From: CathyLex Date: 24 Sep 1998 13:09:53 GMT Subject: Repost/Revised: Totaled 1/3 "Totaled" by Erin McCole Cupp (1/3, UST, S, H, A) RATING: PG-13, just in case, for implied swear words & brief talk of bodily processes CATEGORY: UST, S, H, A. Yes, a very odd combination, but so is life, right? F for fluffiness maybe? Perhaps MSR? But perhaps not. Let's just say that if the very thought skeeves you, read no further. Significant display of TooPissedToFinishASentence!Scully. ARCHIVING: Gossamer, please archive this version. All other, please email CathyLex@aol.com for permission. FEEDBACK: Helps me grow big & strong! To CathyLex@aol.com SUMMARY: Ah, the joys of an MVA... SPOILERS: Up to and including US5 & XFFTF DEDICATION: To Driver # 2. You know who you are. Come on, Fire,... you must have seen this coming. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "HEY!!! Scully slammed on the brakes and leaned into the horn, and for a split second it looked like she was safe, but she wasn't. It was too late. Something exploded right in her face, and everything stopped. Everything. Time stood still. The earth ceased its infernal spinning, and all Scully saw was an unexpected, dull white. No harps, no pearly gates, no angels. Not even an ethereal sensation of peace. Just white. Everywhere. Talk about unjust and meaningless. //Am I --? I must be ---?// But before she could finish that thought, reality intruded in the form of her still-blaring horn and the smell of... gunpowder? No, not quite. Something like it, though. She peered over the unexpected, dull white and realized her airbags had deployed. "Awh... sonofa...." She yanked the keys out of the ignition and grabbed every slightly important item within reach, unbuckled her seatbelt and leapt out of the car. The horn was still blaring. "I don't buh--" Control. Can't lose control. She bit down on her cheeks and looked over at the other car. A teenage boy jumped out of the "sport utility vehicle" that had just tried turning left in front of her without doing such traditionally superfluous things as using a turn signal or bothering to see if there was any opposing traffic. He pulled off his baseball cap and ran a hand over his buzzed scalp. A kid had just hit her, nearly head-on. "Jezzissmary'n..." Scully didn't need to finish any of her swear words, because Driver #2 now was cursing enough for the both of them //and// the full Vienna Boys Choir. Maybe even enough for the Mormon Tabernacle, too. Her horn was still blaring. Scully turned to pop the hood and disconnect the battery, and that was when she saw the hood. Or what was left of the hood. It was pushed up and wrinkled back like a taffeta dress on prom night. Car #2 was only slightly dented on the front passenger-side bumper. "Mother of..." Antifreeze was pouring, absolutely //pouring// onto the asphalt, rolling into the street gutter with the most mundane greenness. "Sonofa..." She bit down once more. Tenderly, she lifted the violated hood of her car as much as she could. She reached into the mangled mess underneath and gently disconnected the battery. A tense silence followed. Silence that was quickly filled with the chattering voices of bored teenagers and bored old men who had nothing better to do on a steaming August afternoon than to come flocking to the noise of two cars getting to know each other a little bit better. In the five pm sun, bits of headlight and fog lamp sparkled against the blacktop. Okay, a lot better. Scully looked down at herself to make sure she wasn't bleeding or otherwise injured. In the sweltering heat, she'd taken off her jacket when she was first in the car, her short sleeves leaving her lower arms vulnerable. The whiplash would come later, she realized, but for now her only visible injuries were several snakelike burns and bruises on her right arm. From the airbag. She touched her face and felt stinging along the tip of her nose, her chin and her lips. Burns, also from the airbag. "Motherf..." Control. She had to keep control. And perspective: this was better than having a steering wheel through her chest. Scully pulled out her cell phone to dial 911 so the accident could be cleared off the street as soon as possible. Traffic was already starting to back up. "Oh, wait, honey," one of the old men addressed her. "Larry 'n' me, we awready called the cops fer ya. Don't you worry your pretty little head about that." With an irritated sigh and a curt voice, Scully thanked the man and Larry, and she shut off her cell phone. The bored teenagers were gathering on the sidewalk and drawing their bikes closer to Driver #2. Apparently they knew him. Well, wasn't that cozy? Driver #2 was vigorously vituperating about how "that lady" was obviously speeding, so it would be her fault and damn it if his lawyer dad would let their insurance rates go up. "Idon'tbuh..." Fighting every urge within her to run over there and kick his skinny little ass, Scully decided to sublimate her negative energies into something a little more beneficial. She whipped out her FBI badge and began hollering to the coagulating crowd. "FEDERAL AGENT! THERE IS NOTHING TO SEE HERE! NOTHING TO SEE HERE PEOPLE, SO UNLESS YOU ARE A WITNESS AND YOU HAVE INFORMATION PERTINENT TO THIS EVENT, PLEASE LEAVE THE SCENE AND GO ABOUT YOUR BUSINESS!" The teenagers were gone before she even had finished her first full sentence. The old men, however, must have considered themselves witnesses, because they weren't budging. "THANK YOU //VERY// MUCH!" She jammed her badge back into her pocket and ran her fingers through the long bangs that had fallen into her face. Driver #2 was looking at her, his face completely pale. "Are you going to arrest me?" He asked, suddenly looking like a lost little boy. Pressing her lips together to keep the evil words inside, she shook her head and then took a deep, cleansing breath. "That's for the local officer to decide. Here, I'm a medical doctor. Are you hurt?" She glanced into his car. His airbags had not gone off, so he was probably in much better shape than she was. As if to confirm her thoughts, he shook his head. "Well," she told him, "as soon as you can, you should get yourself to an emergency room, just so they can check you out." "But I feel fine," he protested. "Still," Scully said just as the police car pulled up behind her own crunched car, "you'll have to go anyway, even if it's just for insurance purposes." //And I'll have to do that as well,// she recognized. Well, she'd think about that later. Right now she had to fish out her license, registration, and insurance card. Another "sport utility vehicle" pulled into the adjacent convenience store parking lot, and the middle-aged driver came walking over to the scene. "Well, hi there, Chuck," the newly arrived police officer greeted the newly arrived sport utility vehicle driver. The two men shook hands like old, old friends. "Hey, Fred," returned the other man. "One of the neighborhood boys said my Chris was in an accident over here." "Dad!" Cried Driver #2. "Christ Jeez...," muttered Scully. After Dad and the officer exchanged pleasantries, they came over to inspect the damage. "License and registration, ma'am." Scully complied, making a subtle show of her FBI credentials. Officer Fred Hassler (yes, "Hassler" of all names) seemed singularly unimpressed. "Do you have AAA or anything, ma'am?" Scully nodded. Charlie's family had given her the deeply thoughtful gift of AAA membership every year since her twenty-fifth birthday. "Yes," she told the officer, "I'll call--" "No, I can call them for you, ma'am, so we can get this towed," he interrupted. "Can you call someone to pick you up?' Right. Officer Hassler took her cards and Driver #2's cards into his squad car and began to write up the preliminary report. Scully, meanwhile, automatically hit a speed dial number on her phone and waited patiently for the familiar voice on the other end to answer. And it did. After four rings. "Hello, you have reached the Scully residence. No one is available to..." "Shhhhhhiiiiiiii... dduh.... Fuuuhhhhhh...." She'd forgotten. Mom was on a much-awaited Caribbean cruise with Aunt Mary this week and next. That, of course, left the only two options that sprung to mind. One, ask Officer Hassler to drive her to the emergency room. In the squad car. Thrilling. Or two... "Crap." She sighed and selected another number on her speed dial. As she waited for an answer from the other end, the old guy, Larry's friend, came up to her. "Yeahp," he nodded meaningfully at her crumpled car. "That's looks to be totaled if y'ask me." Scully gave him her iciest glare. It had no apparent effect. "Yeahp," he repeated, "totaled." After the second ring, she heard an answer. "Mulder." END 1/3 "Totaled" by Erin McCole Cupp (2/3, UST, S, H, A) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When he arrived, Mulder reached out and brushed his index finger against her bottom lip. She pulled back at the sting, and he winced for her. "Broken glass?" He asked. She shook her head and corrected him. "Airbag." "Airbag?" He coughed, watching along with her as the automotive corpse was rolling onto the flatbed of the tow truck. "Nice work, Agent." "Mulder. Please." Scully couldn't help but think of how small and helpless her car looked. In the grand scheme of things -- especially things that had been happening to her in the past, oh, five or six years -- this was nothing. A mere straw. She tried to laugh at the insignificance of it all. Sure, her face had just healed not too long ago from ice and cold, and she was none too happy about the fresh harassment to her epidermis, but she was alive. Alive. Irritated, annoyed maybe, but gloriously alive. She let the small smile take its residence on her scorched lips. "Totaled?" Mulder asked. "According to Larry's friend over there." Scully snorted, pointing to the old man who //still// would not go home. Larry's friend saw her pointing, and he smiled and waved. Mulder waved at him and turned back to Scully. "I'm sure you're looking to me for some sort of comic relief right now, but," he sighed, "I'm all tapped out." "Actually," she sighed, rubbing the back of her stiffening neck, "I was hoping for a ride to the emergency room. I'm sorry, but it looks like I'm going to have to postpone my part of our trip to Idaho at least a few hours." Mulder shrugged. "Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Skinner." They were partners once again but with the X-files still up in the air, not assigned to any one division. Skinner had, in the meantime, continued farming them out as needed across the country. Neither had quit, and both waited for word with uncharacteristic patience. Perhaps because now even the waiting had more meaning. "Anyway," she sighed, "the insurance adjuster I spoke to while I was waiting for you said I had to go to the emergency room, so you can just drop me off there. I'll catch up with you in Boise." Mulder frowned at her. "How are you going to get home from the hospital?" She shrugged. "Taxi." "In that case, why didn't you just take a taxi there? Why call me at all?" Was that //hurt// in his voice? She opened her mouth, and finally some words trickled out. "Well, I called my mom first, but she wasn't home. She's on a cruise with my Aunt Mary--" "A cruise, huh?" His voice still sounded hollow. He looked blankly at the tow truck as it pulled away. He was hurt she hadn't called him first. Of course. Now she had to deal with a mutilated car, airbag burns, a case of whiplash, a visit to the emergency room, and a sulky Mulder. Not to mention insurance companies and the very strong possibility of having to buy a new car. And the hits just keep on coming... Scully sighed. "Well, I guess I still could take a taxi, if you're that upset. Or I could ask Officer Hassler for a ride in the squad car." Mulder looked at the cop, then back at Scully. "Hassler?" Scully nodded Mulder pursed the left side of his mouth. He jingled his keys and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Get in the car, G-woman." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Of course, Brian McCulloch, RN, wanted nothing better than to flirt with Scully as he took her vitals. He wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm and held her hand with the most unclinical tenderness. "So," he said as he slid the stethoscope against her inner elbow. "What brings a pretty girl like you to a place like this?" Girl. She was at least ten years his senior. She explained to him that she had been in a car accident and, as a medical doctor herself, she was sure that she had merely sustained whiplash and a few bruises and burns. She reassured him she was only here for insurance purposes. "Whiplash, hmm? Your poor neck." She laughed a little. //Honey, you have no idea.// Never before had she realized how relaxing life at the bottom of the triage could be. Nurse Brian left her in ortho, and at least another hour passed by. She popper her legs up, and with nothing to read, she contented herself with eavesdropping on a conversation taking place on the other side of the rainbow-pastel curtain. It was a college kid, originally from Connecticut, who had hurt his shoulder in a freshman orientation softball game. The girl keeping him company kept clucking over him, telling him how a daily dose of vitamins would make the shoulder heal faster. Separation? Of the joint or the connective tissue? Absently, the doctor in her daydreamed about what the diagnosis would be. She was daydreaming of what Mulder might be doing in the waiting room when Becky the X-ray tech arrived. The X-ray room was pleasantly cool and dark. Scully slipped into yet another backless blue gown then deposited her bra, earrings and gold cross on the plastic chair, as directed. "Any chance of your being pregnant?" She was caught off guard. How could she have forgotten that question was coming? "No," she answered, keeping her voice even. "None whatsoever." True on several counts. "When was your last menstrual period?" Talk about good timing. This question was easily answered. "Right now." The tech nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Sign here and initial here, verifying that you are not pregnant." Scully took the pen and did so. Then, the physical torture began. She remembered the drill and understood the motive behind each odd position for each film, but the bending and stretching and mouth- opening and weight-holding were all pushing her patience and her strained muscles to the limit. By the time she was wheeled back to her bed in ortho, she felt like she had been hit by //another// car. Twice. She had no shame in asking Nurse Brian for something anti-inflammatory. As suspected, Dr. Rogers-McGinley returned with her films and found nothing suggestive of fracture. After a brief conversation about Scully's line of work and a diagnosis of moderate to severe cervical strain, Doctor Rogers-McGinley disappeared again, as emergency room doctors were wont to do. Ten more minutes and there was a knock on the... curtain. It was Nurse Brian, carrying paperwork, a soft cervical collar, a cup of water, a pill and some soda crackers -- presumably to keep the pill from gnawing a hole in her stomach. She held her hair up as he gently fastened the collar about her neck. That made her neck feel better, but not by much. She consumed crackers, pill and water. She declined Nurse Brian's proffered arm as she stood on her own two feet once more. He handed her the paperwork. An insurance form. A prescription. Directions for follow-up care. "Dr. Rogers-McGinley wants you to stay home from work for three days." "//Three days//!" Nurse Brian began walking her back out to the waiting room. "The doctor says you should not be doing any driving or any sort of heavy activity until the swelling goes down, which should be in --" "Twenty-four to forty-eight hours," she finished for him, exasperated. "And you should follow-up with your family doctor on the third day. If you have any questions, feel free to call here. I work Thursday through Sunday if you want to talk to me." //Nice try,// she refrained from saying aloud. "And," he continued as he pushed open the double- swinging doors for her, "after that time, you should put a heating pad on the area and maybe get someone to massage the muscles for you. Especially at night, before you go to bed." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mulder stand up and put a magazine back down on the waiting room table. "Do you," the nurse continued, "have someone who could do that for you?" She blinked at him, unsure of what he was saying at first. "What?" "Do you have someone to rub your back and neck?" She smiled at him and through tight lips said, "Thank you for your concern." He nodded at her with an undeserved smugness and loped back behind the swinging doors. "Now I've seen a lot of looks on you, Scully," Mulder said behind her, "but this one beats 'em all." He tapped two fingers against the foam collar. Scully grumbled. "Nurse Brian seemed to like it." Without even asking, Mulder took Scully's briefcase from her and began propelling them back out to the parking lot. "Well, you can't blame him for trying." Scully tried shaking her head, but the collar refused to let her. "I have to call Skinner. I'm out of work for three days." "//Three days//!" "That's what I said." "Well, I already called him and told him we couldn't get out to Boise this afternoon. I'll call him back and tell him what happened, tell him to put somebody else on the case." Sheepishly, she lowered her eyes as they stepped back out into the August heat. "Thanks." Mulder answered her thanks by opening her door for her and placing her briefcase behind the passenger seat. They were back on the way to her apartment when Mulder cleared his throat. "So, do you?' She could not turn to look at him. Confused, she asked him, "Do I what?" "Do you have somebody to rub your back and neck?" END 2/3 "Totaled" by Erin McCole Cupp (3/3, UST, S, H, A) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He was joking. Playing with her. Had to be. Stupid collar. She could not turn to look at him and read his body language, and as usual his voice gave away next to nothing. Stupid, stupid collar. She decided to play along, even if it wasn't their usual game. Her voice lilted. "Oh, I don't know. I could ask Nurse Brian." "You could," Mulder agreed flippantly, "but he is a bit young. That sort of thing is illegal in the District of Columbia, isn't it? You'd lose your job." "Either way I'd lose my job." She could not see, but she could //feel// Mulder turn to look at her profile. He knew she was joking, right? He was uncomfortably silent. She'd gone too far. Passionate admissions and affectionate displays were allowed between them, but only in the //most// extreme circumstances, and even then, usually concealed within a joke -- up until recently. Then the admissions and displays were cleverly wrapped up in higher, nobler purposes. Hospitals and hallways and vast icy stretches left them with no more room for jokes, but offered plenty of excuse in their very desperation. But this was not an extreme circumstance by any means. This was a very normal circumstance. Normal people get in car accidents, and normal people ask friends to drive them to and from the emergency room, and normal people have no problems whatsoever about asking a friend -- a //friend//, mind you -- for a backrub. Nearly six years of their mutual experience had turned them into anything but normal people. There were too many hints and unexplained jealousies between them. There was too much pain, inflicted cooperatively and handled independently. There were too many conflicts and too much sarcasm that meant more than was said. There was too much procedure, protocol and professionalism dictating to them safe distance. And even anything but normal people feared rejection. The risks were too high. There was too much to lose. Wasn't there? Was the whole concept of their being together totaled as well? They kept getting closer and closer, and every time they did, there was the inevitable crash. Their intentions mangled and crumpled, leaving them both in pain from their own defense mechanisms. After all, airbags cause burns, bruises and skin irritation. Seatbelts save lives, but they also compound whiplash. They were silent the rest of the trip back to Scully's apartment. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When he followed her up to her door, carrying her briefcase and jacket for her, the silence continued. She was half-relieved, half-surprised when he followed her into the apartment. Apparently, however, he only meant to put her briefcase and jacket down for her. He walked back to the door. "I should go." "Mulder," she sighed, "wait." He turned to look at her, his face characteristically unreadable. She forced herself to look directly into his eyes, to see something, //anything// there. "Why do you keep doing this?" Her voice cracked slightly. "Keep doing what?" Something in his face twitched. "This." She indicated her just-abandoned briefcase. "Coming to my rescue and then just leaving me?" "I--" The panic face was there, and then was not. "I don't know. Maybe the same reason you keep doing this." "Keep doing what?" "Calling on me only as a last resort." He looked away. Everything in her wanted to look down, to turn away from him and regroup. But the stupid, stupid collar held her head up at a proud angle and refused to let her turn her face. When his eyes fell on hers once more, she let her eyelids draw shut -- her final supplemental restraint. She heard him leaning his hand on the doorknob once more. "Scully--" "Mulder," she answered, forcing her eyes to open once more, "it's the only thing I can do anymore to keep..." Her voice faltered. She swallowed and felt a wave of painkiller-induced giddiness flow through her. This time, she was the one fighting to keep him from walking out. But the stakes were lower, and so the stakes were higher. Nothing said now would be said out of desperation. She leaned against a wall, drawing support from it. "To keep," she tried to finish, "anything resembling a professional distance between us." Mulder let go of the doorknob and faced her fully once more. "There's procedure to be followed," she reminded him, smiling weakly, with resignation. He took a step towards her, nodding. "Protocol," he agreed. And this time, he was the one reaching out for her, for that initial embrace. She stood free of the wall and let him put his arms around her. Her nose leaned against his tie, and her breath muffled in his shirt. She could not turn her head. Stupid collar. He pulled back ever so slightly, and she tried to look up at him, but again the collar interfered. All she could feel was his breath stirring in her hair, warming her ear ever so slightly. At last he muttered, "I can't..." Another wave of giddiness assaulted her, just as she tried to pull away and stand on her own once more. This was... painful? Embarrassing. He couldn't. He may have said he needed her once... but he couldn't. "Sorry," she whispered, trying to straighten herself up again and back away, but her back pinched painfully. Then, with unexpected tenderness, he pointed to her swollen lips without touching them. "You already hurt enough." She was still too close to him to see his face. She lowered her eyes and fixed her gaze stupidly on his tie. A moment more, and she found her voice again. "And you've given up so much because of me. I understand." Her words obviously startled him. "No," he breathed, "I don't think you do." What did that mean? She still could not see his face to read it. Scully shook her head as much as the collar allowed her. "I can't stand this anymore. This is ridiculous." She reached behind her head and unfastened the velcro connecting the collar. She looked up at Mulder. Her neck ached from the movement, but it was worth it. At what she saw in his eyes, her heart pumped out a third wave of giddiness, which was not caused but only enhanced by the painkillers. Scully dropped the foam collar and reached up behind Mulder's neck. His lips brushed hers carefully, minimizing the sting. This sting was worth it... And then the phone rang. He leaned his forehead against hers and they both laughed a little at the mere coincidence. "It's probably the insurance adjuster," she mumbled. "You should get that," he sighed. She picked up the phone and Mulder sat on the couch, watching her and eavesdropping on her half of the conversation. When she hung up, she was smiling again. "Totaled?" Mulder asked again. Scully shook her head. "They thought so at first, but it looks like, with some time and work, it can be saved." END 3/3 Okay, you guys who responded to the first posting talked me into this. You made me proud enough to make a few changes & repost. Thanks, guys! "Angel, you are h**l and gone from Cartaghena." - Jack T. Colton. And what does the "T" stand for?