From phuwv@csv.warwick.ac.uk Mon Feb 17 17:48:37 1997 disclaimer: The characters aren't mine you see In fact they're owned by Fox TV Chris Carter and Ten-Thirteen too I'm doing what I shouldn't do I've just borrowed them for a while To write my very own X-File Sorry - just couldn't resist the opportunity to make it just a little bit more interesting. And it only took two minutes, so it's not time wasted as such, even if no-one likes it. Archive: Sure, if you want to Spoilers: No, impossible - see later Warning: Character dies. Rating: G, virtually, a little medical gore Summary: First in what I will be shamelessly calling my 'Elseworlds' series; basically, an alternative history. Comments: Please, send me feedback! GSW 1/1 by Ian Horsewell "Okay, we got a bleeder here!" The shout from the ambulance bay got the attention of everyone in the crowded ER. A nurse ran to the stretcher and confirmed the paramedics diagnosis, calling to the desk clerk as she pointed them towards the operating room. "GSW to the chest," said the paramedic in a rapid voice. "Pulse is 42, blood pressure's 80 over 30, and respiration is slow. He's had three units and he's pumping it out faster than we can put it back in. Where's the damn surgeon?" A short figure in surgical scrubs took hold of one side of the trolley, guiding it into the theatre. "I'm here. We got a name, circumstances?" As she waited for a reply, she was giving the nurses quiet, confident orders, voice carring despite the low tone. "Okay, set up the bloods. I want C-spine, X-ray, blood gases, and a throat tube. Strap him down... what you given him?" she asked the paramedic in a suddenly commanding voice. A nurse led the count. "One, two three... that's it." "Just some morphine, make sure he stayed out. He's FBI - don't know about the shooting but his partner found him. Shot maybe twenty minutes ago." She looked up in shock at the dosage info the paramedic reeled off. "He was conscious? God, the pain must have been incredible. We got a name?" The paramedic nodded, tightening the last straps across the lanky, dark-haired man's legs. "Yeah, Fox Mulder. His partner came in the wagon." He waved vaguely at the door - The surgeon tossed her auburn hair back, catching a glimpse of the face in the window. She only had time to register that the other agent looked very worried before returning her attention to the patient laying before her. She was already working on the chest wound, cutting away the sodden shirt and jacket, swearing briefly at the tougher leather material of the shoulder holster. She nodded to a nurse, who leaned in, expertly pressing against the wound as the pad was pulled away. The white gauze turned red almost immediately. She glanced up as a figure took his place opposite her. "Need a hand, Dana?" The other physician was already checking the details of the man, raising an eyelid and wincing at the blown pupils. She sighed with relief. "Thought you'd never ask. Matt, I've got to find the bullet before we sew him up. But he's losing a lot of blood... any suggestions?" The short, powerfully-built man hesitated for a moment, no longer. "I've got the blood loss, you've got the bullet?" She nodded in agreement and the two doctors went to work, movements co-ordinated, no motions wasted. As he inserted a blood drain, working to clear the collapsed lung, she cautiously pulled away the pad, soaked through. "What was he hit with?" she asked, quietly, mind set on the wound before her. It looked more like an exit wound than anything else... The nurse holding his head steady answered immediately. "They think a 9mm, just the one round. From behind, probably about ten, twelve feet." The surgeon nodded, her green scrubs already splashed with crimson. "Who saw it?" The answer came from another nurse. "His partner heard the shot, got to him before he lost consciousness. That's what he told the paramedic." There was no answer from the doctor as red spurted briefly in the air. "That's the artery... sutures, *now*!" Within seconds the kit was in her hands and she started to close the artery. It was nicked, but the pressure on the wound had stopped it from doing more until now. She set to, repairing the damaged tissue, the smell of blood, heavy with iron, lingering in the air. None of the people in the OR paid any attention - it was part of their job. "Okay," said the man opposite her. "drain inserted, and the lung should clear. Was that where all the blood was coming from?" She nodded absentmindedly. "I think so... but there sure was a lot of it. Thanks, Matt." "All part of the service... you okay here now?" She glanced up at the nurse, eyes asking a question. "Pressure's dropping," she answered with a frown, "and his pulse is still slow. Resp's coming up a bit though..." The short, slim surgeon swore. "Damnit, he must be bleeding somewhere else as well. Get more blood into him, faster!" The nurse replaced the part bag with a full unit, and it drained in through the IV attatched to the shockingly pale arm. His head twisted from side to side abruptly, and the nurse reacted instantly. At the surgeon's nod, she put the dose into the other arm, and he faded. "Come on, damn you," muttered the surgeon. "Pressure's dropping!" called the nurse from the monitors at the foot of the table. "We're losing him... I think something major just went." The doctor cursed and tried to press down on the wound, but the seeping red stain just spread further. The beeping from the monitor slowed, and then went into a continuous tone. "He's down!" called the nurse. The two doctors looked up slowly; much as they hated to admit it, they'd lost him. "Want the paddles?" asked the nurse carefully. She'd seen enough cases like this to know that they weren't needed. The surgeon shook her head. "No, he's just a mess." She looked up at her colleague. "You want me to certify him?" he asked gently. She shook her head reluctantly, biting down on her lower lip before answering. "No, my case, my problem. Patient certified dead at... ten-thirteen pm." One of the nurses flipped a switch and the long, accusing tone that signalled another failure for the team stopped. She stripped off her gloves and tossed them in the corner. The man looked across at her; he was only a few inches taller than her, though his muscular frame dwarfed her petite one. She stepped out of the room slowly, her eyes going up to the face of the man, the partner of the man who had just died on her table. He wasn't that tall, his hair dark. He didn't need to ask the question. "I'm Doctor Scully, and I was the surgeon treating your partner. I'm very sorry... there was nothing we could do. The wound was just too serious, and the bullet had exited from the upper chest, very close to his heart. I'm afraid he died several minutes ago." He swallowed, and she could see him trying to fight back the emotion that no doubt threatened to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes for a moment, jaw clenching. "I'm very sorry." He nodded wordlessly. "Is there anyone we should call?" she asked gently. He opened his eyes slowly, taking several deep breaths. His voice, when he answered, was surprisingly calm. "I'll get in touch with my superiors. We'll have all the details here soon. There'll need to be an autopsy..." She nodded. "I understand." She just stood there for a moment, thinking how lucky she was. It was something she'd briefly considered when she was finishing medschool, going into the Bureau. But she'd specialised in emergency surgery instead of pathology, and come here. Here she was making a difference, saving lives as well. This was just as important, if not so glamorous, as the life of an FBI agent. Though, deep in her mind, a voice asked her, what if you *had* been an agent? Who knows what a difference that could have made? She shrugged off the silent questions as the man before her spoke again. "Thank you, Doctor Scully. I'm sure you did all you could." She nodded sadly, reaching out to shake his hand. "I'm sorry I couldn't have done more, Agent...?" He paused, mid-turn, and swivelled back to face her briefly. "Krycek. Alex Krychek." She nodded, wondering if there was something else she could, should say. But there wasn't, There never was. "I'm very sorry, Agent Krycek." He nodded in acknowledgement and then headed to the phones in the corner. Dana Scully turned away, glancing once more at the body, now covered with a sheet, before the shout from reception demanded her attention. "We need a doctor here..." THE END. DEFINITELY. Feedback, send me feedback! Ian Horsewell University Of Warwick: i.j.horsewell@warwick.ac.uk "I may succeed. I may fail. I will never give in."