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By dee_ayy
Completed June 7, 2000
Posted June 19, 2000
Category: S, MT, fill-in
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Uh huh. For the 3rd-season episode “Apocrypha.” You’ve all seen that one, but maybe ya wanna go watch it again, just to refresh your memory. Knowledge of the episode is essential.
Disclaimer: Well, they’re certainly not mine. And after the whupping they took from Duchovny’s lawyers, I’m not so sure they’re still 20th-Century Fox Film Corp.’s, either. (Anyone who takes on the evil Rupert’s corporate empire and wins is my hero--you go, David!) But seriously, they belong to 1013 Productions and Fox Film Corp. I ain’t hurtin’ them.
Archive: Yeah, sure. Tell me where and I’ll be sure to visit.
Feedback: Makes my world go ‘round. dee_ayy@yahoo.com
Thanks: To my normal crew, and to my regulars who are so good about the feedback thing. This story is proof I do take requests! I’m not sure why so many people over the years have asked for this particular little fill-in, but they have, so here it is.
Summary: Mulder is found in his rental car and taken, unconscious, to
the hospital. Fill in for “Apocrypha.” Yes, that’s right. I said “Apocrypha.”
You got a problem with that? <g>
_____________________________
Out Cold
By dee_ayy
2:53 am
County Road 512, Maryland
State Police trooper Gerry Darvick hated pulling this duty; endlessly cruising back and forth, back and forth on the route most smart Maryland drivers used to access Dulles. All he ever ended up doing was pulling over frantically late travelers, giving them speeding tickets, and guaranteeing that they’d miss their flights. But he guessed he shouldn’t complain. Really, who wouldn’t want to get cursed out 15 times in one night? But at least it was only seven minutes until the end of his shift; time to head back to the barracks. He eased his cruiser into the turnaround at the Virginia border, east of the entrance to the airport proper, and started heading toward home sweet home. Until the radio crackled to life.
“We got a call from a resident in Rushville. Said he saw some sort of flash there on 512; thought it might be an explosion of some sort. About four miles east of you.”
Gerry sighed, flipped on the lights, and hit the gas.
As he approached the general area he slowed the car, looking for some evidence of an accident. It was incredibly dark and hard to see. Not for the first time he cursed the Maryland public works department for kowtowing to the wealthy locals in the area, who didn’t want to be distracted by an illuminated highway visible from their back yards. Well, then, why did they live so damn close to an airport?
He actually had the radio handset in his hand, ready to report that he wasn’t finding anything, when something to his right caught his attention. He slowed further as he pulled over to the shoulder and continued to approach. Yup, it was red tail lights, angled upward strangely from a car gone head-first into a ditch.
Instead of using the radio to tell the dispatcher that Mr. Rushville had had a few too many cocktails, he used it to call out the troops.
As Gerry approached he didn’t see any evidence of a fire or explosion. And when he got to the driver’s side door he was surprised to find it open and the seat empty. What the hell? But on the other side was a man, slumped against the dash, and clearly out cold. He went around to him, opened the door, and determined that he was alive. That’s about all he could do at that point so he confirmed to dispatch that an ambulance would be necessary, and then shined his flashlight in the surrounding area, looking for the driver.
Maybe he’d gone for help, to look for a phone? That had to be it. Why else leave the scene of an accident, where someone was seriously injured? He searched but he didn’t see anything. He even went back up to the road and looked, and saw nothing. No one. Just darkness--until the flashing lights of the fire department appeared behind him.
+ + + + +
3:18am
“Hey Ger, was he awake at all? Did he say anything?” paramedic Jorge Diaz asked upon spying his victim. God, three in the fucking morning. And he’d been having one helluva dream, too. He fitted the cervical collar around the man’s neck.
“Nope, George, he’s just like I found him.” He hated it when Gerry called him George, which was precisely why he did it.
“You didn’t move him, right Geraldine?” And that was his payback, every time.
Gerry shot him a peeved look as an answer. “No, I was looking for the driver. Musta left the scene.”
“Keep looking,” Jorge advised him. “He could be hurt, too.”
There was a whole crew of people around now, and Jorge liked cases like this. No extrication to worry about, nothing but treating the victim; he got to run the show. He told the guy peeking in from the driver’s side of the car to unhook their victim’s seatbelt so they could get him out. A fucking lot of good that belt had done the poor guy--it hadn’t held him anywhere, and he’d smacked into the windshield anyway. Well, it probably kept him inside the car; that was something.
It was when they were moving the guy off the dash that he found it, leaning on the man’s left thigh, on the seat beside him.
“Yo, Gerry! Get your ass over here. We got a gun!”
He handed the weapon out to the cop. “Fuck it all to hell,” Gerry said as he took it. “Can’t just have a simple MVA, can we? Gotta have a freakin’ crime as well. Probably on the lam, what do you think?”
“I dunno, Ger. Car’s a rental, find out who rented the damn thing. Just get out of the way so we can get him out.”
Once their victim was lying on the backboard next to the car Jorge checked the pocket and found a badge. Fox Mulder, Special Agent with the FBI. Well, Gerry wasn’t exactly the smartest cop on the force. “Some criminal,” he said as he tossed the badge to his friend.
Jorge checked him carefully. Everything was stable; he looked good. He was just out cold and bleeding from the spot where forehead had met windshield.
+ + + + +
3:45am
Shady Grove Adventist Hospital,
Rockville, MD
Trauma resident Amanda Perillo flailed aimlessly toward where she knew the light switch was. She had no idea how long her pager had been going off, but the insistent beep seemed to be getting more insistent with every passing second. She miraculously got the light on and looked at the message field on the device. It took a moment for the shorthand to make sense. 911ER: An emergency coming in. MVA: Car accident. 1V: one victim. ETA5: She had five minutes to wake up and make it downstairs to the ER. She pulled her exhausted body off the cot in the surgeon’s on-call room where she’d been hiding, and went to the sink to splash cold water on her face.
Some day these 36-hour shifts would be nothing but a memory; a war story she’d tell with pride to younger residents. Some day. All she had to do was survive on 3 hours sleep a night until then.
She bypassed the elevator and took the stairs--the three flights would help get her blood pumping.
She reached the ER doors at the same time as their patient came through. She smiled at Jorge, the paramedic, when he started to give the guy’s particulars. He was good, competent, and cute. Their harmless flirtation was one of the things that made the unending shifts bearable.
“Ahhh, Dr. Amanda. Let me introduce you to Fox Mulder. He’s unconscious, head vs. windshield, despite a seat belt. Pulse is 80, BP is 100/70, respirations 18. Eyes are equal and reactive to light, but we’ve got him at a GCS of 10 right now. We get eye movement and localization in response to painful stimuli, and I think I heard a moan when we hoisted him in the ambulance. I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt on that one. Head lac is the only visible injury. I’ve got him on 4 liters of oxygen and set him up with a large bore IV of normal saline, just the way you like ‘em.”
“Ahhh, Jorge,” the young doctor smiled. “You know what I like.” She caught the looks the nurses and aides in the room exchanged, but frankly she didn’t give a shit.
“I do, doc. I do. Be back later for my board,” the paramedic said as he left with a wink and a wave.
She did her assessment, ordered some standard blood work, and they took the cervical spine, chest, and pelvis x-rays that were routine for virtually any car accident victim--particularly the ones who couldn’t tell her where it hurt.
She also shouted at him, pinched him, rubbed his solar plexus, jabbed at his nail beds. He responded, sure, pulling away from the pain. But he didn’t wake up. She couldn’t even get a sound out of him--Jorge had been generous. Odd. But his vital signs remained excellent, his reflexes were good; he had no other apparent injuries. Fox Mulder was just really really out.
“This man needs a head CT, stat,” the doctor ordered. “And page neuro.”
+ + + + +
4:09am
Sandy Christopher knew that a page at four in the morning meant one of two things: the ER or the ICU. He always made a bet with himself before he looked, and this time he was going with the ER. He checked the small machine and smiled. Right again.
He got to the ER desk and didn’t even have to ask before the clerk there told him “Amanda Perillo, in trauma,” so he kept walking, in search of his young colleague. She wasn’t in the trauma room, so he asked a nurse.
“She’s in radiology,” he was told. “Head CT.” In other words, she was no doubt sticking with the patient he’d been called to consult on. The rest of the place was fairly quiet, so it couldn’t be anything else. He rounded the corner and headed off to the scan room.
“What we got, Amanda?” he asked when he entered the control room. The woman was watching the computer monitor intently, as was the technologist and radiologist.
She looked up and grinned. “Single car crash. Restrained passenger, hit the windshield. No other apparent injuries, just unconscious.” She looked to the radiologist as she added “So far so good on the CT scan?” The man nodded his agreement.
“What’s his GCS?”
“Nine or ten, depending on who you ask. He’s localizing to pain, and his eyes respond to it. I haven’t gotten any verbal response out of him, but apparently the medics in the field did. His pupils are responsive, there’s no posturing. What neuro responses we could check with him all looked normal. Reflexes were good. He’s oxygenating well.”
Dr. Christopher couldn’t see the patient inside the scan machine. “So basically you’re telling me he’s just out cold. Where’d he hit?”
“Left frontal, right about here,” the woman responded, pointing to the area on her own forehead.
“You do a tox screen?” The neurosurgeon was watching the screen intently now, too, and he wasn’t seeing anything, either.
“He’s an FBI Agent, Sandy. I seriously doubt he’s on something. But yes, we did. Results aren’t back yet.”
“Well, you never know. I’m not seeing a brain injury here.”
+ + + + +
5:25am
The ER doc and the neurosurgeon poured over the test results back from the lab. After a moment the man looked up from the printouts at the patient still unconscious before them.
“Gotta just be a whopper concussion. There’s nothing here. Stitch up his head, I’ll admit him, and we’ll watch. He’ll probably wake up soon.”
+ + + + +
6:31am
Nurse Maureen Oczyck sweetly thanked the person on the other end of the line, waited for her to hang up, then slammed the phone down in frustration. An admission half an hour before her shift was up. Fantastic. That meant she’d be late getting home again. Her husband hated it when she was late; she was supposed to get the kids ready for school when she got home. When she was late, he had to do it, making him late, the kids late, screwing up everyone’s day. All because of some guy who went head-first into a windshield. Just once she wished the ER would hang onto a patient long enough for their shift to change first. But of course, that would mean they’d have to pass him off on shift-change down there. But then, she imagined, it was a lot less complicated down there. She picked up the phone to call and warn her husband, hoping he wouldn’t be too upset. There was nothing she could do about it.
“I know, honey, you’re gonna be late. Don’t worry about it,” was all the sleepy man said--reminding her once again why she’d married the guy.
As she hung up the phone she heard the door open, and watched their new patient approach. She fell into step beside the gurney and picked up the chart to check the orders. Neuro checks every thirty minutes? She rolled her eyes and checked the doctor. Sandy Christopher, of course. If he had his way, she knew, he’d have a nurse sitting by the bed of every unconscious patient, tickling their feet and calling their name constantly. A nice thought, but not exactly realistic.
When they picked him up and moved him into his bed, the man groaned. Maureen was sure it was a groan, so she stimulated him, called to him, tried to get him to respond again. But nothing. He’d groaned his protest to being moved, and settled back into wherever he was.
She spied his bag of belongings stuck underneath the gurney that had brought him, and grabbed it before it accidentally went back down to the ER with the bed. She threw it on the counter until she’d finished hooking the patient up to his monitors and getting him settled.
Fox Mulder. Strange name. But he was young, cute. She hoped he woke up soon.
It was almost 7:30 by the time she’d settled him and taken and charted his vital signs and neuro responses. As she was about to leave she decided to hang up his clothes. She hated when people left things a mess just because their shift was over. Far be it for her to pull that.
The tie was still intact. The shirt was a rag, the sleeves cut, no doubt in the field by the paramedic when he started the IV that still ran into the man’s right arm. She was surprised to find that someone had taken the time to pull his pants off. Normally those got cut in the ER. As she was hanging them up she felt the wallet in the pocket, and her heart sank. If the guy’s wallet was still in the pants pocket, and the pants were shoved in the bag, that probably meant one thing. She flipped through every page of the chart, providing further evidence of what she already suspected. She took the wallet with her to the nurse’s station and picked up the phone to call the ER.
“Hey, this is Maureen Oczyck up on the fifth floor. I’ve got an admit from you guys, a Fox Mulder? He was admitted by Dr. Christopher on the neuro service. Please tell me someone notified his next of kin?”
She waited while the ER clerk tried to find out. She actually heard the girl asking one of the ER docs, the woman, Perillo. She heard the woman say that no, she hadn’t called anyone. And Maureen was damn sure Sandy hadn’t. Damn it.
“Let me talk to Dr. Perillo,” Maureen asked.
“Yes?” the woman doctor asked after a moment.
“Notifying next of kin is the ER’s responsibility,” the nurse admonished. “I’m already off duty, and I wouldn’t know what to tell someone, anyway.” She was rifling through the man’s wallet as she was speaking. “Got a pen? Here’s the name and number. Dana Scully. Three numbers. I’m gonna give them all to you.” And she did.
+ + + + +
8:23am
FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
Dana Scully looked one more time at the two films. One more time she put one behind the other and slid them together. She didn’t know why she’d suspected that the man who’d shot Skinner might have been the man who shot Melissa, but here it was in front of her. Irrefutable proof. What the hell was going on? And when would Mulder be back so she could tell him?
Her cell phone rang. It always creeped her out the way that happened. That she’d think she wanted to talk to Mulder, and then the phone would ring and it would be him. It happened all the time.
“Mulder?”
“Ummm, no.” It was a woman. “Is this Dana Scully?”
“Yes, it is. Who’s this?”
“My name is Dr. Amanda Perillo. I’m an ER doctor at Adventist Hospital in Rockville.”
Rockville? Scully felt her pulse quicken, but she forced her voice to remain outwardly calm. “How can I help you, doctor?”
“I’m calling about Fox Mulder.”
“Mulder? Is he all right?” Calm down, Dana, she admonished herself.
“Mr. Mulder was involved in a car accident late last night. He’s been admitted here to the hospital. You are listed in his wallet as his emergency notification.”
Scully felt her palms begin to sweat. “That’s right, I am. How is he?”
“He’s unconscious at the moment, but he’s stable and he has no other injuries. We’re hoping it’s just a nasty concussion.”
“Hoping, doctor?”
“That’s right. There’s no sign of any significant brain injury right now. We’re watching him closely.”
“When did this happen?” Her heart was still pounding in her chest to the point where she could hear it in her ears.
“About 3 this morning, I believe.”
Scully looked at the clock on the wall: it was almost 8:30 now. And with that realization she lost her cool and began to yell. “FIVE HOURS ago? And you are only now contacting me?”
“I’m sorry about that.” The doctor did not offer her any excuse; they never did.
“I’ll be right there. Tell him I’m on my way.” Scully turned off the phone, grabbed her coat and the file, and raced out the door.
+ + + + +
9:12am
Shady Grove Adventist Hospital,
Rockville, MD
Nurse Carrie Roberts was writing the results of her patient’s latest neuro check on the chart that would hang on his door when she heard it open. She turned to see a woman with a decidedly worried look on her face standing there, waiting for permission to enter.
Carrie smiled. “Hi, I’m done. Come on in.”
The redheaded woman came in, and sized up the man in the bed. She let her eyes travel to the heart monitor, and then to the nurse. “How is he?”
“We’re still waiting for him to wake up. But otherwise he’s doing fine. Are you family?”
The woman looked distracted by the question for a moment. “Sure, ummm, yes,” she finally said. “I’m his partner, Dr. Dana Scully.” She had surreptitiously rested her hand on top of the man in the bed’s while she spoke. “I’d like to speak to his doctor. Could you page him for me?”
“I doubt Dr. Christopher is still here; he was on all night. But I’ll page someone from the neurology service to come down and talk to you.”
“I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”
“No problem. Talk to him,” she suggested to the visitor. “Oftentimes all it takes is a familiar voice.”
As Carrie was leaving the room she heard the woman start speaking to her “partner.” She heard her mutter “Oh, Mulder, what happened to you this time?”
+ + + + +
9:48am
Neurologist Jack Chesman couldn’t help but notice how intently the woman--Dana Scully, she’d introduced herself as--was watching while he examined his patient. She had asked to speak to him, he knew, but the fact was he hadn’t seen Fox Mulder yet, and had only gotten the most basic of information from Sandy Christopher before he’d left. So before entering the room he’d briefly familiarized himself with the man’s chart, and insisted on doing an exam himself before they spoke. He was pleased to find that each time he did something to him that hurt, Mr. Mulder let out a slight groan. In his peripheral vision he caught Ms. Scully’s grin, realizing that she, too, recognized this as a good sign. But despite both his and the woman’s efforts, Mr. Mulder still wasn’t opening his eyes. When the neurologist was done he summoned Ms. Scully into the corner of the room, away from the patient.
“Sandy, I mean Dr. Christopher, asked me to keep an eye on him. And though this is the first time I’ve examined him, based on what Dr. Christopher told me, I think he’s lighter now. That is, he’s not as deeply unconscious as he was earlier this morning.”
The woman nodded solemnly. “So you think he’ll wake up soon.”
“I would hope so. He’s completely stable in every way and has been since he got here. He’s just unconscious.” Jack shrugged. “It happens some times. Has he been knocked out before?”
Ms. Scully nodded. “A couple of times. But never for this long. Just a couple of minutes at most. Do you think that has something to do with it?”
“You never know, but I doubt it. He apparently hit the windshield with enough force to break it.”
“At what point will you do another CT scan?” Chesman could tell that if were up to this woman, they’d be looking for bleeding again right now.
“His first scan was fine and his neurological status is improving. We won’t bother with another unless he takes a turn for the worse.”
“If he hasn’t woken up in two hours, I’d like you to repeat the scan.” Her concern was so evident it was almost palpable. The nurse who’d summoned him, Carrie, had identified this woman as Mr. Mulder’s “partner,” and he found himself wondering exactly what that meant.
Nevertheless, he gave her his best, most confident smile and reached out to lightly touch her arm. “We’ll see. We’re watching him closely. Don’t worry too much.”
He could literally see her bristle at his tone and touch--and suddenly he remembered, realizing that he should have known better. She had introduced herself as _Doctor_ Dana Scully. Sometimes he wished he paid better attention. She thanked him brusquely, and returned to her partner’s side. He’d have to remember to tread lightly around this one.
+ + + + +
10:39am
It had only taken Scully a few phone calls to determine how Mulder had found his way into this hospital bed. She’d spoken to the airline and knew he’d been on a flight from San Francisco that had originated in Hong Kong. She’d spoken to the Lariat Car Rental agency at the airport, and knew what time he’d rented the car. She’d spoken to the Maryland State Police and knew their details of the accident, of which there were few--though damage to the left side of the car indicated that there had been another vehicle involved. It had taken all of ten minutes to collect these facts, but that’s all they were--facts. She still did not know what had happened.
She’d long ago run out of things to say to Mulder to encourage him to open his eyes. The nurse was coming in every thirty minutes to give it a shot anyway, so Scully turned her attention to the file she’d brought with her, and the unbelievable discovery she had made about Skinner’s assailant. She didn’t know how long she’d been staring at the papers on her lap when a rustling in the bed caught her attention. At last. She closed the folder of papers, tucked the one with the PCR films beside her on the chair, and watched Mulder, waiting for him to open his eyes.
He did, and he turned and found her face, matching her slight grin.
“Guess I'm not dead,” he mumbled.
Scully widened her grin slightly and then shook her head with a mock solemnity. “What happened?”
“Maybe you can tell me.”
“The State Police found you unconscious. You were strapped in the passenger's seat of a rental car that had been driven into a ditch.”
Scully saw the memory come to him. “We were run off the road by two men.”
“Who's ‘we’?”
“Krycek.”
He said it as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, but it threw Scully. What on earth was going on? “Krycek?”
“He was in Hong Kong, he's got the digital tape. He's been selling information.” He sounded tired to Scully, yet she pushed on. She knew this was important.
“Is that what the men wanted?”
“They ordered him out of the car. I thought they were going to kill him. I thought they were going to kill us both. And then there was this bright flash.” He paused for a moment, then finished with a resigned, “That's all I remember.”
She wasn’t surprised to hear that, not after the head injury he’d suffered, and she could see that the effort to say that much had taken a toll. Best not to push it further, she decided, so she changed the subject. “Well it may not be the best time to tell you, but you're not the only one in the hospital. Skinner's been shot.”
Mulder’s eyes widened slightly with surprise. “What's his condition?”
“A bullet perforated his small intestine. The doctor seems to think he'll be fine.”
Mulder was now gingerly touching the wound on his forehead.“Who shot him?”
“I'm not sure. But I have an idea.” She reached to her side and came up with the folder containing the PCR films. She needed him to know what she’d discovered.
“What are those?”
Scully handed him the films. “PCR results.” She watched as her partner slowly pulled out the first. “This one belongs to the man who shot Skinner.” He pulled out the other.
“Yeah and who's this one belong to?” She waited for him to slide the two together and see that they were going to match before answering.
“The man who shot Melissa.” Mulder looked at the matching films again, then at her before dropping them to his lap and letting his head fall back against the pillows.
“And they didn’t get him?” he asked wearily with his eyes closed.
“No,” Scully answered. “But I will.” She took the folder from him and stood by his side, suddenly fully realizing that this hadn’t been the time to drop all this news on him. He’d been unconscious for over seven hours, after all. “Mulder, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be okay. My head hurts, that’s all.” He’d stopped opening his eyes, Scully noticed.
“It’s no wonder, Mulder. You’ve been out cold for hours.” She patted his arm reassuringly. “I’m going to go tell the nursing staff that you’re awake, and have them call the doctor--he’ll want to know. I’ll be right back.”
She watched him nod slightly, his only acknowledgement.
+ + + + +
11:21am
Mulder really would have just preferred if they’d turn off the lights and let him sleep it off for a few hours. He was sure that’s all he needed. But no, there was no way they’d let him get away with that, he was sure. At any moment Scully would be back with an entire crew of people hell-bent on bothering the shit out of him.
He covered his eyes with his hand, which he found to be much more comfortable for some reason. Maybe if he quickly fell back to sleep before they returned, they’d leave him alone.
He heard the door open. Not quick enough, obviously.
“So I hear you’re awake?” It was a male voice, and a decidedly too chipper voice at that.
Mulder managed an “Uh huh,” and took his hand down to give the man a look as he approached the bedside. Scully took her place on the opposite side of his bed.
“I’m Doctor Chesman, a neurologist. Can you look at me please?” Mulder did, and the man flashed his light into his right eye. As soon as he moved the light away, Mulder slammed his eyes shut. “I need you to keep them open for me,” the man admonished. He repeated the exercise on the other eye, and Mulder kept them open. “Light bothering your eyes?” the doctor asked.
“A little, yeah.” He hadn’t realized it until the flashlight assault.
“That’s not unexpected,” the doctor said. “Can you tell me your name?”
“I can,” Mulder offered. But he didn’t offer the name.
“Humor me,” the man asked with a smile.
“Fox Mulder.”
“And do you know where you are, Fox Mulder? Follow my finger with only your eyes.”
Mulder did as ordered, and followed the finger. “Specifically, no. Somewhere between Dulles and D.C. I’m in the hospital after a car accident.”
“Anticipating my next question. Very good. You’re in Rockville, Maryland. How much of the accident do you remember? Squeeze my hands.”
Mulder squeezed. “We were run off the road, into a ditch. After that. . . .” He allowed his voice to trail off without finishing. This guy didn’t need to hear about flashes of light.
“I’m surprised you remember that much. After concussions like yours people often can’t remember the entire day of their accident.” He uncovered Mulder’s legs and ran his pen along the soles of his feet.
“That tickles,” Mulder told him.
“That’s good,” the doctor replied. “Can you add 2 plus 2 plus 6 for me?”
“Ten.” Mulder had given up and decided to close his eyes when he could. He felt the doctor pick up his leg and check his reflexes on his knee.
“Are your eyes bothering you?”
“Not much.”
“Any blurry, double vision?”
“No.”
“Just the light, then,” the doctor concluded.
“Uh huh.”
“When we’re done I’ll turn the lights out. Anything else? Ringing in your ears, dizziness, nausea?”
“Splitting headache,” Mulder offered as an answer.
The doctor chuckled. “I have no doubt. Where specifically?”
“Where it hit,” Mulder claimed, touching the bandage on his forehead. “What did I hit, anyway? The windshield?”
“Sure did; broke it, too. You have fourteen stitches up there,” Dr. Chesman told him.
“Ouch,” Mulder said softly. But the physician heard him.
“I’ll say. You were lucky; could have been a lot worse.”
“If you say so,” Mulder said. “How long have I been here?” he asked finally.
Mulder watched the doctor look at his watch and think for a moment. “I think it’s been about eight hours. And you are in remarkably good shape for someone who has been unconscious for that long.”
“Again, if you say so,” Mulder intoned wearily. He really wanted this guy to go away now.
“Why do you say that. What’s wrong?” He could hear the concern growing in the doctor’s voice. That wasn’t Mulder’s intent at all.
“Nothing. Not really. I’m really tired, which is odd considering how long I’ve been out.”
The doctor actually laughed at him. “Not at all, Mr. Mulder. You weren’t sleeping, you know! We’ll get you something for your headache, turn out these lights and let you get some rest. But we’re gonna have to keep waking you up, just to make sure you keep waking up.”
He nodded at that, and then thought of one more question. “How long will I be here?”
Dr. Chesman shrugged; not the response Mulder was looking for. “Until tomorrow, maybe? We’ll see how you’re doing later today.” And with that he left the room. True to his word, he flipped off the overhead lights on his way out, leaving only the natural daylight as illumination.
Mulder turned on his side and faced his partner. She was looking at the door where the doctor had been, and her brows were furrowed. “You don’t concur, Dr. Scully?” he quizzed her.
His question snapped her out of her reverie. “No, no, Mulder, I agree. You need some rest and then we’ll see. I’m gonna go. I’ll be back later.”
He nodded and closed his eyes. And as he heard her heels approach the door, he tossed out, “keep me posted.”
The footsteps stopped. “About what, Mulder?”
“Everything,” he said without looking at her. She didn’t answer, only left the room. But he was sure she knew what he was talking about.
+ + + + +
1:07pm
Carrie headed off to Fox Mulder’s room. She hated this part. She’d practically had to wake him when she’d brought the Tylenol 3 for his headache right after the doctor had left. It had been a battle to get him to drink some juice, but she’d managed to succeed at that, too, by promising she’d leave him alone and let him go to sleep.
Now, a little over an hour later, she was on her way to wake him up. Hourly the first four hours, Dr. Chesman had said, then every two hours after that. Poor guy.
But to her amazement, she found him awake. Knowing about his light sensitivity, she only turned on the light behind his bed. “I figured I’d have to wake you.”
He scrubbed his face with his hand. “Yeah, well, nothing you can do when nature calls. I was just trying to figure out how to get out of here.” He followed the heart monitor leads from his chest to the machine with his eyes.
The nurse smiled. “That’s easy,” and she pulled the plug by his shoulder, separating the connection. “You don’t need to be hooked to that any more, actually.” She reached out and pulled off the adhesive pads easily accessible near the neck of his hospital gown. “I’ll let you get the other ones yourself,” she teased. “Ready to get up?”
“Uh huh.”
The nurse pulled the portable IV stand over and lowered the side of the bed. “Take your time,” she advised, “you’re bound to be stiff and achy after the accident.” She also knew enough to be wary--with a whack on the head like he’d suffered, chances were he’d be a little dizzy.
Mr. Mulder pushed the blankets down and gingerly eased his legs over the side. He was doing everything rather slowly; it was almost exaggerated in its deliberateness, Carrie noticed. Probably nothing, but she made a mental note to put it in the chart anyway. Never hurt to be cautious.
He settled his feet on the floor and stood extremely slowly. The nurse watched him close his eyes and take a deep breath. He’d been lying on his back for almost 12 hours now, so she didn’t know if this little bout of dizziness was related to the injury, or if it was merely postural.
“Okay?” she asked.
He started to nod, but immediately stopped. He’d just learned to keep his head still, she knew. No need to point that out to him. But he started to take a step, and had only managed to move one foot forward when he started to careen to the side. With his right hand he covered his eyes, and with the left he frantically felt behind him for the bed. When he found it he leaned backwards until he was sitting again.
“Whoa,” was all he said. But he still had his hand covering his eyes, with his head leaning forward into that hand.
Carrie rubbed her hand up and down his upper arm reassuringly. “It’s okay. A little dizziness is totally normal. Let it pass.” After a moment he shook his arm impatiently to get her to stop rubbing, took a deep breath and sat up straight.
“Okay,” he said.
Okay what? Carrie wondered. “You get back in bed. We can try this again later--there's no hurry,” she told him.
“No, I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m getting up.”
Carrie couldn’t believe her ears. A minute ago he’d almost gone down like a ton of bricks. “Mr. Mulder, there’s no schedule here. You’re doing fine. Get back in bed, we’ll get you a urinal, and we’ll try again later. A little more rest and I’m sure the dizziness will decrease.”
Her patient looked at her with fierce determination. “No,” he stated firmly. “You don’t understand. I have to get out of here.”
The nurse wasn’t at all sure what the urgency was, but this wasn’t the first time a patient had wanted to push himself to get discharged. “If you get up, get dizzy, and fall, you’ll be here even longer,” she pointed out.
“I won’t fall.” Mr. Mulder ran his hand through his hair. “You can stay, you can go, I don’t care. But I’m getting out of this bed. Now.”
The woman smiled indulgently at her charge. She could tell when no amount of reasoning would work, and this was just such a case. “I won’t go, of course. But if you fall I won’t be able to catch you.” She picked up the call button on the bed and gave it a push. Normally she’d just leave the room for a moment, but she suspected he couldn’t be trusted. When someone at the nurse’s station answered the intercom, she requested an aide in the room immediately.
“What’s that for?” Mr. Mulder asked.
“Someone to spot your other side,” she told him.
“I don’t need that,” he claimed petulantly.
“I hope not.”
The aide arrived, and Carrie encouraged him to start again when he was ready. Her patient stood slowly again, took a deep breath, and started to walk. A couple of times he had to steady himself by grabbing on to her arm for a second, but each time he righted himself, and they made it to the bathroom with little trouble.
Where, of course, he steadfastly refused to let her accompany him inside. “Do you know where the vast majority of household falls occur, Mr. Mulder?” she asked him. “In the bathroom. It’s a treacherous place. I’m a nurse. It’s my job. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
The look he gave her was reproachful, she could tell. “It’s not that. I need,” he paused a moment. “I need to do this. I need to take care of things myself. Please. I’ll be fine.” And with that he pushed his way through the door, pulling his IV stand behind him.
“I’m right outside the door,” she told him. It made sense to her now. It wasn’t stubbornness or embarrassment. Fox Mulder needed to prove to himself that he was okay, that he could take care of himself. That he would be able to. He wasn’t sure, so he was testing himself. She didn’t understand the urgency, but she had to admire his willpower.
+ + + + +
3:22pm
Trooper Darvick liked when he got these opportunities. It wasn’t often that he got to follow up on accidents and interview the victims. But last night’s crash had been an odd one, and they still had no real idea what had happened. So he’d called and found out that the victim, Fox Mulder, had regained consciousness, and he’d been given permission to come talk to the guy, to see if maybe he could shed some light on the incident. Particularly on what had happened to the driver.
As he approached the man’s door a nurse was coming out. “Is he awake? Can I talk to him?” he asked the woman.
“Yeah, I just had to wake him, as a matter of fact. I don’t know how long he’ll be awake, but you can go in for a minute I suppose.” The trooper nodded and pushed the door open.
The room was extremely dim. The blinds were drawn and the lights were off, so he could barely see the man in the bed. But the man could obviously see him. “Yeah?” he asked wearily.
“Agent Mulder?” Darvick asked.
“Yeah.”
“Gerry Darvick, Maryland State Police. Can I have a minute to talk about your accident?” He could dimly make out the man shifting in his bed, sitting up straighter.
“Yeah. Sure. I guess.”
Gerry put his hand on the light switch in anticipation. “Can I turn on a light, sir?”
“Not those,” the man answered. “This one is okay.” He pulled a string and a low-wattage light behind the bed went on, giving Gerry his first look at a Fox Mulder who was awake and not covered in blood. As he approached the bed the man explained, “The light; it’s bothering my eyes because of the concussion.”
Darvick smiled at the man. “That’s okay. No problem. You certainly look better than you did last night.”
“You were there?” Agent Mulder asked.
“First on the scene. We’re still trying to determine exactly what happened.”
The man in the bed looked pensive for a moment. Finally he spoke. “And you’re hoping I can help you?” he asked incredulously.
“Long shot?” the cop asked.
Agent Mulder smiled slightly. “A bit. I don’t remember much.”
“What do you remember?”
Darvick watched Mulder think for a long minute. “Ummm, someone hit us on the left side. We lost control and went into a ditch.” He paused again before saying, “That’s it.”
The trooper didn’t know why, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this guy wasn’t saying all he knew. “That’s all you remember, or that’s all that happened?”
“I don’t know,” the FBI agent said to him cryptically. “Both, I think.”
Okay, so that was equally vague. “Can you describe the car that hit you?”
“Nope. It was dark out. It was a dark sedan, pretty big.”
“Care to tell me who was in the car with you?”
“Umm,” the man paused. “His name’s Alex Krycek. He’s a friend of mine.”
Okay, now Darvick knew the guy was lying. What friend would leave the scene when you’re badly injured? Why would you have your gun unholstered for a friend? He couldn’t let this one go.
“A friend, Agent Mulder? And he left you there?”
He could see that he’d given the man reason to pause. “Umm, I don’t know. Maybe he panicked, maybe he was dazed. I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him.”
This guy was an FBI Agent, and was therefore entitled to some level of professional courtesy, but Gerry felt compelled to let him know he was on to him.
“You’re injured and he doesn’t call. He might have been injured, and you don’t call. Some friendship.”
He could see the patient begin to anger. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” he said tersely.
“Okay, you’re right,” Gerry conceded.
“Look, officer… Darvick, was it? I’m not feeling so great, and I’m really tired. I’m sorry, but I don’t really remember much.” He was being dismissed, the trooper knew.
“Okay. I’ll let you get some rest.” He knew he wasn’t going to get any useful information out of this man, anyway.
He turned to leave, but as he got to the door he turned back. “Agent Mulder, just one more question.”
“Uh huh.”
“Can you tell me why your service weapon was unholstered in the car?”
Even in the dimness Darvick could see the shock on the man’s face. That’s right, FBI man. You may be the highly trained special agent, but I got ya, buddy. He really wanted to smile triumphantly, but he didn’t. He just waited calmly for an answer.
When it came, it was exactly what he expected. “I don’t know. I don’t remember any reason it would be.”
“Uh huh,” Gerry said, not believing a word. “We have your gun, I’ll see that it’s returned to you. If you think of anything else, please give me a call. Hope you feel better.”
He didn’t give the man a chance to respond, he just left the room. What a jerk; he’d only been doing his job.
+ + + + +
4:45pm
Mulder was trying desperately to sleep when he heard the door open. Not another nurse shaking him awake and asking him what day it was. Not again. But then he recognized his partner’s light step as it stopped at the foot of his bed.
“What time is it?” he asked without opening his eyes.
“You’re awake,” she observed. “It’s almost five.”
He turned off his side and onto his back so he could look at her. “What have you been up to?” He tried to stifle it, but a huge yawn escaped anyway.
“I’ll tell you later. How are you feeling?” She came around and took a seat by his bed.
“Better. I guess. No sooner do I get to sleep when someone is waking me up, though.”
She gave him the indulgent smile that he was convinced she only whipped out on him. “They have to do that, Mulder. You suffered a very significant blow to the head.”
He reached up and gingerly felt the bandage that had fascinated him at various points throughout the day. He’d even spent a moment trying to imagine the violence it must have taken for his head to break a windshield. He’d been forced to banish the thought from his head, though, as it had only made it pound worse. “You don’t have to tell me,” he finally agreed.
“It still hurt?”
“Uh huh. Better, though. A little.”
“And what about your eyes. Does the light still bother them?”
He grinned at her. “Don’t know. No one has turned on all the lights to see.”
“Have you been out of bed at all?”
“Yup. Successfully maneuvered my way to the bathroom and back earlier.” He didn’t see any need to tell her about the dizziness. “So tell me. What have you been doing all day?”
“I went to see Skinner,” she told him.
“How is he?”
“He should be fine.” She paused for a minute, and smoothed the hem of her jacket as it rested on her lap. “I told him what I discovered.”
For a moment he actually wished she’d spell things out; his brain seemed to be in a constant state of playing catch-up. But after a second it came together for him. “About the shooter, you mean.”
“Uh huh.”
“And what did he say to that?”
He could see that Scully didn’t want to tell him the next part, which was precisely why he needed to know. He was just about to prompt her again when she finally answered. “He said,” she was still studying her lap as she paused. Then she looked up at him and blurted it out. “He said he’s seen him before. He said he’d been with Krycek when they attacked him in the stairwell and stole the digital tape.”
“Oh, Geezus, Scully, and I let Krycek get away!” Suddenly his head was pounding double-time.
Scully stood to be closer to him. “No you didn’t, Mulder. He got away, but you didn’t let him. Don’t worry, we’ll find him--we'll find them. Krycek is like a bad penny, he always turns up. You know that.”
Mulder made a decision and sat up quickly. He closed his eyes momentarily and did his best to ignore the throbbing in his head as he lowered the side of his bed and swung his legs over. “Where are my clothes, Scully?”
“Mulder, what are you doing?”
“You can’t find them alone. I need to help you, and I can’t do that from here.” He stood slowly, cautiously, and willed himself not to get dizzy.
“Mulder, are you sure?”
“I’m fine. Time’s wasting. If you could get my clothes out of the closet.” He moved very slowly toward the bathroom. It felt almost as if he was wading through pudding, but he chalked that up to his inactivity. He made it through the door and heaved a sigh of relief when it closed behind him.
+ + + + +
Scully watched the door to the bathroom close behind her partner, and she paused. The doctor in her was screaming that she should be fighting Mulder on this; she should be insisting that he stay and rest until a neurologist declared him fit to leave.
But the human part of her, the part that wanted justice for her sister, the part that wanted to see these men pay for their crimes, knew that Mulder was right. She needed his help, and the sooner the better.
She made her decision, and opened the closet door.
+ + + + +
Just splashing water on his face had made Mulder feel like a new man. He’d quickly learned that sudden movements of his head sent a sharp pain through it, and caused a quick wave of dizziness to wash over him; but if he was careful, he figured he’d be able to get out and be of some use.
He left the bathroom with a new sense of confidence, and that’s when it happened. His vision started to swim, creating abstract paintings before his eyes, his head was pounding, and his equilibrium was totally off. He clutched the doorknob for dear life and attempted to ride it out.
When the vertigo finally stopped, he found Scully standing by his side and holding firmly onto his arm; he had no idea when she’d done that, and he tried to shake her off. But she would have none of it.
“Mulder, sit down. Right now.”
The chair and the bed were far away; that couldn’t be what she meant. Then he realized. “On the floor?” he asked incredulously. “It’s alright. I’m okay.”
“You are not okay. Sit down before you fall down, and wait for me to go and get some help.”
He couldn’t believe she wanted him to plop himself down where he stood. “No, Scully, it’s okay. It’s passed.”
He looked directly into her eyes to try and convince her, but he had to look away. Her studied and intense gaze unnerved him too much.
“You’re sure?” she asked finally.
“I’m sure,” he said. He looked longingly at his bed, but disregarded that longing when he saw that his partner had laid his pants out on it.
“Hey, you found my pants,” he said as he released his white-knuckle grip on the door.
“I did,” she said as she tightened her grip on his arm. “Go slowly, let me help you.” They started to move slowly toward the bed. “But I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I’m fine, Scully,” he told her. But even he knew it sounded half-hearted. He didn’t feel fine, quite frankly.
“Like hell you are, Mulder, you can barely stand. Get back in bed. You are in no condition to go anywhere, and you can’t be of any help to anyone like this.” He felt her steering him toward his pillow, and knew he really was in no condition to argue.
“Maybe just a little more sleep,” he suggested as he climbed back in.
“I’ve no doubt that will help, Mulder,” Scully said as she put his pants away. “You rest. I’m going to go and let them know what just happened.”
“Aw, do you have to do that?” God, he hated when he whined.
“I’m sure it’s nothing; that you were just doing too much too soon, but it’s better to play it safe. I’ll see you later.”
Mulder watched her leave the room, and then turned onto his side. A little more sleep was all he needed.
+ + + + +
6:48pm
Amanda Perillo checked the board at the nurse’s station to see which room Fox Mulder was in. She’d had her twelve hours off and was back, and thought she’d check on him before her shift officially started at 7.
She pushed his door open and found the room dark. He probably was suffering from photophobia, she reasoned.
“Scully?” The figure in the bed had his back to her, and didn’t bother looking over his shoulder at the door.
“No, I’m sorry. My name’s Dr. Perillo.”
“Oh,” he said as he turned over. “Another doctor.”
She had to smile at that. “Yup, another doctor. I just wanted to look in and see how you were. I was your doctor in the ER when you were brought in.”
“Oh,” he said as he rubbed his eyes. “I don’t remember that. You can turn on the light if you want to.”
“I expect you wouldn’t; you were out cold at the time.” She flipped on the light, and noticed him squint immediately.
“Does the light bother you?”
“Not so much any more. It’s getting better.”
“Well that’s good. You seem in pretty good shape for someone who was unconscious for a good long time.”
“So everyone tells me.”
“Well, it’s true.” When he’d left them she knew he’d either sprout a major bleed and be in big trouble, or just wake up. She was pleased it was the latter. She looked at her watch; she had to get downstairs. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’m glad to see you doing so well. You had me a little worried!”
He grinned slightly at that. “Don’t you worry about me,” he advised.
+ + + + +
12:07am
Maureen opened the door to Fox Mulder’s room slowly and quietly, then laughed at her folly. She was about to wake him up, why worry about banging the door? She approached the sleeping form in the bed and spoke clearly and loudly, as was her custom when doing a neuro check.
“Fox? Fox? I need you to wake up for me for a minute.” The man stirred and groaned and eventually turned over from his back to his right side, away from her. Maureen grinned. Well, at least he woke up quickly. “Come on now,” she said to him. “The quicker you wake up, the quicker you can go back to sleep, Fox.”
“No one calls me that,” the man muttered into his pillow.
“What?” she asked. She had no idea what he was talking about.
“Nothing,” he said as he turned over onto his back again. “I know my name, I know where I am, I know how I got here. Can I got back to sleep now?”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Not quite. Just a few things first. Can you squeeze my hands?”
He did, and the nurse noted that he voluntarily stopped squeezing right at the point where she was sure he was going to hurt her. At least he wasn’t sadistic. “I don’t know why you keep doing this. I’m fine,” he told her.
“Most likely, but we do it just to be safe.” She pulled the blood pressure cuff off the wall and wrapped it around his arm. “When you get home tomorrow you can sleep all you want and no one will bother you, okay?”
“Not likely,” the patient confided in her. “I have a partner who’s a doctor. She’ll probably make me count backwards by sevens every four hours for a week. . . . Just to be safe,” he added with a smile in his voice.
“Well, that will hardly be necessary, and you can tell her I said so! I just need to check your pupils quickly, and then you can go back to sleep.” She shined her light in them, and couldn’t help but notice the grimace it caused Mr. Mulder. “Does the light still bother your eyes?”
“Only so much as it would bother anyone in the middle of the night,” he told her sourly. “I think I’m going to hire someone to come to your house in the middle of the night, wake you from a dead sleep, shine a light in your eyes and then tell you to go back to sleep. See how you like it.” She could see the slight upturn of his lips as he spoke, so she knew he wasn’t really angry.
“I dare say I wouldn’t like it one bit. That’s why I don’t go around getting head injuries. Everything looks fine, so you go back to sleep.” She saw his admonishing look, so amended her statement. “Okay, _try_ to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, I’ll be back in four hours.”
“I’ll be waiting with bated breath,” he told her.
As she left the room she was smiling. She’d been right this morning when she’d said this guy was cute.
+ + + + +
9:32am
When Sandy Christopher entered Fox Mulder’s room he found the bed empty and an attractive redhead sitting in a chair reading some papers in a file. She looked up at him with the slightest hint of a smile on her face. “He’s in the bathroom,” she told him before he could ask.
“Oh,” he said. “That’s good news. I’m Dr. Christopher, the neurosurgeon who saw him in the ER.” He approached the woman and extended his hand, which she shook. Her expression barely changed--she was both warm and aloof at the same time; very disarming.
“How do you do. Dana Scully. I’m Mulder’s partner in the FBI. How is he doing?”
He had to smile at that. “Well, I was about to ask you that, quite honestly. Last time I saw him he was very unconscious. All I have to go on is his chart at this point.” As soon as he finished the sentence the bathroom door opened and the patient entered the room. Sandy watched him with a practiced eye. Mr. Mulder saw him standing there, someone he clearly did not know, but didn’t address him until he’d returned to his bed. He walked slowly, a bit stiffly, but his balance seemed excellent. It wasn’t until he had sat down on the edge of his bed that he spoke.
“A new one. Oh goody,” he said to his partner.
She smiled slightly at him. “This is Dr. Christopher, Mulder. He’s the doctor who admitted you.”
Finally this man she called Mulder turned and addressed him directly. “Oh,” he said. “I was a bit indisposed at the time, I guess.”
“You were indeed, Mr. Mulder, you were indeed. Quite an improvement in a mere 30 hours, I must say. How are you feeling this morning?” He crossed his arms on his chest in his best ‘I’m ready to listen, so don’t bullshit me’ pose.
Mr. Mulder tentatively touched the wound on his forehead. “Better. A _lot_ better than yesterday.”
“In what way? Your chart indicates that you were suffering from light sensitivity and dizziness yesterday. Are those better? Tell me the truth.” He wasn’t sure why he added that at the end; he had no evidence that this guy would lie to him. It was just an instinct, and apparently it was a good one. He noticed the woman arch an eyebrow and look pointedly at her partner, apparently daring him to tell the truth.
“Yeah, they’re better. Light’s okay now. And I only feel dizzy if I move too fast. But even then it’s better than yesterday. It’s not that bad.”
Sandy nodded. “That sounds about right. Anything else? Nausea, ringing in your ears, weakness, any other symptoms?”
“No.”
“How about your headache. How’s that?”
“It’s really only sore over the wound. No real headache.”
“Glad to hear it. So far there are nothing but gold stars on your chart, so let me do a quick check just for my own satisfaction, and if everything checks out I’ll sign you out of here, okay?”
“Excellent,” his patient said. The woman smiled, too.
Sandy did his quick neuro exam and everything did check out. He’d been a neurosurgeon for a lot of years, but he always found himself awed by the restorative powers of the human brain. 24 hours earlier this guy was so injured his body had completely shut down. Now here he was, well on the way to a complete recovery. It was amazing.
“Okay, great. I’m going to go and start the paperwork to get you released. I want you to take it real easy for a while, okay? A week at least, I’d say. Everything seems fine, but you can’t be too careful. I especially want to hear from you if you suffer from increased severe headaches, dizziness, weakness in the extremities of one side, or if you find yourself confused or very sleepy. Those are signs of a severe injury.” He turned to face the woman. “And you should keep an eye on him, too. Look for difficulty concentrating, mood swings, depression, anxiety. He wouldn’t notice these things, but you would.”
The woman nodded to him. “I will; I know what to be on the lookout for.”
She didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t have the time to ask why she’d know. “I know you are not from Rockville,” he told Mulder, “so I can write orders for you to follow up with a doctor in D.C., or you can come back and see me in a week. Your choice.”
Mr. Mulder looked at his partner, and she just shrugged. “Rockville’s not that far,” he said finally. “You’re okay.”
Sandy let out a breath of laughter. “Thanks for the vote of confidence! I’ll go write your orders, and you can go.” He offered his hand to his patient, and they shook. “Take care of yourself. Take it easy.”
+ + + + +
10:46am
Mulder studied his face in the bathroom mirror as he buttoned his shirt. He was pale, he could tell, and he needed a shave in the worst way. But Scully hadn’t brought a razor, and he hadn’t bothered to ask one of the nurses at any point. He could shave when he got home. He looked down at his hands, at what he was doing, and cursed his fingers for moving so slowly, so deliberately. He’d confided to one of the nurses early this morning about feeling like he was wading through pudding, and she’d assured him that it was to be expected after a car accident _or_ a concussion, and especially after both.
He moved the shirt aside for a moment to get one more look at the bruise that ran diagonally across his chest, the exact width of the seat belt. He couldn’t argue with her; she had a point.
The shirt finally finished, he sat on the commode to put on his shoes. When he leaned down to pick up a shoe a wave of dizziness washed over him suddenly. He stopped and took deep breaths until it passed. Fuck, this sucked, but it was another thing he’d been warned about. The doctor had given his checklist; the nurse had given him a much more practical one: what to expect, what was normal, what wasn’t. Dizziness caused by sudden changes in posture and sudden movements of the head were normal--as long as they only lasted a second.
This one had only lasted half a second, but it was still an altogether unpleasant feeling.
“Mulder?” Scully’s voice was quiet and somewhat tentative from the other side of the door. How the hell did she always know when to check up on him, anyway?
“Almost done, Scully,” he assured her as he finished tying his shoes. He stood up slowly and deliberately, only daring to move when he was sure there would be no vertigo. He opened the door and found her right on the other side, just as he’d expected.
“I’m ready,” he told her. “Why don’t we stop by and visit Skinner on the way home.”
“No way, Mulder,” his partner exclaimed, just as he knew she would. “You’re in no condition to visit anyone. It’s straight home for you.”
Mulder would never admit it, but he was secretly glad. He didn’t really want to visit Skinner or search for Krycek right now. He just wanted a nap. On his own sofa.
“Your chariot awaits,” Scully told him, motioning toward the wheelchair by the door.
He wasn’t even going to complain about that. He climbed in, reached out, and swung the door open wide so Scully could push him through and take him home. They’d find this shooter. They’d find Krycek. They’d find the digital tape.
Later.
<The End.>