From: Humbuggie Date: 7 May 2003 12:20:29 -0700 Subject: xfc: Crashing Down 1/1 Source: atxc Crashing down By Humbuggie 2003 Edited by Jenna The days I waited up for you The nights I cried myself to sleep -- Sylver Disclaimer: all characters belong to CC and 1013 Productions. I borrowed them. This story was written for the Fic of the month challenge on Mulder's Refuge. Story spoiler: For one long second he had wings. And then it all came crashing down. Rated: PG Type: MT/UST Crashing down Prologue For one long second he had wings. And then it all came crashing down. One The loud crackling sound came from the second floor of the Spanish apartment building. I looked up stunned, just in time to see my partner go flying through millions of pieces of shattering glass. Then he went over the ledge and crashed down before ending up two stories down on top of various now destroyed flowerbeds. The fall seemed to last forever: it was as if Mulder no longer had control over the movements of his body. All I could do was watch. I saw a mixture of flailing arms and legs before his body ended up on his back on top of an improvised bed that could not be enough to break his fall. "Mulder!" My voice squealed. The cry came from the depths of my throat and surged through the humid air. I knew I should not have yelled, for it most likely alarmed our assailant, but I could not care less. This was serious and I wanted the world to know. "Someone call 911!" I heard myself shout in sheer despair towards the other Spanish buildings surrounding the garden. I had no time to think. I had to act: to save myself, and the man I would give my life for. My first duty now was to protect myself. Then I could only protect Mulder. If I were hurt too, neither of us stood a chance. The first rule of an FBI-agent: self-preservation, even when your heart was broken and you wanted to rush downstairs to help. I was on the first floor when he attacked Mulder on the second. We had flipped a coin on who was going to go upstairs. I sighed, straining to push myself into professional modus. And I all could think of, was Mulder possibly lying dead in the gardens behind the white-painted Spanish-type building, sprawled out. I could not see him from this distance and he did not make a single sound. I took a quick decision. With raised gun I stepped forward inside the darkness that held the inside of the apartment despite the fierce sun outside and cried out, "FBI!" My feet automatically brought me to the stairwell leading up to the second floor. I didn't hear a single sound. I moved upstairs holding my gun before my chest with a stretched out arm. "I'm armed," I said loudly. "Come out with your hands in the air." Nothing happened. My professionalism saved me in the past, many times before. Mulder's had saved me too so often. Yet I was alone now, without the protection of my partner. The fact he could be dead, strengthened my anger to finish this once and for all. A sound to my right startled me. The second I was on top of the staircase, I saw the shimmer of a man rushing into me. He fell on top of me and pushed me on the carpet, trying to force the gun out of my hands. But I held onto it and stretched out my left hand, scratching him in self-defence. He squealed as my fingernail dug into his cheek and left its permanent marking there. I struggled to free myself from him, but I was lying below him and he was on top of me. His hand smacked into my wrist. I held onto the weapon with all my might as I kicked him in the balls. He cried out loudly this time and crawled backwards long enough for me to get my hand on the situation. I moved backwards until I was further down into the corridor and raised my gun at his chest. I saw the shattered glass behind him where Mulder had gone through. The moment he leaped at me for the final attack, I pulled the trigger and emptied the chamber into his chest. "That's for Mulder, you bastard," I hissed as he went down. I felt no remorse at shooting him. My body and mind had come to accept the fact I sometimes killed. I had overcome the feelings of regret and sorrow in the past. It was part of our lives. I crawled up and stared at the body of the man who lay on the carpet. He wasn't dead. I was a good enough shot to damage, but not kill. The bullet had protruded his collar bone, sending him straight into oblivion. I couldn't care less if he never used that arm again. I quickly grabbed my cuffs and put them on him, holding his hands on his stomach, not caring if I would damage him even further. Then I grasped my cell phone and called for help as I rushed down the staircase towards the gardens. My expertise was all that kept me from panicking when I spotted Mulder's unconscious or dead form on top of a bed of tulips and hyacinths. He hadn't moved since the fall. I put my gun away and pulled myself through the small crowd of ten people who had left their houses. A young Spanish woman told me she had called 911. She held a baby and looked worried. "Thank you." I moved on my knees by my partner's side and touched his throat. At least there was a heartbeat, I thought with relief. Other than that, it didn't look too good: Blood on his forehead hid a deep cut underneath it; more blood came from the side of his head; drops of the fluid on his white shirt were clearly visible underneath the dark jacket and there was more blood on his hand and arm and the ankle. He had outdone himself. "Oh God," I whispered as I spotted the bone fragment sticking out of his left wrist. Good thing he was a right hand shot or he could have been out of business for a long time. I sprung into doctor's mode and touched his legs, feet and ankle. The ankle was not broken by the looks of it. I pulled open his shirt and held my breath when I spotted a large piece of glass embedded in his chest. I couldn't tell how deep it was or what damage it had caused. Good thing he was out of it, I thought as the sound of sirens cut through the humid air. The second I touched that part of his chest where he had at least two broken ribs, Mulder moved, groaning loudly as he raised his left hand to stop me. The touch had pulled him out of his stupor, directly into the world of pain. To my astonishment he was not in shock. He was vivid and experienced the pain. "Mulder, it's me," I spoke gently, grasping his hand. I felt so guilty for allowing him to go upstairs on his own, yet knowing that it was the most sensible decision to make at the time. I wished it were me. I would have done anything to trade places with him. "I know it's you." He spoke dryly and eagerly, as if to warn me he had not suffered brain damage. His face was distraught with pain. "You okay?" "Yeah." Amazed that he would think of me in these times of pain I continued my quick scan of his injuries. "Don't," he grunted as I touched his chest around the area of the glass and grasped my fingers. "It hurts." "I know," I whispered gently, "but I have to help them help you." "What happened?" His voice sounded raw, his breathing superficial as he had difficulty taking deep intakes of air. "I remember " "He pushed you out of the window. He won't do any damage now. I've taken care of that." "Dead?" "No, unfortunately not." I spoke with a raw sense of regret that I had only hurt the guy. I wish I could have killed him. But even when hurting my best friend like that, I could not kill an unharmed man. I had no right now. Perhaps that hurt even more than the fact my partner lay here. Mulder gritted his teeth as he remembered. "Came from the darkness. Didn't see him. Pushed me hard. Total surprise. How-?" Mulder's eyes blinked as he struggled with the horrible, blinding pain that returned with every move or gesture. He stared at the window above him where he had gone through and remembered the sense of losing all grip with the ground. In letting go of his balance, he had let go of anything that would protect him. He'd had no choice in the matter: the push came raw and hard. I moved into his sight so that he could no longer see it, and I smiled. "It is far from over. Don't think you can go on such a stupid basis." He nodded slightly, barely able to move. "I know," he groaned. "Sometimes I wish I were dead though." The Spanish woman with the baby in her hands glared at me. She seemed shocked at our conversation. But she recognized the physical pain in Mulder's eyes too and she nodded as a token that she understood where the ache came from. Two ambulances drove up the small parking lot where only a few of the attendants were allowed to park. For once, I wished my partner would lose consciousness. He was in so much pain that tears sprung in my eyes by the sight of his struggle with it. The paramedics were professionals and knew exactly what they were doing, but everything they did hurt Mulder to the core. He groaned as they touched his chest to see how deep the glass was pushed into his flesh. I forced my sympathy to the back of my mind and tried to switch into doctor's mode. But I couldn't. I don't know why, but I could not get there. Mulder grunted as they wrapped his wrist and ankle. And finally, as they proceeded to move him onto a gurney, he lost his self-control and cried out in pure pain. I felt an icy cold hand grasp my heart. I reached for his hand and could not get to him because they were working on him. And a man was talking to me, asking me questions about his medical history. My God, if I had given them the list they would have flipped. So I just said he had been in hospital a few times after professional incidents. My voice spoke but it was not me talking. It came from somewhere within me, where a part of me had become accustomed to this sort of situation. It was a strange feeling: I could have had two Scully's working at the same time. One was talking to them. The other one was crying out loud for Mulder. An oxygen mask was placed over my partner's nose and mouth but that did not stop me from seeing how bad he felt. His eyes, whenever they opened, spoke of the hard pain that coursed through his entire body. "Give him something," I pleaded with the paramedics. "I can't do that," the man moving into the back with him said as he started an IV. "We'll be there soon." I knew I had to deal with their assailant too. I had sent the second team of paramedics upstairs but couldn't care less about him. Someone else could pick up the pieces right now. "Are you coming?" the paramedic asked. "Yeah. Hang on for a second." I moved to a police officer just arriving at the scene, flashed my badge, explained about the man upstairs and told him to get him into custody at the Whitmore Hospital. He was not to be left alone for a second. I would check upon him later. Or I could have someone else deal with him. If I saw him again, I would scratch his eyes out. That was the emotional Scully talking. I crawled into the ambulance just in time to hear Mulder's smaller, continuous grunts. Finally, as the vehicle made its way onto the road, the grunting stopped and an eerie silence came in place. All the time I held onto his hand without saying a single word. I knew that nothing could take away the physical pain for now but hoped my presence would calm him down. He was not unconscious or dozing off but blocking his mind to deal with the pain. I had seen it before: he had the ability of shutting down completely when his body coped with injuries or illness. I wanted to stop feeling like this. It was not the first time he was hurt and it would not be the last one. But the sight of him falling through that window hurt me to the core. I knew I could not shake it off. It was worse than seeing him in a hospital bad; worse than seeing him get shot. I wanted to destroy the man who had done this to him. Anger surged in me, making me more upset than I could afford to be. If only they had known he was inside the house. When I got my hands on the cop feeding us false information, I would kill him. "It's the last time we rely on cops," Mulder's hoarse voice came from the stretcher. I looked up shocked and surprised that he had guessed my thoughts. And that he was alert enough to talk to my about it. "We'll punish them," I swore. "If it's the last thing I do." "Don't bother." His voice died away again but I knew he was awake and hoped that he didn't suffer from extreme pains as they drove to the nearest hospital. Part two Hospitals. They had ER's that all looked the same. They had OR's that all bore the same equipment. The doctors varied from average to good and excellent. We had an excellent doctor fortunately. I moved into the ER-cubicle myself, flashing my badge once again and explaining that I was not only his doctor but also his partner and next of kin. That did the trick. They allowed me in there, by his side and able to make sure he saw me. Not once did he lose consciousness. He hung in there as they made x-rays of his back and ribs, his shoulders, arms, hands, legs, ankles and feet. They did the full scan and I knew why. He could be hurt even worse than we expected. He could have serious neck and back injuries causing paralysis. There was fortunately no sign of that. His back seemed to be okay, and he felt sensations and aches all over his body. The ankle needed to be in a cast since he had strained it pretty badly. His wrist needed surgery. And then there was that piece of glass. X-rays showed it was embedded on the wall of his stomach, which all in all was fortunate considering the circumstances. It had not caused any mortal damage or internal bleedings but needed to be removed surgically. They couldn't get it out of there as it had nestled itself into him. Mulder grinned broadly and bravely when they told him he would have to be transferred to the OR. He clasped my hand and made sure I saw him. "Hey, it's another trip to the land of fun. I'll be alright." "Of course you will be," I spoke as positively as I could. "But will you be?" I blinked. "What do you mean?" "You don't seem yourself. You're quiet and worried." I shook my head. "I'll be alright." "Sure?" I smiled, leaned forward and kissed him. "Worry about yourself, Mulder. Try to take it easy. Don't get upset." His grin died away when they moved him. Despite the heavy tranquilizer they had administered to ease the pain, he was still suffering. The pain had to be bad, real bad. Oh, how I wished I could take it away. The long wait near the OR began. I had no place to go. We were in Miami, stuck in a strange hospital. I had no intention of going back to the hotel alone. Instead, as I had done so many times before, I would be sitting here on a cold, plastic chair, waiting for news that he came out of surgery well and would be moved into the ICU or a semi-private room. I would be allowed to see him, hold his hand, touch him, talk to him and then wait again until he woke up. Why? What did we do it for? Why should we still be doing it anyhow? I couldn't stand it anymore. I found myself reaching up, stretching my back and trembling. Trembling hard as my entire body protested against the forced tears I had held within me. I was afraid. Horrified. I kept on seeing his body flying out that window, crashing into the flowerbeds. The guilt for not going to him straight away but instead choosing to disarm the suspect first waved over me. I felt so bad. I stared at my hands. What was wrong with them? I felt a cry, raw like that of an animal, burst out of me, out in the open arm. I closed my eyes as dozens of tears flooded down my cheeks and my entire body shook. I had stayed up for him so many nights. I had been waiting like this for so many times. And it became too much. It just became too much. I couldn't hold on any more. I couldn't stand the thought of losing him to a creep that loved to prey on his victims and murdered them by night. I hated our jobs. Hated them! Why couldn't things be as they were? Someone grabbed me and held me tight against him. It was a man. A doctor perhaps. I don't know. I heard him talk to someone else. "She'll be okay," he said. And I grabbed onto him and held him as much as he held me. It was a doctor. Our ER-doctor. We sat down together and he offered me a cup of soothing, black velvety coffee. He watched me intently. "How many times have you had like this?" he asked as I stared dreamily into my cup. "Too many." "Your partner has quite a medical history." "He always pulls through." "Your job is dangerous. Too dangerous perhaps for people like you." I looked at him. "What kind of people are we then?" "People who ultimately crash at some point. Who need picking up after they have collapsed and who will then move on as if nothing happened. Perhaps you've been doing this job for too long." "Perhaps," I said, returning my gaze to the coffee. "Can I get you anything?" "No, I'm fine." I shrugged embarrassed. "I'm sorry." "What for? You're a human being, like anyone else. You're entitled to crash down now and then you know. You just need to tell your partner that." "He needs me. He needs me to be strong." "As he no doubt is for you." "Always." I smiled. The doctor patted my shoulder. "Go to him. He's out of surgery and in the recovery room. I'll take you there. Stay with him. He'll know you're there." I smiled. "He always does." And so I sat by Mulder's side and forced away the image of him going flying through that window, two stories down onto crumbling flowerbeds. I ignored the sight of him lying unconscious, unmoving and so I first thought dying. I grasped his hand and waited. Waited. Waited. It was all I could do. All I could ever do. All I would ever do. He woke up a few times and smiled at me. He slept again. And after a while he talked. Later that evening, after all the turmoil had calmed down and I felt alive again, I left his room and checked up on our assailant. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. He was doing well. He would move to the prison hospital soon. I saw him in that bed and wondered how that loser could have killed anyone. I felt nothing but apathy. As I walked to the reception area of the hospital, I spotted the Spanish woman. She had her baby with her. She saw me and rose from her uncomfortable chair. "Are you okay?" I asked her worriedly; afraid something might have happened to her and her child. She shook her head. "I came to see how he was doing," she spoke hesitantly. "Why?" I asked surprised. "I saw the care in your eyes for him. He is special to you, isn't he?" "Yes," I admitted. She focused her eyes on the ground. "I knew." I waited. "About that man. Ricardo. I knew what he had done." "I know," I said. "How?" she asked shocked. "It was in your eyes when you stood by us this afternoon. You were the one calling the FBI in the first place, weren't you? We never figured out who gave us Ricardo's address. It came in anonymously, as you know. But you lead the trace to him." "And it nearly led to your friend's death." "But it also led to stopping a murderer." I placed my hand on her shoulder. "Thank you. And thank you for your concern." She smiled and nodded slightly. "Goodbye." I knew I would never see that woman again but it did not matter. She was right. There was care between Mulder and I. More than I would probably ever admit to anyone, perhaps even Mulder. I loved him with all my heart. Without him, my life would become meaningless. As long as I remembered that, I could do anything. I could watch him fall through windows and get shot, become ill and too focused on cases. I would forever stand by his side. As long as I kept that in mind, I would never crash down. End