From: shannara@pnx.com
Date: 8 Nov 1998 22:56:02 -0800
Subject: RICKETTSIAE M/Sk (R) -- by Sean Spencer


RICKETTSIAE
By Sean Spencer


CATEGORY: SRA


RATING: R


WARNING: Non-explicit consensual sexual relations between
members of the same sex.


KEYWORDS: Mulder/Skinner, Slash


SPOILERS: None


SUMMARY: A forest summer investigation leads to unexpected
and unpleasant consequences.


DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner and Dana Scully are
the properties of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox
Television. No copyright infringement is intended or
implied in their use in this work of fiction.



AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is dedicated to Kristina who keeps
hounding me to do some slash Muldertorture and she suggested
this scenario. But this is relatively mild. I just can't
torture the poor guy too much, especially with all the REAL
pain and suffering I've seen in my years of hospital work.



.......................



August 15, Friday
6:08 p.m.



When Assistant Director Walter Skinner got home, he tried
not to frown upon seeing pieces of Fox Mulder's luggage on
the living room floor. He already promised himself that he
wasn't going to harp about neatness anymore. It was a
mantra sometimes. I will tolerate sunflower seed shells; I
will tolerate sunflower seed shells, he would sometimes say
to himself when he would see the tiny ever-present bits.



It was one thing he learned about living with Fox Mulder.
Wherever the agent happened to be, sunflower seeds followed.
They had an ongoing relationship (it was more than an affair
now) for more than two years and had been living together
for three months. In fact, for Walter Skinner and Fox
Mulder, everything was new. The whole apartment in Crystal
City, Virginia was new. They moved in less than two months
ago and they just finished unpacking the last of the boxes
two weeks ago.



Everything was neat and was in its place most of the time
but right now, Skinner almost stumbled over Mulder's garment
bag, which was untidily blocking the front door. Because a
garment bag was bigger than a seed shell, Skinner felt he
had every right to get mad this time. He didn't need to
tolerate something that was essentially blocking the front
door.



He angrily wrestled with the bag and debated on whether he
was going to bring it upstairs or order his lover to bring
it up himself. Because he was already holding it in his
hand, Skinner folded and brought it upstairs to their
bedroom.



Fox Mulder was curled up on the king-sized bed over the
bedcovers, snoring away. He hadn't even gotten out of his
clothes. As Skinner put down his briefcase and the hated
garment bag, he could see that Mulder's shirt had hitched up
out of his trousers, which revealed a strip of bare smooth
skin just above the visible waistband of his underwear.



Skinner didn't have the heart to disturb the younger man.
He knew that Mulder just came from Churchtown, Georgia where
he and Scully yet again investigated sightings of strange
lights in the nighttime sky and fried treetops. Skinner
signed the 302 himself when Scully came to his office
earlier this week. There seemed to be substantial evidence
this time, because even Scully was excited by this
particular case before the two agents left for Georgia.



Mulder placed only one call from Churchtown. They were
rationing those calls because it would be difficult having
to explain to Accounting why Agent Mulder was calling his
empty apartment every night. Also, Scully sometimes filed
their expense report and they had to hide their calls from
her, too. Sometimes, when they were missing each other,
Mulder would hunt for a pay phone but this was occasionally
unpleasant because Skinner could hear Mulder's small change
dropping on the floor as he tried to keep up with the long
distance charges with coins. Calling surreptitiously from
pay phones with loose change instead of phone cards was very
difficult, to say the least.



Skinner quietly unpacked Mulder's luggage for him. The
muddy jeans, socks and the state of the hiking boots
confirmed the AD's suspicions that Scully and Mulder did
another round of serious hiking through the woods. With
distaste, Skinner held the hiking boots away from him and
went down to the kitchen where he placed it on the utility
area floor. No way was he going to clean this up for
Mulder. The agent would have to do that himself.



As he heated up the dinner that Mrs. Jackson left for them,
Skinner smiled when he heard Mulder shuffling around
upstairs. It meant that the agent was now awake. After a
few minutes, once Skinner was setting the table in the
dining room, Mulder finally came down.



"Mmmhhmm..." Skinner smiled as he felt the younger man hug
him from behind and then kiss his neck. He turned around
and saw that Mulder was freshly showered. They kissed
properly but briefly and sat down for dinner.



The AD refrained from asking about the case in Churchtown.
After all, he was going to receive a report by Monday. He
didn't want to put his lover on the defensive; that
sometimes happened when they talked about cases at home
especially when it was another case where the X-files team
didn't come up with a set of concrete evidence.



Instead, dinner conversation centered on their plans for the
weekend. Because they just moved into the apartment, trips
to the cabin by the lake were kept at the minimum for the
moment. The apartment had to be fixed the way they liked
it, spending time putting up the picture frames and
rearranging furniture. Skinner ironically thought how much
easier it was rearranging furniture when two men lived
together. He still had memories of being directed by Sharon
his ex-wife to move a couch here or there then having to do
it over because she was unsatisfied with the result.



They made love that night. Skinner thought that this part
of their relationship would slow down once they were living
together and were available for each other seven days a
week. Instead, quite the opposite happened. It seemed that
as they became more familiar with each other through living
together, the more they wanted each other. It was luxurious
waking up anytime and being beside each other and reaching
for each other without worrying the Monday morning deadline
was near. Skinner preferred them making slow sweet
beautiful love in the mornings just before work. Sometimes,
it was difficult having Mulder in the office, the desk
separating them and Scully a few feet away when he knew that
Mulder's lips were swollen from the kissing they did just a
few hours ago.



It was Mulder this time who was wickedly creative and it was
Skinner's turn to groan and cry out as Mulder worked his
magic. When they finished afterwards, Mulder curled up to
him and Skinner lovingly enfolded him and kissed him
thoroughly until they both fell asleep. 

............................



August 17, Sunday
3:42 p.m. 

The first inkling that something was wrong was on Sunday
afternoon. Mulder just finished hanging the painting in the
living room. Afterwards, he complained that he was beat,
which Skinner thought odd because putting a nail on the wall
and making sure that the painting wasn't crooked certainly
wasn't strenuous for a man in his early thirties. The agent
took a nap on the couch in the den as Skinner finished
hanging more of the paintings. At first he was annoyed.
Skinner thought that Mulder was trying to escape the
mindless but still necessary chore of making a home for them
together. But all was forgotten when Mulder asked the older
man to massage his legs for him.



"Maybe, I did too much running in the woods," Mulder sighed
as Skinner put the agent's legs on his lap and proceeded to
knead the calf muscles. They ate dinner, which Mulder
didn't finish either, still saying he was tired. But
everything went well after that, when they watched the
Sunday night movie in bed. After some cuddling and kissing,
Mulder conked out as Skinner watched the late night news.



.........................



August 18, Monday
4:57 a.m.



Mulder squirmed out of Skinner's tight embrace. It was
still dark but he felt quite hot. At first, Mulder thought
it was because of the air-conditioning, but the resultant
chill he felt after getting out from Skinner's arms meant
that the airconditioner worked. When he snuck out of bed
and walked to the bathroom, the agent noticed that the achy
sensation of his legs was back. He didn't bother turning on
the light when he drank from the tap. He felt slightly
better when he got back under the thin sheet.



..........................



August 18, Monday
7:00 a.m.



Once Skinner's alarm clock rang, he promptly turned it off
and carefully got out of bed. He changed from his pajamas
to his workout clothes then went to Mulder's study where he
spent his requisite half hour on his machine. As he did his
morning exercise, Skinner carefully mapped out his day in
his head. It was a start of a warm summer day and it would
be nice to go back to the cabin this weekend just to catch
the last few days of summer.



Once he did his half-hour, Skinner went back to the bedroom
and took his morning shower. As he dressed, he noticed that
Mulder was still buried under the covers. It was already
quarter to eight and Mulder should begin getting ready for
work. As a matter of fact, Skinner already heard Mrs.
Jackson puttering downstairs in the kitchen, whipping up
breakfast for them.



Skinner was tying his necktie and walked over to their bed.
He sat on the edge and carefully stroked Mulder's back
through the bedsheet.



"Fox, time for work," Skinner said adding ironically, "We do
need your paycheck, you know."



Mulder groaned heavily and turned onto his back. Even in
the weak morning light that was filtering through the
curtains, Skinner could see that the younger man's cheeks
were flushed. The AD frowned and put a hand on Mulder's
cheek.



"I don't feel too well," Mulder muttered. "I'm thirsty.
Maybe I've got the flu."



Skinner filled up the water glass and hunted in the medicine
cabinet for the thermometer and the bottle of Tylenol. In
that brief time he was in the bathroom, Mulder fell asleep.
Skinner woke him up again to stick the thermometer in his
mouth and waited a few more minutes. In the meantime,
Skinner put on his suit coat and checked his briefcase to
ensure that he didn't forget any files for work.



"Well, it's one hundred," Skinner sighed as he shook down
the thermometer. "Here...take this."



The agent grimaced as he sat up and drank the water. He
asked for another glass and thirstily downed it as well. He
huddled under the thin sheet again and almost immediately
fell back to sleep. He didn't even acknowledge Skinner's
brief goodbye peck on his cheek.



"Fox isn't going to work today, Mrs. Jackson," Skinner said
as he drank the coffee she poured for him and dug into the
Belgian waffles. "He has the flu. Please make sure he
stays in bed."



"Not again," Mrs. Jackson clucked in dismay. "Wasn't it
just last month that he had a bad cold?"



"Well, he does travel around a lot and gets run down
sometimes," Skinner admitted. Mulder did have a tendency to
always come down with whatever virus was going around the
Hoover. Skinner reminded himself to tell Scully that Mulder
wouldn't be in for work. As usual, he pretended for
Scully's benefit that Mulder called him with the news that
he was sick yet again. Ironically, Scully was now used to
it and didn't bother Mulder. The agent informed Skinner a
few weeks ago that his petite partner was currently
preoccupied with her own love life.



"I'll make sure he eats something and drinks lots of
fluids," Mrs. Jackson reassured him. Although she only knew
him for the three months that the two men had been living
together, she had grown quite fond of Mulder since he
responded more to her mothering ways than the AD. After
all, she was sixty and there weren't too many years between
her and Skinner. However, the agent just had this way of
bringing out her maternal instincts and Mulder lapped it up
like a cat with a bowl of milk.



Skinner left the apartment promptly at eight o'clock, his
mind already geared to the set of meetings he was going to
have that day.



....................................



August 18, Monday
11:13 a.m.



Mulder woke up and groaned at the harsh noon time summer
light that filled the bedroom. He had a fierce headache but
what was more pressing was his full bladder. He really
needed to empty it but just moving on the bed made him too
aware of every aching muscle. Because he couldn't wait any
longer, he stood up and weaved to the bathroom. God, the
bathroom was cold! He shivered as he urinated and after
washing his hands, he grabbed Skinner's dressing gown that
hung on the back of the bathroom door and shrugged into it.
Mulder went back into bed and gathered up the comforter at
the foot of it. He then arranged Skinner's numerous pillows
around him, trying to create a warm nest. He was freezing
as he huddled under the thick covers.



For the next few minutes, Mulder shivered under the
blankets, his teeth chattering. He didn't even hear the
knock on the door. Suddenly he felt a cool hand on his
forehead.



"Fox?" It was a voice filled with concern and for a moment,
Mulder crazily thought that his mother was beside him. She
shouldn't be here, that was all that filled his mind.
She'll find out about Walter and me.



"Fox, you're burning up," the voice said again. Then Mulder
realized it was Mrs. Jackson. He felt someone tugging at
the blankets, trying to wrestle the covers from under his
chin. "Fox, you have to get out from under there. You'll
just make the fever worse if you stay under there."



"I'm c-cold," Mulder muttered, wishing that they would just
leave him in peace with the comforter. He shivered
violently this time, but Mrs. Jackson was insistent on
pulling off the covers from him.



"Fox, come on, drink this," the voice said yet again, quite
persistent in waking him up. Mulder opened his eyes which
were stuck together. "Come on, it's watered down juice.
And you have to take two more of the Tylenol."



It was the juice that roused Mulder. He really was thirsty.
He painfully sat up and drank from the straw Mrs. Jackson
held for him. He gagged at the pills but he was able to
take that, too. He started to get back under the covers.



"Uh-uh, Fox," Mrs. Jackson stopped him. To his dismay, she
threw back the comforter. "Let's get you out from all those
layers. You need to cool down and you won't be able to do
that if you don't listen to me. I'm going rub you down with
alcohol; I promise you'll feel better."



"But Mrs. Jackson, we've only kn-known each other for thr-
three m-months," Mulder mildly protested as she tugged at
Skinner's dressing gown which was tangled up all over him.
He shivered again as the cool air in the room assaulted his
fevered skin.



"Nonsense, Fox," Mrs. Jackson mildly admonished as she tried
to make head and tails of Skinner's robe. "On our first
meeting I saw all of you, remember? Now help me take off
your T-shirt. Don't be a baby. Your fever is probably close
to a hundred and four. We have to get it down fast."



The housekeeper didn't need to take his temperature. Years
of experience with taking care of people made her an expert
on people's temperatures. She wrung out the washcloth into
the basin beside her and rubbed down Mulder's skin, making
sure that the dry one followed each pass of the wet cloth so
that he wouldn't be unnecessarily chilled.



Mulder felt a tear escape from under his eyelid which he
brushed away angrily. He hated feeling so weak like this,
but Mrs. Jackson was being so kind. He wasn't used to all
this mothering attention on him; it made him feel decidedly
peculiar. He hoped Mrs. Jackson didn't see him tear up or
was just being polite by ignoring it. She rubbed down his
arms and legs and torso and then his back. He did indeed
feel better after that and the chills were banished within a
few minutes. This time Mrs. Jackson took his temperature,
which was back down to ninety-nine. By the time he was in a
fresh T-shirt and under a new sheet, he fell into a restful
sleep.



Mrs. Jackson woke him up again at three o'clock, insisting
that Mulder drink some more of the watered down juice. It
was just sweet enough but not tart so as not to sting his
mouth. The fever was controlled but he still didn't have an
appetite. He shook his head at the soup she offered him. 

......................



August 18, Monday
7:03 p.m.



Walter Skinner was surprised when he saw that Mrs. Jackson
was still in the kitchen playing solitaire. She should have
gone home hours ago.



"I didn't want to leave Fox alone," Mrs. Jackson explained.
"His fever was very high at noon, but it's been down the
rest of the day. He doesn't want to eat, but he was able to
keep down the juice."



"You should have told me you were waiting for me," Skinner
said, embarrassed that the housekeeper was on overtime.
After all, she was sixty already and she did need her rest,
too. Taking care of Mulder wasn't part of her job
description.



"It's no bother," she said as she gathered up her purse.
"It was my bowling night, but with my scores these past few
weeks, I didn't need the grief of my bowling group. He just
stayed in bed and did as I told him."



The housekeeper left and Skinner went upstairs to check on
Mulder. The agent was still flushed but ever-diligent Mrs.
Jackson left a small pad by the nightstand where she
recorded Mulder's temperature and the hour it was taken.
Skinner marveled at that. He never would have thought of
recording his lover's temperature. Apparently, it took
years of practice to achieve efficient bedside manners. The
agent's temperature was mostly ninety-nine the whole day.



"Fox," Skinner sat on the bed and gently stroked Mulder's
hair. The younger man's skin wasn't as hot as it was this
morning and so far the fever seemed controlled. Mulder
cheek was bristly already. After all, he didn't shave this
morning.



"My head hurts," Mulder muttered as an eye opened. "I had a
headache the whole day."



Skinner put a cool washcloth on his forehead and Mulder was
able to tolerate watching some television. Skinner
successfully coaxed him to eat the soup and crackers and was
gratified that Mulder finished all of it.



By the time they slept that night, Mulder claimed that he
felt better and might be able to go to work within two days. 

.....................



August 19, Tuesday
3:41 p.m.



"Sir, it's your housekeeper at line 4," Kimberly's filtered
voice said over the intercom. Skinner looked up from the
papers on his desk. "She said it's urgent."



Fox, Skinner thought. He punched in line 4, unconsciously
clenching his jaw.



"Walter, Fox's temperature has been rising since noon; its
now one hundred and four and staying there," Mrs. Jackson
said calmly. "I've given him all the Tylenol he's allowed
to have and the alcohol rubs but his fever is steady. I
think he needs to go to the hospital. He's awake and
looking daggers at me right now. Fox, you do need to see a
doctor. I don't think you have the flu..."



For a moment, Skinner heard his housekeeper and lover
bickering in the background. Finally, Mulder's voice got on
the line.



"It's just the flu, Walter," Mulder had that tell tale whiny
tone that Skinner had come to recognize as a definite sign
of illness in the agent. "I just have this headache that
won't go away and aside from the fever, I'm fine. I even
ate a sandwich..."



"Don't listen to him," Mrs. Jackson's voice abruptly got on
the line again. "He ate a BITE of the sandwich, Walter,
then gave up. He hasn't been drinking as much, either.
Now, Fox, don't call me a tattletale...it's for your own
good."



Skinner didn't want World War III to break out at home.
Mrs. Jackson after all was a treasure and he didn't want the
two to be at odds with each other before the day was over.



"I'm going home," Skinner said. "Please wait for me, Mrs.
Jackson."



"I will," Mrs. Jackson replied, somewhat with relief.



Kimberly was surprised to see Skinner emerge from his
office, briefcase in hand.



"But, sir, what about your four o'clock?" she asked.



"Please reschedule it, Kim," Skinner said tersely. "The-the
kitchen...it's flooded right now, burst pipes and the--
neighbors below are complaining."



"Oh," Kimberly said, nodding in understanding. That was
indeed an emergency if she ever saw one, especially since
the AD just moved in a few months ago.



Skinner drove home, thankful that the rush hour was yet to
start. Fortunately, the two people at home hadn't turned
into combatants. Instead, he found Mulder moaning in bed,
holding his head and Mrs. Jackson patting his back and
alternately rubbing the back of his neck.



"See, I told you not to stand up to go to the bathroom,"
Mrs. Jackson commiserated with him but was still somewhat
righteous. "I was willing to hold the bottle for you.
You're too sick to get up. Oh, Walter, I'm glad you're
back."



The housekeeper took him aside and with low tones told the
AD that Mulder's temperature was now one hundred and five.
She mentioned that the agent might have a serious infection,
one of which was meningitis although his neck wasn't stiff.
Then Mrs. Jackson mentioned that she noticed that both of
Mulder's palms were turning bright pink.



"I've never seen anything like that but it could be just
from the fever," she continued to whisper to him. "He's
also been complaining of muscle pains the whole day. No, I
won't go home until you call the doctor and I know what he
has to say. I want to know if my suspicions are correct."



Skinner sat by Mulder's bedside and helplessly rubbed the
moaning agent's back as he dialed Dr. Cormier's number.
Fortunately, it didn't take long before the discreet doctor
was on the phone.



Skinner described the younger man's symptoms and was alarmed
when Cormier's tone of voice turned intense when Skinner
mentioned the rash on Mulder's palms.



"Mr. Skinner, when was Mr. Mulder last out of town?" Cormier
asked. Skinner heard a squeaky creak as the physician
seemed to sit up suddenly in his chair. Cormier knew that
Mulder did a lot of traveling around the country.



"Last week, uh--Friday, he came from Georgia," Skinner said.
Thankfully, Mulder seemed to fall into a restless sleep.
But he really was burning up.



"Did he sustain any insect bites or tick bites?" Cormier's
crisp tones queried. "Was he ever in a forest setting?"



"He didn't mention any bites but, yes, he was in the forest
investigating...something," Skinner stated, suddenly
recalling Mulder's muddy boots.



"I'm not sure, Mr. Skinner, but from what you've told me,
Mr. Mulder might have Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever," Cormier
voiced his suspicions carefully. "I'll be sending over an
ambulance. I'm afraid that he has to be admitted."



Skinner whispered a numbed yes. He put down the telephone
and his forehead creased. He was familiar with the disease
by name only. He really never paid attention to the usual
health bulletins that was on the news every summer.



"I'll pack his things," Mrs. Jackson said, efficient as
always. She threw open the closet and was able to pack some
clothes for the agent. She didn't know what the doctor
said, but from Skinner's stunned face, she knew that the
agent was bound for the hospital.



Skinner knew that Mulder was going to be admitted in
Baltimore. Cormier's services didn't come cheap but the
specialist was even more of an expert in subterfuge than
they were. More than ten years of caring with utmost
discretion for homosexual men in the DC area had allowed
Cormier to build a practice that employed close-mouthed
ambulance drivers and private nurses. The doctor likewise
was connected with various hospitals. So if a DC patient
needed to be admitted, he was brought to either a Virginia
or Maryland facility, anywhere except near the patient's
place of residence or employment. After all, the last thing
certain top government officials needed was for the press to
hound them out of office.



Mrs. Jackson left after packing. She admonished Skinner to
call her if he had any news. Skinner nodded. He had that
tell tale clenching of his jaw, which meant that he was very
tense. He should have known that this wasn't just an
ordinary flu. Mulder felt unwell since Sunday and it was
now Tuesday. Skinner felt that he should have paid more
attention to what the younger man was feeling. He should
have been more vigilant because Mulder never did ordinary
things; in the same vein, he never had ordinary illnesses.
Although Cormier's voice was calm and professional, Skinner
hadn't missed the undertone of alarm that the doctor had.



Skinner waited for the ambulance, helplessly stroking
Mulder's fevered back.



Mulder briefly woke up.



"Fox, honey, did you get any insect bites in Churchtown?"
Skinner asked urgently in case Mulder fell asleep again.
Skinner's chest tightened when Mulder nodded sluggishly.
"Where?"



"On my leg, Thursday, I think...can I have water?" Mulder
asked. Skinner gave him half a glass. The younger man fell
asleep again and carefully, Skinner inspected Mulder's legs
but he didn't find any marks.



....................



August 19, Tuesday
5:24 p.m.



Cormier's ambulance men were well trained and shortly after
they arrived, they did an efficient physical examination and
called Cormier to report on the patient. Then after
inserting an intravenous line, they gently strapped a
feverish Mulder to the stretcher.



"We'll take good care of him, Mr. Skinner," the tall black
paramedic crisply said. "But it would be better if we take
him to the ambulance by ourselves. You can follow in your
car. The ambulance is in the basement so as few people as
possible will see him. Please give us a head start of ten
minutes before you go down so that people won't see you
together. Do you have a cell phone? Please give us your
number so that we can call you anytime we're in the
ambulance if there are new developments."



Skinner numbly followed their efficient directions. Mulder
was conscious but so sick that he was past caring about what
was happening to him. The paramedics left with the stretcher-
borne Mulder and Skinner closed the door and waited the ten
minutes. He removed his glasses and tiredly pinched away
the tears.



.........................



August 20, Wednesday
1:30 a.m.



Skinner stood up from the chair and stretched out his back
and neck. He was exhausted, but he forcibly shook his head
to keep himself awake. Mulder was under the cooling
blanket, fast asleep. The monitors which Skinner learned to
read in a short time showed that Mulder's heart rate was
unusually fast and his temperature still hovered at one
hundred and three. The rash that started on the agent's
palms now involved his forearms and new ones had popped on
his feet and ankles.



The agent rallied somewhat when he was in the emergency
room. Apparently, getting adequate hydration by IV in the
ambulance revived him and he balked at the ER when they
wanted to insert another IV and catheterize him. Skinner
had been firm when Mulder pleaded with him to back up his
wishes but by this time, the AD was too anxious for Mulder's
sake and painfully turned on the younger man, insisting that
he take their ministrations to the letter.



Mulder was furious, staring accusingly at Skinner's seeming
betrayal. The AD refused to look him in the eye,
understanding that Mulder's illness was the one talking. A
lot of vials of blood was drawn and Mulder had to keep still
when they did the spinal tap. By the time Cormier came a
few minutes later, Skinner was glad that Mulder did get that
additional IV line. Within the hour that they were in the
emergency room, the younger man didn't feel well at all.



Cormier informed Skinner that most likely Mulder had a
severe case of RMSF because symptoms appeared so early. The
next 48 hours were crucial if the patient was going to show
an adequate response to the antibiotics. Skinner quickly
learned the acronym; from the time that the ER personnel
discussed Mulder's case, they had been saying RMSF right and
left.



Skinner awakened from his reverie by a small voice.



"Walter...you there?" Mulder moaned.



"I'm here, Fox," Skinner said, moving over to Mulder's side
so that the agent could see him. "Can you turn on your
side? The nurses said that you should change position as
often as possible."



With gentle handling and prodding, Mulder turned. He asked
for another drink of water. Once he had his fill, Skinner
heard him muttering something.



"What, what is it? You want something?" Skinner asked,
fluffing a pillow at Mulder's back to prevent him from
rolling onto his back again.



"I said, I hate catheters, I hate catheters," Mulder snapped
tiredly. "I hate catheters, I hate them!"



Skinner had to smile at that one. Maybe Mulder was feeling
better if he was expressing his distaste so fervently.



"I hate catheters," Mulder muttered as if in a litany. "I
got UTI when I was shot in the leg, when I was in Alaska,
when the green bugs got me and Scully, and when Deep Throat
died. I hate catheters...I'm thirsty, can I have another
drink?"



Skinner sighed as he let Mulder have another drink. He
never knew that Mulder had that many hospitalizations
already, all within the few years he was in the X-files.



"I told you I hated it but you still let them put one in
me," Mulder apparently wasn't finished with his pet peeves.
The agent's voice cracked in the end of his statement, near
tears at being so sick. It seemed that up to now, he was
resenting Skinner's nonintervention on that matter.



"Fox, I didn't have a say in all this, you know," Skinner
said patiently, allowing Mulder to vent his frustrations.
If all goes well, they would be at each other's throats by
tomorrow. That was certainly better than having a silent
Mulder, the one that scared Skinner so that afternoon when
the paramedics wheeled him away to the elevator.



"Walter, can you turn up the lights so I can see my hands?"
Mulder stared with morbid fascination at his rash. Skinner
humored him and turned the lights back down when Mulder
finally fell asleep again.



.........................



August 20, Wednesday
6:05 a.m.



The shuffling of crepe-soled nurses' feet woke up Skinner a
few hours later. He saw them on their morning rounds. The
agent was still asleep and from the temperature monitor,
Skinner could tell that Mulder's temperature was still one
hundred and two. From the records, Skinner saw that Mulder
spiked to one hundred and four again as they slept.



"Sir, we think it would be a good idea to give him a sponge
bath," a nurse whispered. "It could help with the fever and
make him feel better. Would you tell him that in a little
while?"



Skinner nodded, his mind too foggy to really think of a
response. Once the nurses left, the AD went over to the
sink and splashed water on his face and gargled his mouth
out.



"Baby...Fox?" Skinner stroked Mulder's cheek, noting with a
grimace that Mulder was still hot to the touch.



"Sleeping," Mulder muttered. He tried to bury his head
under the covers but with the IV's, he only succeeded in
jerking one hand painfully. It was sufficient to wake him.



"Bath time, the nurses said," Skinner announced. He didn't
know if he would be able to go to work today. "How do you
feel?"



"Headache's much better," Mulder admitted. "Hey, it's all
over my arms and legs now."



Indeed the rash was more extensive. When Mulder was
undressed for the hated sponge bath, there was more of the
rash everywhere. With Skinner's assistance, the bath was
accomplished in short order. The linen change and a shave
and brushed teeth and combed hair did much to improve
Mulder's disposition.



"Walter, please go to work," Mulder muttered before he
curled up to sleep again. "I'm feeling much better."



The AD reluctantly left. He was late for work that morning
having to go back to the apartment to change. He was glad
that Scully was out of town or else her concern for her
friend and partner if she found out about the RMSF might
just complicate matters. Kimberly asked about the water
damage and at first Skinner looked blankly at her until he
remembered his hasty excuse yesterday.



"The pipes were fixed," Skinner fibbed and hurriedly closed
the door between them. Fortunately, the meetings and the
papers went smoothly today.



....................



August 20, Wednesday
3:16 p.m.



"Ray Cormier on the line, sir," Kimberly called. The doctor
never gave his title when he called at the office.



"Mr. Skinner, Mr. Mulder developed a worrisome cough this
morning," Cormier announced. "On X-ray, it's confirmed my
suspicions that he has pneumonitis, which is a common
sequela of the disease. His fever's still up there, I'm
afraid, but his spinal fluid doesn't show any signs of
spread of the infection. We'll continue with the
antibiotics. And his bloodwork does confirm RMSF. We have
to keep our fingers crossed that all will go well."



"Thank you, Dr. Cormier," Skinner said, tiredly pinching his
eyes yet again. The lack of adequate sleep was starting to
tell on him. He continued with the papers and signing where
all signatures were due but when the words started to blur
together, he knew he had to stop. Resignedly, he stood up
and decided that he couldn't work like this.



"Kimberly, I have to see if...the water damage..." words
failed him. He couldn't think of what to do with water
damage since that never happened to him before. But
Kimberly only nodded in understanding and said that she'll
rearrange his meetings yet again. Apparently, his assistant
was familiar with the devastating effects of water damage
and the fact that it could take up a lot of an AD's time.
Maybe it wasn't so bad that he thought up the excuse of
burst pipes, Skinner mused. Just how far could he stretch
this water damage story, anyway?



....................



August 20, Wednesday
4:22 p.m.



Mulder painfully turned on his side and unsuccessfully tried
to contain his cough. Each spasm of his chest sent an
accompanying dull and unpleasant jolt to his stomach. The
resident who had checked him said that his liver was
enlarged. Everything just felt so uncomfortable: he was so
hot, he was thirsty, the previous ache of his muscles now
involved his chest and abdomen, the rash frankly looked
gross, the damned catheter was still in there down there and
most of all Skinner wasn't here. He knew that Skinner had
to go to work to avoid raising people's suspicions but
Mulder wished that their lives weren't so complicated.



The agent tried to cheer up by telling himself that things
weren't so bad this time. Okay, when you got shot in the
leg, you and Skinner weren't together yet and you had to
stay at Dad's house of horror. When the green bugs got you
and Scully, Skinner wasn't there yet, too and you were
worried about Scully. When you were in Alaska with that
damned retrovirus, Skinner came but you were unconscious
then. So how come you're sick again and Skinner's with you
but you still miss him? The circuitous logic just went on
and on in his fevered mind.



Mulder winced as he tried to find a comfortable position.
His back still hurt from the lumbar tap they did yesterday.
All they did was poke him and stab him with needles. If
they weren't drawing blood, they were fixing his IV's. If
they weren't fixing his IV, they were stabbing the tubings
with all sorts of medicines. They kept shoving food at him
when he didn't feel like eating. It wasn't an exaggeration
to say that different colored jellos appeared before his
small bedside table at least five times since this morning.
He never knew jello came in so many sickly colors. Then they
came around and ask with false cheer if he felt any better.
Mulder tried to feel lucky that it hadn't gotten into their
crazed medical skulls to pull out his catheter and then
reinsert it according to some equally crazed medical lore.



He was glad, however, that Skinner did not suggest that they
call his mom. That was one thing he didn't need right now.
In the back of his mind, he dreaded her rebuff yet again.
Why should she see her son, her only remaining flesh and
blood, her only remaining child, her precious first born if
he was still alive? Let the hospital take care of him;
after all, isn't that what hospitals are paid to do? Just
tell me when he's dead and wrap up his body to go. If he
said those exact same words, maybe his mother had those
exact same words etched into the genetic make up of her own
brain. The deranged one-way imagined musings continued to
short circuit through his fevered gray matter.



Suddenly the door to his room opened quietly then he heard
the familiar gait of leather on linoleum then there was that
achingly familiar whiff of aftershave. The beloved feel of
the soft lips brushing on his hot forehead briefly brought a
weary smile to Mulder's own lips.



"I'm back, Fox," Skinner whispered. It was enough for
Mulder to feel comfortable again. Mulder drifted off to
sleep soon after.



.........................



August 21, Thursday
2:58 a.m.



Somehow, it was asking fate too much to give Mulder an easy
time. By one o'clock, the nurses were worriedly hovering at
his bedside. At first, it was a subtle thing. Skinner
noticed Mulder's night shift nurse dropping in more
frequently. Then there were two of them looking at the
monitors, whispering to themselves. When Skinner opened a
weary eye, he gave a start when he saw that there were three
of them now.



"What is it?" Skinner asked worriedly. "Is anything wrong?"



"His blood pressure's dropping, Mr. Skinner," the most
senior-appearing nurse informed him. "Although he's
adequately hydrated, with adequate urine output, his BP
continues to drop. We've already called Dr. Cormier and the
resident is on her way."



A chubby short bespectacled girl about Scully's height came
in and Skinner realized with dismay that this was the
resident physician that the nurses were waiting for. She
couldn't have been no older than the copyboy in the copyroom
at the Hoover. However, the nurses seemed to be deferring
to her as she leisurely looked through Mulder's chart and
asked the right questions.



"Mr. Mulder?" Skinner tried not to wince when she stood on
the half stool to get an adequate look at Mulder. She was
that short and looked like she should be in high school.
But she seemed to know her stuff and just patted Mulder on
the arm gently. Mulder woke up at her insistent but gentle
tapping on his arm.



"I'll just examine you, please," she said. Mulder made no
complaints with her gentle ways however and even fell back
to sleep as the resident listened to his chest and palpated
his abdomen. She then crisply ordered the nurses to start
some new drip as she delicately put Mulder's gown to rights
and replaced the blanket over him.



"Mr. Skinner, there are signs that Mr. Mulder might be
slipping into early septic shock. I've already informed Dr.
Cormier of my suspicions even before I came here and my
physical examination just confirmed it," she still stood on
the stool which almost had her eye level with Skinner. She
may be small and looked like she was still in high school
but she knew what to do. "We're changing his antibiotics
right now and the dopamine drip you heard me order is to
keep his blood pressure at adequate levels to avoid heart
and kidney damage.



"So far, all the abnormality we see is the low blood
pressure. His vital organs are still functioning quite well
and are seemingly unaffected. He is quite strong so we are
optimistic that he will overcome this temporary setback.
Dr. Cormier is on his way right now and will see Mr. Mulder
shortly."



The whatever drip was started. The little short resident
waited at Mulder's bedside, calmly writing down whatever
mumbo jumbo was needed in the chart. Because she didn't
seem unnecessarily worried, Skinner sat back down and almost
fell asleep again.



"Mr. Skinner, his blood pressure has bounced back to normal
with the drip," the resident informed him again. When a
rumpled Cormier finally made an appearance, he and the
resident discussed Mulder at length. Skinner didn't miss
Cormier's thanking her for raising Mulder's BP so soon.



Cormier essentially agreed to the resident's management of
Mulder and informed Skinner that the antibiotics were being
shifted to a stronger one. However, it will take another 48
hours to take full effect and in the meantime, Mulder will
need all the supportive measures available. 

.........................



August 21, Wednesday
10:02 a.m.



The rash looked ugly, the previous pink rash now hemorrhagic
in appearance and ulcerated in certain areas. Mulder was
turned to different positions much more frequently but what
troubled the staff was his bouts of somnolence alternating
with restlessness and occasionally delirium. Although the
spinal tap was negative, Cormier was considering the
presence of encephalitis, which wouldn't necessarily show up
in spinal fluid.



The AD decided to forgo work, not bothering to inform
Kimberly. Mulder always wanted Skinner by his side.
Everyone just humored him. His blood pressure steady at 110
systolic was enough for now. The nurses wheeled in a
stuffed chair that could be pulled out into a bed for
Skinner and he never left Mulder's side except for bathroom
breaks and short meals.



"Dad, I don't want..." Mulder muttered. "Dad, I don't want
to go with you."



Shit. Skinner's ears pricked at that one and goosebumps
raised the few remaining hair that he had. He stood up from
his chair and wildly looked at the monitors, which all
seemed okay in his layman's opinion.



"No, Dad, I won't go..." Mulder's eyes were shut but he
continued to talk. Skinner's stomach tightened and he
swallowed convulsively. He was familiar with the belief of
dead relatives who came back to claim a dying one, but this
was the first time he ever witnessed such an event.
Desperately, Skinner shook the younger man's shoulder to
bring him out of his stupor. Unmindful of all the tubes,
Skinner roughly shook Mulder again.



"W-what, Walter, you're hurting..." Mulder seemed to get out
of his trance and indignantly looked at his lover.



"Who were you talking to just now?" Skinner wanted to know.



"No one, I was sleeping...water?" Mulder licked his dry
lips. Skinner sighed with relief and held the water glass
for him.



Skinner was restless as Mulder fell back into a fitful
sleep. He couldn't sit still. All his thoughts were
focused on the few seconds when Mulder seemingly talked with
his dad. It was a clich^ Skinner knew but at that moment,
his heart literally felt like it was in his throat. It was
at that moment that he fully realized what it meant if
Mulder really turned for the worse and he died.



Two years and a few odd months only. That was how long he
and Mulder had been together. Skinner knew that the two
years were the happiest he'd ever been and as far as he
knew, the happiest for Mulder, too. Was fate telling him
that it was all that was allowed for the two of them?



.......................



August 21, Wednesday
1:05 p.m.



"Fox, can you drink more water?"



Mulder wasn't aware of who said that. He kept his eyes
tightly shut; maybe they would go away if he pretended to
sleep. He was just SO tired and wondered why people kept
bothering him.



"Baby, come on, this will help your mouth."



Baby. No one ever called him that his whole life except for
Walter. Was that Walter talking? Maybe he could tell
Walter to tell the others not to bother him. Walter never
hurt him. His Walter always made things right.



"Fox...honey?"



That was Walter all right. Mulder opened his eyes. His
eyelids seemed so heavy. When the image stopped swimming
before him, he first saw the plastic straw then the water
glass held by a large hand connected to a strong arm then he
saw Skinner's face. Mulder stared at Skinner's face for a
moment before he took a sip.



He took another sip of the water. Then he looked at
Skinner's face again.



"You need sleep, Walter; your eyes are red."



Mulder slumped back down. Skinner rearranged his pillows
for him, fluffing it up and then told him to lie down on his
back this time. Then the bottom part of the bed was bent
then the head part was raised. It was better because this
time. He wasn't slipping down to the bottom of the bed,
which happened when only the head part was elevated.



"Your head still hurts?"



Mulder shook his head.



"Your mouth?"



Mulder smacked his lips experimentally. It hurt to open his
mouth. Like he had the mumps or something. He nodded.



"They said that your salivary glands are affected. You look
like a chipmunk."



Alvin. Alvin was a chipmunk. He sang. Christmas songs.
With his brothers. Squeaky.



Mulder felt Skinner's cool hand stroking his forehead then
his cheek. It felt nice. It was always nice when Walter
was with him.



"Is it hard to breathe?"



He shook his head.



"Do you like some music?"



Everyone around him was concerned for his physical well
being. They turned him like a log on the bed, swabbed his
mouth and eyes, bathed him, put something on the ulcerated
parts of the rash, measured his urine every hour on the
hour, pumped fluids into him and recorded the beeping
monitors religiously. But Walter was the only one who
thought of music.



When he nodded a yes, tears leaked out of his eyes. Skinner
brushed it away. Then music filled the room and it was
classical but that was okay. Mulder fell asleep again.



.................



August 22, Thursday
5:41 p.m.



Mulder was silent the rest of the afternoon. When he wasn't
sleeping, he just lay there on the hospital bed. There was
some trouble when his IV line went out of vein and an intern
experienced difficulty with reinserting the line because
most of his veins were used up. Skinner forced himself to
keep calm when it was Mulder's fourth needle stick. Mulder
was so weak he couldn't even flinch, but the AD knew that it
hurt from the way the younger man would shut his eyes each
time the intern poised another IV catheter against an
elusive vein. By the sixth needle stick, Skinner was
climbing the walls, because Mulder had frank tears in his
eyes. The AD knew that the pain must have been too much
because Mulder may cry a lot when they were alone together
but never when there was a stranger in the room.



When the now sweaty intern made a callous remark about
Mulder's tears, Skinner had enough.



"Will you call someone else?" Skinner roared. "I'm sure
there's someone in this damned hospital who can do it
right!"



The intern scurried away. Skinner rubbed his bald head in
frustration. He didn't like yelling at them. The last
thing he wanted to do was to antagonize the staff, but the
intern's last remark was too much.



Again, the chubby bespectacled resident, Skinner couldn't
remember her name, appeared at the door. She had additional
equipment with her, some sort of ointment.



"We're just going to look for veins, Mr. Mulder," she said
as Mulder's arm tensed when she applied the tourniquet. "I
won't stick any needles until I'm sure there's a suitable
vein."



She applied the rubber tourniquet from one arm then the
other, occasionally tapping on Mulder's skin so that a vein
would stand out.



"I'm just going to put some ointment to numb the area," she
explained. Skinner sighed with relief. This one seemed to
know what she was doing. Within a short span of time, the
IV was started again without so much as a peep from Mulder.



"You okay?" Skinner whispered to him after the resident
left. Mulder feebly shrugged his shoulders. The AD lightly
stroked his forehead, which soothed him into sleep. 

..........................



August 23, Friday
7:28 a.m.



Thankfully, Mulder's fever effervesced a few hours ago and
hovered at the one hundred mark. He slept restfully the
whole night. Now Skinner waited until the agent woke up.



"Walter, can you turn on the TV?"



Skinner looked up in surprise. Mulder's voice was stronger
and this was the first time he asked to watch television.



"Only after you eat, Fox," Skinner wondered if he could get
away with it. "And it's not jello. It's chocolate
pudding."



That seemed to catch Mulder's attention. Skinner smiled at
him when he saw the agent look at the pudding with
anticipation.



"Feeling better?" Skinner asked.



"Yes," Mulder answered hoarsely. His voice was largely
unused most of yesterday. Skinner fed him some of the
pudding before Mulder turned away his head when he had
enough. "Now can I watch television?"



Skinner chuckled, the first laugh he had for a long time.
He turned on the television to the morning show. He
pretended to watch along with Mulder but he made
surreptitious sidelong glances at the agent. Mulder seemed
alert throughout the show but still not up to making his
usual snide television commentaries. But for Skinner, it
was enough. 

.....................



August 23, Friday
5:07 p.m.



Skinner was dead tired as he went over the papers requiring
his signature. Although he hated to leave the hospital,
Mulder told him he had to go back to work. Skinner arrived
very late at the Hoover and his day was packed with all the
meetings Kimberly rescheduled. The last one almost gave
away how tired he was. The two agents in the meeting threw
confused glances between them when Skinner asked about a
point that was brought up in another meeting. Skinner
covered up by snapping a question back at them.



With all the backed up work, he wasn't sure what time he
could go back to the hospital. He called the hospital every
few hours to ask about Mulder. Frankly, he didn't know
what he would do tomorrow once Agent Scully came back from
out of town and found out her partner and best friend was in
the hospital. What fabrication this time could they use, to
explain Mulder's confinement in a non-local hospital?



Skinner forced himself to drink another cup of coffee and
went back to his desk. After a while, Kimberly knocked and
stuck her head in and said her goodnight. The AD was barely
aware when she left. The words on the paper were starting
to run together. He removed his glasses, went into his
washroom and slapped water onto his face. Then he turned on
all the lights in his room and looked out the window. By
the time he got back to his desk, he was more alert.



....................



August 23, Friday
6:34 p.m.



Mulder hissed and tried not to squirm in pain as his
catheter was finally removed. He was feeling better and his
mind wasn't wandering anymore. When he asked if the damned
thing could be removed, he was surprised when they complied.
They stopped at the IV, however. They said he still needed
a lot of IV fluids and the antibiotics were given through
the IV.



He didn't see one bowl of jello the whole day and that was
another thing that improved his disposition. He had to be
helped with the food still, but he found that his appetite
was improved despite the funny feeling on one side of his
face where his salivary gland was swollen. And he only
coughed occasionally now.



When Mrs. Jackson visited with a new book, it was even
better. She asked beforehand if she could bring soup for
Mulder and the staff said it was okay. Mulder was able to
sip it through a straw but he still couldn't finish all of
it.



He only had one IV now, instead of the three that he had a
few days ago. Maybe he could try his luck. After all, they
did remove the catheter when he asked.



"How about a wheelchair? I've been here in this bed since I
got here," Mulder tried to sound casual.



"You're not dizzy, woozy?" the nurse asked as she pushed
back his gown back over his thighs.



"No."



"I'll just take your blood pressure then if it isn't low,
I'm sure we can arrange for a wheelchair for you," the nurse
smiled back at him. When the nurses weren't up in arms
against him, Mulder knew he still wasn't fully recovered.
All his experiences with hospital confinements made him all
too aware that by the time he was leaving, they didn't want
to see hide nor hair of him.



The nurse came back with the wheelchair and Mulder grinned
widely. Then when she got his bag from the closet and
started to look for regular clothes, Mulder's grin got even
wider. She wanted him to wear the whole works down to his
underwear and socks, not just throwing together mismatched
clothes. Instead, she helped him into a T-shirt which was
tricky because of his IV, then he put his own boxers and
sweatpants. By the time he was on the wheelchair in regular
clothes, with only one IV bottle hanging over him, he would
have turned cartwheels for her if she had asked. She
stopped at the shoes however and he didn't mind.



She wheeled him to the hospital corridor where she parked
him against the window but could still keep an eye on him
from the nurses' station.
It was visiting hours so there were a lot of people passing
through, people that kept Mulder distracted as he watched
them. They were too polite to look too much at his rash.



Mulder continued to watch the people with the detachment and
bemusement of the recently ill. He was there by the window
for almost half an hour and was starting to feel fatigued,
but he saw Skinner at the end of the long corridor. Mulder
saw that Skinner looked over his head, not even noticing his
lover on the wheelchair. Mulder was struck at how tired
Skinner appeared, quite haggard in fact. The familiar
tendrils of guilt started in the agent's mind again.



Mulder smiled to himself again as he watched Skinner enter
his room. In less than a moment, he saw Skinner frantically
dart out. The AD demanded Mulder's whereabouts from the
nurses. They calmly pointed to Mulder by the window, and
Skinner sheepishly thanked them.



"You thought I was a goner, Walter, didn't you?" Mulder
grinned at the AD. Mulder thought he'd never forget that
frantic look on Skinner's face until the day he REALLY died.



"Not if I can help it," Skinner said. He was also smiling
widely.



For a few minutes after that, Skinner wheeled Mulder around.
Both of them were more than glad that Mulder was on the way
to recovery.



END OF RICKETTSIAE 

Rickettsiae - Order of obligate intracellular organisms that
are neither bacteria nor viruses.



Feedback much appreciated.Sean Spencer



------------------------------------------------
"A beacon in the night."
Mulder in reference to Skinner
Nisei
------------------------------------------------