Free Falling (part 1 of ?)

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Title: Free Falling (part 1 of ?)
Author: Rae (DANAxFOX@aol.com) PLEASE praise or constructive criticism ONLY

Readers- "Scarecrows" is my first fanfic POST, but "Free Falling" is my first (uncompleted, of course!) ATTEMPT at fanfic. As always, let me know what you think. I promise both works will be finished during my lifetime. Thanks for your patience.

Rating: PG - some naughty words, Mulder torture/angst
Spoilers:(minor) "Blessing Way", "Chinga", "Talitha Cumi", "Pusher", "One Breath", Redux II", "Emily", "Detour"

Disclaimer: These wonderful characters belong to FOX, Chris "The Man" Carter, and 1013. I'm only borrowing them to "play" with and promise to return them in good condition. (My apologies if Mulder's clothes are a little disheveled...)

Thanks to Barb, my "sister separated at birth" for typing this first attempt at fanfic, for her moral support and for giving me a much needed "kick in the butt" to finish it. Also thanks to Margo for listening to all my whining and for reading and rereading countless rewrites. And last but not least, to Carla for keeping me "honest". I apologize to all the trees that died in this endeavor.

Summary: Mulder disappears while on vacation. Scully tracks him to a hospital in New Mexico where she finds him injured and near death. On their journey to discover what happened, Scully realizes she must decide what direction to take to save them both.

Dana Scully irritably pushed a stray strand of auburn hair off her brow. She took off her glasses, pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. She hadn't been able to sleep for the past two nights. No matter how tired, a restful sleep seemed to be just beyond her grasp. The anniversary she dreaded every year was fast approaching. It was one of the reasons she had decided to take a week of vacation time. She drew in a deep breath before slipping her glasses back on and began rereading for the third time the first paragraph of the autopsy report that lay spread out in front of her.

Scully had come in two hours earlier, giving up on trying to get some sleep but also hoping to catch her partner, Fox Mulder, to tell him of her plans. She didn't know why she hadn't told him over a month ago when she'd made her reservations at the Bed and Breakfast. It was not like her. She was an organized person. Things were never left to the last minute. That kind of disorganization was a Mulder trait. She pushed back the sleeve of her jacket and looked at her watch, surprised by the lateness. She couldn't remember the last time she beat Mulder into the office...

Scully startled as the office door swung open wide followed by flash after flash of blinding light.

It was the worst imitation of a French fashion photographer she had ever heard. Maybe it was supposed to be Italian. Mulder's lean body quickly circled around, her taking picture after picture, until she held up her hands in defeat.

"Sorry, but I only had a few pictures left on the roll. I really want to see how they are going to turn out. I took most of them at night."

She snorted. "I guess I should remind your neighbor in apartment 12 to keep her blinds closed."

"Look, Scully." With childlike enthusiasm he put his "new toy" on her desk for her inspection and approval. "It's the new Nikon N50 with the SB-28 TTL speedlight."

She looked up at him. His dark hair was slightly tousled, testimony to an all-nighter. Not unusual for Mulder and his unique lifestyle. The man could live on little or no sleep with no apparent ill effects. His handsome face was flushed with excitement as he peered down at her. She had the urge to tell him what a "good boy" he was and pat him on the head. Normally she found his little boy act charming, but not today. She picked up the camera and moved it off her papers.

"I'm taking some time off. I won't be back until a week from Monday. I'm sorry, I should have told you earlier."

Mulder moved close to her; protectively. He positioned himself so he could see her face. His hazel eyes were dark.

Scully could hear the terror in his voice and see it in his eyes. It was understandable after all they had gone through with her recent cancer.

Scully gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm feeling fine. Mom and I are going up the coast to a Bed and Breakfast off Dewey Beach for the week. It's in the 19th century home of illustrator Felix O'Darley. Just us girls."

She neglected to mention that it was the anniversary of her sister Melissa's death. She thought the distraction would be good for her and her mother. He looked at her hard, then relaxed. She seemed to be telling the truth, even though she'd used the word "fine"- twice. The dreaded "f" word.

His eyes wandered to the ceiling above his desk. It still bore the pencil holes from the last time Scully took a vacation alone. Without her around Mulder quickly found out how unproductive and meaningless his life could be reduced to in the matter of a few short days.

As the day wore on, Scully hoped that tonight would be the night that sleep would come without a struggle. She was exhausted and still needed to finish her laundry as well as pack when she got home. She thought of trying to slip out of work early but felt guilty not only because of the number of reports that needed to be finished but also for not telling Mulder of her plans.

Five o'clock finally arrived as she was putting the final touches on her report. Mulder closed the file cabinet with a finality that signaled the end of the day. She already had her coat draped over her arm and her hand on the doorknob when she paused and turned towards her partner. She suddenly had the most vivid image of herself asking Mulder to join her and her mother on their trip. Mulder turned to see Scully standing in the doorway with a perplexed look on her face.

Her head jerked up and she looked into Mulder's face. He appeared to be waiting for her to answer an unheard question.

Scully had the strongest feeling that she needed to be with Mulder, so strong it almost physically moved her across the room to him.

Dinner? Where had that come from? She didn't have time to go to dinner with Mulder with everything that needed to be done before tomorrow morning. For some unexplained reason it was more important than laundry, packing or sleeping. She just knew she needed to be with him.

"Sure." Mulder's answer sounding uncertain. He knew it wasn't the question Scully had wanted to ask him. Maybe she would ask it over dinner.

Scully was unusually quiet as they waited to be seated. She sat close to him on the couch, her leg brushing his leg... Mulder silently counted for the fourth time. He was concerned about her and was glad she chose to take a week of vacation time. The last several days she had come into the office looking tired. He knew she hadn't been sleeping. She had tried to hide it from him with the additional make-up but he could tell. He knew he couldn't ask her what was wrong, he had hoped she would willingly volunteer the information. Maybe tonight.

When the hostess finally took them to their booth, Scully surprised Mulder by sliding in next to him. It made it more difficult to talk but Mulder wasn't about to complain. Her closeness didn't bother him, he actually enjoyed it, but he worried about the reason behind it. They shared a half carafe of white wine over dinner and Scully noticeably relaxed after her first drink. The tension and weariness easing as her mood lightened. After they finished dinner and their plates were cleared, she reached into her purse and pulled out the travel brochures from Dewey Beach and spread them on the table. She started to rattle off all the amenities of the Bed and Breakfast, but to Mulder it sounded as if she were trying to sell herself on the vacation.

Mulder silently sipped his coffee, watching her over his cup. He put it down and picked up the brochures. She stopped talking and watched him as he slowly folded them up. He leaned forward and placed them in front of her.

"Go, Scully," he said softly but with a firmness in his voice. "Whatever's bothering you, forget about it and just go."

She looked at him. Her mouth opened and closed and then a small smile touched her lips. She nodded in agreement.

He walked her to her car and shut the door for her after she slid into the driver's seat. She opened her window so they could say their final good-byes.

"Tell your mother I said 'Hi'. You girls have fun, Scully. Get some sleep... preferably alone," he added with a wink.

She laughed. "Take care of yourself, Mulder. Remember, you'll be on your own for a week. I won't be around to save your ass."

"A whole week, Scully..." he mused, "Maybe I should wrap myself in plastic and stay in the closet for seven days."

Mulder placed both hands over his heart and dramatically said, "It's true, Scully. You really do care."

Scully watched him in her rearview mirror until his figure became small and then vanished.
________________________

Two packed suitcases rested by the door. From upstairs she heard her mother call down.

Scully could hear drawers opening and closing. Footsteps moving from room to room. She glanced around the house. There were no new additions since her last visit with the exception of a lovely bouquet on the hall table by the bottom of the stairs. She bent to smell the flowers. Carnations. Melissa's favorite. She searched through the flowers, her fingers feeling for a card. She heard her mother hurrying down the stairs, struggling with a necklace.

How the hell *did* he know? She was stunned. Mulder had remembered.
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Scully started getting anxious the fifth day of their vacation. Something was not right. The feeling was getting stronger with each passing day. There was nothing she could put her finger on. The Bed and Breakfast was beautiful. The weather exceptionally warm. She found it hard to stay focused, to concentrate. He mother was continually having to repeat questions, only to get one syllable answers. She thought it was because of Melissa. Maybe the trip had been a mistake. Just the wrong time and for the wrong reason. Thursday was the worst. She could not shake the feeling. It was so strong. It was beyond the feeling of leaving your front door unlocked or the stove on. It was as if something bad was going to happen. Really bad. Like on television, when the camera zooms in on the gasoline slowly inching its' way toward the flame.

The call from Skinner came shortly after they had finished their dinner on Friday. Her mother stayed to sit on the front porch swing. Scully could tell she wanted to be alone.

"Agent Scully, I'm sorry to bother you, but do you have any idea how I can contact Agent Mulder?"

Mulder hadn't said anything about leaving town when they had dinner last Friday. The impression she got was that he would be staying home and ... and doing whatever Mulder did in his spare time. Clean his fish tank... jog... play basketball... watch videos.

"He called yesterday to set up a meeting for this morning. Said he couldn't get back to DC sooner. He never showed up. Knowing Agent Mulder I generally wouldn't be concerned... but something doesn't feel right. Agent Scully, if you hear from him, have him call me ASAP."

She quickly dialed the Lone Gunmen's number. Byers answered. He had not idea nor did Frohike or Langly. They had dinner with him Sunday night. He never mentioned leaving town. Maybe there had been an emergency. Should she call his mother? If she hadn't heard from him Scully didn't want to worry her unnecessarily, especially after her stroke. She dialed her own home number and checked her messages. The last message was from Mulder. "Off to the Land of Enchantment. See you Monday." The Land of Enchantment?

"Fine, Mom," she lied. She looked at her watch. It was already too late to pack and start back tonight.

"Just a case going to trial earlier than expected. I'm sorry. If it's okay with you, we need to leave after breakfast tomorrow."

She saw relief on her mother's face. The vacation had not gone as either of them had hoped or planned. Her mother was anxious for it to end, too.

The traffic was a bitch going into DC on Interstate 495. They were stuck behind a truck and a motorhome in front of him traveling 25 miles below the speed limit, trapped by the stream of cars on their left. There was no daylight between the bumpers. The trip home was taking twice as long as it should have, making Scully angrier and angrier. She hit the steering wheel in frustration, quickly glancing at her mother sleeping beside her, thankful she had not woken her. Scully had her blinker on for the past four miles. No one would let her in. Good old eastern hospitality.

The truck ahead of her turned off on an exit. She was now behind the motorhome. She wanted to put her head on the steering wheel and cry. The sense of urgency had not left her, in fact it was stronger than ever. She knew it was Mulder. Her hand reached for the horn but froze in mid-air when she saw the license plate. New Mexico- The Land of Enchantment.

Scully dropped her mother off and raced to the airport. She needed to check all flights to New Mexico and their passenger lists since Monday. There was no Fox Mulder listed as a passenger nor a George Hale. She finally found him on a United flight that left late Tuesday afternoon. He was listed as Martin F. Luder. Why hadn't he used his real name? She bought a one-way ticket to Albuquerque leaving in an hour and a half. It gave her time to move her car to long-term parking and grab her suitcases out of the trunk. She called Skinner and told him she was at the airport and off to New Mexico.
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"Agent Scully, we just received a call..." he paused, then cleared his throat, "... from the Albuquerque Coroner's Office."

Scully suddenly felt light headed. She couldn't breathe. There was a burning in her throat as the bile crept up.

"There were two bodies brought in on Friday morning. Both John Does. No identification. Their hands burned so they were unable to check fingerprints."

He cleared his throat again. "Both victims are approximately 25-35 years old. Brown hair. Hazel eyes. Approximately 170 pounds. Six feet tall. Officer Mellon from the Albuquerque PD will pick you up from the airport when you arrive and escort you to the morgue."

Her hand pressed tightly to her mouth, keeping the scream in her throat from escaping. The phone slipped from her trembling hand into her lap.

She was paralyzed. It felt as if she had been punched in the stomach, forcing all the air from her lungs. She felt like she was dying all over again.

"Agent Scully, considering your recent illness, I think it would be best if I sent another agent out to assist you." His voice had taken on a fatherly, concerned tone. "Perhaps Agent Spender... Or I could assign an agent from the regional office."

Scully continued, "This is for me to handle. If I did not feel physically capable of doing my job I would have resigned. I owe that to the Bureau, myself and especially to Mulder."

Skinner started to say something but stopped. "Please keep me informed. If you need help... anything... call me. You have my numbers. Scully... anytime."

"I will, Sir, and thank you. Mulder and I appreciate your support and what you've personally given of yourself to help us."

Scully clicked off the phone and tucked it into her jacket. The pilot came on announcing ETA in twenty-five minutes. She stared for a moment at the back of the patterned seat in front of her, then quickly unsnapped her seatbelt and hurried to the restroom. Once the door was closed and locked, she fell to her knees and threw up what little bit of food she had eaten. Dry heaves turned into sobs. Several minutes went by before Scully found the strength to pull herself off the floor and lay her forehead on the edge of the cold sink. She felt a crushing loneliness, how she imagined life would be like without Mulder. Without Mulder. The reality of it was too frightening to comprehend.

There was a sharp knock on the door. It was a flight attendant asking her to return to her seat as soon as possible. They would be landing in fifteen minutes and the weather going into Albuquerque was not good. Scully wet several towels and pressed them to her face. The bathroom was becoming too warm and suffocating. She was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Scully quickly looked at herself in the mirror. She looked like hell but she didn't care. What she looked like was not important. Not important at all.

She exited the restroom and walked down the aisle with her head down, ignoring the stares from the other passengers as she returned to her seat. The flight was rough. Passengers were confined to their seats with their seatbelts fastened until the plane landed. The wind tossed the plane back and forth, while lightning illuminated the dark skies. She did not like to fly. Even after all the flights she had flown, it never seemed to get any easier. Scully smiled a faint smile knowing Mulder would have loved this flight. The rougher the better. Under normal circumstances she would have been terrified but instead she felt a strange apathy. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

It was raining so hard in Albuquerque Scully had been afraid they would reroute her plane to another airport and she would have to wait even longer.

Her eyes searched the small crowd of people waiting at the gate. A tall uniformed officer with graying hair approached her.

"I guess I was easy to recognize. Not too many short, red haired female FBI agents." She managed a weak smile that did not reach her eyes.

He returned her smile. He could see she was trying hard to hold herself together. After traveling thousands of miles to identify the possible body of her partner... late at night... in a storm... in a strange city... Add to that, both bodies matched her partner's description and the chances were good that she would be returning home with one of the bodies. Bad odds. It was a credit to her that she was able to function at all.

They stood silently side by side by the carousel waiting for her luggage to be unloaded. After several awkward minutes passed, Officer Mellon tried some small conversation hoping to take her mind off what lay ahead.

"Sorry about the weather. This is real unusual for this time of the year. El Nino, I guess. It's been blamed for everything from the price of gas to women having alien babies."

Scully's head snapped up as she looked at the officer. The "El Nino Theory"? What would Mulder have thought of it? She fought the urge to burst out laughing; one of those out-of-control hysterical laughs that tells everyone you've lost it.

Officer Mellon touched her arm and she was cruelly pulled back to reality. He grabbed her bags off the carousel and headed for the door. Any hope that she would find her partner alive evaporated as she passed through the doorway out into the rainy night.

Officer Mellon retrieved his patrol car as Scully waited under the overhang with her luggage. After loading her bags in the trunk they headed out of the airport.

"How far?" Scully's voice sounded weary. She seemed resigned to the fact that there was nothing she could do to change what she was about to face. Two bodies. Two. Doubling the odds that one was Mulder's.

Officer Mellon stopped at a stop sign and turned toward her. "Agent Scully, there is a room in your name at the Comfort Inn. If you would like to go there first..."

She could feel her stomach start to knot and hoped she wouldn't have to ask Officer Mellon to stop the car so she could be sick by the side of the road. Scully turned away from him and looked out the passenger window at the rain. Rain. No matter where she and Mulder had traveled the rain usually followed. They had seen it all. Soft rain. Hard rain. Yellow rain. Even raining frogs. The corners of her mouth raised up in a slight smile. She heard Mulder's voice, "Maybe their parachutes didn't open."

With Mulder she had gone places and seen things that were ... unbelievable. Exciting. Frightening. Dangerous. He had introduced her to a life so completely different from the military, structured one Scully had been raised in and a life that she had tried to pattern her life around. Mulder pushed her scientific knowledge to the edge and beyond. He taught her how to think and to finally accept and incorporate into "her science", the openness to accept "extreme possibilities".

What Mulder saw and accepted frightened her. She saw things that would not conform to her rigid standards of what was real and what was not. After five years, Scully finally accepted the fact that science did not have all the answers. But most of all Mulder taught her how to trust, to let go and have complete and absolute faith in another human being. If he were gone...Scully closed her eyes and drew in a long breath then slowly released it. She opened her eyes as she felt the car slow as it turned into a parking lot. They were there.

Officer Mellon was first out of the car and circled around it to open her door. He opened an umbrella and held it protectively over the passenger door. Like Mulder. She stared momentarily at the front of the Coroner's Office and up at Officer Mellon. He saw the fear in her eyes. He held his hand out to help her and when she took it he gave it a reassuring squeeze.
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Officer Mellon held the door open for her. She had to fight the urge to run away. As she passed through the door, it felt as if she had left her body. She was watching herself walk down the hall to the autopsy room. The smells that she worked in daily were making her nauseous. She made a mental note where the restrooms were located. As she entered the room the first thing she saw was the closed body bag on the dissection table. She stared, transfixed at the bag. Why was it so hot in the room? A large, heavy set man appeared dressed in surgical scrubs. He pulled off his latex gloves and extended a hand to Scully. Small beads of perspiration shone on his face under the bright fluorescent lights.

He nodded understanding and stepped away. Scully closed her eyes and reopened them, drawing in a deep breath. She fingered the cool zipper for a moment before slowly pulling it open. It was a struggle not to pass out. The room was spinning. Bright colors flashed in front of her eyes.

She paused. "Doctor, were there any distinguishable marks on the victim's face? A mole? Right cheek?"

He quickly scanned his notes. "Not that I could tell from my initial visual exam. Just about ready to start on the body when we received the call from Washington. We were waiting for you. Both victims were covered with flecks of a blue metallic paint. This victim lost most of the right side of his face. Shot in the side of the head at close range, execution style. Nice powder burn above his left temple. Appears the victim was kneeling when he was shot. The exit wound..." He shook his head sadly. "Left side of his face is mostly intact although someone beat the shit out of him before he was shot."

She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed. With a trembling hand she finished unzipping the bag. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest it hurt. She drew in a long breath and slowly opened her eyes. Scully felt her knees buckle as she stumbled backwards away from the table and let out a moan.

Something wasn't right. She froze and peered closer at the face. An opened clouded eye stared back. Lifeless. It wasn't Mulder, but the man could have easily passed for his brother.

"It's not my partner. Before I look at the second victim I need to use the restroom." She was going to be sick.

"Didn't they tell you? The second victim is still alive. He's at University Hospital. Last I heard he was on life support but still alive."
________________________

Mulder was afraid. He floated in and out of consciousness for ... he didn't know how long. Time had no meaning. There was no dark to light to measure the days. There was just the pain. The paralyzing physical pain and the pain that she wasn't there and that was the worst pain of all. He could feel the birds - the vultures, the their black, lifeless eyes and their cruel beaks and talons - pulling at his clothes. They tore at them until he lay naked and cold; biting his arms, legs and face. They must have taken his eyes because there was only darkness. Strangely, after each "bite" the pain lessened and the last thought he had was - vultures can't talk.

The doctors and nurses worked feverishly on him. He was barely alive, in shock. His skin was cold and clammy. Pulse rapid and weak. His breathing shallow. As they cut off his clothes, IVs of dextrose and saline, and glucose were started in each arm, plus morphine. A unit of 0 Rh-negative blood was given, there was no time to wait for a cross match on his blood. Another unit ready to be transfused into his body.

"I need a complete CBC, H and H and a SMAC 20. Also blood cultures times two. Skip the gentamiacin and go straight to the vancomycin. If that doesn't work, he's as good as dead."

Dr. Moore quickly evaluated Mulder's neck injury. "There is no internal throat damage. Let's get a tube in him STAT. I need some shots of his chest, too. Looks like we have some broken ribs."

"Get someone from the Burn Unit here to look at these hands. Try Dr. Trupin. Tell her it looks like mostly first and second, except for his right thumb. She'll probably have to do a graft. What's this blue shit on him? Let's get him cleaned up. That head wound needs to be prepped. His eyes..." Dr. Moore shook his head. "I guess we will have to wait for some of the swelling to go down. What the *hell* happened to this guy? Who brought him in?"

One of the nurses answered, "Doctor, this is the John Doe from the Coroner's Office."

"From the Coroner's Office? Looks like the ambulance wasted gas bringing him here. No way he makes it through the night."

Just then, as if proving his point, a nurse shouted out, "Doctor, his vitals are flattening!"

He grabbed a syringe filled with 125 milligrams of steroids and injected it into Mulder. There was a tense moment as they waited for the medicine to take effect.

To their relief and amazement, he didn't "crash". He was still alive.
________________________

Standing in the hospital room doorway Scully looked in at her partner lying swathed in bandages. His prone figure dwarfed by the medical equipment surrounding his bed. Officer Mellon stood quietly behind her, a discreet distance away. She turned toward him and nodded. Tears glistened in her eyes. It took a moment for her to find her voice.

Officer Mellon reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a card and a pen. He quickly wrote a number on the back and handed it to Scully.

"My home number, Agent Scully. Please, I would like to help. If you need anything you can try the department number or my home number. I only live a few blocks from here."

She looked into the room at Mulder. "If you could please call the Comfort Inn and cancel my reservation. I can't leave ... now that I've found him," Scully slowly shook her head and repeated, "I can't leave."

Officer Mellon nodded. "I'll bring up your bags." He left, not knowing whether she heard him or not.

The room was dark. It's only illumination from a lamp turned low in the corner of the room. The machines emitted an eerie symphony of rhythmic and unrhytmic beeps and sounds. Her shoulders sagged as she closed her eyes and let her chin fall to her chest.

Her voice cracked with emotion. Her bottom lip began to tremble and she bit into it. Hard.

If she started it felt like there would be no stopping the tears... ever. Her emotions were raw from the anniversary of Missy's death...Mulder missing... the trip... the morgue...

Scully realized that she had unconsciously reached for the gold cross that hung around her delicate neck. She clenched it in her closed hand. The edges bit into the soft tissue of her palm. The pain felt good. It helped sharpen her senses and focus on what she needed to do.

Drawing in a deep breath Scully pulled her shoulders back and, with slow, quiet steps, crossed the room to his bedside. Sad eyes surveyed the room, quickly taking a mental inventory of all the equipment crowded around his bed - ECG...Ventilator..Defibrillator...Sphygmomanometer... a trach tube jetted from his mouth, held by wide, white pieces of tape. IVs ran from each arm while a heart monitor beeped an unrhythmic tune, competing with the rain that pounded against the window. Periodic flashes of lightning illuminated Mulder's battered face and body. Bandages covered the left side of his face and head including his eye. The other eye was closed shut- puffy and colored black and blue. She slipped her small frame in between the machines and peered into his face.

Scully watched his face closely for a response but was greeted with only silence. Her hand drifted across his face to carefully push back a stray strand of hair. Moving her fingers slowly down his face, they paused to touch the tell-tale mole on his right cheek. An abrasion around his neck leading to behind his ear shone red and ugly against his pale, clammy skin. There was a bandage behind his right ear. With both hands she carefully drew back the covers. His bruised and scratched chest was wrapped in heavily padded bandages. Scully wondered how many ribs were broken.

She pulled the blankets up and continued her examination to his arms and hands. Both hands were heavily wrapped to the wrists. She traced the abrasions on his wrists. It was clear he had been tied. This was no accident. He was not safe. She needed to contact Skinner and have him call the local authorities to authorize 24 hour security. She lifted the corner of her jacket and slid her hand around her waist to touch her holstered gun.

Walking over to the window, Scully pulled out her cell phone an speed-dialed Skinner's home number. She leaned her head against the cool glass pane, the phone pressed to her ear. She traced a silvery trail left by the rain on the window with a finger. She straightened up, startled, when Skinner picked up on the second ring.

"Skinner," his voice sounding strong and alert. Obviously he had not been asleep.

Scully glanced at her watch as she fumbled for the phone. It was 2:17 in Alexandria, VA.

"S-sorry, Sir. This is Agent Scully. I've located Agent Mulder in a hospital outside..."

His question sounding sharp. Was it from authority or concern? She chose the latter.

"His condition, Sir..." she swallowed hard, "I'm not sure..." She paused. "He is alive. I have not been able to speak tot he admitting or attending physician. Sir, I'm concerned with his safety."

Scully went into detail about her experience in the morgue. Noting that both the murder victim and Mulder, besides sharing an uncanny resemblance to each other, had unusual flecks of paint on their bodies. The man in the morgue had been executed by a shot to his head and that Mulder had been restrained, as indicated by the marks on his wrists.

"I'll contact the local authorities ASAP and have someone sent over right away. Once we have a person in place, Agent Scully, I want you to get some rest. I don't need two agents in the hospital. Do you understand?"

Click. She folded up the phone and tucked it back into her jacket pocket. Returning to Mulder's bedside, she carefully cleared a space to put a chair by his bed. Taking a chair from the corner of the room, she butted it up against the bedrail. Scully sat down heavily. Snaking a hand through the railing she located a spot on his arm that wasn't bandaged and gently laid her hand on it. She needed to touch him. She needed him to know she was there. She sighed. It was time for the vigil to begin.
________________________

Scully sat staring at Mulder letting her fingers on his arm gently stroke back and forth. She leaned close and began to softly talk to him. To confide. she told him how taking the time off and going with her mother up the coast had been a mistake. Melissa's death was something neither one would ever forget... but each knew the reason for the visit and it wasn't an anniversary either one wanted to mark or remember. There was enormous guilt. The bullet had been meant for her.

She told him of the call from Skinner wanting to know if she had heard from him. And how it was the excuse she needed to leave. The flash of relief she saw in her mother's eyes and how easily she had lied. <No, Mom. Everything is fine. Just a case going to trial earlier than expected. No problem.> Checking her answering machine to find his cryptic message, "Scully. Off to the Land of Enchantment. See you on Monday." Calling his "friends". Well, all three of them, which was covered in one call. Byers said he hadn't heard from you since Sunday night and I had to break up an argument between Langley and Frohike on who was "hotter"- Linda Carter's Wonder Woman or Lucy Lawless' Xena, to ask them the same question. She smiled and shook her head sadly. "Mulder, you really do need to get a life." No response, only Mulder's labored breathing. Scully listened intently. Was it her imagination or was his breathing getting worse?
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Mulder knew she was there. He could sense he. Even before he heard her speak. He had just suddenly felt safe. Where her fingers lightly and gently laid on his arm a warmth radiated from them. He tried to move. To show her *he* was there, to reassure her, but his body would not cooperate no matter how hard he willed it. Bits and pieces came back through his drug and pain induced fog. Whispers... soothing words and semi-silent prayers for his ears only.

As she slept, Mulder felt wisps of her hair tickling the skin on his lower arm. One of the few places on his body not wrapped and aching. God how he hurt. He wished he could see her sleeping face. He imagined it looking so peaceful. He liked to watch her sleep. On stakeouts, he would watch as sleep would overtake her. Her face would begin to relax, the stress slowly ironing from her face and her eyes would grow heavy. As her head began to nod, he would slide closer and give her himself to lean on. Such a sacrifice. She would wake looking sheepish and embarrassed for having fallen asleep. Or maybe because she had drooled on his coat. Sometimes he could not resist the urge to reach out to her and would hold his hand inches from her face.

It wasn't as if he had never touched her. There was always his hand placed protectively on the small of her back. Or the time on stakeout, while waiting for Robert Patrick Modell to call, as they sat in the parking lot of the Beltway Commuter Lot in Falls Church, VA watching the pay phone. He remembered Modell's words. "You and your pretty partner seem awfully close. Do you work well together?" He had hoped Scully hadn't seen his face redden. That bastard Modell had watched them the whole time. Modell had seen his fingers brush across Scully's cheek to wake her. He had watched him watch her.

He just never touched her. Really touched her. It was like reaching for something so fragile and delicate that one clumsy gesture would shatter what they both held so dear. This was the most intimate relationship he had ever shared with a woman... with another human being and he would not risk destroying it. Not even for that one touch. It was hard. So hard. At times he could imagine his finger brushing across her lashes, trailing down the curve of her face to her moist, full lips...

Mulder heard a soft groan escape her lips as she awoke and stretched. The chair, pulled close to his bed, scraped back as she pushed up. He could hear her moving quietly around the bed- reading the monitors, checking gauges and fluid levels. She gently pushed back a bandage to check his pulse. Her fingers lingering longer than necessary. Her thumb stroked his wrist slowly. She released his wrist and he caught her scent as she leaned across to pull back the blankets and sheets. He felt a coolness across his chest. She carefully readjusted some bandages and peered under others.

Fox. She called him Fox. This was not a good sign. His first name was reserved for only the most dire circumstances. As was the name Dana. He really must look as bad as he felt. Mulder heard her fight back a sob. It tore at his heart. He could feel tears form in his eyes. A single tear fell free through his swollen right eye and slid down his cheek to his jaw, hitting her hand as she pulled the covers back up to his chin. He felt her freeze.

Dr. Moore was surprised to see a person sitting with "John Doe", and a very pretty one at that. She was whispering to him, not noticing Dr. Moore standing in the doorway. Dr. Moore felt embarrassed, as if he had intruded on something private. He noticed the woman's hand stroking the man's hand as she bent close to him. A wife? Girlfriend? Obviously someone who loved him.

Dr. Moore rustled the papers in his hand. The woman's head snapped around, her hand reaching for something under her jacket. She pulled her hand out empty and started to stand. Dr. Moore motioned her back to her chair. The poor woman looked exhausted. He crossed to her.

Partner? He thought it was a strange way to describe your boyfriend. "Well, Miss Scully, your boyfriend here..."

He stopped. She was shaking her head again. Scully reached into her jacket and pulled out her badge and ID, displaying it for him to see.

"Dr. Moore, I am a medical doctor and would appreciate you allowing me to review his charts."

Agent Scully or Dr. Scully sounded too formal. Her immediate family were the only ones who used her first name. It was really Mulder's fault. Because of his intense dislike for his first name, everyone now became known by their last. The Mulder Influence. He was everywhere in her life.

Dr. Moore looked at his watch. "Let's go up to the cafeteria. At this hour it should be nice and quiet. A cup of coffee wouldn't hurt either one of us."

"I'm sorry. I can't leave him. I hate doing this to you and your staff, but there will be an officer outside this room until it's been determined that my partner is safe from whomever did this to him. You saw the ligature marks on his wrists and neck. This was no accident. I will also need a list of the staff members who will be treating my partner."

While she briefed the officer who had arrived during their conversation, Dr. Moore went to the cafeteria and brought back two cups of coffee. He knew even with the guard outside the door that she would still be too uncomfortable leaving her partner's side. He saved her from finding an excuse.

They took a seat at the table in the corner of the room. She pulled out her glasses and began to read Mulder's records. Dr. Moore sipped his coffee quietly, discreetly watching her face as she read. He wondered if she realized how much emotion she was conveying through her face. It wasn't hard for Dr. Moore to see that they were more than "just partners." When she was done he noticed that she was paler. Being a medical doctor, he knew she knew the real condition of her partner. The prognosis was not good.
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Sunday Morning 10:21 am

Scully's hand hovered above the last number of her mother's phone number. She had put off calling her mother long enough. She dreaded making the call. She had hoped... prayed... that her instincts her wrong about Mulder and she would find him safe and enjoying some R & R in New Mexico. How could she explain to her mother that he was lucky to be alive and even luckier if he lived? ...That she had to lie to her again. There would be no easy way to tell her and spare her the pain. Scully knew her mother loved Mulder as if he were her own. They had become extremely close during her three month disappearance and her recent experience with cancer. Her mother was an incredibly strong woman, even finding the strength to mediate the friction between Bill Jr. and Mulder during her illness. She closed her eyes and punched the last number.

Margaret Scully could make out the words "hospital" and "New Mexico" between her daughter's sobs. Her blood turned to ice.

Margaret could hear her daughter struggling to gain control, sniffing loudly and clearing her throat.

Fox? She knew Dana was not telling her the whole truth when she told her she needed to get back to DC for an early trial, but she never imagined it was because of Fox. If Fox was in a hospital... then at least he was still alive.

Scully closed her free hand and dug her nails into her palm. She needed to get herself under control, for her mother and for herself. She reopened her hand and wiped her eyes.

"Mom. I don't know what happened... how he ended up in New Mexico. I'm at the University Hospital in Albuquerque. Please take care of everything at home. I'm going to be here at least a month..." She looked at Mulder. "Probably longer."

On the third day after finding Mulder she received a call from the Coroner's Office.

"Agent Scully, I thought you would like to know that we have a positive identification on the John Doe. His name is Aaron Dyer, a twenty-four year old senior vet student from Colorado. His father just made the ID. Both the parents are here. I told them you would want to speak to them before they returned home with the body. They are not in very good shape. The kid was their only child. I'll send a car for you."

She paused outside the door, her hand on the knob. Her head was lowered. She hated this. What comfort could she give these people without the words sounding empty and inadequate? She blew out a hard breath before she entered the room. The Dyers were seated behind a long table, a box of Kleenex in the center. Wads of used tissues were in pile. Mrs. Dyer plucked at the tissue in her hand, tearing it into small pieces. She was a small woman. Scully judged no taller than herself. As Scully crossed to the table, the woman shrunk down in her seat, as if to hide.

"Daniel Dyer." His deep voice couldn't hide the pain. "My wife Laurie," he said, nodding his head toward the woman.

Mr. Dyer was a large man. Well over six feet and a girth to match his height. His hand was rough and callused from a lifetime of ranch work.

Carefully she said, "Mr. and Mrs. Dyer, I am so sorry for your loss. I truly understand what you are going through."

Scully quickly looked down at the table. Regaining her composure, she continued, "I need to ask you some questions about your son."

Mrs. Dyer stood up, pushing away from the table, "I'm sorry. I can't be here. I can't stay."

As she passed by Scully, she laid a hand on her shoulder. "As mothers, I am sorry for both of us. It's different for men. Between a mother and her child..." There was terror in her eyes and voice. "How will I find the strength to want to live?"

She turned away sobbing and left the room. Mr. Dyer started to stand to follow his wife out the door. He sat back down, determined.

"Our plane leaves tonight. Let's get this over with. I never want to set foot in this state again."
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Scully was badly shaken after the interview. She felt so sorry for the Dyers. She didn't know how Mrs. Dyer would find the strength to continue. Some days she didn't have the strength either. She would see a young blond-haired girl with full cheeks and the grief would hit her so hard it would physically stagger her. When it got real bad she would call Mulder and her would come over and would just sit. No words were needed. Just being close Mulder gave her the support, strength and ... love she needed. Yes love. She knew Mulder loved her. He had never said the words, but he told her in other ways. Ways that were far better than words.

As she sat by Mulder's bed she flipped through her written notes from the interview. Aaron had been adopted by the Dyers at birth. His mother was a sixteen year old unwed mother from New Mexico. Sarah Jacobsen. Sarah was the only child of Hershel and Willa. Both forty when Sarah was born. Ten years after having Aaron, Sarah was dead from breast cancer. Her mother died from the same disease five years later. The Jacobsens owned a four hundred thousand acre ranch outside of Albuquerque. Its boundaries bordering the Kirtland Air Force Base, the Manzano Mountains and the Laguna Indian Reservation. Hershel had died in February leaving everything to Aaron. He was the sole heir to the vast Jacobsen estate. Aaron had come down to see the ranch during spring break. That's why he was in New Mexico. Hershel, with permission from the Dyers, had kept in contact with his biological grandson through letters only. Grandfather and grandson had never met face to face. Speaking to Hershel on the phone, the Dyers had found him "odd". He had seemed a little too paranoid and it made both of them uncomfortable. They were relieved when Aaron showed no interest in cultivating a relationship beyond the letters. The correspondence increased after the death of Sarah and his wife. Up until Hershel's death in February, a package had arrived weekly since the first of the year for Aaron. The Dyers never pressed their son as to what was in the packages. They knew Hershel was ill and thought the contents were personal items he wanted to make sure his grandson got safely.
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Scully didn't like what she saw. The wound edges were beginning to redden and swell. Infection was starting to set in. With the infection would come the fever. It would not be easy for Mulder, especially in his weakened condition. Realistically how much more could his body endure? She couldn't face the answer... the truth.

Even with all the drugs being pumped into his body, the fever hit with a vengeance. She watched helplessly as his temperature climbed throughout the night. 101...102...103...He was becoming restless and increasingly uncomfortable. The trach tube had been removed earlier for fear of vomiting. They wrapped him in a cooling blanket. Ice. Desperate to slow his temperature.

His mouth hung open trying to gulp air. Every breath disturbing his broken ribs. The pain was excruciating. His body began to shake uncontrollably. All his muscles seemed to be knotting into painful cramps. His ragged breaths turned to sobs. It was unbearable. He looked past one of the nurses and found Scully, pressed against the wall, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Fear was etched on her pale face. If he only had the strength to reach her and make her understand that what was going to happen next was not his choice. She saw him find her. A hazel glint, dulled with pain and fever, stared back. He mouthed the word 'sorry'. He didn't feel he could hang on any longer. There was no strength left in him. Nurses scurried around. Their movements becoming more and more hurried. Voices becoming louder... sharper... frantic.

The edge of his vision began to darken. Like an old black and white television set being turned off, the picture slowly fading. Scully watched in horror as the life left his left eye.

Her cries were coming out in pants. Tears streamed down her face. She pushed a nurse aside and reached for his face. Placing both hands on each side. Her face covered his. Her voice lowered to barely above a whisper.

"Mulder, it's not time. I can't fight them alone. Please. I need you here with me."

Her pleas were running together into great choking sobs. She laid her cheek on his and whispered in his ear.

It was time for the truth. A long overdue truth. She realized that she might not ever have this opportunity again. To say the words...Out loud... for everyone to hear and be a witness to.

She could not imagine life without him. How dull everything would become. Her desire and strength gone. She would just be going through the motions.

All human activity stopped. Nurses and doctors frozen in place. Waiting. The crash cart was ready. The electric paddles charged. They waited for the last beat of his heart. Listening.

She had not moved from his side and continued whispering in his ear. Several long minutes passed. Two minutes grew to thirty. And then sixty. Slowly his heartbeat began to stabilize. His breathing coming easier. One of the nurses standing closest to the bed later swore she heard the woman agent humming a song to him. She thought it was "Joy to the World" by the Three Dog Night, but couldn't swear to it.

After an hour, Dr. Moore placed a hand on Scully's shoulder. She stiffened and looked up with red swollen eyes. Her face splotchy. She allowed him to lead her away from the bed. He gently guided her to a chair and knelt beside her.

Her eyes had not left her partner. Carefully, he turned her face toward his. The remaining nurse was busy changing IV bags and rechecking Mulder's vital signs.

"Agent Scully, I know you are a medical doctor. And you will understand what we are going to do if your partner stays stabilized for the next eight hours. We want to put him into a drug induced coma. His body needs to rest."

He opened her hand and pressed two pills into it. She stared at them for a brief moment then looked at Mulder.

Dr. Moore reassured her, "I've got someone from housekeeping bringing up another bed. You can stay here with him. You will know the minute we know if there are any problems."

He handed her a glass of water from the table. With a shaky hand she placed the pills in her mouth. Dr. Moore helped guide the glass to her mouth. He disappeared into the bathroom and came out with a cold washcloth and offered it to her. Minutes later a bed was wheeled into the room and placed in the corner. Dr. Moore tugged Scully out of the chair and led her to the bed. He pulled back the covers and helped her out of her shoes and jacket. She took his hand and squeezed it.

One final look toward her partner and she was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
________________________

When she woke, ten hours later, Mulder had been moved to a ripple mattress. It was designed to allow air to be pumped in and out, preventing bed sores. They had also placed a sheepskin under him to help cushion his body. The trach tube had been reinserted. A nurse would remain in the room 24 hours monitoring his oxygen, blood pressure, heart rate and drawing blood samples hourly. Laying immobile for a long period of time had the potential of creating a new problem- pneumonia. They needed to get him on his feet as soon as possible.
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After five days they reversed the coma. Scully sat anxiously by his side. Mulder had been trying to wake for almost an hour. Small moans and groans escaped his parched lips. His bandaged hands jerked, his head slowly rolled from side to side. Finally, she saw a glint out of his right eye. He blinked. Mulder's hands instinctively reached for the trach tube. She stopped them.

"How's he doing? The nurse said he just woke up. I don't know how long he is going to tolerate that tube. Normally we give a muscle relaxant so the patient won't fight it. I really don't want to do that in your partner's case."

Mulder tried to cough. His throat hurt. He wanted this damn thing out of his mouth. It felt like he was being choked. He tried to reach for the tube again. Scully looked at Dr. Moore. He nodded.

"Okay, let's pull the tube." He motioned for the nurse. Dr. Moore and Scully stepped aside. The nurse leaned over Mulder's bed.

"Agent Mulder, we are going to pull out the trach tube. I need your help. I want you to blow out hard. Do you understand?"

He gagged as the tube slid out of his throat. Mulder swallowed painfully. He tried to wet his lips with his dry tongue. Dr. Moore handed Scully a cup with some crushed ice and water. She bent the straw so Mulder didn't have to sit up to drink.

She pulled back the straw. He closed his eye, then reopened it. He was trying to speak.

She shook her head. "I don't know, Mulder. It's not important. Not now." She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

He opened and closed his mouth. She brought the straw back up to his lips. He greedily sucked the water.

He tilted his head so he could see his lifted arms and looked at the bandages and all the tubes leading out of them. Mulder tried to touch his bandaged head. He could not reach it because of the IV s He looked at Scully again.

"I don't know the how, who or why. We will figure that out later. The most important thing is getting you well and out of here."

His brow furrowed again. "Please, Mulder. Let it go for now. It's okay... It's okay..." She kept repeating until his eye slowly closed and his head lolled to one side. She gently ran her hand down his face. "It's going to be okay, Mulder."

Scully hit the bed controls and moved it to a full upright position, taking care not to jar his ribs. She helped him swing his legs off to the side of the bed. Scully stood directly in front of him. His face was pale and pinched with pain. His lips were drawn in a tight thin line. He had his eye closed.

He opened his eye as he inched his way to the edge of the bed. His hands sought her shoulders. He slowly pushed himself up using her shoulders. His wrists bore most of his weight. Scully wrapped her arms lightly around him for support. His arms were shaking from the exertion. His legs weak and trembling. She helped him back to the edge of the bed. It was a start. A first step. She was pleased with his progress, but saw his jaw clenching and unclenching in frustration. She took a seat next to him.

"Mulder, I know you and I know how difficult this is for you." Scully looked away from his face to her hand that she had laid on his arm.

"This would be difficult for anyone. I know for you it goes beyond the physical pain. It's about being dependent on someone else. It's about not having control to make your own choices without outside interference," Scully looked up, her eyes finding his. "I just want you to know I'm here to help you in any way I can. Believe me it's not a debt being repaid." She continued softly, "It's where I want to be. It's *my* choice, Mulder... with *no* regrets."

She saw his throat working, trying hard to speak. His throat was still raw from the trach tube. When he could speak, it was barely above a faint, hoarse whisper.

"Scully, I..." His voice failed him and he looked into her eyes, pleading for her to understand. To find that silent link between them. Communication without words.

"I know." She simply said and gently leaned her head on his shoulder.
________________________

Scully sat and watched his lid grow heavy, then finally close. What she had told him hadn't been a complete lie.

"It's my choice." True, it was her choice. But *not* in this way...*Not* in another damn hospital... *Not* praying and hoping at his bedside with every breath another would follow...

"No regrets." A partial lie. She didn't feel regret for being by his side. Looking back to the first day she walked into his basement office, her life had changed. From then on she couldn't imagine being anywhere else, but she was emotionally and physically wrung dry. Scully knew weakness in their job was deadly and could get, if not one, both of them killed. She lifted her hands and held them out, watching as the shakes moved from her fingers up her arms. Horrified, she quickly clasped her hands together in her lap and squeezed them tight. She looked into Mulder's face.

She didn't feel she had anything left to give him. She was numb. All her strength... both physical and spiritual ... was gone. She had given it all to Mulder to make him well. She hoped he could get comfort from seeing her by his side and knowing she was there, for today that was all she had to give.

Scully woke that morning, as she had woken the previous mornings, bathed in a cold sweat. Somewhere in the realm between awareness and sleep, the antiseptic smells would invade her senses and grip her in a terror that was so frightening she could hardly breathe. The smells triggered memories too fresh to forget. She would wake with a start and slowly become conscious of where she was. Her relief was brief. Scully found no comfort in finding Mulder the reason for being in the hospital instead of her.

When the nurses came in to perform Mulder's intensive daily care, she would frequently turn away. Especially when they changed his bandages. The damage to his body that was visible was bad enough, but once the bandages were removed and all his wounds revealed showing the savagery if what was done to him, it made her sick to her stomach. Scully would avoid eye contact with Mulder, afraid that her eyes would betray the seriousness of his injuries and show him her weakness. When he did see her face, it reflected such horror and pain that he wished he could physically get up and go to her.
________________________

He looked away. "I don't know... I don't know how to say this without you taking it ... the wrong way."

She quickly countered, "The same words it would have taken for you to leave me when I was fighting my cancer."