From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 23 Feb 2002 16:44:31 -0000
Subject: Residual Damage by dtg
Source: direct

Reply To: dgoggans@earthlink.net


Title:      Residual Damage
Author:     dtg
Email:      dgoggans@earthlink.net
Website:    http://home.earthlink.net/~dgoggans/
Rating:     PG
Spoilers:   Pusher
Keywords:   MT, MSR, Sk/M/S friendship
Summary:    Mulder's encounter with Modell is over. Or is it?
Archive:    After the Fact, Ephemeral. Others please ask first.
Feedback:   Welcome, encouraged and always acknowledged.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and
            Fox. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: This story came from an idea Vickie Moseley
            gave me. She wondered what ill effects Mulder
            might have suffered from his experience. I filled
            in the blanks. Thanks, Vickie!! Revised and 
            reposted for the After the Fact post ep challenge
            list. Special thanks to Michelle for her always-
            amazing beta.

*********************************************************
Residual Damage
*******

Fairfax Mercy Hospital
Fairfax, VA
Friday, 2:40 PM


"Mulder, I need you to answer me."

He had his face covered with both hands, his elbows braced hard 
against his knees. Scully crouched next to his chair with her 
hand resting lightly on his shoulder. The muscles beneath her 
trembling fingers were rigid with shock, resonating with the 
adrenaline still flooding his body in the aftermath of his 
struggle against Modell. A struggle she was not yet sure he had 
won.
 
"Agent Scully, is he all right? Do you need any help?" Brophy  
stood uncertainly in the half-open doorway. He had cleared out 
his SWAT team to give Mulder some privacy, but now seemed 
reluctant to leave her alone with him. 

"Just give us a few minutes, please." She flashed him the most 
reassuring smile she could muster. "We'll be fine. Really."

Brophy hesitated a moment longer, then nodded. "I'll be in the 
ER if you need me. Modell's still a prisoner, dying or not." 

She kept the smile firmly in place until the door closed softly 
behind him.

"Mulder, I need you to talk to me. Please."

He slowly lowered his hands but kept his face turned from her. 
"I'm sorry." The words were so soft, so strained, she almost 
missed them.

"Oh, Mulder, you have nothing to be sorry for." She began to 
rub her hand up and down his back. The muscles on either side 
of his spine were knotted as tightly as his shoulders, and he 
was cold. So cold.

"You were right, Scully. I should never have come in here by 
myself." He drew a shaky breath. "My ego almost cost you your 
life."

"No, Mulder--"

"YES!" The word exploded from him, sharp and raw. He 
immediately grabbed his head with both hands, his face twisted 
in pain. 

Mulder! What's wrong?" She had to grab his shoulders to keep 
him from tumbling out of the chair.

He panted for a moment, eyes squeezed tightly shut. When he 
opened them she saw tears clustered against his lower lashes. 
"It's a headache, Scully. I'm okay, I just gotta remember not 
to yell for awhile." Barely above a whisper, but it made him 
wince again.

She moved quickly to kneel in front of him, lifting his chin 
with gentle fingers to examine his eyes. Despite the strong 
afternoon sunlight pouring through the window at her back, his 
pupils were huge. "Can you describe the pain, Mulder? Is it 
concentrated in one area? In the back or the front?" A 
terrifying array of possibilities ran quickly through her 
mind. An aneurysm from the strain of fighting Modell, for one.

"A headache is the least of my problems." He sat up straight 
against the chair back and tipped his head from side to side, 
carefully stretching the muscles of his neck. The movement 
spilled a tear from the corner of his left eye, and Scully 
reached automatically to brush it away with her thumb. He 
grabbed her wrist, refusing the comfort she offered. "I shot an 
unarmed man and I nearly killed *you*. You can't protect me 
from the consequences this time, and I'm not going to let you 
try."

"Modell was far from unarmed and you know it. So does Brophy." 
Mulder tried to turn away but she pulled him back to face her. 
"There won't *be* any consequences, not unless you insist on 
devising your own. Please don't do this to yourself."

They were silent for a long moment, each trying to read the 
other's eyes, until an involuntary wince from Mulder drew her 
attention back to the discomfort he was trying to ignore. She 
placed two fingers against the pulse point on his left wrist 
and counted the racing beats, earning an exasperated sigh from 
her patient.

"Scully, I have a headache. Put it in park, will you?" He 
pulled his wrist back and stood up-- a bit too quickly as it 
turned out. He listed abruptly to the right and had to steady 
himself by gripping her shoulder.

"I stood up too fast. Don't look at me like that." He let go 
and stepped around her, heading for the door. He hadn't made it 
halfway when he had to grab for the chair Scully had occupied 
during the confrontation with Modell. This time, his knees 
buckled and would have dropped him to the floor if Scully 
hadn't reached him first.

Holding him firmly by both biceps, she used her command voice. 
"All right, Mulder. That's enough. We're not going anywhere 
until we get you checked out." He opened his mouth to protest 
but she rolled right over him. "Now you can either let me help 
you walk to the ER, or you can continue with this charade until 
you fall flat on your ass."

He straightened his shoulders and tried to recover his 
dignity. "Fine."

Fifteen minutes later, Mulder was sitting on a gurney in 
Treatment Room #4, his lips pressed around a thermometer. A 
middle-aged, no nonsense nurse stood in front of him watching 
the gauge as air hissed from the deflating blood pressure cuff 
on his left arm.

"Your pressure is somewhat elevated, Mr. Mulder. I'd like you 
to sit quietly for ten minutes and I'll come back to take it 
again." She removed the thermometer from his mouth and held it 
up the light. "Normal." She made some notations on his chart 
and placed it back in the holder attached to the bedrail. "The 
doctor will be in to see you shortly." With that, she left the 
room and closed the door behind her.

Scully walked over and picked up the chart, reviewing the 
nurse's notes although she had seen the readings as they were 
being taken. His blood pressure was 180 over 112, too high for 
a man as fit as Mulder, but not dangerously so. His symptoms 
weren't even unexpected considering the trauma he'd just been 
through. There was no real basis for her alarm, yet she 
couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

"How's the headache?" She returned the chart to its holder and 
watched him closely for a moment. The lines around his eyes 
told her he was still in pain, but she could see the lie 
forming on his lips before the words left his mouth.

"It's fine, Scully. Can we just get the hell out of here, 
please?" He was absently rubbing at the back of his neck with 
his right hand. When he realized she was watching him, he 
dropped the hand immediately to his lap. "Look, I just need to 
get out of here." He suddenly sounded exhausted.

"Mr. Mulder?" The door opened and a fifty-ish, balding man in 
blue scrubs entered. "I'm Doctor Harmon, ER attending 
physician. I understand we have you to thank for ending the 
siege this afternoon." He crossed to Mulder and picked up the 
chart.

"Guilty as charged." She knew he'd meant that as a joke, but 
the hollow tone chilled her. "I don't suppose I can play on 
your gratitude for a pass out of here?" He shot a baleful look 
in Scully's direction. "My partner is overreacting to a 
headache."

"Under the circumstances, I wouldn't call it overreacting." He 
closed the chart and studied his patient's face. "You 
experienced some dizziness?"

"I stood up too fast and lost my balance. There's nothing wrong 
with me that getting out of here wouldn't cure."

Scully had heard that explanation one too many times, and it 
showed in her voice. "Doctor, I'd like you to do a neuro 
evaluation. 'Standing up too quickly' might account for the 
initial dizziness, but it hardly explains the way he staggered 
all the way down here."

She ignored Mulder's glare and focused her attention on the 
doctor. "He's exhibiting symptoms of neurological trauma and I 
just think it's wise to rule out anything serious." She shot 
a glance in Mulder's direction, long enough to see the fury 
that had replaced his moroseness. *At least he's not wallowing 
in guilt for the moment.*

Harmon nodded. "I agree." He turned to Mulder. "This will only 
take a few minutes and then we can all relax." Back to Scully. 
"Would you mind stepping outside?" 

No matter how politely it was phrased, she was being ordered 
out of the room. Scully's first reaction was outrage, but she 
had to admit that the doctor was probably right. Mulder would 
be more likely to cooperate without her there to inspire more 
of his macho posturing. "Of course. I'll be right outside." She 
chanced another look at her partner. As long as he was okay, 
she really didn't care how angry he was about this. She walked 
out and closed the door behind her.

***

"I'll drive, Mulder." She held out her hand for the keys, one 
eyebrow raised against any resistance he might care to offer.

Mulder weighed his choices and opted for expedience. He just 
wanted to get home and if letting his partner drive them there 
shaved time off the process, he was all for it. He dropped the 
keys into her hand and settled into the passenger side of the 
car, pulling the door closed with a barely restrained slam.

If Scully was surprised by his acquiescence, she hid it well. 
Neither spoke until Scully pulled up to the curb in front of 
his building. She turned off the engine, obviously planning to 
escort him to his door.

"Go home, Scully." Mulder paused with his hand on the door 
handle. "The doctor said I'm fine. I don't need a nanny." He 
was still upset with her, but that had come out a lot more 
harshly than he'd intended. He next words were much softer. 
"I'm really okay, Scully. Please. Just go home and get some 
rest."

He could see the struggle going on behind those blue eyes, and 
he knew the moment she made her decision. 

"All right, Mulder. I'll go home if you promise you'll call me 
if you need anything." She gave him a small smile.

He returned her smile and squeezed her shoulder gently. "You 
know I will." He got out and closed the door, but instead of 
walking to his door, he turned back and tapped on the car 
window. She hit the button to lower it and he leaned in.

"I'm sorry for being such a prick this afternoon. It's been a 
rough day."

"Get some rest, Mulder." Her smile warmed his heart all the 
way to his door where he turned and waved good night.

Scully sat and watched until the lights went on in his 
apartment. Mulder waited at the window until she pulled away.

***

Mulder's apartment
Saturday, 1:18 AM

He woke to the bizarre sensation of falling onto his couch 
from a great height, his whole body jerking as he landed with 
a startled gasp. He lay there panting, bathed in sweat, his 
heart slamming against his ribs so hard that he could feel the 
echo pulsing behind his eyes.

Must've been one hell of a nightmare, but he couldn't recall 
any of it. Just the fall at the end. That in itself was 
unusual. As a rule, he remembered every horrifying moment of 
his dreams and it was somehow unsettling to have this one be 
such a blank. He lay still, forcing his breathing to slow and 
deepen, counting each one the way Scully had taught him to do 
one night in the field. He had wakened to the sound of his own 
screams to see her bursting through their connecting door, gun 
in hand, certain he was being flayed alive. She'd sat with him 
for a long time that night, and out of it had come this ritual. 

He wanted very much to call her right now. The sound of her 
voice never failed to chase away the shadows, but he couldn't 
risk it this time. The throbbing pain in his head had returned 
with a vengeance and he knew she would hear it in his voice. 
She'd have him packed off to the ER before he could blink.

*Deal with it, G-man. It's just you and me.*

He felt the words rather than heard them, like trickles of ice 
water down his back, freezing him in place against the leather 
cushions and driving all rational thought from his head. 

*Gotta play by the rules.*

Not ice water this time. Tongues of fire, consuming the air 
around him with a suffocating heat. 

Suddenly the darkness was like a physical thing, bearing down 
on his chest and crushing the breath from his lungs. The need 
to escape was overwhelming. He pushed himself up from the 
couch, grabbed his jacket and headed out into the night.

***

Scully's apartment
Saturday, 5:21 AM

*'Piece of cake. Your turn.' Mulder lowers the gun, his eyes  
fixed on Modell's, his expression utterly blank. She pleads 
with him to give her the gun, but his gaze never moves from the 
man in front of him. In one smooth motion, he raises the gun to 
his temple and pulls the trigger. The spray of blood blinds 
her, and she wipes it away to find Mulder still in the chair. 
The right side of his head is destroyed, but he's finally 
looking at her. 'I'm cold, Scully. I'm so cold.'* 

She woke calling Mulder's name, her face damp with tears and 
something hard and cold beneath her cheek. It was the cordless 
phone, pressed between her ear and the pillow. Scully stared at 
it stupidly for a moment, and then she heard his voice.

She sat up quickly and pressed the receiver to her ear. "...get 
me? Sc-Scully?" A thin, shaky voice, but unmistakable.

"Mulder? Are you all right? Where are you?" She was wide awake 
now and trembling.

"D-don't know...dark..." He sounded so confused, so frightened.

"Describe where you are, Mulder." Her heart was hammering so 
hard that her ears were thumping with every beat.

"N-no... Don't!" She heard the receiver clank repeatedly 
against a hard surface as he dropped it from his hands. His 
voice was suddenly far away from the mouthpiece. "NO!!", a 
scream that turned her blood to ice, and then silence. 

"Mulder! Mulder what happened?" 

She strained to hear what was going on at the other end of the 
line, but there was nothing more for nearly a minute. Then 
someone hung up the receiver with a soft click. A few seconds 
later, the dial tone returned and broke her paralysis.

Scully quickly punched in *69 to redial the number that had 
just called her and wrote down it down as the electronic 
voice asked if she wanted to be connected. She waited through 
ten rings, growing more frightened with each hammering beat of 
her heart. No one was going to answer, obviously. Whatever had 
happened to Mulder, he was no longer able to get to the phone. 
She hung up and dialed Skinner.

She wondered if the man ever slept. He sounded as alert as if 
she'd called him in the middle of the afternoon.

"You have no idea where he could have been calling from?"

"No, Sir. I dropped him off at his apartment yesterday 
evening. I have no idea why he would have gone out."

"I'll get the location on this number and call you back." He 
hung up.

She was fully dressed and ready to leave the apartment when 
Skinner called back a few minutes later.

"He was calling from a pay phone in Bosher's Run State Park. 
It's in--"

"I know where it is, Sir."

"The Fairfax County police should be on the scene shortly. I'm 
on my way to your apartment right now to pick you up." 

"Thank you, Sir."

His professional demeanor slipped for a moment. "He's okay, 
Dana. Just sit tight." He hung up.

***

Bosher's Run State Park
Manassas, VA
Saturday, 6:14 AM

They saw the cluster of flashing emergency lights through the 
partially-bare trees as Skinner turned from the main road onto 
the park's service drive. He pulled up behind a Fairfax County 
EMT van and gave Scully's arm a reassuring squeeze before they 
got out of the car.

The phone Mulder had called from was mounted on the side of a 
small wooden structure that housed the public restrooms. The 
detective in charge of the scene introduced himself and gave 
them a quick rundown of what they'd learned so far.

"There's no sign of a struggle, no blood or other physical 
evidence. Nothing other than a bunch of smudged and overlaid 
prints on the receiver and the surrounding surfaces." He 
regarded Scully's worried expression for a moment. "He's your 
partner?"

"Yes. He called me from here less than an hour ago, very 
disoriented. He wanted me to come and get him, but he couldn't 
tell me where he was. Then it sounded as if someone grabbed the 
phone away, and I heard him scream."

The detective's eyes went soft with sympathy, and Scully's 
throat tightened. *He's not dead. Don't look at me like that.*

"Detective, I hope you won't be offended if I have a Bureau 
team process the scene as well." Skinner was punching numbers 
in to his cell phone as he spoke.

"No, of course not." He glanced quickly at Scully. "I 
understand completely. My team should be finished here in a few 
minutes. I'd appreciate a call if you find anything we missed." 
He handed a business card to each of them, and went back to 
supervise his people.

Skinner spoke into his cell phone for a few minutes while 
Scully walked slowly around the perimeter defined by the crime 
scene tape. She circled back to him as he ended the call.

"It's as if he was never here." She hated the waver in her 
voice and consciously squared her shoulders. "I think we should 
check out Mulder's apartment, Sir."

"I've already got a team on the way. We'll meet them there."

Scully glanced back at the phone. *He's not dead. I'd know it 
if he was.* "Let's go."

***

They were less than ten minutes from Mulder's building when 
Scully's cell phone rang. She fumbled it out of her jacket 
pocket and answered on the third ring. 

At her shocked gasp, Skinner pulled quickly to the side of the 
road and stopped the car. "What is it, Agent?"

Her shock was rapidly changing to a mixture of fury and 
embarrassment. "It's Mulder, Sir. He wants to know what the 
hell's going on."

***

Mulder's apartment
Saturday, 8:25 AM

"I was asleep on my couch when these two kicked the door in. 
If my gun had been within reach, we'd have a hell of a mess 
here right now." Mulder clearly believed he was the injured 
party in this debacle and Scully didn't know whether to hug 
him or slap him.

Skinner was uncharacteristically restrained in his response. 
"Agent Mulder, these men were sent by me and I apologize for 
the confusion." He turned to Scully. "I'd like you to stop by 
my office on Monday morning so we can go over your statement 
for the Fairfax P.D." He motioned to the two agents from the 
crime scene investigation unit and they preceded him out of the 
apartment. He glanced back at Mulder and Scully, nodded and 
closed the door behind him.

"Skinner thinks I've gone off the deep end, Mulder, and I 
can't say that I blame him. What the hell is going on?" Her 
arms were crossed over her chest, partly in anger and partly 
to subdue the trembling that had begun when she had realized 
he was safe.

"You tell *me*. I went out early this morning to find 
something to eat, stopped at a diner and had some breakfast. 
Then out of nowhere I've got storm troopers kicking my door 
down. What brought *that* on?"

They were standing toe-to-toe in the middle of the living room 
which meant that Scully was at a distinct height disadvantage. 
She had to crane her neck back to look at him and it was 
beginning to hurt.

"Sit down, Mulder."

They took positions at either end of the couch and glared at 
each other.

"You called me, Mulder. From a pay phone in Bosher's Run 
park."

He began to protest but she held up a hand to stop him. "Just 
let me finish, please." 

He settled back again, gesturing for her to continue before 
crossing his arms over his chest. "Please, go on."

"What time did you leave this morning?"

"A little after one."

"And how long did it take to get to the diner?"

"I don't know, it's only a mile or so away. Maybe five 
minutes." 

"How long were you there?"

"Less than an hour. However long it takes to order, receive 
and eat three eggs and some hash browns. Where are you going 
with this?"

"Mulder, you called me at 5:21 this morning from the park. 
Where were you for the intervening three hours?"

"I didn't call you, Scully. Not from the park or anywhere 
else. I came back here and went to sleep." He was using that 
wearily patient, condescending tone that drove her up the 
wall.

"There's a record of the time and the phone number in my caller 
ID. I didn't imagine it."

"It wasn't me, Scully. That's all I can tell you. I assume the 
phone in the park was checked for prints?" He arched his 
eyebrows at her in that *I've got you* expression.

"They weren't usable, but I don't need fingerprints to tell me 
it was you on the phone. You were scared, Mulder. You wanted me 
to come and get you, but you couldn't tell me where you were." 
Her voice lost some of it's assertive tone and she looked away 
before she continued. "Then it sounded like someone grabbed the 
phone away from you, and...you screamed."

Telling him about that awful moment brought the memory to life, 
and it must have showed in her voice. Mulder's angry posture 
relaxed immediately.

"I'm sorry, Scully." His voice was soft. "I'm sorry you were 
put through that. But it wasn't me. Think about it. You were 
probably sound asleep and just assumed it was me calling you." 
He touched her chin and turned her face back toward his. "It 
*was* the natural assumption."

"But what would be the point?" Her certainty was fading into 
confusion. She knew he wasn't lying to her, but--

"I don't know, Scully. Maybe to get you alone in the park? 
When you sent the cavalry in ahead of you, whoever it was ran 
off. Or, it could just have been a very sick joke."

It was the only thing that made sense, and she began to feel 
more foolish than angry. She gave him a smile that trembled a 
bit at the edges. "Okay, let's assume for the sake of argument 
that you could be right..."

Mulder's eyes widened comically and he held up one hand. "Wait, 
please. Let me savor this moment." He paused dramatically, then 
waggled his eyebrows at her, and they both dissolved into 
relieved chuckles that swept away the last of the tension.

"Scully, I knew if I lived long enough, I'd hear you say it."

She narrowed her eyes in a mock glare. "Don't let it go to your 
head."

His joy was undiminished. "To prove what a good winner I can 
be, I'll take you out for lunch. We just have to wait until 
somebody shows up to fix my door."

The building manager had promised to send a repairman within 
the hour to put his door back together for the umpteenth time, 
but as one hour stretched into two, Mulder began to wonder 
aloud if it wasn't a sign that he'd finally worn out his 
welcome with the landlord.

"Do you know anyone who might be looking for a roommate?"  His 
trademark leer was firmly in place. "I may not be tidy but I'm 
never dull." 

"No, Mulder. That you are not." He'd obviously expected her 
customary put down, and the wistful softness in her voice 
seemed to throw him off balance. It had the same effect on 
her, and for a moment everything between them shifted. As was 
so often the case, their words were only a small part of the 
message, and what was passing between them right now simply 
defied description.

A couple of sharp raps against what remained of the doorframe 
made them both jump. Mulder took a half step away from her, 
with what looked suspiciously like the beginnings of a blush 
on his cheeks and turned quickly toward the source of the 
sound.

"Mr. Mulder, you know there was actually a time when I thought 
having you in the building would make us all safer." A short, 
grizzled little man was standing in the doorway with his arms 
crossed, surveying the damage. Scully had seen Mulder's 
building manager on a number of previous occasions, and he 
always reminded her of Frohike--minus the fingerless gloves 
and rampant paranoia.

"Join the club, Mr. Allen. We all did." Scully shot her 
partner a wink, expecting his usual snappy comeback. Instead, 
she felt her breath catch at the soft emotion in his eyes. It 
was there for less than a heartbeat, shoved quickly down with 
a defensive reflex born of long practice, but there was no 
mistaking what she had seen, and her skin tingled in the 
afterglow.

Mulder held her gaze for a second longer, then returned her 
wink and crossed the room to talk with Allen. She followed 
their mundane conversation about costs and responsibility with 
only the fringe of her awareness. Most of her brain was 
occupied with dissecting what had just happened, turning the 
moment over in her mind like a shiny stone, searching for what 
lay beneath. 

When Mulder touched her shoulder sometime later, she jumped as 
if he'd shouted in her ear.

"Hey, Scully. You ignoring me?" His casual grin was back, and 
his eyes held nothing but amusement.

She was blushing. She could feel it. "I was thinking about all 
the work I've got waiting for me at home, Mulder. What did you 
say?" 

"I asked if you wanted to grab some lunch at the Bistro. These 
guys are going to key the new lock to match the old one, so we 
don't have to hang around any longer." When she didn't react, 
he brought out the big guns. "My treat."

~~~~
The Bistro
Reston, VA
11:20 a.m.

Saturday was probably a slow lunch day, but the restaurant 
still seemed unusually empty. There were fewer than a dozen 
patrons, some at the bar, the rest in the high-backed booths 
around the perimeter of the cozy Italian-themed interior. Red 
and white checkered tablecloths, oak beamed ceilings and 
candles mounted in bottles bearing the melted remains of their 
predecessors set a mood more suited to a romantic evening than 
a weekend brunch. Mulder asked the hostess for a booth in the 
back, and they were soon studying their menus from opposite 
sides of the table.

The thirty minute drive from Mulder's apartment had passed in 
near silence, with Scully too wrapped up in her own roiling 
emotions to make any attempt at conversation. She had no idea 
what had prompted him to choose this place, but he'd obviously 
been here before. Probably with a date, she suddenly realized, 
frowning at the image that thought evoked, irritated with 
herself for bringing it up.

"Is it that bad?" 

She looked up to find Mulder smiling uncertainly. "What?" 

"I was expecting that menu to burst into flames. Is it 
something I did? Again?" His smile slipped a bit.

"No, of course not. I--I'm just a tired." She silently cursed 
her imagination. "What's good? You've been here before, 
right?" It sounded almost like an accusation, even to her own 
ears.

"A couple of times, yeah." He gave her an odd look, then 
recited the selections from memory, complete with the flowery 
descriptions she'd noticed printed next to each one.

Their waiter appeared at that point and couldn't be dissuaded 
from repeating the entire list for her. She saw Mulder's grin 
from the corner of her eye as she listened politely to the 
young man's spiel. As soon as he left with their orders, 
Scully turned on her smirking partner.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" She was smiling again, and it 
felt wonderful. Her imagination could just go take a hike.

"You don't know how to be rude, Scully. It's a curse of some 
kind." He was chuckling softly.

Their food arrived quickly, and Scully realized that she was 
starving. For the next ten minutes, she murmured praise for 
the food and Mulder's choice of restaurants between blissful 
mouthfuls of delicately seasoned angel hair pasta. It took 
much too long for her to realize that he wasn't responding. 
When she looked up, he had the fingers of both hands pressed 
against his brow ridge. 

"Mulder?" He dropped his hands immediately. "Are you okay?"

His smile was wobbly at best. "Guess I'm tired, too. Think 
I'll go splash a little water on my face." He slid out of the 
booth and stood up, but she grabbed his wrist before he took a 
step. 

"Are you sure you're all right?" He looked down at her and 
winked. 

"I'll be right back."

She leaned out of the booth and watched as he headed for an 
alcove near the front entrance where she'd spotted the 
restrooms when they came in. 

"Miss? Would you care for dessert?" She turned back to find 
their waiter standing helpfully at her elbow. 

"No, thank you. We'll want coffee, though, when my friend 
returns."

The boy nodded and left. Scully leaned against the high 
seatback and closed her eyes. Mulder was obviously in pain, 
and it bothered her that he was trying to hide it. She snorted 
softly. Why should now be any different? Hiding their feelings 
from each other was one of the things they did best. 

"May I have your cup, Miss?" 

The waiter's sudden return snapped her out of her thoughts and 
put an edge in her voice. "I told you, we'll have coffee when 
my friend returns." 

The young man's smile vanished, and he looked uncomfortable. 
"Your friend, Miss? He just left. I--I thought you knew."

"What?" Scully got up and ran for the front door, heedless of 
the waiter's pitying look. She stepped out into the parking 
lot, shielding her eyes against the glare. It took her a moment 
to locate the spot where they had parked less than an hour 
before, and her eyes widened in disbelief.

Mulder's car was gone.

***

Mulder's apartment
Saturday, 2:50 PM

The new lock was touchy. She was about to pull out her Bureau-
issued pick by the time her well worn key finally coaxed the 
tumblers into place. Once inside, she shut the door and leaned 
against it, eyes closed. She hadn't really expected to find him 
here, but the reality of his empty apartment knocked the wind 
from her for a moment.

She'd taken a taxi here from restaurant, stopping to check her 
own car for a note before sprinting up the stairs with the 
irrational hope of finding him asleep on the couch. His cell 
phone was turned off, the Gunmen hadn't seen him, and she was 
now officially out of ideas. She crossed slowly to the couch, 
sank down onto it and punched speed dial number three.

It took less than a minute to tell the Assistant Director what 
little she knew. 

"Is it possible someone could have taken him by force?"

"No, sir. The waiter saw him walk out to his car and drive 
away." 

She could almost hear her boss pinching the bridge of his nose. 
"And you noticed nothing unusual?"

"He's experienced a couple of severe headaches since yesterday 
afternoon. He was checked out at the hospital, but I'm 
beginning to think we may have missed something." 

...like an aneurysm or a stroke or a tumor. The possibilities 
were endless and terrifying. After the stress she'd seen him 
endure in his battle with Modell, anything was...  

"Sir, what if Modell is still influencing him somehow?" It was 
a Mulder-like leap that suddenly it made perfect sense. 

"Agent Scully, the man's in a coma." It was the same tone she'd 
heard him use many times with Mulder. For some reason, she 
found that comforting.

"No, sir, he's not. I checked with the hospital last night and 
this morning. He's had moments of consciousness. What if the 
connection he had with Mulder is still in effect?" The image of 
Mulder with a gun to his head was suddenly so strong that she 
leaped up from the couch, heart thudding with dread. "Sir, we 
have to talk with Modell immediately."

Skinner must have heard it in her voice. "I'll put out an APB 
on Mulder. He can't have gotten very far. Do you want me to 
meet you at the hospital?"

"Thank you, Sir."  Her relief was palpable. "I'll see you 
there."

***
Fairfax Mercy Hospital
Intensive Care Unit
Saturday, 3:40 p.m.


Skinner found his agent standing at Modell's bedside. She 
looked up when he opened the door.

"His nurse heard him talking about an hour ago, but he's been 
unconscious since I arrived." She gestured toward the monitor 
on the wall above the bed. "There is definite brain activity, 
much more than normal for a patient with this level of brain 
injury. It doesn't make sense."

"Unless you're right, and he's concentrating everything he has 
left on Mulder."

As if in answer, the man in the bed moaned softly. Scully bent 
quickly, turning her head to listen as his lips began to move.

***

Location unknown
Saturday, 3:40 p.m.


*Hey, G-man. You gotta let go sooner or later. Why don't you 
save us both a lot of time and just do it?*

He was in a car. That much he could tell without opening his 
eyes. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly 
that his fingers were numb and the muscles in his forearms 
were beginning to ache. He had no idea where the car was or 
why he was in it. And for a reason he couldn't name, he was 
terrified of finding out. 

*You can't hold on much longer. She doesn't want you to.*

Wherever he was, wherever the *car* was, it was cold and 
utterly silent.

The damp air penetrated his thin jacket and soaked into his 
bones, sending tremors through every muscle. He listened for a 
sound, anything that might tell him where he was, but there was 
nothing. No traffic noise, no wind, nothing but the voice 
coming from somewhere inside his head. A familiar voice that he 
could hear all too clearly.

His head hurt in a way that made him want to bang it against 
something. A deep, squeezing agony that ran from his eyes to 
the back of his neck, pulsing with every heart beat. 

*It's going to keep getting worse until you let go, G-man. 
Trust me on this.*

He didn't need to ask who the voice belonged to any more than 
he needed to ask what it wanted. The pain would stop when he 
gave in. As if to affirm his conclusion, the pulsing fire in 
his head surged to a level that made him gasp, then quickly 
ebbed. 

*It looks like you need a refresher. How's this?*

The images flooded his mind: Scully in a coma, her reward for 
following him on his quest... Samantha being pulled into the 
light, screaming his name as he huddled on the floor and 
watched her go... Reggie Purdue, murdered while he talked to 
him on the phone by a man he should have killed the first time 
he had the chance...  all the children who died in terror while 
he retched his way through their killers' profiles...

*What's the tally, G-man? How many lives?*

The physical pain in his head intensified along with the agony 
in his soul until there was nothing else...

***

Mulder's apartment
6:50 p.m.

Modell's heart had stopped a few minutes into his silent 
monologue. By the time the code team had brought him back, all 
brain activity on the EEG was gone. There was nothing to do now 
but wait, and she wanted to do it here. With Modell's influence 
removed, Mulder would be walking in the door any moment. 

She'd been certain of it two and a half hours ago. But now--

She snatched up the phone halfway through the first ring.

"Dana, I just received a call from the Reston P.D. They found 
him in his car parked on a forestry service road off Route 29. 
He's on his way to Georgetown Memorial."

"How is he?"

Skinner's hesitation was brief, but it was enough to bring 
tears to her eyes. "He's alive. That's all they could tell me. 
I'll meet you there."

***

Georgetown Memorial Hospital
Trauma Unit
Sunday, 2:51 AM

"There's a minor bleed in the left temporal lobe." Doctor 
Lassiter circled the area on the lighted screen with his right  
index finger. "We've got that under control for the moment with 
medication. It's not the cause of his symptoms, however."

He turned to face the man and woman seated across from him. 
"He's completely unresponsive to deep, painful stimulus. He's 
had two episodes of tachycardia that required defibrillation 
and his pulmonary function is sufficiently compromised that 
we've placed him on a ventilator. There is no physical cause 
that we can identify for any of this, though of course we're 
still doing tests."

The woman was a medical doctor and the patient's partner in the 
FBI. The man was their supervisor. Both had listened intently 
to his summary, asking no questions. He folded his hands 
together on the desk and waited. The man spoke first.

"There's no physical trauma?" The man was looking at the woman 
as he spoke and Lassiter was unsure who he expected to respond. 
When she remained silent, he repeated his earlier comments.

"None whatever. There's not a mark on him."

"I need to see him now." The woman looked at her supervisor, 
then at Lassiter. "He needs to see me."

Lassiter had expected to be grilled on his diagnosis and 
treatment plan, especially by another physician. Her lack of 
curiosity was puzzling, almost as if she already knew what was 
wrong and had been listening to him as a courtesy.

"Of course. He should be settled in ICU by now. I'll take you 
to him." He rose.

"That won't be necessary, Doctor. I know the way." And she left 
the room.

Lassiter turned to the man, eyebrows raised in surprise. The 
man stood and offered his hand over the desk, his handshake 
firm and brief.

"Thank you, Doctor." He moved to the door and paused, turning 
back to offer what he apparently felt was an explanation for 
the woman's behavior. 

"He's her partner."

***
ICU Room 6
Sunday, 1:31 AM

She had encountered the usual resistance to her demands. No one 
was permitted to remain with a patient beyond the scheduled 
five minutes per hour. It would interfere with their ability to 
provide adequate care and was against hospital policy. She had 
listened with weary forbearance, just as she had to the 
doctor's discourse. They were just doing their jobs, she 
understood that. But they didn't understand what Mulder needed. 
He needed her. And she would be here for him, whatever it took 
to accomplish that. 

She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand, curling her 
fingers against his cool palm. She usually preferred to hold 
the hand they'd placed the IV in, but the equipment was too 
close to the bed on that side to accommodate the chair they'd 
brought in for her.

"You need to stop this." Scully squeezed his hand and watched 
his eyes. They were open, staring unblinkingly into whatever 
horror Modell had sent him to. 

"I know you, Mulder, and I know what you're trying to do. You 
think if he stays focused on you, he can't hurt anybody else." 
She touched his cheek, gently turning his face toward her. "But 
you can let go now. He's gone, can't you feel it? Please, 
Mulder. Look at me."

Nothing. She reached up and pinched his earlobe. Hard. He 
should blink, try to pull away from the pain...

"You know, this is becoming something of a bad habit. You going 
out and getting yourself hurt so I can sit here and develop an 
ulcer waiting for you to come back to me. And you wonder why I 
live on yogurt and salads, while you wolf down every greasy 
burger you can get your hands on." The mental image made her 
smile. "My digestion has taken too many hits, thanks to you. 
It's called heartburn for more reasons than the location of the 
pain, partner. I think you owe me a break this time."

His hand was as rigid as the rest of his body. Holding onto 
himself so hard had to be exhausting. She began to massage his 
fingers, and unaccountably, her eyes began to fill with tears.

"Mulder, I--" The words were there, all she had to do was say 
them. "You mean so much to me." Emotion choked her voice to a 
whisper. "I can't let you go."

A sudden increase in the frequency of beeps from his heart 
monitor drew her attention and she sat bolt upright. 

"Mulder, I want you to relax. Right now." The beeps increased, 
the spikes on the display getting alarmingly close together. 
"Don't do this..."

A nurse came quickly into the room and crossed to the other 
side of his bed. 

"What happened?" She had just begun to check his vitals when 
the beeps that counted his heart rate blended into one 
continuous squeal, setting off alarms on every monitor he was 
attached to.

"Mulder!" Scully stood quickly and shoved the chair out of the 
way to make room for the crash cart.

Scully moved to the foot of his bed, helpless to do more than 
watch as the fight for her partner's life was taken out of her 
hands.

***

He actually missed the voice. Even the taunting words were 
preferable to this smothering silence. 

The voice was Modell's. He knew that, but it didn't matter. It 
had told him the truth. He could never make up for the hurt 
he'd caused everyone in his life, and it would keep on 
happening for as long as he lived. There was only one way to 
end it, and he was ready.

And then everything had stopped. The voice that had shown him 
the light was gone and he was alone in the darkness. Without 
the guidance of the voice, he drifted. He could feel the doubt 
creeping back and fought to hold his place against it. 

By the time he felt the change in his surroundings, it was too 
late to stop it. The sound had been floating on the far edge of 
his awareness for some time, he realized. And there was light, 
too. Brief flashes that rapidly lengthened into a continuous, 
blinding glare, just as the sound resolved itself into a 
shrieking cacophony that thrummed along his nerve endings like 
a current.

He made one desperate attempt to stay where he was, but it was 
hopeless. He was falling from some unimaginable height, arms 
flailing in the rush of air that drew him precipitously toward 
whatever awaited him...

***

ICU Room 6
Sunday, 1:33 AM

"Charging!" Lassiter had arrived in the midst of this current 
crisis and had quickly taken over. "Clear!"  The paddles were 
applied for the third time to Mulder's chest, arching his back 
completely off the bed and dropping him back again.

The frantic scream of the cardiac monitor abruptly stopped. For 
ten interminable seconds, Scully held her breath. All eyes were 
fixed on the monitor's display screen, watching the flat green 
line sail noiselessly across its face.

Then a beep and a spike, followed by another and another. 

"We got him!" The activity changed from desperation to routine 
as the successful code run was completed. Scully stood at the 
end of Mulder's bed, gripping the footboard. Her attention was 
riveted on the cardiac monitor, willing his heart to maintain 
its rhythm.

"Doctor, his eyes are closed." 

Scully's gaze flew to Mulder's face, then to Lassiter's for 
confirmation. He nodded, smiling broadly.

"I wouldn't have recommended it as a treatment but I'd say the 
defib brought him out of it." He performed a quick exam, 
lifting Mulder's lids and shining his penlight in his eyes. He 
pinched Mulder's earlobe and smiled again when his patient 
flinched slightly. "He's back."

***

Sunday, 7:25 AM

Scully had called him with the news of Mulder's recovery and 
he'd finally been able to grab a few hours sleep. As he 
approached Mulder's room, Skinner donned his professional mask 
for the benefit of the nursing staff. He'd learned long ago 
that his imposing physical presence coupled with an official 
air produced the best results when his aim was to break a rule 
or two. He wanted to see how Mulder was doing before he went in 
to the office, and he was not inclined to wait for the 
scheduled visiting time. As it turned out, the staff was in the 
midst of a shift change and barely nodded in his direction as 
he strode to Mulder's door.

The lights were dimmed, but he could easily make out Scully's 
sleeping form. Her head was resting on the bed next to Mulder, 
and she had his hand clasped in both of hers, just touching her 
face. He looked up at Mulder's face. A pair of hazel eyes 
blinked back at him, and he felt his jaw unclench into a broad 
smile. Mulder gave him a sleepy grin and made a shushing 
gesture with his free hand.

Skinner walked quietly to the opposite side of the bed. 

"I'm fine, Sir." Mulder's whisper was roughened from his hours 
on the respirator.

"What happened, Mulder?"

The smile faded. "I don't know, Sir. I..."

Scully raised her head at the sound of Mulder's raspy whisper 
and kissed his hand before she realized they weren't alone. 
Mulder's grin returned, but his eyes held a warmth that Skinner 
knew was meant for her alone.

"We have company, Scully."

Skinner couldn't recall ever seeing her blush before. "I just 
dropped by to see how Mulder was doing. I see you have things 
under control." He felt a huge smile tickling the corners of 
his mouth and headed for the door before it could blossom.

"Could I have a word with you outside, Agent?"

Scully rose quickly and followed him out into the hall.

"How is he, Scully?" He was sorry to see that the blush was 
fading. It had made her look very young.

"He'll be moving to a regular room as soon as one is ready. 
They plan to keep him the rest of today for observation and 
release him tonight." Her eyes drifted back toward the door and 
her voice grew soft. "He's going to be fine."

For a moment he allowed his thoughts to roam past his self-
imposed boundaries. What must it be like to share a 
relationship like theirs?  He'd had good relationships with 
women in his life, but nothing like the one he had watched them 
create. It was inspiring and disheartening at the same time.  
He wondered if either of them realized what they had. 

He let his gaze follow hers to Mulder's door. "Take care of 
him, Dana." 

His voice, the softness of it, startled her and she turned 
quickly to meet his eyes. What she read in them made her throat 
ache with the tears she'd been holding back since Mulder 
disappeared.

"I will, Sir. Thank you." It was all she could force out but 
she could see in his eyes that it was enough.

And suddenly the moment was gone. His professional mask fell 
back into place and he squared his shoulders.

"I'll expect to see you in my office at 8a.m. Monday." He 
turned on his heel and strode to the elevators without another 
word.

She watched until the doors closed behind him but he never 
looked back.


***

Fairfax Mercy Hospital
Neuro ICU
Sunday 7:40 p.m.

He'd been so quiet on the way here that Scully was seriously 
reconsidering the wisdom of exposing him to Modell so soon. She 
parked the car in the Emergency lot and turned to face her 
partner. 

"Mulder, are you sure you want to do this?" She touched his arm 
when he didn't respond. His gaze swung slowly to meet hers.

"I have to." His voice wasn't much above a whisper and his 
words were heavy with memories he wasn't able to share with 
her. Not yet.

When they reached the ICU, she stopped to speak to Modell's 
nurse. "Go ahead, Mulder. He's in room 8. I'll be right there."

"All right." He walked slowly, deliberately, toward Modell's 
room and Scully could read the tension in his posture. It took 
everything she had to let him go on alone.

"Is something wrong?" Scully's attention was drawn back to the 
nurse just as Mulder made the turn into room 8. She closed her 
eyes for a moment, then turned to the nurse.

"No. Everything is going to be all right." It was a prayer more 
than anything.

"Did you have a question about the patient?"

"No. I just needed to give my friend a little space." Scully 
smiled. "Thank you."

When she reached Modell's room, Mulder was standing just inside 
the door.

"There's no telling how long he'll hang on, but he'll never 
regain consciousness."

Mulder's gaze never moved from the man in the bed. "You know, 
we thought he was undergoing treatment. We were wrong."

"What do you mean?"

He gestured toward the thick notebook clipped to the footboard 
of the bed. "Read his chart. The M.R.I's were a way to gauge 
how much life he had left, but he consistently refused 
treatment. The tumor remained operable right up until the end 
but he refused to have it removed."

"Why?"

"I think it was like you said. He was always such a ... little 
man. This was finally something that made him feel big."

There was bitterness in his voice, and a sadness that she 
couldn't begin to fathom. Whatever Modell had done to him had 
nearly taken his life along with his sanity, and she knew  
there was much more that he hadn't found a way to tell her.

"I say we don't let him take up another minute of our time."

She reached between them and took his hand, squeezing his 
fingers briefly before letting go. *I'm here, Mulder. Whenever 
you're ready.*  She turned and began walking down the hall, 
forcing herself to let him find his own way. 

She didn't breathe again until she felt him at her side.

***

End