From: shirlock Date: Fri, 23 Apr 99 01:13:21 +0800 Subject: New fanfict: The Tao of healing Title: The Tao of Healing Author: Shirlock Rating: PG-13 Category: X/ S Spoilers: Christmas carol; Emily; The end game; 4th season plus The End; yoghurt joke from 5th season's Dreamland I. Summary: Someone is killing off top FBI forensic pathologists. Scully has to find out exactly how the killer manages to give his victims heart attacks before she becomes the last victim. In the end, Mulder unwittingly kills the man who might have had the power to heal her. Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox. Dr. Gan Yong En is mine. Archive: OK; One condition- my name stays with it and let me know where it's at. In an upstairs office 214, Allen Street, Chinatown, New York City "Ah yes, good morning. You must be Mr. Chase. Please, come in." An elderly Chinese doctor waved his patient onto the raised examination table. "Tell me what I can do for you." Mr. Edwin Chase pursed his lips looking like he might just decide to run out the door. The Chinese doctor was patient. He was slightly stooped and small in stature. His face bore the wrinkles of a man who's gone through a lifetime's study. There was kindness in his voice and his bowed shoulders offered a look of total sympathy. In a gentle voice, he soothed, "everybody has something they need healing from. No matter how healthy they are." Mr. Edwin Chase was in his late forties, well-built and a keen golf-player by the degree of his sun tan on his forearms. He looked sheepish but his resolve was to overcome his malady. "Well, to be honest, Dr. Gan, I'm not sure of your healing methods. It took my colleague in the office some convincing to get me here." He rubbed his temples red with the back of his hand and then gently pinched the bridge of his nose, "I was told you could cure migraines." "Aah. Migraines." Dr. Gan smiled broadly. "Superficial tension on the auxilliary nerve of the temporal lobes. Nothing more than that. Western medicine only numbs the pain. Chinese physicians in my hometown have cured everyone of migraines since the beginning of the century." He said with great alacrity. "I've lived with it for twenty years, Dr. Gan." The taller man shook his head gently, not wanting to be insensitive to the physician, "but eastern practices are...well, I don't know. I'm an Advil kinda guy" the patient afforded a half smile. "It's perfectly safe. And I understand your fears." The doctor assured his patient, patting on the examination table, "no medicine, some tonics, perhaps, but nothing done behind your back. In fact, I guarantee you- the only question you have at the end of the session is why you waited so long to see me." The patient leaned back into the examination table, a genuine smile showing his confidence growing in the grandfatherly face of Dr. Gan. When the treatment was over, a sallow-skinned nurse in her early thirties entered the consultation room. She said nothing but left the next patient's folder on the desk. Dr. Gan looked up and asked his skeptical patient how he felt. "Pretty good, really. It's amazing, Dr. Gan. The throbbing stopped about ten minutes ago. I'm-" Gratefulness singed his cheeks and he was unable to continue. "I...really, thank you, Dr. Gan. I'm going to recommend you to some of my friends." "Thank you. If you'll see my nurse outside, she'll have some herbs ready for you. Just drink it like a herbal tea and you'll feel more relaxed." His light brown eyes almost twinkled, "and oh, by the way, please don't drive within the next two hours. I'll see you in a fortnight." The patient left and the doctor opened the next patient's folder. A flattened soft pack of Morleys was inside. Quickly he looked up to see the side door open and the wispy white smoke curling towards the grey ceiling. The rancid smell of death seemed to invade every cell in Dr. Gan's body. "It's been a long time. Don't make house calls anymore?" His voice held the same menace as it did twelve years ago. The elderly doctor bit back the bile creeping up his gut. "Not long enough", the doctor muttered under his breath. "What do you want?" "Always eager to get to the point," Cancerman snorted, briefly amused by his own remark."I need your expertise, Dr. Gan. Oh, but don't look so worried. I wouldn't want you to kill anyone who didn't already deserve to die." Dr. Gan stared at the man before him, blinked twice to show resignation and held his tongue until he was told what to do. FBI Building Washington DC. It was nearly 3:15pm when Scully came into the office. Mulder was haunched over his desk deftly chopsticking fat round rice noodles into his mouth while pouring over four files, three sets of fingerprints and eight mug shots. She was trailed by two other pathologists he remembered briefly meeting from other cases. One of them signalled to her to call and smiled when she looked like she nodded. "Hey Scully. How did the doctor's convention go?" Mulder chirped. "Depressing." She placed her attache onto her desk with a force that shook, rattled and upset the pencil holder. It was so full of folders and thick medical files, she had to wrestle them out to get to her lunch."That will be the last time I go as a favour to Skinner. How to die in as many ways as how to kill. Every guest lecturer had a laundry list of health ailments to spook every healthy notion I've ever had." "Sounds like someone had fun." Mulder's interest piqued, "had lunch?" Her hand went to massage the back of her neck and she arched backwards to loosen the crink in her lower back. Scully freed her little 6 oz. bottle of yoghurt at last and wriggled it at her partner. "Yoghurt again? How can you piddle that stuff?" Mulder knotted his brows to show disdain and worry. "You're becoming a liability, Scully. If I'm in danger of being shot, you're not going to be able to lift your firearm to defend me." She offered him the look that made him cringe back a greasy noodle. "Not unless your eating habits put you in the grave first. What is that mung you're eating? There's a word to describe your abligurition, Mulder. Phagomaniacal- insatiable hunger." She shone him a disparaging look complete with a sigh and continued, "that monograph I wrote on Diminished Acetylcholine Production in Recidivist Offenders apparently tickled a few people at the conference. The American Institute of Health in DC just released a new health report on the increased number of Americans who die from heart-related dieseases. Did you know there is a 28% increase in heart attacks from just two years ago? Statistics show that murderers and repeated sexual offenders have a longer life span than the average Joe in any white-collar job." "Did you know that chop suey is actually not a dish but the action of cutting up into small pieces?" Mulder blinked innocently at a piece of lard trapped between the chopsticks. "I am the last true lubber-wort, Scully. Even junk food has some nutrition yoghurt doesn't have. Why are you surprised the everyday killer can outlive the average Joe? One works out by beating the crap out of his victims and the white-collar dude pushes pencils." "When was the last time you had a cholesterol check, Mulder?" She ambled to his desk, spooning her peach yoghurt into her mouth adding, "never, right?" Mulder was just going to protest when his phone rang. "Yes sir. She's in." He handed her the phone and stage-whispered. "Uh oh, Scully. What'd you do to piss Kersh off?" She shot him a frown and took her call at her desk. Several minutes later, her yoghurt cup emptied, she sighed again. Her stomach rumbled audibly. "What did Kersh want?" "Nothing. It's what Dr. Chambers wants that's got me intrigued." She threw the cup into the trash before sitting down at her desk, rearranging the folders into piles of four. "Ooh...Scully's intrigued?" Truth be told, Mulder's work was dull as ditchwater bogged down with a truckload of background checks. "A medical dilemma." More shuffling. A file went into the trash. "A medical dilemma. Uh hmm. And he requested only you?" He didn't mean to sound condescending, but did anyway. Scully collected her composure and said in a measured tone. Dr. Chambers was my professor, now Head of Forensics. He claims he needs my help on some autopsies." "Why?" "Too many bodies. Too few doctors." She threw on her jacket, and with that last remark, cruised out the door. "Call me if it's interesting." Fox Mulder hollered loudly after her retreating figure. "Hey Scully!?" Quantico, 4:22pm Autopsy bay #8, Room 3. Dr. Arthur Chambers briefed Scully on the latest findings. "I'm very glad you could come down and give us a hand, Dana. Frankly speaking, I'm glad of any help you can afford. I know you've seen more out of the ordinary since you were my student." He smiled affectionately, then uncovered the corpse in front of them, "Dr. Peter Albers. From Buffalo, New York. Thirty-five years old. Single, never married. Healthy until forty-eight hours ago. He simply expired." "How did he come to be here?" Scully wondered if this was purely an exercise. "He headed the team of forensics in our branch office in Buffalo. Apparently an ace in our profession. I got a call from AD Warren asking me to look into this. I must say I was a bit stumped. I thought of you and AD Kersh was happy to let you do some real work since we're understaffed." The remark was not lost on Dana Scully, but she chose to ignore it for now. "How was he found dead?" "According to his assistant, he was performing an autopsy when he simply stopped and keeled over." "Heart attack?" She read from the file before looking up. "That's my story." Dr. Chambers said glumly. "So where's the mystery?" "Well, like I said before, he was healthy. Every organ in his body was in excellent condition.We went through the common exogenous causes for any disease inherent or infections and came up with nothing. Plus he's thirty-five. Healthy people don't die like that." He shrugged. "Foul play then?" "That's not what the toxological report says. He's clean. The only thing he had suffered from was migraines but he never took medication for it." Dr. Chambers scratched his forehead, then continued, "besides, a migraine has never known to trigger off a heart attack. If there is foul play, it's pretty damn undetectable." "Stress and over-exhaustion can contribute to a heart attack. It isn't often that it happens to a man in his mid-thirties, but it's not unheard of." Scully considered, "but you've found no other anomalies?" "Only if you count the other one." He replied lamely, watching her face carefully process the information before continuing, "another pathologist working out of the Minneapolis branch suffered a fatal heart attack about three hours ago." "How did you find out?" She was intrigued. "Well, Dr. Vera Norris is a personal friend of mine. Her husband and I were college housemates." "Oh, I'm sorry." "Well, maybe it was her time to go. She was pushing sixty. Damn good pathologist too. She made head by thirty-eight. But Albers was a man in his thirties.It's probably a stretch to connect the two." The elderly doctor stared at the instruments on the sterile dish and shook his head. "Well, how can I help?" "I'll be glad for you to maybe take over the case reports, analyse the results and maybe complete the autopsy on Peter Albers today. I'm only halfway through the stomach contents." "Okay," she turned her heel to go to the changing room when Dr. Chambers spoke up. "Er, Dana. I hope you don't mind me taking you away from your cases. I know how dedicated you are to the X-Files. I'm sorry I didn't even think to ask you first-" "It's alright Dr. Chambers," Scully said abruptly, "besides, we don't have the X-Files anymore. You're doing me a favor." Chung Wah Restaurant, Chinatown, Washington DC, 2044hours "Mulderrr." She knew where the conversation was going."Two dead doctors don't equate an X-File." "Two previously healthy-but-now-dead-doctors sounds pretty much like one to me." "The physical evidence is there. They both died of a heart attack. Their heart simply gave out." She replied unconvincingly. "Yes, it is unusual, but...it happens. Anyway, be thankful this didn't wind up an X-File otherwise we'd never hear of it." "Why was the Albers guy sent to Quantico? There wasn't any reason to." "I've wondered about that myself. Dr. Peter Albers was an excellent forensics doctor working out of the Buffalo office but it was AD Warren's specific request for Dr. Chambers to autopsy that-" "But Dr. Chambers then requested your assistance, right Scully?" Mulder's tone was laced with suspicion. "What are you getting at?" "What did you find?" "Not much. But I didn't do the entire autopsy. I just finished what Dr. Chambers started." She replied, "I thought I'd go through the medical history and lab reports. Maybe they'd missed something. There are a few more results from the lab I'm expecting tomorrow." "Is a heart attack a natural cause of death?" He wondered aloud as he worked at pinching a slippery piece of egg foo yong with his chopsticks. Scully thought for a second. "That depends on what caused the heart attack. A heart attack can be the result of drugs, or trauma or bad eating habits." She shot him an I'm-talking-about-your-eating-habits look which he casually glossed over by abandoning the chopsticks and using the spoon instead. He spooned the rest of the egg foo yong into his already empty bowl. "So", Mulder mused, "technically, you can kill someone by triggering a heart attack." "Technically, yes. But he didn't suffer any trauma or any injuries to warrant any investigation. I hate to admit it, but it seemed he died naturally." "Isn't it a miracle that a man with my eating habits is still alive?" Mulder said, forking some deep fried fritter into his mouth, watching Scully's lips twitch into a ghost of a smile. "Even though it is possible to kill someone by allowing them to eat themselves into their graves, I don't think this is the case for Dr. Albers." She said, adding for good measure, "I checked the contents of his stomach. He ate muesli for breakfast." "Maybe it was the health food that killed him." Mulder replied a trifle bit smugly. Scully picked up her tea and looked into her folder again. Something caught her eye. "What is it?" Mulder immediately stopped eating. Her face was almost lit with the proverbial lightbulb over her head. "This is more than a coincidence." She said, her eyes fixed on several lines at the bottom of the page. "What is it?" Mulder repeated, willing her to make eye contact with him. She reread the description of the morning Dr. Albers was found and chose to read the last line aloud. "...and before he could finish his autopsy of Dr. Urs Laax, clutched his heart and slumped over the body." "Somebody you know?" Mulder quizzed. Her face lifted to meet his question,"yeah. Last time I heard he was Head of Forensics in the FBI office in Scranton, Pennsylvania." Quantico, the next day Autopsy Bay #4, Lab 2 1840 hours Fox Mulder hated the smell of chemicals above all else. The carcasses were gruesome, yes, but it was the smell that lingered in the small space of his olfactories when the visuals were replaced by more soothing video images. He took out his handkerchief and covered his nose and mouth briefly. It smelt like one too many hospitals he had fought to get out of. He saw Dana Scully conducting her autopsy from the round glass window in the door. Dr. Arthur Chambers was not in his office. From the front end of the corridor, two doctors came in. One briefing the other on procedure and the layout of the labs. Probably a new doctor. They glanced up to meet his gaze before continuing their journey to the lifts. He checked his pocket for his cell phone then punch her number. Two seconds later she was tripping over her feet, peeling the latex off and clawing at her jacket hanging on the back of the chair in the office. "Scully." She said tiredly into her phone. "Hey Scully. It's me. Where are you?" He watched her stealthily as she spun the chair around and neatly fell into its seat. He had always wanted to know what her posture was when she answered his calls. "I'm still working in the lab." She was combing her fingers through her thick mane, eyes closed facing the ceiling. "I've some news about your dead pathologists." He said. She picked up a pen and started doodling on a piece of paper. She crossed her legs and chewed on the end of the pen. Mulder watched her zone out as she held her phone to her ear. "Wanna tell me about it?" Her fingers went to the small crucifix in her neck. "I'll bring them by." "Okay. I'm on the second floor, Lab two, autopsy bay four. Think you can be here soon? I'm just about to head home." She got up and headed towards the sink to wash up. He grinned from ear to ear and pushed the doors to greet her. "This soon enough?" The door made a loud enough noise to make her drop the phone which was pinched in the crook of her neck. "Jesus! Mulder." She closed her eyes in resignation and then shook her head in defeat. She picked up her phone then groaned, "you owe me a new cellphone." He smiled impishly and waved a folder with gusto. "Took a while, but this should be interesting. Dr. Vera Norris, Assistant Head of Forensics in Minneapolis died of coronary thrombosis, aged sixty-two. She was head of forensics until three years ago when she suffered a mild heart attack and subsequently requested a demotion until her retirement age of sixty-five. Dr. Urs Laax, Head of Forensics in a team of six, was known to suffer epilepsy as a child. Generally without other symptoms or complaints until about five months ago when he had a minor epilepsy while trying to clear the snow in his driveway. His wife drove him to a hospital and he stayed at Granthill Memorial for four days." "How old was he?" She asked, suddenly looking very tired. "He was," he thumbed the notes, "going to be fifty this November. Diagnosed as suffering from angina pectoris." "So two of them were time bombs waiting to go off." "Then there's Dr. Peter Albers." Mulder rubbed his hands in glee. "Thirty-five years old. A seasoned skier. Swims a lot. Two club memberships. One in New York and one in Buffalo. The Jack Lalane of Forensics. Never married. Only ailment is migraines. He sees a nutritionist, not a doctor for his remedy. He's an ace in slicin' and dicin'. In fact, they all were." "And?" "So are you." Scully stares at her partner, comprehension seeping through her conscious mind. "Thank you, but I'm not in danger of going through a heart attack just like they did." Her words were deliberately slow, but he merely pulled a worried frown. "Heart attacks aren't contagious, Mulder." She smiled, heart warmed by the fact that he was so protective of her. "Scully. I'm not saying they are but something was done to them in order to procure their fatalities. The similiarities are three pathologist. Three deaths. Three heart failures." "Mulder. You can't make someone have a cardiac arrest. Not unless you can will their hearts to constrict or you can squeeze their arteries till one clots." He scowled, knowing he couldn't prove how it could be done. "Can you have an allergic reaction strong enough to kill you?" He proposed. Better to question the science than to blow his theories out his gaping hole without backup. "Anaphylactic shock is a massive allergic reation. Some people are prone to severe allergic reactions. There can be constriction of the throat, palpitations, vomiting, diarrhoea, skin rash like urticaria or dermatitis. Heart failure could be a result of the reaction in extreme cases." She spelled out each case before stating the obvious, "but Mulder, these are rare cases. Each person reacts differently to different allergens.You can't give a person a heart attack any more than you can give them an allergy." "You wanna bet I can't give you a heart attack Dr. Scully?" He smiled and she grinned at his rapier wit, even at this hour of the day. He chewed on his lower lip thinking how someone could mastermind a cardiac arrest without any detection. Or worst, conveniently lay the blame at the feet of nature. He watched her eyes trail the movements behind him. Soon, they came to rest on the face of the lab technician. "Dr. Scully?" A man in a white lab coat poked his head in the door of the office, apologetically nodding to Mulder then turning his attention to the yellow folder he was handing to Scully. Mulder nods towards the body of Peter Albers and asks, "is that Albers?" She nods back and he makes an eye gesture that propels him out the office. He wanted to see the body for himself and left the two to talk shop. "I've gone through all the tests myself. Under the EM since this morning. Histology is clean. The DNA sequence is in, but apart from migraine which Peter suffers from time to time, there's nothing more to add." "Thanks Chase." Scully began rubbing her temples, leaving ruddy marks while she cracked some of her tense bones in her neck. "You okay, Dr.Scully?" Chase asked. "Just the beginning of a headache. It's nothing." She replied as nonchalantly as possible. Edwin Chase was about to retreat to the lab downstairs when he thought of Dr. Gan. "Er, Dr. Scully, there's a Chinese physician up in New York who is extremely good with getting rid of aches and pains. I suffered from migraines for about twenty years and so did Pete...well, what I am trying to say is, everybody needs healing. Nobody is perfectly well. " "I appreciate your concern, but it'll go away. Nothing a couple of black coffees can't cure." She stopped in mid sentence then knitted her brows. "You knew Dr. Peter Albers suffered from migraines." She stated simply. "Yes, of course. He used to send blood samples to me. Before he left to head the Forensics team in Buffalo, he was here for six months." "Uh." Scully nodded understandingly. "He was always stoic about it until my migraines stopped." Edwin Chase continued, "Dr. Gan is an amazing physician. He heals practically all types of ailments. I was skeptical at first but Roger Baker, the medical research tech-head convinced me. Roger has a heart condition, inoperable since he was five, but Dr. Gan managed to right what fifteen specialists could not. I gave Pete the number to call for an appointment. I don't know if he went through with it though. " Edwin Chase inhaled sharply, his face suddenly downcast. "Heal all types of ailments?" Scully caught the enthusiasm like a flu bug. "Anything from lumbago to migraines to gastric ulcers. Hell, he was able to help a woman who was previously barren have twins." Her eyebrows shot up in defiance. "Twins. How?" "Acupuncture." He replied triumphantly. "It's knowing where to poke. Experienced like I've never seen any doctor in any profession. He knew my problem by looking at the corneas of my eyes." "Maybe you could give me his number anyway." Scully said as she handed him a note pad to jot down the number. Mulder returned quickly to the office and he only had one question for his partner. "Did you do the autopsy of his heart seeing how the heart *is* the heart of the problem?" "No, the heart, lungs and liver were already completed by Dr. Chambers. I was asked to finish up the rest." She then understood in a flash. "I'll leave a note for Dr. Chambers." In an upstairs office on 214, Allen Street, Chinatown, New York City 2134 hours The office was quiet except for the low conversation in the consultation room next door. The thunder rumbled in the distance and the steely needles of cold rain hit the window at an angle. A raised voice brought the conversation to an abrupt end. The door opened and cancerman walked out. Behind him, Dr. Gan straightened up. "You can do whatever you want. I can't do the work for you anymore." Cancerman turned slowly, removing the pale stick of Morley from dry cracked lips. "There are as many ways to die as there are to live, doctor. I'm sure you're aware of that." The weary look of defeat in the chinese doctor's face is answer enough. "Your methods are better than mine, cleaner than mine, I'll admit," the smoke made his eyes squint back delight and malice, "but they all end up the same way." "I have healed people." "That may be. But you've had to kill more to be able to heal less. Just one more. And I promise to leave you alone for a while." His tall silhouette masked the entrance to his clinic and disappeared into the murky shadows of the evening's gloom. The next morning, Dana Scully woke up with a dull ache in her shoulders. Her clock flashed 0721 hours. She walked to the bathroom for a hot shower. Popping open the cabinet above the sink, she chased the two advils down with a glass of water. She looked into the mirror and frowned at the pallor of her skin. She mentally chided her lack of sun and any kind of outdoorsy life. She was glad she wouldn't be going in to either Quantico or the FBI this morning. She had an 8:30 metroliner to catch to New York. Dr. Chambers was at the UN in New York for a conference but approved of her "following up the lead" for the day. She hadn't had time to talk to him about the details of Peter Alber's autopsy but got another doctor to do a Valvotomy on Albers' heart. This wild-goose lead was the best she could manage to persuade him to let her investigate. Mulder was uncontactable the whole evening and she didn't want him to accompany her because she already knew Kersh was onto him. Kersh hadn't agreed to loan both agents to Dr. Chambers. And Mulder's involvement in her current case was backlogging his paperwork. She knew without a doubt that if she had so much as hinted to him her impending fieldtrip to New York, he would have tagged along like a tick on the hair of a dog. A steaming hot shower and two cups of coffees later, she dialed the New York number and got an appointment at Dr. Gan's clinic in Chinatown. Three hours on a train. She calculated there'd be just enough time to get there by noon. The dull ache in her shoulders were beginning to lessen. She picked up her jacket, keys, purse and holstered her gun before exiting her apartment. At the FBI, Mulder blinked several times at the computer, not comprehending the endless lists of names and numbers he was supposed to double check for similiarities or connections. Other agents were milling about the workplace, gathering files, making coffee, passing vagrant remarks about a case or another. One was massaging her temples from having stared at the computer screen for too long. "Hey, Agent Mulder. When can I have this back?" The voice of a tall black agent built to crush pounds of steel barked at him. "I'm just about done, Agent Dealey." He gathered the files and folders, paperwork and stapled them quickly. Handing them over to the impatient man, Fox Mulder's mind floated back to the mental image of his tired partner. He reached for the phone and punched in the number to Quantico. Dr. Chambers' assistant picked up the phone. "Dr. Scully is not in yet. No, wait, she's not coming in today." Irma Wicks further explained "She's taken a day off." "Did she say where she was going?" Mulder didn't like the sound of his partner going off without him. "Uh...wait a sec." The seconds ticked away. "New York. She's left the number of the clinic she's visiting. Somewhere in Chinatown. You want it?" He jotted down the number quickly then proceeded to reach her by her cell. "Damn." He remembered she was without a cell phone. No thanks to his prank. He picked up his keys and raced through the door. 214, Allen Street, Chinatown, New York City The humble words of his expertise sounded like a half-whispered promise to her. She glanced down at her watch. It was ten to twelve. The door opened and an elderly chinese woman hobbled out aided by a tall Chinese woman Scully assumed was the daughter. The agent walked in briskly and gave her name to the nurse behind a counter. The walls were lined with little drawers with chinese characters differentiating the numerous herbs that were contained in them. She filled up the form and returned them to the nurse. "Please take a seat. Dr. Gan will see you shortly." The petite agent took a seat on the vinyl couch and took in the calligraphic swirls that transformed into a horse and of the pale vase that was placed above a glass cupboard that housed a plastic model of a heart, a lung and a liver. Pamphlets were sticking out from a pocket on the white board which she occupied herself reading while waiting her turn. The short literature brought her some understanding of acupuncture and the benefits of acupressure. The Chinese have used this method of anesthesizing since two thousand over years ago. Emperors have long since made this form of healing a nation's secret. There was a small pen and ink illustration of the human anatomy and the pressure sites located along the spine and various sites on the body that corresponds to tissue and organ function. Dr. Gan interrupted her engrossed reading. "Miss Scully? I'm Dr. Gan." He held out his hand and she shook it, surprised to find his accent more American than Chinese. He waved her into his consultation room and allowed her to sit in the chair before he began. "What can I do for you?" She reddened at the words that were forming in her mind but refused to come out and he sensed her internal battle. Almost all his "white" patients struggled to put their faith in an unknown treatment. "You can come merely to consult, Miss Scully." "I...I have a colleague who gave me your name and number." She began tentatively. "Yes, most of them come by referrals." "He told me you were able to help someone who wasn't able to bear children." She stopped there and met the kind doctor's face. His countenance was one which bore sadness and his gentle nodding urged her to confide in him. "I was wondering if that were true." "May I?" He waved his hand over to a soft cushion the size of a stamp pad and gently reached for her right wrist. Scully watched as he placed her right hand palm-up and placed his index and middle finger onto her pulse. He remained quiet, eyes focused on the blotter on his table. Then he turned her hand over and inspected what she thought were her fingernails. She didn't understand his method of studying her illness. "Are your muscles tense here?" His large hands rested on both sides of her shoulders and her eyes widened in surprise. He smiled, taking the opportunity to study the cornflower blues of her eyes. "And you've had headaches the last 48 hours?" He laughed lightly at her confusion. "Oh there's no mystery here, Miss Scully." "Yes, it's true." She was very surprised now but didn't hide her emotion any longer, "you found that out by looking at my eyes?" "It's your posture. There's no science in simple deduction." Dr. Gan said curtly, then smiled. "I have to admit that I don't know why you've stopped ovulating. May I ask you a personal question?" She nodded weakly fearing her body would reveal whatever her tongue could not. "Were you seriously ill sometime in the past, um...six, seven years ago?" "Yes. I was six years ago." She replied, then elaborated, "I was in a coma for three months." "Only three months?" He coughed his embarrassment, thinking how she might've misinterpreted his response. He amended, "I'm sorry, it must've been a lifetime for your family and loved ones during those three months. But I'm asking because you're nowhere near menopause in age or as I prefer, the true age of your body and I believe your health suffered an acute trauma during your grave illness." "What do you mean?" "The Chinese believe in the true age of the body, meaning, it has nothing to do with the number of days you've lived. Rather, it is the rhythm of your pulse, the tone of your skin, even the colour of your hair, the state of health of your entire body that is your true age. I've seen a man in my hometown who celebrated his hundredth birthday but whose body indicates a seventy year old. For you, Miss Scully, I would point out your body's age to be about twenty-six. What ever trauma you suffered then has left you barren now." Scully lowered her eyes. Dr. Gan continued, "Although I may not know why you've stopped ovulating, I don't think the condition is irreversable. The most damage was done in those three months, but our bodies are more mysteriously equipped to undo certain damages." Hope lit up her eyes and briefly, Dr. Gan felt his heart soar. This was that feeling he knew he had wanted to take to his grave- the triumph he felt in his every cell for being able to tell his patient he can help, where no other doctor could. "And now, if you would put on the robe in the changing room, let's see about undoing what was done to you." Scully put on a robe with a long slit in her back from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. She put her personals in the small locker provided in the one-person changing room, hesitating when she held her gun in her small hand. She decided to trust him. She came out and he gestured the examination table. It was comfortable. She lay on her front, fitting her face into a soft brace as the elderly physician wheeled a small embroidered box of needles over. He turned the lamp to direct the light on her and plainly told her not to move. Scully didn't move but her insides felt like it was hot in one place, then cold in another. He administered each needle as deftly as a man with a map with which to follow. As one needle sank into the flesh in her upper spine, she felt the slightest pin prick then everything went numb. "I can't feel anything." Fear crept into her voice. Complete helplessness. Vulnerability. Her mouth felt dry and she cursed herself for not letting Mulder know where she was. "Don't worry, I've merely closed off your nerve endings to the pain. Most of the needles will be in your arms and legs and the back." His voice hovered above her. There were twenty-three needles in her back and he was inserting more. Half an hour later her back resembled that of a pin cushion. "Can you feel that?" He asked, stopping to check on her pulse in her carotid artery. There was an acute throbbing in an area she couldn't place. She couldn't quite define the area where something seem to ebb and flow. "It seems to be coming from a place above my womb." "This needle," he says pushing down the middle of her back, "will release the bloodflow to your left ovary. And this one, to your right." The response was immediate as she felt a miniscule throbbing like someone opened a valve to nourish her shrunken ovaries. Blood coursed from her steady heart to revitalise and renew what she felt was a curse within her own body. She was amazed by the skill in which this man possessed to accurately pin point an organ, control a flow, mask a pain or dull a nerve. His confidence was awe-inspiring. "Can you tell me how, Dr. Gan?" He smiled an appreciative smile. The wrinkles on his face weren't plentiful but he was plainly eager to share, seeing how his latest patient was so interested. "Acupuncture is not an exact science. When I was a little boy growing up in the northern city of GuangZhou, I watched my grandfather apply these needles on his patients. He had learnt the pinpoint the acupuncture points, or meridiens to control the flow of blood. He learnt tai chi, a type of kung-fu that gives him the sensitivity of the bloodflow beneath the human skin." "And you?" "When I was born, my family gave me the name Yong En- Forever merciful. I followed his footsteps but I went further. I came to America to study western medicine. And I learnt to bridge the two. They are not incompatible." "But how do they work?" He seemed pleased that his patient was so inquisitive. He missed the days where he had students who learnt his trade. "Blood is life. The beating of your heart ensures the health of your entire body. Every voluntary or involuntary muscle requires blood to function. Think of each insertion as a control point. Like a light switch. I can reverse your blood flow from point A to point B by applying the pressure to control the valves in your heart." "Control the valves?" Dana Scully couldn't control the thoughts that steered into her forebrain. "How?" She asked. Dr. Gan wondered how a nice young woman came to be so interested in his work. Wordlessly, he lifted his eyes and checked the forms she had filled in earlier. His eyes rested on her profession. He stiffened. His hands rested on the cushion. "Yes," his voice betrayed a bit of the emotion he was combating inside, but continued as if it were a commonplace question."It was impossible in the past. But it's all a matter of experience. Would you like to know how?" Scully couldn't see his expression but had a feeling he was somehow connected to the murders she was investigating. She knew she was at an extreme disadvantage. She couldn't turn around and she couldn't feel anything in her limbs. Her heart beat painfully against her chest. "Would you like me to show you how?" His voice still sounded harmless, but he understood her line of inquiry was not plain curiosity. She held her breath and shuddered as needle after needle was withdrawn from her pale torso. A minute from the clinic, Fox Mulder was charging up the narrow flight of steps as two other New York Police car screeched to a halt at the corner of Allen and Canal Street. The nurse only stared and held back a cry of surprise when Mulder started pulling doors. What he saw froze him in his tracks. There was his partner lying on her front, with about a hundred needles poking up from her arms and back. Her back was fully exposed and the gown barely covered her thighs. The Chinese doctor turned slowly to face the intruder. "Let her go now." His firearm was trained at the physician's heart. "She came by her own volition." Dr. Gan murmured. "And she's leaving the same way." Mulder's eyes went to Scully's who couldn't respond, "Scully?" "I'm just finishing her treatment. Unless you allow me to remove the needles in the proper order, I won't be responsible for any thing that happens to her." His voice had a surprising effect on the male agent. "Or for any of the others who came to you? Dr. Albers? Dr. Norris? And Dr. Laax? I suppose you aren't responsible for them as well." The doctor stayed rooted at the spot, watching the strange tatoo on her back and moved his hand an inch to take out the first needle he had inserted to anaesthetize her from the pain. "Don't move or I will shoot." Mulder threatened. A large policeman trained his gun on the stooping doctor. "No matter how many I've cured, I will always be remembered for the ones I've harmed." He said quietly, as if only for his patient's benefit. Dana's eyes rolled from left to right, listening to his words of confession. She could feel his large hand pulling out the needle in her upper spine. "I'm sorry," he whispered. The pain that shot from every nerve found relief in the voice she worked at releasing. She never thought she could experience such intense pain. Every nerve felt like it was on fire. The next sounds shattered her own screams. Dr. Gan fell on his side and for the first time Dana's position allowed her to view his face one last time. It had a measure of personal grief and a lot of physical pain. His last words were meant only for her. "I had no choice with the others. But I chose...I chose to...heal you." Mulder reached his partner and started pulling out the needles in her body until every one was out. He pulled her to him and held her as she let two lines of tears stream down her face. Her body was flushed with fever but she trembled under his crushing embrace. "Call the paramedics now." Mulder ordered. Grace Memorial, New York City, 1530hours. She sat upright in bed, a bowl of soup lay untouched. Her partner watched her silently as he sat by the plastic orange chair three feet from her bed. For once, she had no words to tell him the pain she felt inside. The pain she gradually associated with his being unable to get the miracle man to heal his mother during her stroke two years ago. They had both come so close. "How did you find out?" She never wanted to believe Mulder was psychic. "I called Quantico and found out you were up here following a lead. I checked the address and the phone number. Made a few phone calls and found out that all three pathologists had visited one acupuncturist in New York. The rest was pure adrenalin rush." He downplayed his hollow victory, sensing there was something she wasn't telling. Why she subjected herself to Dr. Fu Man Chu's fiendish experiments for one. "I wasn't following a lead, Mulder." She says in a voice bereft of emotion. "I went there for my own reasons." "What?" Quiet amazement. Then painful realisation. Then in a softer voice, "Why? Why didn't you tell me?" Even before she answered him, he knew she couldn't. He wouldn't have let her go through with it. The one thing that was cruelly robbed from her. The one thing she wanted back. The one thing she thought Dr. Gan could give her. It was her only chance. "I'm sorry, Scully." He hung his head as he replayed the moment he put two bullets into the doctor's heart. "I was sure he was going to kill you." Just then the ER doctor entered the room. "Well, I have news for you. You're fine. Healthier than I am, I'm afraid. There's no injury, nothing to treat. I'm going to release you with two aspirins and your promise to check with your GP when you get home, Dr. Scully." Dr. Clements spoke with a nasal twang. "Doctor Clements, I think you should let Miss Scully stay in the hospital for another night." Mulder didn't want to watch her face brew an argument he sensed was coming at full gale force. "She was treated by an acupuncturist, who I believe, was responsible for the deaths of three other doctors. They died the day after they were treated by him." "Mulder, I'm-" "Scully, please. Please. For my sake." The doctor eyeballed the redhead and sensed her fever shooting flames from the top of her crown to her partner who now stood in front of him. He was surprised the male agent didn't burst into flames. "Okay. I'm sure that's wisest in light of what you've just said." The doctor left them to work out the storm that threatened to blow the door off its hinges. "Mulder, I'm fine." The emphasis was on fine, but Mulder wouldn't back down. He came closer and put his arms on her tray. "There's something else I found out. This whole plot. It's Cancerman's." "What?" "Dr. Gan worked for a group of men in New York. Since twelve years ago. There was a pack of empty Morleys in his trash. He was working for Cancerman." "Why kill forensic pathologists?" "The answer lies with their replacements." He took out the folder he brought with him and followed a column of names. "All military doctors. No earlier references. Signed and approved by Dr. Arthur Chambers, Head of Forensics in Quantico, General McIntyre and the Director of the FBI." "Dr. Chambers is involved in this?" "No, I'm sure Dr. Chambers is definitely not a party to this. He died of a heart attack two hours ago at the UN Secretary General's waiting lounge." Scully dropped her head into the soft downy pillow, "Oh God." "I believe he consulted the Chinese doctor yesterday, for his own malady. He suffered from arthritis. My guess is that they want greater control over the number of autopsies that fall into FBI jurisdiction. Pathologists working under the FBI who secretly work for them. You'll never know what autopsies they veto." His eyes wandered about the rim of the bowl of soup that was now wholly unappetizing. "Mulder?" He glanced up at her ashen face, and suddenly grew cold within, "what is it?" She felt dizzy, and wet in between the sheets. Her blood pressure seemed to plummet, and she reached out for Mulder. He grabbed her hand and found it clammy from perspiring too quickly, too rapidly. Mulder's mind veered off the angst-o-meter. "Call Dr. Clements." She was pushing the movable tray off with effort and throwing the covers from her body. She was breathing shallow breadths holding his arm with a grip that might leave finger prints. "Scully, talk to me, Scully!" He grew frantic as he called for help in a strangled voice. "Muld-, Mulderr." She kicked at the covers, her right arm hugging her lower abdomen. He followed her line of vision. They came upon her hospital gown just below thighs, stained with a dark burgundy, soiling the bed linen and leaving a streak of red... "Scully- you're bleeding!" His words rang shrill and sharp. She fell back exhausted. Momentarily he was confused. She hissed a reverential whisper of thanks, and he suddenly realised she wasn't going to die afterall. She was now, if anything, capable of bearing life. To him, she offered meekly, "Yes, I am, Mulder. I finally am." End. Author's notes: Forgive me for twisting the truth of acupuncture to fit my slightly macabre tale of serendipitious healing. If I didn't want feedback, I would have written this longhand and never have posted it at Gossamer. Feedback to shirlock@pacific.net.sg is much appreciated.