From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: The Abductee 17a/21 Date: 30 Jul 1995 12:50:19 -0400 The ABDUCTEE (17/21) by S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com) 7/29/95 This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Thanks guys, for creating this marvelous stuff. Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Copyright 1995 by S. Esty Chapter 17 Wednesday 9am Washington Hospital Center, Washington, D.C. "Is this your friend?" Dr. Adams asked. Evan stared at the patient on the table in the ER bay and did not have the slightest idea. After all, he had only seen Fox Mulder once and briefly at that and this long, pale body hooked up to every piece of equipment Evan could imagine, did not resemble anyone Evan had ever seen, with the exception of badly injured patients he had attended during his medical school hospital rotations. There were tubes everywhere. As they entered, a nurse had just finished hanging a fresh bag of blood and it dripped huge scarlet globules into one IV line. Two other IVs delivered fluids of various sorts. A tube drained fluid from his abdomen. A nasogastric tube was protruding from one nostril and an endotracheal tube leaned from the corner of his mouth. In the background Evan could hear the gentle hiss of a ventilator and the too-quick beep of monitor registering tachycardia. As the figure was largely unclothed, Evan could clearly see the catheter they had snaked down into his bladder. Evan cringed. Why had he gone into research? Because he never wanted to do things to a human body like this. The room looked like a disaster had come and stayed. There was blood everywhere... Blood on the patient, especially his arms and legs, at least the areas not covered by bandages, and blood on his face. The sheets he lay on were badly stained and the floor was criss-crossed with bloody foot prints. Empty blood and plasma bags were piled haphazardly on a stainless steel tray by the bedside, where they had obviously been flung as soon as they were drained. There were two huge yellow trash cans over-flowing with boxes of many shapes and sizes, disposable gowns and towels, rubber gloves, blood stained gauze squares - many of those - and empty IV fluid bags. The single nurse moved quietly in the room, trying to document, after the fact, what had been done in haste. Barbara Adams checked the name on the wrist band. "Mulder, Fox," she read. "This must be the one. I was coming to see him anyway. Dr. Seagram, the trauma specialist, just assigned me to coordinate his treatment." Evan felt uncomfortable looking at Fox Mulder like this. All the time that he was trying to make it with Dana Scully, even hinting to her that her partner was not worth her concern, Fox Mulder had been going through whatever hell had led to this. Dana must think he was the worst slime in the universe. This man was Dana Scully's life. Evan recognized that well enough now. At least there was something he could do. The poor guy was draped so he was only minimally decent and lying under heat lamps in the middle of a busy ER where anyone could see him. Though maintenance of body temperature was probably not an issue, it just did not seem humane to treat a person this way, even if they were unconscious. "Can't you cover him?" he asked. "She would want someone to." The resident looked hard at Evan, as if surprised by her own insensitivity. "You know, why we do this, don't you?" she asked him. "So we can tell immediately if they start bleeding somewhere. We don't intend to be disrespectful. The heat lamps will keep him warm." "Yeah," Evan muttered, "but I don't know if they are doing such a good job." Then more loudly, "He looks so cold...." And he did. Evan could see the gooseflesh on Mulder's arms and chest. Dr. Adams nodded as she continued to consult her chart. "He's fine. What would help us is if you could provide some additional information on how he got this way. We received only a basic medical history, and a description of the treatment he received before and during transport." Evan shook his head. "I'm sorry I can't help you. I wasn't there." There was one thing he did know, though. One point he took very personally. "Have you ordered a toxicological screen?" he asked. At the woman's questioning glance, he continued, "Because we're almost certain he was being poisoned... Arsenic, probably, and related substances found in the old arsenic-warfarin blends. The FBI has the suspected material." And then he remembered another point which he knew was close to Dana's heart. "Also check for street drugs. I think he may have been slipped something." At least for Dana's peace of mind, Evan hoped so. As she wrote, Barbara Adams shook her head sadly, as if to say, "We hadn't ordered one yet. We were a little busy, but I will now. I think they sent a blood sample from before he got most of this stuff dumped into his system." She smiled up at him briefly. "Thanks for telling me." Evan looked down at Mulder again and, as he watched, the pale body began to shiver. "Dr. Adams..." Evan's voice rose sharply with concern, "this can't be right..." The tone of his voice caught the woman's full attention. By the time she reached the patient's side the shivering was so bad he seemed almost to be convulsing and four separate monitor alarms were screaming. The doctor's eyes and hands traveled rapidly over the monitors, absorbing their findings and silencing them. She touched Mulder's bare, quivering shoulder and then felt the IV lines. "Shit!" she swore violently as she rapidly turned down the flow on the IVs. "Alice, bring the warm blanket that we keep plugged in behind the charge desk and bring it now! And have someone get a new blood warmer in here STAT! The coil on this one has gone bad. Damn, this unit was going in just as it came out of refrigerator." The nurse returned almost immediately with a folded blue blanket. Adams took it from her. "And get a new bag of whatever IV solution he's getting, but pop it in the microwave first." As the nurse hurried off Adams shook her head. "I've told them..." She looked up at Evan. "My apologies. They store the IV solutions on a cart by the back door where the smokers go to take their breaks and they leave the door wide open. I told them not to do that in the winter. Here, help me with this." She handed Evan one end of the blanket. "We'll have you feeling better in a minute, Agent Mulder. There's nothing better short of your favorite squeeze." Evan looked down again at that pale face and was startled to see a gleam, a flicker from under nearly closed eyes. "Could he be conscious?" Evan asked. Barbara Adams looked up sharply from where she had been trying to untangle tubing and lines and went to the head of the bed. She lifted up first one eyelid, then the other. "Amazing... looks like it... semi-conscious, anyway, though I don't see how and in his condition he shouldn't be. He must have a very high pain tolerance. I have to check with Dr. Seagram. I'll send a nurse in to be with you. For the moment," she ordered, "stay with him," and pushed the blanket into Evan's arms before rushing out of the room. *** Fox Mulder floated upon an ocean of fire. He felt nothing of his body but pain... pain and cold... sharp, aching pain in his arms and legs, numbing pain in his feet and hands, and a cold that invaded deep into every bone, muscle and joint. His heart did not ache so badly as... When? No use trying to remember. He could not concentrate. The pain kept muddying his thoughts and the cold was distracting. His chest hurt. Why was breathing so difficult? So tired... When he breathed his lungs labored, faltered, felt as if he were under water. Something odd about each breath, too, something unnatural, a sensation which frightened him. His gut felt ready to explode from a source of pressure he did not understand. And where his kidneys should be were two burning suns. Kidney pain he knew - he had been kicked there often enough - but this was worse, far worse. If the suns were going to hurt so, threatening to burn through the skin of his back, why couldn't they at least kept him warm. To leave this all behind, he thought wearily, to sink into black, sweet, painless oblivion... But a desperate desire to *know* took priority over every other longing. Had he really seen Scully or had that been a dream? If he could just reach the top of the cold ocean of pain and open his eyes, would she be waiting for him? Or only Angela with her sad smile and the sharp blade. *** After Adams' hurried exit, Evan stood for a startled moment all alone with Mulder and clutching the blanket. What an incredibly warm and comforting sensation; like holding a load of clothes fresh from a hot dryer. But he wasn't the one who needed comforting. Hastily, Evan spread the blanket over Mulder, who was not only trembling but beginning to move in little jerks and starts, though his efforts were weak and uncoordinated. His pale lips opened and closed around the ET tube as if he would talk if he could. Mostly, it was his eyes which moved. They repeatedly closed, only to flicker open. Frightened, pain-filled hazel eyes darted around the room, searching. Looking for her, Evan realized. "I'm Evan Byers," he told the man on the table, in a clear, louder than normal voice, as he tucked the warm blanket as closely as he could around the agent's body, "Dana's friend. You're in the hospital. You're badly injured and you must be quiet." He remembered then what Mulder called her. "Scully's on her way. Don't worry." Only the last seemed to have any effect. The roving eyes focused, warmed for the briefest moment on Evan's face, reflecting a weary gratitude, then slowly lowered. As the blessed heat began to settle in, the shivering and aimless movements ceased, the limbs relaxed and a long shuddering sigh flowed out of the pale body. *** Time to sleep and leave the world behind. *She* would be with him soon enough. *** Wednesday 10:30am Washington Hospital Center, Washington, D.C. When Dana finally arrived at the medical center, she found that Agent Fox Mulder was no longer in the ER but had been taken to the ICU, as Evan had told her by phone. She was furious, however, to find out that, not being family, they would not let her up to see him. At the charge desk Dana showed her ID. It had its uses. "I want to see the doctor who is attending Agent Mulder, -" What was the name Evan had mentioned? "- a Dr. Adams, and I want to see him now!" Within five minutes, which were a long five minutes for Dana, who fumed and stalked about the waiting room, a young woman of about Dana's age approached, dressed in stained scrubs. "I'm Dr. Adams," she said, shaking the hand of the startled agent. Then, without an audible sigh, but clearly with a physical one, Adams sat down as if her body had forgotten how to bend that way. "I take it you're Dr. Scully, Agent Mulder's partner? Dr. Byers told me you'd be coming." Somewhat abashed, Dana sat down. "Evan filled me in on his current status. Thank you for all you did." She had not expected a woman. Stereotypes die hard and they certainly were making doctors younger and younger these days. "I hope you didn't mind my sending Evan... I needed to know." The hour between her initial call to Evan and his update from the hospital had been one of the longest of her entire life. She looked around. "I really put him in a spot. I need to thank him. Do you know where he went?" "Taking care of the paperwork," the young woman told her. "We finally located Agent Mulder's ID which you sent along and found that he keeps his medical card in there, too. Handy," the woman said with a knowing expression. "Yes," Dana admitted. "Well, he goes into the hospital a lot." She looked at the resident and felt a great sympathy suddenly for this woman. She looked so tired. Dana wondered how long the young woman had been on call and how much of the energy she had obviously expended had gone into helping Mulder. "Evan says Agent Mulder is stable for the moment." Dana inquired, guardedly, "What's his prognosis?" The woman looked at Dana with sympathy. "As you might expect with hypovolemia to this extent. There's the hemostatic balance we need to reestablish. We'll be replacing his blood volume more gradually now, so we won't put a strain on his heart. His system's had a terrible shock. A disadvantage of the blood substitute they used - which saved his life, by the way - is that the fluorocarbon molecules are toxic. Normally they are passed by the kidneys within twenty-four hours. Unfortunately, in Agent Mulder's case, his kidneys have virtually shut down due to the shock and dehydration." "So you're going to put him on dialysis?" "Yes, to take the stress off his kidneys and give them time to recover. Dr. Seagram has ordered sessions twice a day for the next three days... longer if needed. The dialysis will also extract the fluorocarbons and the normal metabolic waste products that built up during - what looks from his blood work like - several days of dehydration. But dialysis really can screw up the clotting mechanism and his is already pretty compromised. We'll have to be careful, but it's necessary. In fact, in the emergency room they began peritoneal lavage. It's an older dialysis method, but we felt we needed to get a jump on this, and we did not feel his hemostatis was stable enough at the time for the conventional treatment. Prognosis? If he were older, or in poor health, he would never have made it here. Let's be thankful for small favors for awhile." The resident looked down at her chart, perhaps to hide from the misery in Dana's eyes. "Dr. Byers suggested that we order a toxicological screen. We've put a STAT on that. If it is arsenic poisoning or something similar, simple dialysis won't take care of the whole problem. We'll have to use dimercaprol, which acts like a chelating agent to remove the heavy metals from his tissues. That will complicate his recovery. His bleeding complications were not due entirely to the hemodilution of his initial treatment, by the way. His clotting time, his PT/PTT, is longer than I would have expected. We're testing for coumadin which would have been in the rat poison. He must not have gotten too much, or he'd be dead by now, but the bruising is pretty severe and the internal bleeding scared us quite a bit. To be on the safe side he's already begun receiving vitamin K injections as a counter measure and, of course, there's the component therapy until his body can begin generating the missing coagulation factors on its own." Dr. Adams had stopped reading, took a deep breath, and looked up at Dana. "We're having his records sent over from GW. I hear they are... extensive. From the number of old scars I saw, I won't be surprised." She sounded curious. "I assume this all has something to do with the line of work you are in?" "Partly," Scully sighed. "Partly, because Trouble just seems to have decided to take up residence on Mulder's doorstep." Considering this, Adams asked, "What kind of a patient can we expect him to be?" Dana knew what she meant. Would he do as he was told? "He's terrible." "That's too bad. He's going to need rest and lots of it. Also, right now he's in a lot of pain, I mean a lot, and he's not going to like the ET tube, but I think we're going to need it for a while." The young doctor shook her head, making dark ringlets dance. "What I'm saying is, I would recommend that he stay sedated for a few days, especially if he is, as you say, a difficult patient. But we can't do that unless he agrees, or, if he isn't competent, unless his family agrees. What do you think he'd want?" Dana shivered. "Mulder hates drugs, just hates them, but I know the alternative is pain killers and restraints. That's not much of a choice." Dana stared glumly at the floor. Adams let the silence grow, then said gently, "I know you'd like to talk to him - " Dana wondered. " - but the level of pain killers we're talking about would probably make him pretty incoherent in any case. Plus, he's totally exhausted. Having to deal with any significant pain will just make it harder for him to get his strength back. Dr. Scully, we're talking one sick puppy here." "What kind of time are we talking about?" "I think he'll feel much better once the dialysis has a chance to clean out his system. About three days." Dana briefly closed her eyes. Thinking of Mulder in that level of pain made her own insides shudder. "About that level of medication... you'll need to ask him about that. I can't take that kind of decision away from him." The young doctor nodded slowly. "All right that's what we'll do. I'll write orders that say he can have some, if and when he agrees." Just looking at the woman's haunted and swollen eyes, Adams could tell that Agents Scully and Mulder were *very* close. She could also see that the woman did not want her friend to be in pain. Maybe she could convince him. Adams watched the trim, but currently bedraggled woman from over the top of her clip board as she made notes. Dana Scully did not look the image of an FBI agent at the moment. Evan Byers had asked that she not be told about the incident in the ER because she would be upset to find out that she had not been there for her friend when he woke looking for her. Yes, this poor woman seemed to be under enough stress already. "Look, Agent Scully, Agent Mulder is young and strong." Adams held the clip board to her chest and tried to look encouraging. In fact, she was encouraged, just by the strength she had seen. If he had this woman to live for as well, it would significantly improve his chances. "Personally, if he's made it this far, I think his chances are good. So let's talk about the post critical period. He's going to continue to need a lot of rest. Does Agent Mulder sleep well?" Dana thought drearily, though it was a relief to think about the future. "No," she admitted. "He has a sleep disorder. It's all documented in his records." Adams pursed her lips, thoughtfully. She had guessed correctly. She had a restless patient and this was Washington. She had had patients with stressful occupations before which would not let them relax. "Is it bad?" A month didn't pass that he did not call her at night in an attempt to chase away a particularly bad nightmare. More often, he just called to talk, but how many of those times started out with nightmares he never told her about? When they traveled she heard him nightly in the next room, moving around at all hours. "Pretty bad." "Then I'd also recommend he stay on medication for several weeks, not just to help him sleep at night, but to make him sleep. You can come back too soon after these things. I can't emphasize how critical this is. A broken bone will keep you down. With this? If he's not careful, he'll overdo when he starts to feel better. Sleep has amazing healing properties and he's going to need a lot of healing. Again, that will have to be voluntary, but if you have any pull..." Dana nodded. "I agree with you, but I don't know what he'll say. We'll just have to see." "That's all I can ask." The young resident looked at Dana carefully. "You know, no one's told me what happened to this poor man." "We don't know ourselves," Dana admitted. "The only other witness is dead." "Well, he didn't do this to himself. He may be male, but he's still a victim of violence. Not all the effects of trauma are physical, as I'm sure you know. I'm certain the FBI is accustomed to this sort of thing, but I'm suggesting he get some psychological counseling." Barbara Adams stood. Dana's expression answered her unasked question loud enough. "Just think about what I said. Now, let me order the sedative so he can have it when he needs it. I'll be right back." Dana wrapped her arms across her stomach. Getting Mulder to behave - *that* was going to be tough. She felt tired already, but at least there were long term plans being made and that was good to hear. In the frantic rush just to save his life, however, she had not considered the long term psychological effects. He had been manipulated, sexually assaulted, tortured, and nearly killed. Given Mulder's propensity for laying guilt on his own head for everything, Dana's head began aching alarmingly. She anticipated a long recovery from this, in more ways than one. Suddenly, she spied Evan Byer's tall, blond form striding towards her from the bank of elevators. She found herself running the few steps to him and burying her head in his wide, firm chest. He seemed surprised to find her there. "Evan, thank you again. When I didn't know what was going on... Anyway, thanks for coming and being with him." "No problem," he said, gently unfolding her, with a certain reluctance, and leading her to a chair. He fumbled in his lab coat pocket, pulled out Mulder's ID, and handed it to her. "He's all checked in." She opened it, looked at his picture and closed her eyes. "They won't let me up to see him." She sounded so lost, so tired, like she was going to cry. "These things can be worked around," he told her, placing a hand on her shoulder, then thought for a moment before he began to speak. "Dana? Maybe this isn't the time, but there's something I really want to say." She placed Mulder's ID carefully in the inner pocket of her suit, next to her own, before turning to him. "What is it, Evan?" "I feel - I don't know - responsible." "For what?" "That Saturday night. I should have known something was wrong." "So should I," she said sadly. "But I was the expert on poisons. I should have seen the signs." He looked towards the ER bay where he had seen the results of those last few days. "All of this could have been avoided, if I had only noticed." Dana gazed at him wide-eyed. "If anyone's to blame, it's me. I saw and didn't make the connection. You had never met him." "But I was too busy looking -" he gazed shyly into her face, "-I was too busy looking at you and wishing he wasn't there." Dana bit her lip and patted him on the hand. "I know." And she did, too, he could see that, but she had been brave and hadn't run away. Most of the women he had known ran when they realized they could not return his affection. Dana, however, had been strong and offered her friendship and left it up to him whether he could accept it. "You're a good person, Dana Scully," he told her sincerely. The sound of Dr. Adams' voice, sounding more lively than she looked, caused them both to look up. "There, that's taken care of. I called upstairs and they've got him about settled in. They've just finished cleaning him up and plan to start dialysis within the hour." She smiled at Dana. "So, if you want to go up, you'd best go now." Dana started in her chair, both anxious and hopeful. Barbara Adams put her hand on Dana's arm. "I noticed the FBI has you listed as the person to contact in case of emergency. No family?" Dana looked up, surprised. She did not know he had done that. He never told her. Her heart warmed at the thought, but it made her sad, too. No family? "None to speak of." Barbara Adams had seem many such cases. The Washington area drew the landless, those without emotional ties, those who had burned their bridges or had them burned for them. "Thought so. I've put you down as family on the chart," she told Dana with understanding. "That way you can get in to see him anytime during visiting hours. If you're quiet and he stays quiet, more often. If at all possible, I'd also like you to talk to him about allowing the sedatives we discussed. I still think total sedation for a while would be best under the circumstances, but you're a doctor. Advise him as you think best." Dana took a card from her wallet which contained her office, home and cellular phone numbers. As she pressed it into Dr. Adams' palm she hoped the woman could see the gratitude in her eyes. As the dark-haired woman turned to leave, Dana remembered something else which she had been meaning to ask about. "Please, one more thing. I sent a sample of blood along with Agent Mulder for an HIV screen. Have the results come back, yet?" Arching an eyebrow, the resident checked the chart she held. This case was getting curiouser and curiouser. "We do those first thing. We screened both a sample from Agent Mulder and the sample which was sent with him, from an - Angela Larson." She smiled at Dana reassuringly. "Both negative." ===================================================================== ====== From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: The Abductee 17b/21 Date: 30 Jul 1995 12:50:51 -0400 The Abductee (17b/21), Chap 17 continued *** Evan walked her up to the Intensive Care Unit. He offered to come in with her, but Dana could see his reluctance. "I'll be fine. They won't let me stay long." The long room was very quiet except for the many-layered beeps from the monitors and the mechanically regular, bellows-like gasps of the ventilators. The light was dim, with a greenish cast from the instrument readouts. What always struck Dana as odd was the lack of any normal sound, no radio, no television, no voices. She was led about half way down the aisle of twenty or more beds. It was a large trauma center and what struck her at first was how much he looked at first like all the others moored in this unnatural harbor. But then she looked deeper and felt her legs begin to fail her. Accustomed to this, one of the staff slid a chair under her, but she barely noticed the gesture. As Evan had described, there were tubes. Dana was used to hospitals, but not like this, even with him. The fluid in the abdominal drainage tube was red. She knew most of the fluid was from the peritoneal lavage, but the color was due to the hemoglobin solution and the results of the internal bleeding, which, she was told, had been stopped. Knowing, however, did not calm the panicky fluttering of her heart. The tiny trickle of urine draining from his catheter was red as well. But, for all that, Mulder did look a little better. He had been washed, in fact his hair was still damp. Someone had shaved him so the endotracheal tube could be taped down securely. As for the ventilator, Dana hated those but knew that for Mulder, as exhausted as he was, they had no choice. At least he was not on total support. She could see from the setting that he was on eighty per cent oxygen and the ventilator was set to give each natural breath he took only a little extra push if it was too shallow. But he looked so vulnerable. The sight of him, lying unnaturally silent, with so many bandages on his arms, depressed her. Gently, she took one of his long hands in hers, being careful of the IV, and began to smooth the loose skin. She closed her eyes at the sight of the deep grey at the tips of his fingers. Dana had sat for only a few moments when she was surprised to feel a tiny movement in the hand she held. Then he began moving more generally, though the sunken, shadowed eyes stayed closed. In fact, they closed tighter, for he began to fight the ET tube in his throat. Even in his sleep, his face twisted in pain. "Mulder?" Dana asked anxiously. "Can you hear me, Mulder? It's Scully." A nurse heard her speaking and came quickly. Even though he was obviously very weak, she began tying the restraints they had already placed on his wrists to the bed rails to prevent him from pulling out the tubes and IVs. At the thought of Mulder being tied down, helpless, Dana's chest grew so tight she felt as if she could not draw a breath. She placed her hand on his brow, pleased to feel how soft his hair was again. "Mulder, if you can hear me, open your eyes? But don't try to talk, you won't be able to. They've got you on a ventilator." She felt the hand in hers tighten a little, and, gradually, he opened his eyes. At first just a crack and not for long. He blinked. His unfocused, glazed eyes traveled past her, searching quickly back and forth. His hand trembled in hers. "Shhh," she said soothingly. "Don't worry... try not to fight it. I'm here." The sound of her voice seemed to steady him. He focused on her for a moment, but his gaze slid away. He was beginning to shake. The nurse was obviously becoming concerned. So was Dana. She could see the panic in his eyes and the suffering. "Mulder, I know you're in a lot of pain. They can give you something. They can put you to sleep for a few days. You can get some rest, and then when you wake up the tubes will be gone and you'll feel much better. If that's what you want them to do, blink twice for me." His eyes focused, narrowed. He blinked once, only once. Dana sighed and closed her eyes. If that was what he wanted, so be it, but it would be hard on him and hard seeing him like this. Pain killers would help some, but he could spend a lot of time in pain and not be coherent enough to be able to tell anyone. He tried moving his head towards her, tried raising his hand, which she no longer held, to reach for hers. Suddenly, he grimaced, tensed as a spasm rippled through his body. His eyes clamped down tightly. Dana swiftly moved to put an arm around his shoulders, to stroke his hair. A tear was forced out from under his tightly closed lids. "It's okay, it's okay...." She held him in her arms, as best as she could with all the tubes and wires until the shudders passed. She could feel him quivering. With his face close to hers, he raised his eyes. Agony and apology were mirrored in their depths as their eyes met. Slowly, he blinked. Twice. At a slow, sad nod from Dana, the yellow-gowned nurse disappeared, then reappeared in a few moments and injected something into his IV line. In a matter of seconds, the lines of pain in his body and on his face smoothed. He stopped struggling. His eyes, which had never left her face, slowly closed. He relaxed into her arms and faded away into a deep and dreamless sleep. ===================================================================== ====== From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: The Abductee 18/21 Date: 30 Jul 1995 12:51:04 -0400 THE ABDUCTEE (18/21) by S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com) 7/29/95 This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Thanks guys, for creating this marvelous stuff. Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Copyright 1995 by S. Esty Chapter 18 Sunday 9am Washington Hospital Center Dana set her laptop up on the table beside Mulder's bed and tried to work on an update to Angela's case file. She had thought that with his condition upgraded from critical to guarded, she would be able to concentrate, but after an hour she had typed only two pages. Knowing what happened in that house with Angela would have helped, but Mulder had still not been able to tell her. Dana absently pushed back the wave of auburn hair that fell across her eyes and looked over at the bed, content just to look at him. She had been doing that regularly since they had moved him into his semi-private room. From the time of Dana's first visit to the ICU, he had been sedated regularly every eight hours. But the night before the doctors had decided to drop the medication regime down to nights only and let him wake up now that his blood work looked good and all other indicators were improving. The ventilator had been removed after two days, and at least for the morning, Dana had persuaded them to take out the nasogastric tube. The nursing staff always told family members that patients were not bothered by it, but having had one once, Data knew that was a lie. Besides, she had promised him he would wake up without the tubes. When writer's block had taken over for the sixth time, Dana pulled off her glasses to rub her eyes. Too little sleep for too long. When she glanced over at the bed she was greeted by two sleepy, hazel eyes which were calmly watching her. The sight of those eyes, so dark in the pale face lying against the white pillow, squeezed at her heart, reminding her of how close she had come to never seeing them again. "Nice to see you." She moved her chair closer to the bed. "How long have you been awake?" she asked, softly. He licked dry lips and made a noise in his throat, a look of discomfort passing over his face. She brought a cup of water and a straw down close. Awkwardly, he dropped his head to get his cracked lips around the straw, but paused without drinking any. Instead, he hesitated and lifted his eyes to her face. Dana did not understand. He must be thirsty. "What's wrong, Mulder? It's only water." That seemed to settle some question in his mind. After a few moments, she pulled the cup away, "Hey, that's enough." Mulder dropped his head back against the pillow and rolled his eyes. "Heard ... *that* before," he whispered in a raspy voice. "Excuse me?" Dana asked, baffled. She wondered if he was delirious or still too groggy to make sense. "Not...important," he dismissed lightly. Somehow, he managed a weak smile. "Watched... the sun on your hair." She looked over her shoulder and saw that, from where he lay, she would have been silhouetted against the bright morning light as she worked. Mulder did not say that he had awakened to the sight of her hair glowing about her head like a cloud, reminding him of the hair of the enticing mermaid he had shyly watched swimming above the coral reef. In the moment before he had become fully conscious, a thought had passed through him, body and soul both, that he had died and received his fondest wish. Dana was smiling. His words had warmed her. "How are you feeling?" He tried to raise his arms. Even the one not connected to the IV did not rise very far off the bed. He let them fall back wearily. "Won't be chasing... little grey men today," he breathed. His voice was clearer now but still very weak. He looked up over his right shoulder and focused on the blood slowly dripping into his IV line from yet another transfusion. "How low?" he asked glumly. Mulder hated needles. Dana was surprised that he remembered that much of what had happened to him and was sorry that he did. "Almost two quarts and your radiator was bone dry," she told him. "Mulder, you were running on fumes." She tucked the thin hospital blanket closer around his shoulders, if for no other reason than it gave her an excuse to touch him. As his circulation had improved, he had finally begun to feel warm again. "I've asked them to top you off. You take such rotten care of yourself, I suspect you're probably anemic most of the time. Having the proper number of red cells in your veins for once should be a unique experience." "And ruin my... graveyard complexion?" he asked in that weak and raspy voice. "True. I've had corpses that looked better than you." As pale and thin and bruised as his face had been when she found him, Dana had to admit, she had. "By the way, when did you eat last? Your blood sugar was non-existent." He focused inward and, though foggy on details, the memories of those last meals and their aftermath were all too painful. "What day?" he asked, slowly. "Today? Hm, Sunday, I think." In this place Dana had lost track of time, too. He frowned. That long? "Last Sunday... but didn't... stick around..." He pushed away the unpleasant memories, closed his eyes and looked as if he was going to fade out again. "Scully...?" he asked without opening his eyes. "Yeah, Mulder?" she answered, leaning close. "Thanks." "No problem, Mulder," she whispered, but he was already asleep. *** Monday 5pm Washington Hospital Center The next afternoon, Agent Scully had to make a court appearance that had been scheduled months before. When she returned she found him lying back against the raised head of his bed, eyes closed. Someone had brought in a supper tray and left it on his bed side table where he could reach it, but it had not been touched. "Hey, you awake?" she whispered in greeting. He opened his eyes to show that, at most, he had just been dozing. "I missed you," he told her, without raising his head. What he wanted to say was that something had tightened in the pit of his stomach when he woke after lunch and found that she was not there as she had always been before. But then he had found her note. It was under his pillow still. The moment of panic he experienced brought home how very much he did not want to be alone. Even now, he followed her with his eyes as she came to the side of his bed. "One of the members of this partnership has got to work." She lifted the lid on his supper plate. "Hmmm, yummm! The traditional liquid diet: tea, gelatin, apple juice, broth, and, yes, the ever popular, Cream of Wheat." "I don't think I can stomach Cream of Wheat today," he groaned. "Maybe not for the rest of my life." She looked over at him and was glad to see that he was definitely more awake and his movements did not seem so weak, but he still had a long way to go. "You should eat. Let me rephrase that. It is imperative that you eat. And drink. They won't let you out of here until everything works." Automatically, he looked down towards his groin. Dana expected him to say "Everything?" and slyly ask for her help checking out that certain bodily functions did, indeed, work. Instead a shadow flickered across his face and he let the opportunity pass, which raised a red flag in Dana's mind. He turned his attention back to the tray, stating simply, "I don't think my stomach's up to this." "Would you rather they use the tube?" He touched a sore spot by his right nostril and his throat did feel like someone had gotten to it with Number Three grade sandpaper. "Love your bedside manner, Scully. Very well, hand me the tea." "I warn you, it's cold." "That's all right. So is most of the coffee I drink. I'm going to try to pretend it's coffee." His hands wrapped carefully around the cup, shaking only slightly. "I hope you have a good imagination." Dana thought. She had given him the perfect straight line. Mentally, she stood back, watching to see if he would take advantage of it. He took a sip and grimaced. "Arg, even my imagination is not that good." Still, he continued to drink the tea, wincing a little as it went down. Dana worried, but warned herself not to make more out of it than she should. The silence stretched between them. They had not talked yet about what had happened. Because of some of the pain killers he was taking, he had not been completely coherent before. "Scully," he asked now, hesitantly, "how's Angela?" Dana searched his face, trying to determine what Angela had meant to him. "Angela's dead," she told him simply. He did not seem surprised. "She tried slitting her wrists, but didn't do a very good job. In the end, she cut her throat. That's hard to do. She must have been insane." "Or desperate," he commented, sadly. Dana gave him a look of concern and continued. "The case has been classified as a suicide and an *attempted* homicide." "No," he protested. With a groan he tried sitting up more on his own. "It wasn't like that. Not the way you think." Dana pushed him down firmly. This was why she had agreed to their keeping him sedated so long. "Mulder, behave and be still or they'll make me leave." Only while her hand remained against his chest would he lay back against the bed. His eyes had that gleam in them. "Scully, Angela ever intended to kill me, or to harm herself either. She was terrified, terrified of the 'others'." The way he said 'others' spoke volumes to Dana and frightened her. 'Others' in this usage obviously did not refer to gang members or secret government agency goons. His eyes took on a distant, stricken, out of focus look. "Scully, she screamed for me to help her and I ... couldn't. I couldn't... move." Dana shut her eyes. She toook his jaw in her hand and turned his face and his attention to her. "Hey, no guilt trips this time, Mulder. She nearly killed you, and they found the razor near her right hand. It had her finger prints on it. Only hers." "They came for her, Scully," he told her intently, confident she would know what he meant. "'They', Mulder?" she asked in her normal, suspicious tone. "You know who I mean. And I saw them, at the end, at least I think I did, but they must have been the evil twins of those who took Max Fennig... and Sam." Fox rubbed his arms distractedly, awkwardly because of the IV in his left hand, remembering the cold and the creeping, insidious torture of the vibrations. "This was different...awful." His breath was coming in short pants. His expression turned inward as he tried to remember, but then realized that he did not want to remember. His face suddenly lost its brightness. "She tried to tell me," he said unhappily, "and I wouldn't believe her. She was so afraid. She thought her blood ritual would protect her. She was just trying to escape..." He laid his head back against the pillows. "And I guess she did... the only way left to her." He was quiet for a long moment and then the old light rekindled a little behind his eyes. "Scully, the house... You found me there... you must have seen it - " "Mulder..." "- we'll need to get a team out there -" "Mulder..." Dana put a hand on each of his shoulders and forced him to look into her eyes. He was getting too agitated. He did not have the strength for this. "What, Scully?" he asked absently, his mind racing elsewhere. "Mulder, the house is gone." That got his attention and he looked at that moment like a little boy who has been told that his dog has died, not knowing immediately what that meant, but knowing it was something he was not going to like. "Gone?" he asked, in a rough, plaintive tone. "Scully, why didn't you stop them. The harmonic residue, the electromagnetic aberrations, we would have found -" "Why didn't I what?" she asked incredulously. "Because you fool, I was here!" His lower lip came out in a sort of guilty pout at that. "Anyway, the house was barely standing when I arrived. I'm told it came down during the thunderstorm, within minutes after we left. In addition to the items and pictures the patrolman took while I was there, Skinner sent in an evidence retrieval team, but they don't look for the sort of traces we would look for. Before anyone could object, the county housing inspectors had the site condemned and leveled. I didn't even know they'd been contacted. The District certainly wouldn't have been able to complete an evaluation and make arrangements so quickly, but I guess things happen more quickly in a small county like that. I'm sorry, Mulder, but it's gone." His shoulders slumped mirroring his disappointment, but then he looked up hopefully into her eyes. "But you saw -" Dana shut her eyes. She had prepared for this, but that did not mean she had to like it. "I saw an old house, Mulder. In terrible condition. It must have been damaged in a storm, a tornado for all I know." Mulder gave a painful, harsh laugh almost like a bark. "Yeah, a tornado." She looked at him quizzically, and found he had closed her out. He sat with arms tightly crossed across his chest, the left hand, the one with the IV, carefully supported. She let him sulk for a minute and then gently pushed the bedside table with its ignored dinner tray towards him. She lifted up a spoonful of jello. "Mulder... you have to eat." His hand flew out, violently batting the spoon so that it and green gel went flying. Both heard the utensil clattering against the opposite wall a second later. Dana was shocked. He glared at her and there was a lot of hurt in his eyes. "I get so tired, sometimes... of your doubts." He might have gone further, but dared not risk it. Maybe he felt the tears too close. Except during his worst nightmares, Mulder seldom cried, at least, not in front of her. On the bad cases he used humor, bad humor, pretty sad, sick jokes, but humor. On the god-awfullest cases that got too close, he would be as cold as stone, badly covering his feelings, when he needed to, with arrogance and anger. Like now. Scully blamed his loss of control on what he had been through. His emotions were too much on the surface, but the feelings themselves, she knew, were true and not new. It must hurt him to be doubted constantly, especially by her. Dana lapsed into a silence of her own. She knew the initial condition of the house had not been caused by any typical storm. The damage had been too recent and she had checked with the weather bureau; no storms severe enough to cause such damage had been reported in that area for the previous week. The storm front that had come through on Wednesday morning only completed the job, like knocking down a house of cards. She ought to tell him so. She ought to try and not be so much the Doubting Thomas. Sometimes, she admitted that she had to stretch. At those times her explanation *against* some suggestively paranormal incident could be as wild and implausible as Mulder's argument *for* it. But to agree with him now would only bring back the pain of his being paralyzed in the face of *them* again, of his being unable to help. Time to change the subject, Dana decided. She went to her brief case and returned to the chair beside the bed, trying to meet his eyes. "Mulder, these were found in the house." She extended her hand towards him. "I guess you dropped them. I thought you'd want them back." She held out two letters, their surfaces even more bedraggled and soiled than when Angela had first shown them to him. Mulder's reaction was the exact opposite of what Dana had expected. His body and expression went still, tense, except for a very few wrinkles of distaste that deepened the worry lines in his face. A storm was raging somewhere deep inside that rigid posture, but he made no attempt to take the letters from her. "Mulder, there's something wrong," Dana said watching him. "No sexy, sick jokes. A tantrum? And what are the significance of these?" she asked, holding up the envelopes. Dana had not seen Mulder carry anything that looked like a memento before, except for Samantha's picture. "Mulder, what's wrong. What happened with Angela?" He shifted uncomfortably in the bed. "You don't want to know." From experience with Mulder, Dana knew they should discuss this, but she also knew that she could not make him talk. The envelopes were still in her hand. "Until you're ready to talk about it, I'll keep them for you." She looked at them casually, trying to draw him out and diffuse their effect on him. "One's addressed to your mother and the other -" the address side of the second had become stuck to the back of the first, probably with a spot of dried blood. Now, without thinking, she pulled and both heard a distinct 'snap' as they came apart. "No!" he cried, and his hand leapt out to snatch them out of her hand. He swore in pain then for, as he reached, he cruelly pulled the IV line. And he still had not been quick enough to prevent her from seeing the second address. Dana's stomach dropped as a wave of jealousy struck her so unexpectedly that she thought she was going to be sick. Phoebe Greene... Dana saw again the tall, dark, sexy woman... laughing so haughtily behind her back... kissing Mulder... him kissing her... their dancing. But Dana also looked again at the letters now crumpled in his hand. They were obviously years old. She tried, but she could not hide her bewilderment and hurt from his watchful eyes. Angrily, he tore the letters in two. He would have given his soul for Dana not to have seen that one from Phoebe, not to see that expression of desolation on her face. At least it was obvious that she had not read it, but then Mulder never seriously thought she would. "Angela had these since the original investigation." The outrage he felt was clear enough from his strained voice and the way he held the envelopes up for her to see. With a curt movement, he slid the pieces under his tray. "I thought she had mailed them for me, but she never did." The eyes he raised to hers reflected no light and he breathed too deeply and too quickly, as if starving for air. "Scully, you have no idea what she did." "Phoebe?" That was who Dana assumed he meant. Her name was suddenly hard to pronounce. "Mulder, I know," Dana said, with as much sympathy as she could. Dark fire raged behind his eyes. "How?" But, before she could answer, continued, "She had no right!" Scully could feel her own soul quaking. If *she* felt invaded just looking at him, if her private world felt sullied, how must he feel? "I don't know the details, but I agree, Mulder, she had no right. It was a confidence which she shouldn't have shared." He had closed himself off from her, hurt showing in every line of his huddled body. "Would it help if I got rid of them for you?" she asked gently. Do you want me to burn them? I will if you want." When he made no response she took that as a 'yes' and moved to reach for the pieces, but he threw her a venomous glance. "All right." She backed away, at a loss to know where to go from here. "Mulder, I'm trying to help you. If I can't help you, who can?" Still the stony silence. "You were poisoned and kidnapped. You nearly died from what Angela did. You need to talk." Still silence and a huddled figure with his good arm tightly hugging his chest. The one with the IV lay more stiffly in his lap, as if it hurt him. There was a spot of blood on the tape that held the needle in place. "Don't give me the silent treatment. I won't let you bury yourself. Mulder, I'm not other women. I'm Scully, who would never, ever hurt you. Don't you trust me even enough to let me burn a letter for you?" Phoebe had told, Phoebe had betrayed him, and what she had revealed, Angela had used against him. Dana had no doubt of that now. That was what was eating at him, not the letter, but what it represented. He had turned on his side. Now he faced into his pillow, his face awash in bitterness. "Please, leave me alone. Just go. Maybe have dinner with that beach boy." Dana's eyes blazed, only a part of her mind took the time to wonder "That's unfair, Mulder and when you have a chance to think about it, I hope you'll agree with me, because I expect an apology." She stomped over to his bedside, grabbed his protesting left hand and began ripping off the tape that held down the IV. He groaned and she realized in her own anger she was being more rough than she had intended. She needed to see what damage he had done to himself when he had pulled the IV line. He hissed and flinched as she touched the angry red spot. "Now you've gone and done it. We'll have to start another." She turned off the IV and he gasped as she pulled the needle out. One look at it and he turned more pale yet. She started a new one in the vein above his left wrist. Dana was surprised Angela had left that patch of skin intact. The day before, Dr. Scully had presented her credentials and had had a talk with the senior ward nurse. The hospital agreed to supply Mulder's room with enough of the essentials so that Dana could see to these little chores herself. During the last thirty-six hours, even half out of his head on pain killers, Agent Mulder had not endeared himself to the nursing staff. As she taped down the new IV, Dana said in a low, warning voice. "Mulder we need to talk. I'll wait, but please, don't pull the silent treatment on me. Don't try to distract me again. Remember, I've seen all your tricks." Damn him. He was as dear to her as any person living and he was closing in, pushing her away. Frustrated, Dana hurled the tape and scissors into the supply box. Then she threw her purse strap over her shoulder, her coat over her arm and picked up her brief case. At the doorway to his room, Dana turned back. Seeing the hunched, despairing figure was like ice water on her anger. Her heart started beating again. She wanted so much to reach out to him, to take him in her arms, but she could also see that at the moment, he did not want to be touched. But who else did he have but her? Carefully, she pulled a slim, red book from her brief case and laid it beside his tray. "Here's something else you forgot," she said quietly, adding in her old, softly chiding voice, "and remember, try to eat." She left the room without looking back again. Mulder lay with his eyes shut and would not watch Scully leave. a part of him screamed. But he knew her too well, as she knew him. She would not let him be and he needed for her to let it go, to let him go, at least for now. He pressed his good hand against his pounding head. She knew him well, but not everything. It would scare her if she knew the pictures in this head were back. Oh, she knew about his marvelous memory, his marvelous curse. He hoped she had forgotten that there were times he could not stop the pictures. Those damn letters.... Phoebe. Now she was back in his head again. Why did she keep coming back to ruin his life? Why couldn't she just stay away? He had almost rid himself of her, buried her so deeply he thought she could no longer taunt him again with promises of happiness which were always withheld. But then she came back in the flesh.... When was that? Just a few months ago, slick and playful, toying and coy and beguiling, just as she knew he was never able to resist her. And then under Angela's spell she had come to him again as the perfect, erotically exciting creature he had always dreamed she would be if she had ever really loved him. So now she was not just in his head but in his body, too. And it was agonizing, because it was all a lie. He closed his eyes and saw her face within inches of his own as they danced just before he kissed her, long and romantically, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind who saw them, where that kiss was leading. He shuddered, cringing at the vision he could not dispel, the memory of the warmth in his groin he had begun to feel. And all the while, he had known Scully was coming and he had kissed Phoebe, who had the morals of an alley cat, in front of Scully, who was loyal, whose smile sent a warm shiver down his back. He had let himself be tortured by the thought he might lose Phoebe, and all the while he hardly noticed that Scully was even in the room. Scully, who was always there for him, concerned, professional, always accepting. And when he had caught Phoebe wrapped in an embrace with the husband of the family she was honor bound to protect, how his world had come crashing down. All in a moment he had realized that he was, again, just a diversion for her pleasure, a challenge for her driving intellect, a tasty dessert, a toy to toss aside, broken and bleeding, when she was tired of it. He turned over onto his back in the bed and pressed the fingers of his right hand against his aching eyeballs. Ironic, that after what he had done with Angela, a client he too was sworn to protect, that he should throw stones at Phoebe. Phoebe had somewhere learned deceit and she had hunted him fully aware of what she was doing. He had gone to Angela, completely unknowing, completely innocent, drugged to the gills. he admitted, grieving, not entirely innocent. He had thought he had lost Scully to Evan and in his loneliness he had responded to Angela's flirting. He had wanted someone, anyone, if only to remove for a little while the loneliness. And all the while Dana had probably been walking through hell to get him back and, for that, he could not forgive himself. At least Dana did not know what he had done with Angela. He couldn't bear it if she knew. He opened his eyes. He should eat. Dana wanted him to. He did little enough for her. Then he saw the red book she had placed next to his tray. *** When Dana returned an hour later, it was to find him asleep. She smiled gently, seeing that he had eaten all of his supper but the hated Cream of Wheat. He had managed with just his fork, and then had fallen asleep, with the copy of Blake's poetry open on his chest. He had hurt her, but she had not gone far and not for long, for she knew his hurt ran deeper than hers. He was confused. From his childhood he had a long history of abuse. Dana had figured that out in the first four months of their working together. And like so many of its victims, he probably thought that somehow he deserved to be hurt. He had the classic symptoms, but that did not make it easier to see him suffer, trapped within its web of circular logic and lonely dead ends. She brushed her fingers across his forehead. He did not even stir. Only then did she notice the tracks of dried tears which, being unable to get out of bed unaided, he had not been able to wash off. She sighed and resigned herself to learning to deal with his temper and his moods, because she intended to live with them for a long time. ===================================================================== ====== From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: The Abductee 19/21 Date: 30 Jul 1995 12:51:18 -0400 THE ABDUCTEE (19/21) by S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com) 7/29/95 This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Thanks guys, for creating this marvelous stuff. Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Copyright 1995 by S. Esty Chapter 19 Tuesday 7am Washington DC Scully was awakened at seven in the morning by the ringing of her phone. Blearily, she made a grab for it, missed and tried again. Mulder's voice reached out to her, but it was not his normal, wise-cracking voice; not the sleepy, half-drugged voice she had heard the last few days, either. This voice was soft, penitent, apologetic. "Scully?" "Anything wrong, Mulder? It's not even seven o'clock." "They start pretty early here, Scully." "I don't." His breathing was more labored than she had heard it for days and she began to feel a little concerned. He had not called the night before either. He had taken to calling just before the strong sedative they gave him each night totally kicked in. She knew why he did it. Though he understood they were for his own good and had agreed to take them, he hated the drugs and the fear of losing control. But he had not called and she had felt so lonely, lying in bed, waiting for him. "Mulder, there must be a problem." "Scully... I need a favor." She could hear a long, slow intake of breath from his side. It must be some favor. "Someone stole my clothes." "Say again, Mulder? I don't think I heard that." That sigh. She could see him fidgeting on the phone, moving it from ear to ear. "The warden and her deputy decided I needed to get up and start walking today, but the clothes you brought in have disappeared." "Had to settle for the hospital gown, eh, Mulder?" Mulder hated those. They were always too short, and he hated the air conditioning. Personally, Scully enjoyed the view. "Gown *and* a sheet," he corrected with exaggerated dignity. Dana had to pinch herself to keep from giggling. The image of Mulder, walking unsteadily down the hall, dressed in a hospital- supplied toga was something Dana wished she had seen. "Did the Julius Caesar thing, eh?" "It was either that or moon the nurses." "They wouldn't have minded, you know." "Scully...." Dana could almost see him blush. She had never been able to get it through that thick head of his, that he was actually attractive. "All right, what's the favor, as if I didn't know?" "Would you mind stopping by my place and bringing me another set before you go to work?" "Sure, Mulder. Anything else?" "Maybe you'd better bring two sets." "Okay, Mulder." "And some coffee from the Tenth Street Deli..." "Only if it's decaf. Dr. Adams says no caffeine for at least another week." "All right," he sighed. "Scully," he added softly, just before he hung up, "I'm sorry about yesterday." She heard him take a deep breath for courage. This must be hard for him. "Scully, I was out of bounds. I should be grateful. I *am* grateful, more than you'll ever know. I could have died and the afterlife is not a place I look forward to visiting." His sudden apology struck an responsive chord in Dana. She had not expected to hear such words from him, not ever, certainly not at seven o'clock in the morning. He must have had some night of soul searching. "You *were* a beast, Mulder," she agreed, "but no one would put up with you just for the thanks." Dana allowed herself to lean back in bed and smile. She wondered how long it would take him to puzzle out the meaning behind her last comment. That man would drive her mad yet. He was either absolutely infuriating, or absolutely endearing. Using that continuum, she had a feeling that today was going to be a good day. *** Tuesday 9am Washington Hospital Center Dr. Barbara Adams was in Mulder's hospital room when Dana walked in carrying his Washington Bullets gym bag. The patient was sitting on the edge of his bed, in a typical hospital gown, with the top sheet from his bed pulled over his shoulder and draped to provide additional coverage from the waist down. He gave Dana an awkward smile as she walked in and Adams nodded in greeting. "To summarize for you both... I've scheduled another set of kidney function tests for later today... And don't give me that look, Agent Mulder. If the results fall in the normal range this time, we'll talk to your HMO about when we can let you out." Adams laid on him her sternest expression. "The staff will *not* be disappointed to see you go. You seem to enjoy making their lives difficult. They are only trying to do their job. I don't see why the staff at GW keeps putting up with you." On his face was an expression of injured innocence. "We've become accustomed to one other." "Hmmm." She closed the chart. "I heard you had a good first 'run' in the hall this morning, though your attire was unusual. We were willing to lend you some scrubs, which you would have known if you had bothered to listen to the physical therapist when she visited you yesterday. Do what you can today, but I don't want to hear that you're tiring yourself out. The staff will have my butt if you faint and injure something and they have to endure the pleasure of your company any longer than necessary. Do I make myself clear?" He nodded, numbly, thoroughly chastised. "Good. I'll see you later today, after the tests results come in." Turning to go, Adams stepped towards Dana, who was pulling grey sweat pants and a burgundy Ohio State sweat shirt out of the gym bag. The physician's reproving expression vanished. She said to Dana with a wink, in a voice too low for Mulder to hear. "Though he still has to get his strength back and put on some weight, Agent Mulder is looking very good." Dana thought with a returning smile. When the dark-haired woman was gone, Mulder asked suspiciously, "What was that all about?" though when women put their heads together like that he knew they were always talking about men. Ignoring the question, Dana tossed the bundle to Mulder, who hugged them to his chest. "Old ones show up yet?" "Not yet." Dana put the spare pair in the small clothes closet as Mulder flipped back the sheet and began unrolling the pants. "Whoever invented hospital gowns certainly went out of their way to make a garment capable of humiliating a man within an inch of his life." "They weren't designed with the patient's convenience in mind, Mulder, but for the doctor's." And this was one doctor, Dana thought, who was going to take advantage of the opportunity as she overtly appraised the curve of one long thigh and one firm buttock as he slid out of the bed. As though he was noticing her for the first time, Mulder cocked his head in her direction. "Scully, would you mind?" He had his pants in his hands and obviously wanted to dress. Dana turned around reluctantly. "I've seen you in far less, Mulder." "Not today," she heard him say. "I wouldn't want to spoil your breakfast." When sufficient time had passed, even for Mulder, unsteady as he was, to get his pants pulled up, Dana turned around but her smile was gone. She was accustomed to his little jokes, but this last one was pointedly more self-deprecating than usual. Seeing him stripped to the waist and standing for the first time since Key West, watching him stretch and enjoy the glorious freedom of finally being released from the restricting IV, Dana was appalled by the number of ribs she could count and how low the pants rode on his prominent hip bones. Mulder did not seem to notice her concern, however, as he pulled the sweat shirt carefully down over his head, and crawled back into bed. He still performed every action slowly, with concentrated deliberation, but his flexibility and strength were improving. Dana thought, "What's wrong with your neck," she asked, noticing a dark mark under his jaw. Mulder's hand went up to touch the spot. He shrugged. "Tried to shave myself. Guess my hands were a little shaky." Dana came over and, taking his chin in her hand, tilted back his head to see the cut. Touching him, and being able to observe the long slim neck so close, made her stomach flutter. "Here, I'll get it." She wet some tissues from his water bottle and started dabbing at the dried spot. "Better shut your eyes," she said. "You know you get queazy at the sight of your own blood." Stoically, he submitted to her ministrations. "I think Angela cured me of that. Besides, from what you tell me, there's not much of mine there anyway." Dana smiled and looked at the blood stained tissues critically. "Hmm, think you're right, Mulder. I see Rockville housewife, Beltway bandit, accountant - " Mulder groaned. "- high school wrestler - " "Always wanted to be one of those." "- Woops, and CIA. Feeling spookier than usual?" "Not as spooky as yesterday, I hope," and tone of his voice communicated his apology again. Dana patted him on the shoulder companionably. "Me, too. But this doesn't mean I've forgotten about our little talk. When you're ready, I'm here." Slowly, he nodded. He was wary. Yes, Dana could see it was all still there, like a wild current under still waters. She picked up her lap top. "Ok, if I hang around here today?" she asked. His eyes brightened. "That's fine. I'd appreciate the company and I could use someone to help run interference with the Warden. She keeps bugging me to measure my intake and my - ah - output." Dana could not believe he was still giving the poor woman grief." I talked to you about this yesterday and Adams just did as well. It's necessary to determine how well your plumbing is functioning. You want to get out of here, don't you, Mulder?" Mulder turned to look at her lovely face, lined with too much weariness. Her concern for him was like a cool breeze on a hot and muggy summer day and for some unexplainable reason made him short of breath. "As soon as I can." "Then behave. And my staying is not just to keep you company. You're a big boy and the HMO is shelling out lots for these doctors and nurses to keep you company, at least the kind of company you need. I'm staying because, if you remember, the D.A.'s office is coming down this afternoon for your debriefing." She cocked a knowing eyebrow in his direction and there was a sympathetic smile on her lips. He must be feeling that an awful lot of people were ganging up on him. "I thought I'd stick around. Watch your back. Those guys can play rough and you did lose their witness for them." Mulder sighed and settled back on the bed, suddenly tired. This was a meeting he was not looking forward to. Before starting work, Dana wandered to look at the notes on the flowers by the window. Mulder opened a get well card. He must have been in the process of doing that when Dr. Adams made her rounds. Dana was glad to see he had a small, but respectable, pile. She knew he had not felt up to the task before. The office support staff, nearly all women, who never gave up hoping for a little more attention from this, for Washington, rare, unattached, heterosexual male, had sent him a spray of red roses. A strikingly ugly pot of fake black-eyed-susan's reportedly came from the Lone Gunman. Examining the latter closely, Dana noticed the pot did not have a florist's tag. "Frohike came by?" she asked. She did not even need to inquire about the other two Lone Gunmen. She had never seen them above ground. "Ah, yes -" Mulder said absently making a show of scrutinizing a seemingly ordinary card, far beyond its obvious importance. Pointedly, she remarked, "I'm surprised he didn't check to see if I was here first." Frohike took positive delight in leering at her. Mulder did not reply, and Dana found his silence telling. she concluded, and filed that fact away for future reference. Turning from Frohike's gift, Dana noticed that one card had been propped up all alone on the window sill where he could see it. The card was simple, very generic. "Hope you get well soon," it said. No note. But it was the signature that squeezed Dana's heart, made her want to scream. Mom. No note, no mention of old Pop. Pretty sorry excuse for a family. Neither his mother nor his father ever, ever sent him a letter, except on a horrific occasion like this, or gave him a call or asked him home for the holidays. Though his mother had seemed nice enough when Dana visited her in Massachusetts, had even seemed proud of her son, she still treated him like a stranger, observing his accomplishments from afar. Why she did this still made no sense to Dana, but she did know it hurt him terribly. "Scully, look!" She turned to see his excited, smiling face. He held out a box to her which he had just unwrapped. She looked and saw the box contained a large quantity of small, oval, chocolate-covered *things* about the size of those gourmet jelly beans. She had thought at first they were chocolate covered raisins, but they were too flat and regular in shape. She took one gingerly, noticing he was happily swishing one around in his mouth. "Ugh, what are they?" "Chocolate covered sunflower seeds. From your Mom. I guess she figured I needed the calories." Dana thought. Her mother did have a friend who was a confectioner. "But how do you eat them?" "Put them in your mouth, suck off all the chocolate, split the seed, and then spit out the shell." He demonstrated. Dana gave him a withering look if only for effect. "Ohh, gross, Mulder." He was delighted. He was reaching for another when she gave him her best the-doctor-is-not-pleased look. "I'd go easy on those for a while unless you want a tummy ache on top of all your other troubles." "Scully...." Mulder whined. "Later." Dana took the box and put it on the furthest corner of the window sill. "Your siblings ever tell you, you were a kill-joy?" he asked with mock irritation. "All the time," Dana answered, with a smile. Someone knocked on the room's open door. "Hey, can anyone join this party?" Dana and Mulder looked up simultaneously to see Evan Byers, a bouquet of mixed flowers in his hand. He smiled at Dana and then gave the patient a careful, clinical appraisal. Mulder's contented smile dimmed. Dana felt the chill in the room and looked uncomfortably from Evan, tall, solidly built and blond, standing in the doorway, to her dark and decidedly more than lean partner, sitting upright and wary in the white bed. Mulder's coldness now, combined with his bitterly sarcastic comment about Evan and she the day before, suddenly began to make sense and Dana had a sudden realization. Mulder was jealous of Evan! Incredible. This certainly was a start. Of course, his irritation could spring from a source which was purely professional. He might just be afraid that Evan was going to try to wisk his partner away to the FDA. "I won't stay," Evan said hastily. "I was just in the building and I wanted to see how you were doing. You look a lot better than you did the last time I saw you." "Last time?" Mulder asked, suspiciously. Bad enough for the doctors and nurses to see. Bad enough for Scully. But Evan? Then Mulder blinked. Something familiar about the expression on Evan's face... A memory began to form, a memory of being cold and in terrible pain and he had been trying to find her... and there was this face looking down at him, concerned and a little embarrassed. "Wait... You were in the emergency room..." Accusingly, Dana shot Evan a perturbed glance. "I thought you said he didn't regain consciousness?" It was Evan's turn to look uneasy. "Sorry, Dana. He didn't... well, not really." Mulder was not any happier about seeing Scully so distressed and could not believe he was going to back up Evan on this. "Evan's right. It was only for a second. I remember wanting to find you." In Evan's direction he added, "He told me you were coming. At the time that was something I needed to hear." Dana continued to glare. She found it annoying when men did not tell her things, but inwardly she had to smile, for at least these two had finally found themselves on the same side. Figuring this was as good as things were going to get, Evan sided back towards the door. "Well, just stopped in. Dana, by the way, my supervisors loved the case report. We think we're going to be able to close a lot of these illegal manufacturing operations." "Glad to hear it," Dana told him and though she knew Mulder would be annoyed, she gave Evan a big hug before he could get away. Her arms were only able to wrap part way around the big man's broad chest. She could feel a Mulder stare, boring into her back. Well, Mulder was going to have to accept that he was not her only friend and some of her *other* friends might just happen to be male. "Thanks for everything," she said to Evan. "Thanks for holding my hand." "No problem." Feeling left out and more than a little jealous, Mulder raised an eyebrow as Evan turned to leave. "Hey, aren't those flowers for me?" Evan looked back at the two of them a little haughtily. "Not on your life - excuse the expression. I have a date." Dana spun and gave her new friend a wondering look. "Dr. Barbara Adams," he whispered confidentially. "Oh, by the way, she gave me this for you." He reached into his pocket and handed Dana a slip of paper. As she scanned it, he added, "It was just handed to her and she knew you'd want to know. Wish they had just given it to me to start with. I would have delivered it sooner." Dana's demeanor changed. Mulder knew her very well and knew she had just gotten some news. Good or bad he wasn't sure, but she seemed relieved to receive it. He watched intently as she folded the paper, put it in her pocket and went up on tip toe to give Evan a quick peck on the cheek. Mulder was curious about the note and green about the kiss, but decided to trust her to tell him when she was ready. "Thanks, this means a lot to me," Scully told the big man. "Thought it would, " he replied. "Well, I want to wish you two the best of luck." "Evan," Dana protested, and hoped she wasn't blushing. "Mulder and I are just partners." Evan looked over at Mulder and saw a rather blank expression in the hazel eyes. "Yeah, and digital watches were a pretty good idea." When he was gone, Mulder gave Scully a quizzical look trying to understand what the last bit was all about. Dana could see Mulder was rapidly trying to revise his opinion about Evan and probably failing miserably. One thing for certain though, his conscience was stinging as he remembered his biting comment concerning Evan and her the day before. "Gee, Scully," he said conversationally, as he turned back to his mail, "Evan seems like a pretty nice guy. You two have a good time while I was gone?" Scully threw a paper cup at him. If she read that foxy smile on Mulder's face correctly, he had just delivered the apology she had demanded. From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: The Abductee 20/21 Date: 30 Jul 1995 12:51:19 -0400 THE ABDUCTEE (20/21) by S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com) 7/29/95 This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Thanks guys, for creating this marvelous stuff. Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Copyright 1995 by S. Esty Chapter 20 Tuesday 10:30am Washington Hospital Center With visitors all gone and lab tests a least an hour down the road, Mulder opened another card while Scully started work. "Whoops, almost forgot," he said absently and used the remote to flick on the TV. Dana found herself being distracted by the show. "Cartoons, Mulder?" "Shhh... Not just cartoons, Spielberg cartoons." Fox was concentrating with bright, wide eyes. Dana focused on the tallest of the three main characters, whose manic, irreverent attitude and smart mouth seemed vaguely familiar. "The writing's clever," she noted when the cartoon was over and he had switched the TV off. "Where do you think I get my material?" he asked with a grin, turning back to his mail. "Maybe their writers bug your office." At that he laughed, a sweet sound Dana realized she had not heard for a long time. They worked quietly for some minutes. Dana heard Mulder chuckle. He held up a card, a homemade one this time. "Listen to this," he announced. "'Roses are red, violets are blue, get back on the streets, you old gum-shoe you.'" Dana groaned, even while she finished typing the sentence she had started. "Not very imaginative." "It's from the gang in Benefits. They *aren't* very imaginative. They want me out of here and not spending the health plan's money." He held up another envelope, which was a little thicker than the others. It crackled. "From the guys in Violent Crimes." His good mood faded a little. A shadow passed over his face. Dana's expression showed a sudden, deep suspicion of this particular package, and she moved to get within reach of the envelope. When she was, she whipped it out of his hand. In addition to the card, she could feel a flat object inside which she instinctively identified. Suddenly, Mulder plucked the envelope out of her hands, a crafty grin on his face. "Hey, my card." He leaned back in the bed, grinning. "Moved faster than you thought I could, eh?" Dana took a deep breath. She was feeling very, very apprehensive about this. "Mulder, I don't think you should open that." "Why," he asked. He had read her expression and knew the guys in Violent Crimes too well. He expected something bad, something in bad taste, but not as bad as what he got. The card was crude as expected, but it was the handwritten message that made him frown. "Just a little something for you to take along the next time you have to 'protect' someone." Slowly turning over the envelope, a small packet fell out. He picked it up, stunned, and held it up for Dana to see. "And what the hell is this supposed to mean?" Dana shifted her weight uneasily. "Probably, nothing... You know that crowd. They like to bug you." But she knew differently. She could feel the storm clouds gathering. This was going to be the big one. "Scully..." he began and now he was frowning. "What do *you* know?" She swallowed. "Probably everything." His eyes narrowed. She continued. "I know Angela visited your mom and asked about Samantha, that Angela talked to Phoebe." He held up his new 'gift' and there was a deep wound there. "Someone knows more." It was probably Dana's expression that gave her away, the aura of pain and sadness she had carried for so many days. This was his nightmare come home. All of the color drained from his face. "You've known all along? Yesterday, you let me think -" His eyes were dark under glowering brows. Swinging his legs awkwardly over the side of the bed, he hurled the small plastic packet as hard as he could against the opposite wall of the room, but it made a very unsatisfactory sound compared to the spoon the day before. The voice in his head was one he heard only in his nightmares of the times after Samantha, when he and his father were alone in the house. "The VC crowd-" His face showed a cold, sarcastic anger which Dana had seen him use before on those he truly despised, but never had he turned it on her before. "-are they guessing or do they know, too?" He could not have hurt her more if he had slapped her. "What are you accusing me of, Mulder? Do you think I would have told them before talking with you first. Damn you! I don't make a habit of snooping around in trash cans under your vomit, Mulder. The evidence retrieval guys found it." He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. "God, the whole Bureau knows!" "Does it matter?" she asked with sarcasm cruel enough to match his. "Just another chapter to add to your colorful reputation, Mulder." Dana regretted the words as soon as they were out. She found she did not want to look at the stricken face suddenly turned towards her. "Damnit, Mulder, you make me so angry. I don't deserve to be treated this way. Oh, hell..." His expression was like stone, his lips a thin, hard line. "Yeah, I'm a joke." He lurched suddenly to unsteady feet and grabbing the walker which was standing beside the bed, headed out of the room more quickly than she thought he was capable. But he leaned heavily on the support and his balance was poor at best. Dana could only stand in shocked immobility, feeling his trust in her, her whole world, crumbling around her, her hopes and dreams a million miles away. She forced herself to move, to look beyond the dark, bleak wall which had sprung up around her, to walk to the doorway and look down that hall. Painfully, she watched a very thin, very lonely, very devastated man moving with heart-wrenching, unsure steps away from her, high thick walls gradually forming around him as well. She found her voice, though it was much strained. "Mulder, where do you think you're going?" She followed him. Two rooms down was a waiting area which led out onto a small balcony. He headed directly for that, thrusting the walker away when it refused to fit through the door quickly. Bursting through the door, onto the porch, he staggered three steps unaided to stand gasping and white knuckled at the railing. Dana crept up to him, her anger dissipating as she looked at his grieving face, staring hopelessly into the grey November sky. There was a lot more going on here than feelings over a mere sexual act, she could see that. Too much had suddenly come crashing home. She stood next to him, doubting that whatever she said would get through, but hoping her closeness and the tone of her voice would comfort him. "Mulder, you can't stay here. You're barefoot. You'll catch your death." He stared, squinting towards the grey horizon. "Couldn't breathe. I just needed to get some air," but his tone was weighted down with bitterness. "Mulder," she said, wondering if she could ever repair the damage she had done. "God, Mulder, you hurt me so much. How could you even think that I would betray you? I'm not Angela, not Phoebe. Damn my temper, but don't damn me. I over-reacted. I didn't mean to say what I did..." Lowering his head, he looked down at her, allowing himself to see the misery in her eyes. Hell, he had hurt her and she him. He hadn't meant to insinuate... why had he taken this out on her? She had not meant her words either. And now she was looking up at him with such a lost expression. He sighed. There was still so much pain, but, out here, it was a little better. Just the two of them and a cold, grey day. There was even mist in the air. An X-Files day. "Scully, I didn't really believe you would. You are the only one I know I can truly say that of. It just came out." "Think next time, Mulder," she said softly. "You're not alone in the world any more. I'm here. The whole population of Washington, D.C., is not out there waiting to screw you, excuse the expression. You can hurt others, too." She brought her fist lightly to his jaw. "So watch your mouth." "Ouch. You're right, I deserved that." And he almost smiled, but it was a thin, dark humor. He stared back at the city. Dana could feel him quivering beside her. After a long pause, "Does Skinner know?" "Yes. He was there." Dana remembered his expression, his disappointment, all too well. Mulder closed his eyes. "Angela was my client, my responsibility. Is he going to throw me back onto electronic surveillance? I certainly deserve it." And the prospect clearly terrified him. "I think you'd be surprised at Skinner's reaction to this, but you're wrong, Mulder. If you were responsible, you'd be out on your ass." This brought unexpected emotion back into his eyes. "What do you mean? Of course, I was responsible." "Mulder, didn't you know?" she asked. Her tone was soft and sympathetic, for she had finally identified that what he was feeling was mostly remorse and embarrassment. "She drugged you... with methylenedioxyamphetamine, MDA, and not just any street version, but a potent variant laced with a psychedelic they are still trying to identify." He let out a long breath that was almost a groan. "I did suspect something," he said weakly, as the remembered images licked at the edge of his mind. He began to quake down in the deepest part of him. He had verification now of what had been done to him but the humiliation was still there, and just as raw as before. At first the chill air had brought some color back to his face, but that seemed to have fled again and Dana did not like what she was seeing. "MDA was identified in applesauce taken from the trash. Did you eat any?" He shuddered. Oh, did he! Angela had scooped a big pile on his plate while she was coyly laughing at one of his stories. There had been no medicine taste, but then it had been treated heavily with cinnamon. He had eaten eagerly and had seconds. She had told him things, things about Samantha he wanted to hear. The room had gotten too warm. He staggered under a sudden blinding headache and cramps in his stomach, intense enough to make him gasp. The pictures... They were back. Visions from through some other man's eyes. Not his. Angela, naked, sweating, groaning in his arms, melding into Phoebe, kissing his mouth as though she would suck the breath from his body. "Mulder..." Scully's alarmed voice intruded, reached him from someplace very far away and the touch of her hand on his arm brought him back. He found himself leaning over the rail of the balcony, staring at the hard, unyielding surface of a parking lot, six floors below. Shaking, he pushed himself upright. Fox thought. He hated to think what he looked like. Though he was shaking, too, he tried to reassure her. "Don't worry." As he struggled to catch his breath, the cold sweat dripped down his forehead and his smile was weak and unsure. "I'm not going to do anything stupid. I might have though, the night and morning after... if there had been an easy way..." His eyes were definitely out of focus. "There's an old ballad that goes 'And I wish I were as deep in hell.' It felt like that." "That's the drug, Mulder," Dana said, very much concerned and trying to comfort him. What just happened had looked suspiciously like a flashback and terrified her. "It's got as bad a 'down' side as its got an 'up' side." "Then I was in hell, indeed." He leaned against the banister, so his hands were free to rub his temples. "I knew my actions didn't make sense, even for me, but I wasn't thinking very clearly. I kept imagining how I was going to tell Skinner that I fucked my client..." In a softer voice, "and telling you... telling you how you were going to have to carry on with the X-Files without me...." He gazed out over the park lands towards the city. "Now *that's* hell the hard way." "I've never known you to take the easy way, Mulder," she stated. "But you did figure it out, eventually, didn't you? That you were drugged?" "Mostly." "So *not* knowing you were drugged you would have bared your soul and told all, and *knowing* you had been you held back? Holding back is not like you, Mulder. We've always been honest in our reports - " He shot her a slightly amused glance. " All right, mostly honest." If they wanted the chance for a shred of credibility there was a limit to what upper management would accept, even from an X-file. "But never for personal gain, Mulder, certainly not financial, and not to appease anyone or gain anyone's approval, no matter how much we messed up. So why now? What's different?" "Does it matter? Denial?" He was looking out over the park land towards the city again and he had wrapped himself in that coat of fatalism she knew too well. "Maybe it's easier for us males to admit to being horny bastards than to concede to being tricked, deceived, held helpless by the 'weaker' sex - present company excepted." One thing Mulder had learned. Dana Scully was anything but weak. "There's a lot you don't know yet about Angela, Mulder. She was not what she appeared to be. " "Maybe. Maybe it's also because I can't prove I was drugged and who would take 'Spooky's' word. If I tried for that kind of defense it would look like I'm trying to make excuses. You say there was MDA in the food? I saw my chart. My tox scan only shows marijuana. That doesn't look good, either, and I don't even remember having any." The marijuana was problem, Dana admitted. "Did she give you any tea?" she asked. He thought back and responded slowly. "Yes, some herb tea on Saturday night and Sunday, and she forced something down me at the very end. But I don't remember that very well. I was pretty well gone." "We found some *tea* leaves in the waste basket at the first house. That's where the marijuana was." "But still no MDA in the tox scan." Dana took the paper which Evan had given her from her pocket. "Initially, no, we didn't. It would have been more surprising if we had because everyone admits the lag time had to have been at least two to three days. Your blood sample was also pretty useless because it had been diluted by your early transfusions." Responding to his confusion, she continued. "It was Evan. He took a sample to the FDA for a more sensitive test. They found picograms of MDA still in your blood stream. Without this I don't know what Skinner would have done, but Evan may have just saved your career. Because of the time lag, no one could have officially questioned your innocence, but there always would have been doubt." Mulder's eyes were emotionless. Somehow Dana was not surprised that he did not seem relived. What anyone at the Bureau thought had never been his overriding concern, so long as he did not lose the job which he loved. "Will you thank Evan for me?" he asked. She knew how hard that was for him to say. She had seen the two of them together, felt the atmosphere. "Sure." A cold breeze suddenly touched them and Dana shivered, but she refused to move until he did. Mulder only fidgeted unhappily. "Why didn't you tell me before ... that you knew?" he asked. She looked into his face, so achingly beautiful, now so lonely. "I was waiting for you. When did you think you were going to get around to telling *me*? Your appointment with the D.A.'s people is this afternoon and they *will* ask." Dana could almost feel the waves of misery emanating from him. A breeze lifted the hair from his downcast eyes. "I should have been able to hold out. I should have been able to resist it." She raised her eyebrows. "Did you hear what I said? You were drugged! And by some pretty strong stuff! Is this self-abasement because this involved sex, Mulder? If someone drugged or hypnotized you and you committed a crime, like theft, you wouldn't go on like this. But with sex -" "It *is* different!" he insisted. "How?" she demanded. How could he say it? Dana let the silence lengthen until it became unbearable. He looked so sad and lost. "I won't take it, Mulder," she said with tears in her voice, yes and fire, too. "Don't pull this guilt down around your head with all the rest. You must accept it. It happened. Accept it or go into therapy to accept it, but I am getting very tired of dealing with your guilt. You have to move on, Mulder. *We* have to move on." He raised eyes to hers that were open and wondering. Her use of the plural pronoun had not escaped him. "Come on," she said unexpectedly, afraid she had said too much. Despite the disparity in their heights, she managed to put an arm around his waist. "You're shivering. So am I. Your feet must be freezing." Slowly, he nodded. He was suddenly unbelievably tired and his feet were numb even though the balcony was carpeted with that green, fake grass. If he had been standing on concrete, he doubted he would be able to move at all now. She propped the door open and helped him retrieve his walker. He moved very, very slowly, like an old, old man with bowed, hunched shoulders as he shuffled back to his room. She let him go unaided, but walked protectively beside him, signaling silently to the orderly, who would have helped, to stay clear. Mulder had to do this on his own. Much as she wanted to help, there was a lot he had to do on his own. She got him into bed, which was difficult, as he seemed to have no strength left, and pulled the covers over him. Retrieving another blanket from the closet, she sat done on the end of his bed and extracted one foot and began to rub it carefully between her hands. The skin was like ice. How she wanted to hold him, but this was as close as she felt she dared go. She began very softly. "Mulder, you were raped or so close to rape it doesn't matter. That's assault." His head was back against the pillow, his eyes closed. The tension was still there. Nothing was resolved. "No. Rape is a violent attack. It hurts. I don't remember everything, but I remember that I enjoyed it." God, but he wished, he did not remember. She put down one foot and took the other in her hands. "You hurt *now*, don't you? You were drugged, Mulder. It wasn't you." He looked down the length of his body toward her. He was so unhappy. His voice was barely audible. "You've been discrete. You haven't asked what it was like? With her..." "It's not my place," she said, hiding her face from him by bending over the long, slim foot. "I dreamed about... Phoebe," he whispered. "It was as if it were Phoebe, not Angela. Why her? Why not...?" He shrugged. Dana felt her heart skip a beat and she swallowed. Phoebe again. And his admission came so unexpectedly she was not prepared and had not been able to hide her distress from him, not this time, for his eyes were searching her face even as he spoke. And in response to her pain, she thought she saw in his anguished, beautiful eyes an unspoken regret. In his drugged euphoria, who would he rather have dreamed about? All Dana knew was that her heart quickened under the intensity of those eyes. That he was reaching out to her, sent a thrill up her spine. But realizing that Phoebe was still so much a part of his life, hurt more than she would ever tell him. Maybe he had been right, after all. This involved sex. There was a difference. This was an emotional issue, not a logical one. Logic played no part here. So if what had happened bothered her, she had to deal with it, too. But there was something they had both forgotten. "Mulder, you say you fantasized about Phoebe, but she was all around you, wasn't she?" He turned his face to the wall effectively blocking her out. "Angela used what Phoebe told her, as well as the drugs. She intended for you to remember what once made you happy, to distract you. Phoebe just made it easy for her. "Mulder, if it helps, I forgive you, since you seem to want my forgiveness. But you have to forgive yourself, too. You have to forgive yourself for being no more than human." But he had not been listening to her, as if to accept her rationalization was to take that easy way out. Dana looked upon her friend as he lay with his eyes so tightly closed, too tightly closed to be sleeping. His face was really drawn. When he had been like this for a long time, Dana carefully covered both his feet and went to stand by the head of the bed. "I should go," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're tired." He reached up and placed his hand over hers as it rested on his shoulder. "When I was in that house," he began, "lying on that bed, I knew I was dying. I certainly had long enough to think about it. Odd, but my whole life did not pass before my eyes. For one, with my memory, that would take a long time." On his lips was a little half smile but the humor did not reach his eyes. "I only thought about two things...." His gaze went distant, remembering. "Which were?" she asked. "For one, staying alive, just breathing, just willing my heart to keep beating. And I thought about you. I had not the slightest doubt that you were looking for me. I could see you, hear you getting on Skinner's nerves. I knew that you would find me, too. I just thought you would be too late. Someday you need to tell me how you did that." "Mulder, you trusted me to find you, then why doubt me now? It's like you are afraid I'm going to turn on you at any moment." He looked at her with a steady, somber gaze. "Since Samantha was taken, there's never been anyone I could trust like that. It's hard." This Dana felt was probably the truest sentiment he had ever expressed to her, but it did not make it any easier to hear. For suddenly Dana realized he was not talking about trust in the professional sense. There was no doubt that he trusted her to stand behind him with a loaded gun and watch his back. This discussion was about trusting her with something else, something perhaps more precious to him than his life. His face was so mobile, Dana could almost see him thinking. She had learned to read him and knew there was more on his mind. She waited patiently, giving him time, her heart pounding. Maybe this time Mulder would be able to say what she could see sometimes in his eyes when he looked at her. At that moment her cellular signaled which made both of them jump. She fumbled, cursing silently at the intrusion, but took the call. She swore as she put it back into the pocket of her suit. His eyes were on her, questioning. "They're charging a man tonight, one of my cases, and his lawyer is making a fight of it. They need me downtown now." A wave of disappointment flowed over his face, his entire body, that was almost physically painful, but he was determined to hide it from her. He knew the job. "Go ahead," he said, evenly. "See you later." She hesitated. In addition to their aborted conversation, she would be leaving before the delegation from the D.A.'s office arrived to take Mulder's deposition. There would be reporters, too. They could not be kept away forever. She was torn. Part of her wanted to stay to keep them from getting too rough, to make sure no hot shot was out to make a name for himself by sticking an FBI agent with a rape charge or even homicide. Damage would be done even if the allegations were totally unfounded and showed up only in the Washington Post. But part of her did not want to be a witness to his humiliation. Scully swooped down and put a hand on his cheek. The timing could not have been any worse for either of them. "I'll get someone to come down to be with you for the meeting this afternoon. Please, don't go macho on me. Take the line that you were not responsible because of the drugs. I'll be back. We're not finished," she said seriously and fled the room. ===================================================================== ====== From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: The Abductee 21/21 Date: 30 Jul 1995 12:51:22 -0400 THE ABDUCTEE (21/21) by S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com) 6/25/95 This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Thanks guys, for creating this marvelous stuff. Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Copyright 1995 by S. Esty Chapter 21 Tuesday 12:05am FBI Headquarters Anderson's lawyer was a high-priced pain-in-the-ass Dana decided by the time she was able to escape from the District Courthouse hours later. The deposition had been delayed twice. The lawyer was trying to keep his man out of jail by haggling for hours over tiny bits of protocol and the price of bail. It was very late, nearly ten, when she returned to headquarters to put her notes together because they were going to have to rehash the whole thing again in the morning. There had been no point in returning to the hospital before going in to work. Official visiting hours were long over. There had not even been time to call to say, "Good night, see you in the morning," because Mulder got the dreaded medication at eight and would be deep in his enforced sleep by nine. Dana felt an dull ache in her chest. She had no doubt that he had watched the door waiting for her to return and listened for the phone for her to call. she wondered. And she had not been able to do either because she was baby sitting some rich guy's ivy league lawyer who thought he was the reincarnation of Perry Mason. There were times, Dana thought, when her job really stunk and she wasn't referring to the autopsies. Dana worked at her third floor desk because she needed the Pathology references from the lab. The Bureau never closed but at night the halls were mostly quiet and the lights were turned down. She had to admit, the place gave her the creeps at night in a way that Mulder's cluttered basement office never did. Maybe that was because if she was working that late Mulder was always there with her. Often they worked for hours in silence, but it was a comfortable silence. She was just packing up her briefcase when she heard the door at the far end of the hall open and muffled footsteps on the carpet. It was Skinner, of all people, his tie only a millimeter askew, even at the end of what must have been a seventeen hour day. What was he doing here at midnight? Didn't the man ever go home? Skinner pulled a chair from a coworkers desk and sat down beside her. "Here you are. I was told you left the courthouse, but I didn't expect to find you here." "Anderson's lawyer is being a - is being difficult," Dana told him. She wanted to say 'pig' and indicated the significant thickness of the stacked files. "I'm sorry that had to come up now, Agent Scully. The Bureau appreciates your dedication." Dana had built up a substantial wall of resentment over the last four hours. Her 'dedication' had not allowed her to be where she had wanted to be. But Skinner's words made a crack in that wall. He was better than most supervisors, but praise, even from him, was not that easy to come by. Still, it did not relieve the misery she felt about having had to leave Mulder when he was so down, when he might have been on the verge of finally saying something important. "How did the meeting with the D.A. go?" she asked. Dana had been surprised and pleased that Skinner, the A.D. himself, had found the time to be with Mulder during his 'interrogation' by the District Attorney's people that afternoon. Skinner gave his imitation of a hard-assed bureaucratic. "I sat on them." "There won't be any problems." But there was something else, Dana could tell. Skinner looked from one side to the other, uncomfortable about meeting her eyes. "Agent Scully, the hospital tried to reach you this evening. When they couldn't contact you, they called me." Dana started, her stomach dropping like a bomb. Was something wrong with Mulder? Anything was possible considering what he had been through. All that time standing barefoot in the cold... Even though she had not spoken, the alarm had been clear on her face. Skinner reassured her hastily, "No, nothing like that. It's just that, since his tests came out in the normal range today, the HMO wants him released first thing tomorrow morning." Dana's eyes widened remembering the weak, unsteady man she had helped into bed only a few hours before. "Sir, it's too soon. He can't possibly take care of himself." "It's the new managed care way, Agent Scully, and I recognize Agent Mulder's limitations. Since none of his family has appeared to take care of him, the benefits office has given me two choices; a living assistance aide, who would come to his apartment a few times a day or off to a nursing home for a week." Dana shook her head definitively. Mulder in a nursing home? Never. Mulder sitting in his dingy little apartment all alone except when some HMO bureaucrat deemed it the appropriate time to send in an aide to bring him dinner or to help him take a shower? This Scully could not bear. "He wouldn't find either of those acceptable. And neither do I." Her eyes were like flint. "Neither do I," Skinner agreed, just as definitively, and gave her a significant look. "So I'm giving you a few days off, Agent Scully. Take him home with you." Dana knew from seeing Skinner's amused reaction that her face registered every bit of the surprise she felt. When Mulder had been injured before she had often dropped by his place after work to help out, but the HMO's were getting more militant and he had never been released so weak before. This was the logical solution, but what she had trouble believing was Skinner's offer. By giving her time off he was, in effect, officially authorizing their living together. A touchy subject where partners were involved. "You mean that, sir?" She indicated the case on her desk. "The Anderson case -" "I see you've got your notes together. I'll get someone to step in for you." He picked up the files, then hesitated. "Agent Mulder and I had a talk this afternoon." He passed a hand across the back on his neck, relieving some tension. "Agent Scully, I don't know how any of us in this business stay sane, the things we see. But Mulder? I know veterans in the field who don't see in ten years what Mulder did in six months when he was with Violent Crimes." Skinner looked at the floor, shaking his read. "He got the worst." Dana wanted to say, "He doesn't have the temperament for that," but kept her peace. Skinner continued, aware she was withholding her own opinion. "But he was so perceptive, so intuitive. It *was* spooky what he could do. But he took it inside, still does. I know the horror doesn't roll off him like it does with the other VC guys. And he's burying this episode, just like all the others. Someday..." He shrugged. "For now, I have no doubt he'll function, but there is something about this case and it's more than just his being the victim. I think you know what we are talking about, Agent Scully." Skinner examined her carefully in his penetrating gaze. "I think he talked to me as much as he did today because... Is there any strain between you two over this?" Dana felt weak under the scrutiny of those eyes. "In his mind, yes." She added, hurriedly, "But I think we were working it out, only I was called away to the courthouse." She nodded towards the files. "He needs a friend, Agent Scully." The steadiness of the gaze she sent back to Skinner would have saved a drowning man is a storm-tossed sea. "He has a friend." "He has more than one. Some just can't get as close as others." He stood up. "Now get out of here. Go back to the hospital." "Sir, it's after visiting hours." *Way* past visiting hours. "So?" he asked, as if what he was suggesting was the most natural thing in the world. "Have you ever let that stop you before?" At that he turned and walked back down the hall, the stack of files under his arm. For a full minute Dana Scully sat staring after him. Before leaving, Dana raced down to the X-Files office to get some journals she had been meaning to read and some books Mulder mentioned he never had time to get to. A glance at her desk calendar reminded Dana that she had an early breakfast date with her mother in Baltimore. She would have to cancel to be available to check Mulder out of the hospital. She looked at her watch. Not twelve-thirty yet so she actually could still call. She knew Maggie Scully worshiped the ground Letterman walked on and would still be up. Even if by some fluke Maggie had gone to bed early, Dana knew her to be one of those people who woke easily and could just as easily fall back to sleep again, content knowing what her children were up to. Their conversation this night was an odd one. Margaret Scully had met Mulder several times and liked him. What Dana expected was that her mother would want to drop everything to come down and help in the nursing. That was just the kind of person Maggie was, the friend of every stray cat and dog and lonely child in the neighborhood. Maybe that was why she liked Fox Mulder so much. But to Dana's surprise, Maggie did not offer this time. Oh, she might be available later, in a week or so, she said casually, if she was needed when Dana had to go back to work. Dana got the distinct impression that her mother wanted Mulder and her to have some time alone together. Would wonders never cease. *** Tuesday 1am Washington Hospital Center The hospital was like the Bureau had been. The lighting was subdued, the few nurses and orderlies who were moving around, walked as if on tip toe. On Mulder's floor there were few emergencies at that time of night. Dana expected to be stopped, but she just put her chin in the air and walked past the nurse's station as if she had business and no one stopped her. Mulder was asleep when Scully quietly opened the door to his room. The second bed in the room was still empty and neatly made up. Still no roommate. That was good. Only the night light was on above the sink, but there was enough light to see by. Mulder was curled on his side. She admitted he was looking better every time she saw him. The hollows in his cheeks had filled out a little, the bruises were not as noticeable, and his eyes were less sunken. His skin also fit over his muscles better than it had, and his breathing sounded nearly normal now. She moved the room's one chair near the head of his bed. She did not expect him to wake up, nor did she intend to wake him. She just wanted to sit by his side for a few minutes and watch. Then she would go home. On the bedside table she noticed a new plant, a Venus Fly Trap, of all things. The idea was so appropriate, and yet so bizarre, Dana could not help but chuckle. As she turned back to the bed, she was surprised to see his eyes open a little. "You came back," he said, his voice slurred. "Hey, you're supposed to be asleep," she said softly. He responded softly, too. "*You're* not suppose to be here." "Sorry I woke you." She indicated the plant. "Somebody has your sense of humor." Mulder's face lighted. "Skinner." Dana had to stare at Mulder's wry smile for a full five seconds before she believed him. Then they both laughed, stifling much in order not to give themselves away to the hospital staff. "Who would imagine," she gently touched the business end of the plant, "Skinner with a sense of humor." Mulder rolled onto his back and awkwardly tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. "Hope I can remember that... next time we mess up." "Hope *he* does," Dana quipped and was pleased to see him smile a little at that. Mulder stretched, trying to wake up. Instead he yawned. "Hmmm, I think he was trying to tell me something." Dana crossed her arms and nodded at the plant, approvingly. "If so, I hope you were listening." She intentionally caught Mulder's eye. Yes, he had heard her. The door to his room opened and an elderly nurse peered in who was not surprised to see Dana standing in the shadows. In fact, the woman was smiling in a knowing way. "She's here now, Agent Mulder. Remember your promise." He struggled to sit up and automatically Dana helped him by raising the head of his bed. Reaching for the tiny paper medicine cup, which had been sitting on the bed side table, he raised it to the nurse as if it were some kind of a toast before drinking down the contents. Due to the continuing rawness in his throat, they issued him the liquid variety of his medication. He turned the cup upside down to show that he had complied. The woman smiled and slipped away, letting the door close behind her. "How did you know I was coming?" Dana asked. "I didn't. I just refused to take my medicine until you did." Even without medication he looked pretty sleepy. This was late for him these days. "Trying to make nice with the nurses, too, I see." "'He can be taught...' Mulder remarked, trying unsuccessfully to mimic Robin Williams, but Dana caught the sentiment. "I know I haven't been the easiest person to live with." "I've noticed," Dana dead-panned. In the spell of quiet that followed, his shoulders slumped. He had drawn up his knees and wrapped his arms wrapped around them when he said, "Did you hear they're throwing me out tomorrow?" He was staring at the empty, shadowed, sterile walls of his hospital room and looking miserable. "They want to send me to a nursing home, Scully. God knows where. What the FBI can afford, I suppose. Maybe in Pittsburgh." She pushed back the hair that had fallen over his eyes. She could not help herself when it did that. "No, they won't. Over my dead body they won't." His sullen eyes opened wide, questioning. "Skinner gave me some days off so you're staying with me. If he hadn't have offered, I would have taken them anyway." He swallowed. The arrangements were all he would have wished, but he never could have asked. "I promise, I'll try not to snore." His hazel eyes met her grey-blue ones. He hoped there was enough light for her to see the sincerity in his. "Thank you." That look warmed her all the way to her soul. She knew how much this meant to him not to be farmed out to strangers. "Hey, what are partners for? We have to look out for each other." It was more than that and they both knew it. Unfortunately, her kindness only strengthened something which she could see still troubled him. "Scully... I never finished...." "Shhh... You don't need to tell me, right now." She pushed him down in the bed. "You should sleep." He *was* tired for the day had been both physically and emotionally stressful. As she lowered the head of his bed, his body sank gratefully into the mattress, but his mind still burned with the need to talk to her. "What Angela did," he raised his arms, now mostly free of bandages but speckled with the dark threads of too many stitches, "I can deal with that. Being physically hurt, I know." A pause. "Feeling helpless, being unable to prevent her from doing what she wanted, being unable to protect her or myself - I'm working on those..." His hands twisted around the blanket and he looked uncomfortably towards the ceiling three times, his breath coming in little gasps. "Life's cruel, Scully." His jaw was clenched. "Why should I dream of Phoebe? Why? Even with all the atmospheric incentives, that's pretty pitiful. She never made me happy. I only hoped she would. There is only one person who ever made me happy." Dana knew who that one person was. Samantha. "Mulder," Dana sat down on the chair next to him in order to be close. "I haven't told you. In the e-mail Phoebe sent, she regretted what she had done." He did not respond to that. "If she hadn't written, Mulder, I would not have become suspicious. I would not have suspected there was any trouble and we never would have found you in time." Her voice became deep with emotion, "I would not have liked that very much. I owe her a lot for that." His face still looked like stone in the deep shadows. "She still told, Scully. Intimate details... Does she hate me as much as that? Doesn't she remember anything good from when ..." His voice trailed off. "I meant nothing to Angela, either." His voice was becoming indistinct. "I was only a body to them, Scully," he said with great bitterness. "Any man would have served them as well. They just didn't want to be alone. And I was just as bad when I saw you and Evan, I didn't want to be alone either. For a moment, I remember just wanting someone." "We all want someone, Mulder." The movement of his hands had become more languid in a way that told Dana that the numbing drug was creeping over his limbs. He had also turned away his eyes, the emotion in them, on the face Dana had come to love as familiar as her own, made her want to cry. He was really depressed. He just wanted to be loved, as they all did, but he felt incapable, unworthy of being loved. And why should she be surprised considering that his own parents, the two people in the world who should have loved him unconditionally, had treated him, and continued to treat him, as cruelly as any parents could. And she and Evan hadn't helped, even if the slight had been unintentional. That he should take such a little thing so much to heart concerned her deeply. Did he not know how much she cared? At that moment Dana felt that, despite her earlier vow, she would kill Phoebe the next time she saw her and all the others who had cut at his gentle heart and left him so vulnerable. And with Phoebe there was something. In the end she had given him up. Given him to Dana. To get his attention, she touched again the lock of soft hair that fell over his forehead. "You're not *just* a body, you know. You're a very special 'body'. And your body's fine by me, Mulder." He was suddenly alert. He had clearly heard that. "Hey, and your mind's not so bad either," she added, hastily, "a little unusual, but I like unusual." The light was dim, so she could not see the faint flush of color come creeping into his cheeks. But his eyes sought hers and the body she approved of slowly relaxed, as if finally some tension had been released. "I said only one person had ever made me happy," he whispered, his voice growing faint. "I was wrong. There is another." Her lips parted questioningly and the answer she received from his eyes made her smile. "Would you burn the letters for me?" he asked, softly. "You know I will," she replied in a voice similar to his, full of unspoken meaning. His eyes had begun to droop. Only through the force of his will had he been able to keep them open this long. He was shifting aimlessly in the bed trying to stay awake. "Medicine's got you, has it?" she asked, sympathetically. He shook his head, trying to keep the cotton from settling. "I hate this." "I know you do." He let his head lull against the pillow. "I never had a chance to tell you..." His voice came low and slow as if his mind was not working very quickly or he was having trouble making his mouth form the words. "When I was alone in the house with Angela, even before I got sick, I knew I had made a mistake taking that assignment. Do you know what I wanted more than anything else? To be out on the road with you." Dana smiled, remembering having very much the same thought. "Gee, Mulder, that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Why didn't you call and tell me?" He yawned. "You made me promise to go by the book." "And you *had* to choose this time, of all times, to follow the book, didn't you?" He gave her the best smile he could under the circumstances then shook his head, still unwilling to surrender. Trying to distract him from creeping cobwebs, Dana crouched down conspiratorially, close to his ear. "You know this incident might just *improve* your reputation." He had been almost asleep. One eye opened slowly, recognizing the shift in her tone. "How so?" he asked warily. "It's pretty common knowledge we don't -" teasing, she turned the lock of his hair around on her finger the way she had done once before when they were alone in a dark place. Two hazel eyes were open now, though it was a struggle. The sedative was pushing hard at the edges of his brain. His voice was husky. "How do *they* know what we do or do not do?" "Body language, Mulder. I think *they* thought there was something wrong with you. Now -" she shrugged. He rolled his eyes, not difficult to do, since his control was very tenuous at the moment. "So now they think there's something wrong with you?" He sighed sleepily and his eyes drooped closed. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Dana found herself warmly surprised by his defense of her reputation. He did not want her labeled a cold fish. Interestingly, he probably would have acted the same way if the rumor began going around that she was easy. It was certainly a delicate line they were walking. She smiled and smoothed his hair. "Just go to sleep, Mulder. I won't go anywhere tonight." Feeling secure in her presence, Mulder gently released the fierce grip with which he had clung to consciousness. He felt the drug settle over his mind and pull closed his eyes. But before he let it take him completely, he reached and found her hand in the dark. As his fingers tightened ever so briefly, like a brush over her palm, Dana felt a surge of sweet, breath-taking electricity move through her. Without withdrawing her hand from his she moved her chair a little closer to the bed. She thought he had fallen asleep and was considering withdrawing her hand, when she heard him begin to mutter, but his voice was so low it was almost inaudible. "Can't remember... Ever get my good night kiss? Hell of a thing for a guy to forget..." Dana smiled and wondered if this incorrigible man was talking in his sleep or setting her up. She decided to take the chance. Leaning over, she put her fingers under the point of his chin and looked down upon his beautiful face, where the lashes lay thick and long against his cheeks. She kissed his partially opened lips, liking the taste of him even through the hospital, medicine smell, but he did not respond. He was finally and completely asleep and never knew it. She stoked his hair and smiled. "This is the second time I've kissed you, Mulder and you've missed it both times. But third time's the charm, they say." As the quiet noises of the hospital floated around them, she rested her elbows on his bed and kept watch as he slept. The End (The sequel to THE ABDUCTEE is MILE HIGH.) -------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------- About the series: REVELATIONS The first story of 'REVELATIONS' takes place after episode 5 of the program (the Jersey Devil) and the other parts in the latter half of the first season, after FIRE and after TOOMS ('I wouldn't put myself on the line for an