hungry, but I never ate any lunch and breakfast
was only toast and coffee.>  Fletcher's phone rang and she waited for the
answering machine to pick it up.  She listened to see who was calling.

"Fletcher, Dana, it's Karrin.  I just saw the news.  I'm home right now.
Dana, the number is..."

Scully picked up the phone. "I'm here."

"Dana, what happened?  How's Fletcher?"

"It's not serious.  Mulder called me.  Apparently the bullet only grazed
her temple."

"Goddess bless," Karrin sighed, echoing the bumper sticker on her Saab. "Is
she home?"

"No, they're keeping her overnight.  She's got a concussion, too."

"How are _you_?"

"I've been better," Scully said, surprised that tears filled her eyes
again.  She wiped the corner of her eye.  "I was really worried.  The news
was so sporadic, so vague.  For several hours, all I knew was that she'd
been shot in the head."

She choked back a sob.  She was relieved to finally be able to talk to
someone about what _she'd_ gone through, what she'd been holding back for
hours.

"How awful for you," Karrin said sympathetically.  "Do you want us to come
over?  Marva should be home soon."

"No, I think I'll be okay.  I'm just waiting for Mulder or Fletcher to call
me."

"She'll be fine, Dana.  You don't know how tough Fletcher is."

"I'm beginning to find out," she said, finally smiling for the first time
in hours.

"I _was_ going to call you to see if you wanted to go shopping Sunday.  I
suppose that's out of the question now."

The change-of-subject caught Scully off guard.  "It depends on how Fletcher
is feeling."

"I've still got some shopping to do for Marva.  Have you finished shopping
for Fletcher?"

"I haven't even started," she said with a heavy sigh.  "I've only shopped
for my family so far."

"Just think about it.  You can call me Saturday and let me know.  Let me
give you my numbers."

A few minutes later, with her cell phone ringing, Scully finished her call
with Karrin.  She reached into her coat pocket for her cellular.
<Please let it be Fletcher.>

"Scully."

"Dana?  It's Mom.  I tried you at home, but you weren't taking your calls."

"I'm not home, Mom.  I'm at Fletcher's house."

"Oh."  Maggie was momentarily detracted from the reason of her call by
Scully's words.  "I saw the news, Dana.  Was it..."

"Yes, it was Fletcher."

"Is she okay?"

"Yes, she'll be fine.  I'm waiting for her call now."

<She sounds so cold, so detached,> Maggie thought.  <Don't shut me out,
Dana.  I'm your mother.  If Fletcher is as important to you as you say she
is, you've got to be upset.>

"And you?"

"What about me?" Scully asked, almost suspicious.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine."  <I'm worried about Fletcher,> she wanted to scream.  <I
thought I'd lost her for good.  Is that what you want to hear?>

"You must've been worried."

"I was."  <Oh, Mom, I wish you could understand how scared I was.  I wish I
could tell you how the thought of losing Fletcher terrified me so.>

<She's not going to say anything,> Maggie thought, hurt.  <She doesn't
trust me to understand.  She still thinks I'm judging her.>

"Well, give her my best.  Call me later, honey, and give me an update."

"I will, Mom."  She softened her tone.  "Thanks for calling. I love you."

On the other end of the line, Maggie smiled.  "I love you, too, honey."

Scully set her phone down and picked up her drink.



Monday, 10:15 PM

Scully awoke with a start, certain that someone had just entered the house.
 She was on the couch, the TV still tuned to CNN.  She quickly sat up,
trying to remember where she set her gun down.

"Scully?"
 
<I don't think I've ever been so relieved to hear that voice,> she thought,
sitting up.  Mulder came in a moment later.  His gray dress pants looked
incongruous with the plain white t-shirt and the FBI windbreaker he'd
obviously borrowed.

"Mulder, what are you doing here?  I thought you were staying in New
Jersey."

"I was, but I have something that I think you'll want to see."

"Mulder, I'm tired and this hasn't been a good day," she sighed, not
wanting to play any guessing games with him.

"Does that mean you want me to go back?" Fletcher asked, stepping into the
room from behind Mulder.  She had a blue scrub shirt on over her slacks and
she looked a fright.  Mulder's trenchcoat was draped over her like a cloak.
 "Hey, Red."  She held her arms out for Scully, wanting nothing more than
to hold her for as long as it took.

"Fletcher!"  Scully jumped up from the couch and practically flew into
Fletcher's arms.  She tried not to hug Fletcher too hard, but she couldn't
help herself.  She kept remembering how she'd felt earlier in the day, when
she thought that she'd never hold her again.

"I am so glad to see you," she said into Fletcher's chest.  "I was
afraid... I thought you'd..."

"Shh, shh, shh.  I'm okay."

"What are you doing here?"  Scully leaned back, her hand reaching for the
bandage on Fletcher's face.  "I thought you were supposed to stay
overnight."

"I checked myself out."

Scully's eyes went wide.  <Oh shit,> Mulder thought.  <I know that look. 
Time to make myself scarce before the bomb goes off.>

"I'm gonna get something to eat," he said as he left the room.  Scully
waited until he was gone before she spoke.  Her tone was not approving.

"You checked yourself out?  AMA?"

"I'm fine.  I can get better a whole lot faster if I'm home, here with you.
 There was no way I was going to stay, anyway.  Hospital food is bad for
your health. "

"I swear, Fletcher..." It took almost a full minute of Scully searching
Fletcher's eyes before she could speak again.  <And you can be sure that
I'll check your medical records tomorrow.>  "If I wasn't so happy to see
you, I'd be furious with you," she said, hugging her close once again. 
"I'm surprised they let you come home.  You _really_ look like Frankenstein
now!"

"Flatterer," Fletcher chuckled.  "There _was_ some concern expressed, but I
signed all the forms they could find.  I still had to promise Roy that I'd
take a few days off."  Fletcher was still irked about that last part. 
<Algernon's re-writing the term 'escalate'.>

"And you should."

"Does that mean you'll stay home and play doctor with me?" Fletcher said,
trying to leer.

"Now I _know_ you're okay," Scully said, gently swatting Fletcher on the
ass.

- - - - -

"So, what exactly did the doctor say?" she asked Fletcher, as she put on
her pajamas.

"Just a minor sprain and a mild concussion." Fletcher sat on the bed,
enjoying the feel of having brushed teeth.  Scully had helped her out of
her clothes and into a pair of flannel pajamas.

"And the bullet wound?"

"Some stitches.  I don't know how many."

"Did you bring your medical records with you?"

"They said they'd send them down to Quantico tomorrow," Fletcher replied,
sliding under the covers.

Scully climbed in beside her and carefully took Fletcher in her arms.

"You don't know how good it feels to be home," Fletcher sighed, the left
side of her face resting against Scully's breasts.

<So close... I came so close to losing her...> Scully thought, her hand
stroking Fletcher's hair, her fingers brushing against the bandage.  

"I was scared, Scully," Fletcher confessed, unable to look at her.  "I came
to in the ambulance once... and the look on Mulder's face... I thought I
was dying... it hurt and there was so much blood..."

Scully kissed the top of Fletcher's head, her arm pulling her close. "I was
so afraid of losing you, Fletcher... I don't know what I would've done..."

"All I could think about was getting home to you..."  She rubbed her face
against Scully's chest.  "I've never been afraid of dying... but to not see
you again..."

Her voice dried up.  Fletcher had been shot before, had been _shot at_
before.  The sensation had shocked her, angered her, even exhilarated her. 
But she had never cried.  Now she did, her body quaking as her silent tears
fell on Scully's pajama top.  Scully reached down and unbuttoned the top,
offering her breasts to Fletcher. It wasn't a sexual, passionate action. 
It was an act of comfort, though Scully wasn't sure if it was to comfort
Fletcher or to comfort herself.

Fletcher pushed Scully's top aside, her right hand covering one breast, her
mouth on the other.

"It's okay," Scully murmured, holding the back of Fletcher's head tenderly.
"I'm here."


-end-