By Vickie Moseley
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

Summary:  A fill in the blank from 'The Erlenmeyer Flask'.  What
happened after the exchange on the bridge.
Category:  S A UST
Rated:  PG-13
Disclaimer:  The characters portrayed within are property of the All
X Files Network (formerly known as FOX) and Ten Thirteen
Productions.  I am not getting paid for this, it's therapy.
Fortunately they let me stop writing these in crayon--it was really
getting to smear.
Archive blissfully, as long as my name is attached
Comments to me vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com.  I'm working my way through
the oldies until the new season gives me something to fill in.  If you
have any requests, let me know :)
 

Monkey Pee
By Vickie Moseley
 

"Trust . . . no . . . one" the old man's breath hissed out and Dana
Scully winced as she realized the next breath was his last.  He'd
died in her arms, this man she'd never trusted.  This man she'd
reviled to her partner.  This man that had just given his life to save
Mulder, to save them both.

The low groan behind her served as a reminder that there were still
other 'causalities' to care for.  Gently, she lowered the old man
she'd always thought of as Deep Throat to the cold cement of the
bridgeway, and she ran, slipping on the wet pavement, to slide to
her partner's side.

"Oh, Mulder, what have they done to you?" she moaned.  In the
darkness, she could only guess at his injuries, but he was in obvious
distress.  In the dim light of far away streetlamp, she could see the
chemical burns around his eyes and mouth and nose.  His breathing
was labored--she suspected a swollen airway was responsible.  His
hands were still duct taped behind him, his ankles wrapped.  He was
trussed up better than a Christmas goose.

There was so much to do, but first things first.  Pulling out her cell
phone, she dialed emergency and gave them the location.  "One
man, dead at the scene--gunshot wound to the chest, another in
serious condition.  I'm assessing now, but I know there are
burns--possibly chemical burns--in the facial area and quite
probably inhaled, as well.  He'll need a respiratory specialist."

"Do you know the nature of the chemical burn, ma'am?" the
dispatcher asked in that caring sort of professional monotone.

Scully took a deep breath.  She didn't know for certain, but her gut
was telling her it was the chemical that killed the EMT's who had
picked up Dr. Secare.  Even so, there was no telling and this was
wasting precious time.  "It's sure not monkey pee," was her terse
reply and she disconnected the line.

Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew her keys and the attached
pocket knife.  Mulder had given it to her as a gag gift, when he'd
grown tired of her borrowing his all the time.  Now she was darned
glad he'd thought of it.  She made quick work of the duct tape,
being careful to peel it gently off his hands.  She was happy to see
that the burns, as bad as they were, seemed to be limited to his face
and neck.  The tape around his pants legs she dispensed with in no
time.

His breathing bothered her, but at least he was moving air.  It was
labored, she could tell his throat was swollen and constricted.  She
loosened his tie and the first buttons on his shirt.  If he stopped
breathing, she'd start CPR, but as long as he was doing it on his
own, she'd have to wait for the ambulance and their oxygen supply.
She needed to check for other injuries--it would save the EMT's
some time when they arrived.  She rolled him over on his back and
ran her hands over his chest and limbs.  No broken bones that she
could detect.  No swelling or rigidity in his stomach that would clue
her in to internal injuries.

"Scully?" he moaned.

"Mulder--can you see me?" she asked hurriedly, reaching up to
touch his face and then thinking better of it.  His eyes were almost
swollen shut.

"No--you're just . . . th' only one who doesn't . . . kick-punch me
there," he gasped out, his hand limply landing on his stomach.  She
couldn't help but smile at his little joke, but it worried her that it
had left him breathless.

"Shhhh, no talking.  It's hard enough for you to breathe.  Save the
stand up routine for Vegas," she chided.  Her hand naturally fell to
his forehead, and a substantial knot brushed her hand.  He flinched
when she applied light pressure.  "Sorry.  Guess your stomach
wasn't the only thing they punched, huh?"

He wanted to answer, but it took too much strength, so he nodded
instead.  He looked like he was drifting off again.

"Mulder, stay with me," she ordered.  "Come on.  I can't look to
see if you have a concussion, so I'm assuming that you do.  You
have to stay awake until the ambulance gets here."  Her voice had a
frantic tone that she hated, but she didn't want him to slip on her.
Besides, she noticed that he was starting to shiver.

"Hey, get this, Mulder.  I'm giving _you_ my coat," she teased and
she pulled off her raincoat and covered him as best she could.

"Puddle's  . . . under me," he hissed.

"So, I make a lousy Sir Walter Raleigh--sue me," she laughed.  It
relieved a little of the nerves that were building in her stomach.  In
the distance she could hear the siren.  Help was almost there.

"They're coming, Mulder.  Hang on, I can hear them," she told
him, her voice reflecting her obvious relief.

"So . . . can . . ." he started, but his voice trailed off and when she
looked down, she realized he wasn't breathing anymore.

"Dammit, Mulder, not now!" she hissed angrily and tilted his head
back, cleared his mouth as best she could with a finger shoving
aside his swollen tongue and began resuscitation.

It was mere minutes before the ambulance rolled to a stop beside
her, followed by a second vehicle, identical to the first and last of
all, a squad car.  Men and women were piling out, half going to the
man lying alone and half to the couple.  Scully held them off with a
hand gesture as she was in mid-breath when they arrived at her side,
but gladly handed Mulder over to their care as soon as she was
able.

An Alexandria policewoman took Scully's statement as she
watched the EMTs move in practiced ease around her partner.
Finally, sensing that there was nothing further the agent could tell
her, the policewoman took pity on her and left her go.

One of the attendants had a bag resuscitator and worked on getting
Mulder air, while another ran a standard assessment and a third
started questioning Scully when she joined them.  She told them of
her own assessment, that her partner's trouble seemed related to
the burns on his face.  They were all so intent on Mulder that none
of them noticed when the second ambulance pulled away.

Scully had an eerie sense of deja vu as they loaded Mulder into the
ambulance.  Had it only been five months ago that she'd stood on a
dock in North Carolina, watching the EMT's juggle the bags of IV
solution and plasma as they loaded him in to take him away?
Fortunately, they'd let her along for the ride then.  She only hoped
there was room for her this time.

The attendant looked at her, she could see he was sizing her up.
How close was she to this patient, he was wondering?  She'd tried
to stay as detached as possible when detailing her assessment, but
this was Mulder, damn it, and detachment was a slippery thing
whenever he was involved.  The attendant was arguing with
himself--would this woman get hysterical and get in the way if this
patient 'crashed' in route?

"I'm a medical doctor, a pathologist.  I work for the FBI," she said,
digging out her credentials and flashing toward the attendant.  "We
don't have time, and I'm aware of this pathogen.  We need to get
him intubated, his airway could be swelling shut.  Please," she
pleaded, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.  "We don't really
have time to debate this."  He hadn't moved, so she threw caution
to the wind.  "I'll be good," she said with a reassuring smile.

He considered her for another split second, then tersely waved her
into the back of the ambulance.  "Engage," he shouted to the driver
and smiled at the raised eyebrow Scully gave him.  "Star Trek," he
shrugged as explanation.  She nodded and found a ledge to perch
on and a handle to hang onto while the ambulance burst to life and
sirens screamed into the night, alerting everyone of their haste.

Above all the sounds, the tires squealing on the wet pavement
around corners, the siren wailing, the horn blasting through red
lights, Scully could hear the strangled breaths coming from her
partner.  What had happened?  He'd gone to find Secare, while she
was finding out about Purity Control.

Had Secare done this?  Surely not, the man was a fugitive, but she
doubted he would have orchestrated this entire exchange.  Deep
Throat as much as told them that Secare was a pawn, and a
disposable one as far as the men who had cleaned out the lab were
concerned.

How many deaths could be attributed to these shadows?  Dr.
Berube, for one.  She was as convinced as her partner that the man
had not simply committed suicide.  Then she remembered Dr.
Carpenter.  They had probably killed her and her family in that car
accident.  Deep Throat had just died in her arms.  And Mulder . . .

"Base, this is Unit 306, we have a white male, early thirties,
unconscious, and not breathing upon arrival.  Suffering probably
chemical burns on his face and respiratory tract.  Resuscitating
manually, please advise," the attendants voice cut through Scully's
reverie and she sat up straighter, waiting as he did for the response
to his inquiry.

"306, this is base--what's your ETA?"

The driver never took her attention from the road, but called back
"Five minutes, I'm passing the GW Parkway now."

"Five, base.  Again, advise."

"Continue resuscitation.  Is there residual in the burn area?"

"Negative, base, no residual apparent.  And these burns are a few
hours old," the attendant said, looking over to Scully for
confirmation.  She could only nod and shrug.

"Then do not attempt to treat.  We've got a respirator on standby
in ER.  Do you have a history?"

"I'm his next of kin.  I can give you that information," Scully spoke
up and it was the attendant's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"We'll have history on arrival, base.  Which is just about now," he
noted, looking out the window and switching off the walkie talkie
on his belt.

Scully had to press herself against the ambulance wall to keep from
being run over.  Hands reached out and grabbed Mulder's gurney,
lowered it to the ground and hurried feet ran to the double doors.
She stood there a moment, then swallowed and headed toward the
doors.

Inside the hospital, she caught a glimpse of one the attendants
pushing the bottom of the gurney through a steel door with a glass
window.  A hand on her shoulder whirled her around.

"Ma'am, did you just come in with the ambulance?  We need some
information for admitting," a pleasant woman in a beige business
suit smiled and led her to a cubicle, where she sat down wearily.

It seemed like hours before she could get away from admitting.
Most of it was fairly routine, but it took time and she kept watching
the emergency room door, hoping for some sign of anyone who
could tell her what was going on.  Finally, the forms were complete
and she was ushered out to the ER waiting room to sit.

There was no one else in the waiting room, and she was grateful for
the quiet.  She glanced at the end table by the chairs and noted that
the only magazines available were a five year old copy of People
and an Emergency Room Physicians Medical Journal that was
sponsored by a drug manufacturer.  Neither of them held her
attention for very long.

Her mind drifted back to the case.  She hadn't taken time to think
about the object that she had handed over to Deep Throat on the
bridge.  What the hell was it?  It look human in form, but judging
from the size, it was a deformed fetus of approximately 5 or 6
months gestation.  So why lock it up and keep it under such heavy
security?  Why keep it frozen in liquid nitrogen in the first place?
Why not just preserve it in fluid, like a thousand other such oddities
that medical science loved to store in some researchers lab
somewhere?

She knew what Mulder would say.  It was what Deep Throat had
said himself.  He'd come right out and told her it was an alien
lifeform, hinted that it was a basis for the compound she'd taken to
Georgetown to analyze.  Dr. Carpenter's words echoed in her
head--'this is, but very nature, _extra-terrestrial_'.  And the next
day, Dr. Carpenter was dead.  Deep Throat was dead within hours.
She and Mulder were the only ones left alive.

If Mulder survived the night.

The door to the examination rooms opened and a older black
woman with graying hair and warm, compassionate eyes walked
into the waiting room and glanced around.  "Guess you must be the
lucky partner," she said with a faint Georgia accent.  "I'm Dr.
Janice Harper."

"I'm Agent Mulder's partner, Dana Scully.  How is he?" Scully
asked anxiously, jumping to her feet.

"He's stable and improving.  I'd love to know what that chemical
was that caused those burns.  Strangest thing I've ever seen.  Some
of the smaller capillaries close to the surface of his skin appear to
have clotted, but we gave him a shot of heparin and things cleared
up.  I've got him on corticosteroids and bronchiodialators to reduce
the swelling and inflammation in his bronchial tubes and lungs.
He's already responding to treatment, he's breathing on his own.  I
expect that by tomorrow evening, he'll be off the supplemental
oxygen."

Scully nodded, chewing her lip.  "His eyes?" she asked.

Dr. Harper winced slightly.  "Well, that's a tougher question.  The
area around both eyes seems to be most affected, but the left eye
itself sustained some damage.  At this point, I can't say if it's
permanent or not.  I've applied some of the gel that we use in
chemical burns, he's bandaged and on antibiotics to ward off
infection--that's where the greatest danger lies.  We'll just have to
wait and see."

"You're admitting him?" Scully asked.

"Are you kidding?  I'm not letting him out of my sight," Dr. Harper
laughed.  "No, I think he's better off here, especially while he's
having any difficulty breathing.  And with the eyes, well, we can
treat him easier as an in-patient than out.  No more than four or five
days, I'd say, but he should stay at least three.  They're moving him
up to 7 east--it's the burn unit.  You're welcome to go on up and
sit with him, but I'll warn you, I think he's out for the night."

"Thank you, Dr. Harper.  I just need to make a phone call and I'll
be right up."  Scully shook hands with the older woman and then,
after she'd gone, took her cell phone out and dialed a number she
kept in her wallet for emergencies.

A woman's sleepy voice answered and it made Scully cringe, but
she charged ahead.  "I need to speak with Assistant Director Walter
Skinner, ma'am.  This is Agent Dana Scully calling."

Scully could hear the rustle of sheets and a quiet "Walt, Walt, wake
up, it's an Agent Scully on the phone."  Finally, she heard the voice
of her boss.

"Agent Scully, what is it?" Skinner asked, his voice gruff.  Scully
wasn't sure if it was barely suppressed anger at being awakened, or
just from being asleep.

"Sir, there has been an incident.  A murder.  In cold blood."  She
didn't really know where to start, but the most likely place seemed
to be the crime she'd just witnessed.

"I'm listening, Scully.  Where are you, by the way?" he asked and
Scully realized that he probably heard the PA system paging various
doctors.

"I'm at Memorial Hospital in Alexandria, sir.  Agent Mulder was
brought in with severe burns to his face.  He'd been held hostage,
sir.  I couldn't tell you this earlier, there wasn't time--"

"A federal officer was held hostage and there wasn't time to notify
the FBI?" Skinner said, his voice edged with impatience.  "Scully,
I'm getting dressed.  I'll be right there and you had better come up
with a more appropriate explanation for this 'incident' than 'there
wasn't time'!"  The line went dead before she could say another
word.

end of part one

*****
 
 

It took the elevator ride up to Mulder's room for Scully to calm
down.  After what had happened, after all she'd been through in
one day, now she had to face their superior--alone.  God knew he
wasn't going to wait until Mulder was conscious.  Of course, he
would rake her over the coals now, then rake Mulder over the coals
when he was well enough to withstand the torture.  "Let the
prisoner recover enough to stand up at the execution," she
mumbled to herself before stopping at the nurses station to ask for
Mulder's room number.

The bandages on his eyes startled her at first.  She remembered Dr.
Harper speaking of them, given a moment she could even give the
medical reason for them.  But seeing her normally strong and
capable partner with gauze wrapped around his head holding two
identical white sterile bandages in place over his eyes made her ache
all the way to her toes.  She knew Mulder and when he woke up,
having those bandages were going to scare him to death.

Having gotten over the shock of the bandages, she stood at the
edge of the bed and did a thorough check of the rest of him.  The
burns on his mouth and nose glistened from the gel that protected
the damaged skin there.  An oxygen cannula was placed under his
nose, tape holding it in place near his cheeks so that the plastic
wouldn't rub on his super-sensitive skin on his upper lip.  An IV
was inserted into his left arm, she counted three bags of medication
flowing in with the sterile water.  Steroids, dilators and antibiotics,
all for his lungs.

For all the obvious trappings of medical science, he did seem to be
doing better than he had on the bridge.  He still wasn't taking deep
breaths, mostly little pants, but the lighted monitor on his index
finger registered that he was getting sufficient oxygen into his
bloodstream.  The heart monitor, there to keep tabs on how his
body reacted to the various respiratory treatments, showed a very
respectable 65 beats a minutes.  Scully finally allowed herself to
release the breath she'd been holding and sit down on the reclining
chair next to the bed.  She reached through the rails on the bed and
gently rubbed the back of his hand.

In less than an hour, there was a tap on the door.  She looked up
and called out a quiet 'come in', then was greeted by the very
disgruntled visage of Assistant Director Skinner.  For a second,  he
looked like he was ready to rip her head off, then he stopped and
looked at his other agent, lying on the bed.

"My god, Scully.  What's wrong with him?" he demanded, but the
wind was obviously out of his sails.  He sagged visibly as he made
his way over to the bed side and took in all the machines.

"Most of the damage seems to stem from chemical burns of some
kind," Scully whispered, trying to keep the noise in the room as low
as possible.  "We still have no idea what chemical that might be, but
it's highly corrosive.  His left eye has suffered some damage, along
with the tissue surrounding his right eye.  That's why the bandages
are there, to protect the eyes from further damage and help ward
off infection."

She got up and stood by the bed, next to her superior.  "The IV's
are for his lungs.  They swelled shut.  He'd stopped breathing just
before the ambulance arrived.  Thank god he responds well to
steroids--or he'd be on a respirator right now.  As it is, he's
receiving the same medication he'd get for a severe asthma attack.
The rest of the equipment is to make sure the meds he's on don't
have an adverse affect--an allergic reaction or whatever.  Some of
the stuff is pretty potent and some people have problems with it.
It's precautionary, but in his condition, it's better safe than sorry."

Skinner turned to her, apology in his eyes.  "Scully, I hate to do
this, but this can't wait--"

"No, that's all right, sir.  I've just been sitting here watching him
sleep.  I want to tell you what happened, as much as I can."  With
that, she pulled her chair over to a corner of the room, next to
another identical chair, and gave a rather sketchy report of what she
knew of Mulder's kidnapping and the events on the bridge.  She
failed to mention either Purity Control or the biological substance
that she had broken into the research facility to obtain.

"So the man who died, this informant of Mulder's--you don't know
his name?"

"No sir.  I don't think Mulder knew his name."  She smiled a
moment before speaking again.  "I got mad once and called him
'Deep Throat'--just to get at Mulder.  I guess it stuck.  That's how
I think of him."

"We need to get hold of the bullet that killed him.  Run it through
the data base," Skinner mused, almost to himself.

"Sir, there was an accident earlier today.  A biophysicist from
Georgetown--Dr. Helen Carpenter.  She was killed, along with her
entire family.  She had done some work--looking into what Dr.
Berube had been working on."

"Scully, you aren't implying that the woman was murdered are
you?  I mean, auto accidents happen every day in DC," Skinner
huffed.

"I know, sir, but it happened just hours after she'd given me a lead.
It confirmed what Mulder and I had already suspected--that
Berube's death was indeed a murder.  It had appeared to be a
suicide--but it was too calculated, too well orchestrated."

"Exactly how many deaths are we talking here, Scully?" Skinner
hissed angrily.  "My god, the morgues are full tonight.  What the
hell is going on?!"

"Sir, I don't know.  I wish I could tell you more."  She'd already
conveniently forgotten to go into details about how she and Deep
Throat traded the 'whatever' for Mulder.  Her partner's paranoia
had a way of seeping into her thoughts whenever he wasn't there.

The look in Skinner's eyes made it clear that the subject was not
closed, at least not for long.  "All right, Scully.  That will be enough
for tonight.  I'll track down the police report and see what else I
can find.  In the meantime, I suggest you get some rest."

"Thank you, sir.  I'll do that," she lied convincingly.  She wasn't
about to leave Mulder until he could at least see who might be
coming at him.

It was a long night.  Scully woke up once to find a soft cotton
blanket thrown over her lap.  Obviously one of the night nurses had
taken pity on her.  As the first pink rays of dawn pierced the
window blinds, she had a chance to see that her partner was
breathing better, more deeply, and she smiled.  If he was good--he
might only have to stay three days.

She chuckled to herself, again thinking of how hard it had been to
keep him down after the gunshot wound in North Carolina.  After
his release from the Raleigh hospital, contingent on his solemn vow
that he would remain bedridden in his apartment for a full week,
he'd snuck into the office at least three times.  Finally, she'd bribed
the guard at the door with donuts to alert her when Mulder showed
up in the parking garage and thereby headed him off at the pass.
The very fact that he was driving with is leg still immobilized told
her exactly how sneaky he could be.  His basic impatience with his
own body's rate of recovery was in direct contradiction to the well
laid plans of his doctors.   She knew this time would be no
different.

She must have shifted because the chair legs squeaked against the
tile floor.  He jerked his head in her direction.

"Who's there?"  His voice was little more than sandpaper and
gravel.

"Mulder, it's me," she answered and reached over to take his hand.

"Scully?  God, Scully, how did you find me here?" he asked, his
voice breaking.  He was confused and obviously didn't know
exactly where 'here' was.

"Mulder, you're in the hospital in Alexandria.  Burn unit.  I found
you after the men who held you threw you out of the back of a van
on a bridge about 6 miles from here last night about midnight.  Do
you remember any of this?"  She spoke quietly, slowly, and she
could see that he was calming down just listening to her voice.
Sometimes the power she had over him was exhilarating.  She only
wished she held him in that power _before_ he ran off and was
injured.

"I went to Berube's house.  Secare was there, hiding in the attic,"
he said slowly at first and then as his voice loosened, he started
speaking in his normal pattern.  "I tried to help him, Scully.  I told
him I'd protect him."

"Did he do this to you?" she asked.

"The burns?  No--at least not on purpose.  I was talking to him and
suddenly someone shot him in the back.  Bullet went right through
him.  It was his blood, Scully--but it wasn't like real blood.  It was
green and it bubbled--looked like the stuff I used to play with in my
chem set I had as a kid.  And then my eyes were burning--I
remembered grabbing my left eye and rubbing hard."  He sighed,
talking was making him tired already.

"I must have passed out.  When I woke up some asshole was telling
me that my phone had been ringing off the hook.  I was tied up and
couldn't move and I couldn't see--not to mention my chest was
killing me and my throat was closing up.  Anyway, the bastards
wanted to know what I knew--but I didn't tell them anything.  One
of them must have gotten mad at being stonewalled because I got a
whack on the head and I don't remember anything after that."  He
was quiet for a few moments--Scully assumed he'd tired himself
back to sleep, but she was wrong.  "Scully, these bandages on  my
eyes--how bad is it?" he asked hesitantly.

She took his hand and squeezed it.  "You're left eye received some
damage.  The doctor can't tell for certain if it's permanent or
temporary.  Later today, they'll change the bandages and they'll
reassess at that time.  But Mulder, they are doing everything they
can.  You need to rest and not worry about it."

"Guess I'm not going to be kept awake with any unidentified flying
videos, huh?" he joked, but she could tell by the way he held his
jaw that he was worried.

"Well, I could always see if I could get a copy of the National
Inquirer--I'll read it to you and we could find our next case," she
offered, making sure her voice was light and playful.

To her relief, he gave her a relaxed smile and yawned, then
snuggled down into the bedcovers.  "Maybe after a nap, Scully."

Suddenly, it dawned on Scully that there was one bit of bad news
that she hadn't told her partner.  "Mulder, there's something you
should know."  She took a deep breath, hating what she was about
to do.  Giving bad news was never an enjoyable experience, but this
would probably be worse.  "Mulder, Deep Throat is dead."  She
winced at the incredulous look on his face.

"How?" he struggled to say, clamping down on all emotions.

"Gunshot to the chest.  When we made the exchange, well, he
wouldn't let me do it.  And this man, in a crewcut and a trench
coat, he was driving the van--"  She stopped when her partner's
hand flew up and waved her to a halt.

"Scully, make sense.  What are you talking about?  What
exchange?" he demanded.

There was so much to tell and so much that she had kept from
Skinner.  "Mulder, Deep Throat was at your apartment when I
went looking for you yesterday morning.  You hadn't shown up
and I was worried.  He told me that they had you.  He wouldn't go
into details about who 'they' were, just that they would gladly kill
you if they didn't get what they wanted."

"What did they want" Mulder asked quietly.  He had no idea he'd
been held for ransom.

Scully hesitated for a moment.  This would undoubtedly open a big
can of worms and she really didn't want to go into when Mulder
needed to rest.  On the other hand, she knew her partner and when
he was on the trail of an answer, he wouldn't rest until he tracked it
down.

"Scully, usually I can see the little gears spinning in that red
head--this time I can't.  Talk to me," he said evenly.

"He called it the 'well spring'.  He said it was the original
material--where they got 'Purity Control'.  Mulder, I wouldn't have
believed a word of this but when I went to talk to Dr. Carpenter
again, I was informed that she and her entire family had been killed
in a car accident.  It happen just hours after she'd run those test for
me on the substance in the flask."

"Deep Throat called it 'well spring'?  What the hell was it?" he
asked, shifting restlessly among the sheets.

"I don't know, exactly.  It was in a liquid nitrogen container, under
lock and key at a high security research facility.  Mulder, when I
pulled it up, it looked like a fetus--very malformed.  Overly large
head--probably hydrocephalic, the ocular cavities looked enlarged,
nose was misshapen to nonexistent--it was just a deformed fetus.
Other than that, I don't know what it was."

"What color was it?" he asked softly, slowly.

"Mulder, it was probably discolored from the freezing process--"

"What color, Scully?" he asked again, his voice growing insistent.

"Gray.  It was gray in color.  But Mulder, human skin looks gray
when it's frost bitten.  The color doesn't mean--"

"You held it, Scully.  You held an alien life form in your hands," he
whispered.  "Goddammit, I wish I could see it.  Where is it, what
did you do with it?" he asked anxiously.

"Mulder, that's what I was telling you," she hissed in exasperation.
"I gave it to the men who were holding you.  In exchange for your
life.  I sure didn't see an value in it--any research hospital has a
dozen deformed cadavers.  They wanted that in exchange for your
life.'

Because his eyes were covered she couldn't see the storm growing
in them.  His next words sounded more like a growl.  "I must come
pretty damned cheap then, Scully.  What the hell were you
thinking?!" he shouted.  "How could you give them the only real
evidence we've ever come across?  Evidence, Scully.  Evidence of
extraterrrestrial life!  If you'd taken a sample, you could see that
the genetic markers in that 'deformed fetus' are the same as in
Purity Control'.  Oh, God, tell me you took a sample," he pleaded.

"Mulder, there wasn't time.  I didn't know what they were doing to
you.  Deep Throat made it clear that time was of the essence--" her
voice trailed off, saddened.  "I'm sorry, Mulder.  I didn't have a
choice in the matter."

Her tone of voice, contrite and a little indignant, seemed deflate his
anger.  "No, Scully, I'm sorry.  You saved my life.  I got the
impression that those guys were growing impatient, but I had no
idea over what.  You did the right thing, under the circumstances.
But all that aside, what happened to Deep Throat?"

"When I got to the bridge, he was there.  He'd made the call, made
all the arrangements.  We argued, I didn't want to give him the
box--I'm sorry, Mulder, I never trusted the man.  Anyway, a car
pulled up and I didn't have time, so I gave it to him.  I watched in
the rearview mirror.  Deep Throat gave the box to a man in a crew
cut.  He put the box on the driver's seat of the van and then turned
and shot once, hitting Deep Throat in the chest.  Then he got into
the car and pulled away.  While moving, they dumped you out the
back.  Mulder, I ran over, but it was too late.  He was dying."  She
stopped a moment, her eyes were misting and she was glad he
couldn't see that.

"Did he say anything, Scully," Mulder choked.  "Deep Throat--did
he say anything to you before he--"

"He said 'Trust no one'.  Just that.  I'm so sorry, Mulder.  I know
how close you were," she said helplessly.

Her partner rubbed his wrist across his face, threatening to dislodge
both the oxygen tube and his IV.  "It's OK, Scully.  I mean, he was
just an informant.  Hell, I didn't even know his name.  No big deal."
He leaned back in the bed and Scully couldn't help feeling that he
looked smaller, like a lost little boy.  "My eyes are really burning
here, Scully.  Did they leave orders for some pain meds or
anything?"

She bit back a retort.  During the six days he'd been in the hospital
in Raleigh, he'd never once asked for a pain pill--even when he
obviously needed one.  He was in pain now, but this was a pain that
all the drugs in the world couldn't deaden.  Even so, at least he
would sleep.  "I'm pretty sure they did, Mulder.  I'll go tell the
nurse you're asking for it.  I'll be right back."

She waited until the nurse injected the medication into his IV and
then until his breathing became rhythmic and shallow and she was
certain he'd fallen asleep before she left the room.  On the way out,
she made sure to confirm with the nurse that Agent Mulder was to
be left undisturbed for the rest of the morning.

end of part two

*****
 
 

J. Edgar Hoover Building
FBI Headquarters
Washington DC
3:55 pm

"No, you don't understand.  I was there.  I talked to a Detective
Pamela Wilkerson.  Yes, I'll hold," Scully said into the phone,
trying to remain calm.  Unfortunately, the pencil in her hands fell
victim to her frustrations.  She'd been on the phone all day, first to
the morgue, then to the police station.  No bodies had been brought
into the morgue in the last 14 hours.  No gun shots had been
reported, no police statement had been filed.  There were no
witnesses to the events on the bridge, save her partner, who had no
conscious recollection of the time, and herself.

"Yes, I'm still here," she hissed into the receiver.  "What do you
mean, you have no Detective Wilkerson?  Look, I have her business
card, that's how I got your number.  Well, maybe she's new, go
check again."  This time the wait didn't take as long, but a different
voice picked up the conversation.  The Chief of Detectives for the
Alexandria Police Department calmly assured her that there was
not, nor had there ever been, a Detective Pamela Wilkerson on the
force and that all the female detectives that worked the night shift
were off duty the previous night.  He then bid her a nice day, and
hung up.

Something odd was going on and it wasn't limited to the
Alexandria Police Department.  She'd checked all the morgues in
the tri-state area and when none of them came up with a body
matching her description, she'd decided it was time to visit the
Assistant Director and get his read on the matter.  She'd arrived at
his outer office, only to be told that Mr. Skinner would be in
conferences all day.  She left a message saying the matter was
urgent, but again, she was ushered out of the office.  That had been
hours ago and she still hadn't heard a word from their superior.

She glanced at the time on her computer and decided she'd just
enough time to get to the hospital before Mulder's doctor came in
to check his eyes.  She grabbed her jacket and purse and left.

Scully was pleased when the nurse, Jan, reported that her partner
had slept most of the day.  He woke up around 2 and ate some
broth, then fell back to sleep before 2:30.  At least he's getting
some rest, she mused as she pushed open the door to his room.

He was sleeping, or seemed to be.  She tiptoed over to the chair
next to his bed and sat down.  The burns around his mouth and
nose appeared worse, but she knew better.  Blisters were often a
good sign and since the nurse hadn't commented on them, they
were probably healing as expected.  She prayed the same would be
true for his eyes.

Trying to find a comfortable position, she shifted in her chair.  He
roused at the small noise and turned his head.  "Scully?"

"You're good," she smiled.

"Recognized your perfume.  What time is it?" he asked.

"Just about 4:30.  I came over because I knew Dr. Wilson was
planning on checking your eyes on his late rounds.  Heard you've
been a gold brick all day," she teased.

"Yeah, well, it's hard for them to tell whether I'm sleeping or just
keeping my mouth shut," he answered cryptically.  "Hey, when can
I lose the liquid diet?  The thought of jello and broth for supper is
making my skin crawl."

She laughed lightly.  "No, that's the burn gel.  I think I can
probably convince Dr. Wilson that you'd be fine on a regular diet.
Not that you'll like it much better--I remember you and hospital
food.  But if you're a _good_ patient, I'll sneak something up
later."

"Remind me of this at your next evaluation, Scully.  You just
earned a ton of brownie points," he grinned.

There was a rap on the door and a short, balding older man entered.
He immediately extended his hand.  "Hello, I'm David Wilson.
You were asleep the last time I saw you, Mr. Mulder.  Nice to see
you again, Ms. Scully."  Scully scooted out of the way so the
Wilson didn't have to reach over her to check Mulder.  "Let's see
what we've got here, shall we?" the older man smiled.  It took just
a few seconds to remove the bandages.  "All right, Mr. Mulder,
now please, keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them."

Scully held her breath and unconsciously crossed her fingers behind
her back.  Dr. Wilson took his time, examining the flesh around the
eyes, writing some observations down on his chart.  Finally, he
placed his hands on Mulder's shoulders.  "Mr. Mulder, open your
eyes for me, very slowly."

It took some effort to control his eyelids.  At first, the gel and
medication that had been placed on his eyes kept his lashes stuck
together.  When he finally got them loose, his instinct was to open
his eyes quickly, but he did as he was told.  Slowly, he opened both
eyes and tried to focus on Dr. Wilson.

Wilson took a lighted magnifier out of his jacket pocket and shined
it in Mulder's eyes, moving slowly in a circle to exam the entire
surface.  Tears were welling up in Mulder's right eye because of the
brightness of the light.  The left eye didn't even respond to the light
by dilating.  The doctor made some more notations, then took a
card out of his other pocket and put it in Mulder's right hand.  "Put
that over you left eye for me, please."  Mulder complied.  "OK,
now see if you can read this card I'm holding."  Wilson held a 3x5
index card about two feet away from Mulder's face.

"Trauma includes major injury of all types--auto accidents, falls,
industrial accidents, burns, knifings, and shootings.  Trauma is the
leading killer of young, productive people in the United States.
Ten--" Mulder rambled until Dr. Wilson put the card down,
satisfied.

"You looked like you were straining a bit.  Do you normally wear
glasses?" Wilson asked.

"Reading glasses, for close work," Mulder answered breathing a
sigh of relief.  Scully could tell he'd been worried about his
eyesight.

"Well, let's see how the left eye fares.  Oh, and I've been told that
you have a photographic memory, so this is a different card,"
Wilson teased and shot Scully a wink.

This time, when the right eye was covered, an frown quickly spread
over Mulder's face.

"What can you see?" Wilson asked gently.

"There's a bright spot, in the middle.  Aside from that, it's black,"
Mulder admitted.  He dropped the card from his right eye so he
could see the doctor's reaction.

"Mr. Mulder, it's only been 20 hours since you were brought in.
We are aware that the left eye sustained more damage than the
right.  I'm not concerned at this time.  I think we'll cover that eye,
give it a chance to heal on it's own.  You're scheduled to stay with
us for another couple of days--we'll try again before you leave and
see if there is improvement.  For now, I can detect no sign of
infection in either ocular surface or cavity, I think we have every
right to be optimistic."  He patted Mulder's shoulder.  "If you
experience any pain, notify the nurse.  I'll leave orders for some
pain killers."  He put a clean sterile gauze over the left eye and
taped it in place with supplies from his jacket pockets.  When he
was finished, he turned to Scully.  "I think we'll see a lot of
improvement in the next day or two.  If not, then we'll review our
options and come up with a plan."

Both agents were silent for several minutes after Dr. Wilson left the
room.  It tore Scully up to see the crestfallen look in her partner's
one good eye, but she also knew that his condition was improving
and they had every right to be happy with the news.  Finally, she
couldn't take it anymore.  "Mulder--this is 'good' news, you
know," she said firmly.  "I've seen eye injuries before.  I've seen the
PET scan on you and there was no nerve damage.  It's like my
friend Barb--"

"Barb?  I've never heard you mention a 'Barb'," Mulder said, trying
to accept what she was saying, but wanting off the subject all the
same.

"She was a friend in high school.  A wonderful friend, but a bit
uncoordinated.  One morning she was putting on her glasses,
missed her face and scratched her cornea," Scully said with a fond
smile.

"You're saying all your friends are klutzes, Scully?" Mulder asked,
clamping down hard on the chuckle that wanted to escape his
throat.

She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him.  "If the shoe fits,
Mulder.  But the point I was trying to make was that she ended up
with a patch over her eye.  That was bad enough, since the doctor
forbid her to drive.  But then, two mornings later, she woke up with
chicken pox--"

"I don't like the way this story is going, Scully--" Mulder winced.

"Stay with me, Mulder, I'm not done.  Anyway, she couldn't drive.
As a matter of fact, she was out of school for a week.  But when
the week was over, she was fine, her eye was fine, everything went
back to normal.  See, sometimes your body MAKES you take it
easy.  Hey, at least now you can see to watch TV or read, as long
as you don't strain your eye.  I'll stop by your apartment and pick
up your reading glasses."

"Yeah, I'd like to read the police report on what happened last
night," Mulder admitted.  The silence that greeted that statement
made him stare hard at his partner.  "Now what--chicken pox?"

"Well, maybe not in a physical sense.  Mulder, I was on the phone
all day.  First of all, no body showed up at any of the morgues in
the area matching Deep Throat's description."

He closed his eye and leaned back.  By the set of his jaw, she knew
he wasn't happy, and would in all likelihood take the next piece of
news badly, too.

"And the police woman who took my statement last night appears
to be non-existent also.  I talked to the Chief of Detectives.  He'd
never heard of her.  Mulder, she even gave me a business card--she
had the badge, the ID, what was I supposed to think?"  The last
comment was completely rhetorical, but her frustration easily
matched his and she wanted him to know that.

"Cover up, Scully.  They got what they wanted, but no one is
supposed to know," he growled.

"Mulder, I'm not saying that you're wrong--"  She smiled when he
shot her a questioning grin.  "BUT, why?  Why kill Deep Throat?  I
mean, there were plenty of times when he gave us false leads.  And
why kill Dr. Carpenter and her family?"

"You're skirting the real question here, Scully.  Why are we still
alive?"

"That one did occur to me.  And something else is going on.
Skinner was here last night.  He was just as worried about you as I
was.  Then, this morning when I kept getting stonewalled, I tried to
go talk to him."  She held out her hand to stop his immediate
objections.  "Mulder, I needed help on this one, OK?
Anyway, he wouldn't see me.  I left my cell phone number in case
he 'had a free moment' later.  Mulder, I told Kimberly that it was
urgent that I speak with him.  The silence is deafening," she
concluded.

"Scully, I need out of here," Mulder said firmly.

"No, you don't," she matched his tone.  "You need to get well.
Mulder, you're feeling pretty good sitting in that bed, but if you get
up and walk around, you'll see that your lungs still need time.  Or
don't you trust me to find out what's going on?"  It was a low
blow, but she knew conventional reasoning would get her nowhere
when he was in his 'gung ho' mood.

His face softened immediately.  "Scully--you know I trust you--"

"Then trust me now," she repeated.

It took a little convincing, but finally the nurse agreed to phone Dr.
Wilson and request a 'soft diet' for Mulder.  Her partner was once
again 'forever' in her debt and she smiled at how little it took
sometimes to make him happy.  Mulder ate about half his dinner
and then unceremoniously fell asleep with the TV remote firmly
grasped in his hand that didn't have an IV.  Scully decided that she
could use a little sleep herself and left for her apartment.

As she walked up to the door, a tall figure stepped out of the
shadows and approached her.  In the light fog and rain, it took her a
moment to recognize her supervisor.  Skinner nodded in her
direction.

"How's Agent Mulder?  I called the nurses station but they would
only tell me that he was 'resting comfortably'--whatever the hell
that means," Skinner groused.

Scully glared at him angrily.  "Well, maybe if you'd bothered to
return my phone calls, _sir_, I could have given you more
information on Agent Mulder's condition."

Skinner sighed, accepting her anger.  "I'm sorry, Scully.  I couldn't
get in touch with you today."

"And why would that be, sir?" she asked, taking out her key to go
into her apartment.  She stopped when her boss put his hand on her
arm.

"We're better off holding this conversation out here, Scully,"
Skinner said quietly.  "I can't go into details right now.  Something
is happening and--it's not good.  I don't know what you and
Mulder stepped in this time, but I can tell you that it's way over my
head.  I can't help you.  Even if I wanted to."

She snapped her head up to stare at him, the anger coursing
through her.  "What the hell do you mean?" she demanded.

"Scully, face it.  Mulder is a liability to you.  You'd be much better
off without him," Skinner said, his face softening into a sincere
expression of concern.  "He was a good agent once.  I know that.
And maybe he can be a good agent again--"

"What are you talking about?" Scully hissed.

Skinner shook his head.  "I can't tell you, Scully because I don't
know all the details.  Just, . .  well, . . . just let it be.  Whatever
happens in the coming weeks, just accept it and go on.  And please,
don't breath a word of this to Mulder.  If you do, I'm not sure what
would happen to him."  The older man's face clearly showed that
he wasn't happen with whatever he'd learned.  He turned to leave.

"You can't stop them?" she asked softly, pleading.

"Neither of us can, Scully.  The most we can hope for is to keep
Mulder from getting himself killed.  I think you're more than
capable of doing that on your own.  I'll do what I can, but it won't
be much right now.  This is going to take time."  Almost as an after
thought, he looked at her again.  "How IS Mulder?"

Scully was still trying to process all the innuendo that Skinner had
just given her.  A feeling of dread was hitting her stomach.  "He'll
heal.  His left eye is still causing some worry--he can't see out of it.
He's afraid, he won't say anything, but I know he's afraid that it
will prevent him from keeping his field agent status.  We won't
know for a while if it's permanent or not."

Skinner couldn't look her in the eye anymore so he stared out at the
rain slicked street.  "Maybe it would be best for everyone
concerned if it was permanent," he whispered, just loud enough for
her to hear.  "We never talked, Scully," he said sadly and
disappeared into the shadows.

Scully was still shaking as she entered her apartment.  Even after a
cup of tea, she still couldn't drain the anger from the muscles in her
back and neck.  As a last resort, she called the hospital, only to be
told that Mulder was asleep.  Besides, she scolded herself, this
'little talk' with Skinner was something she'd rather tell him about
in person.  Her partner's words echoed in her head from a rainy day
just weeks before.  After the Tooms case was finally closed, he'd
stood on a street corner and regarded a butterfly cocoon.  "Changes
are coming, Scully.  I can feel it."  At the time the words had
encouraged her, she'd been hopeful.  Now, they had the ring of
doom to them and only made sleep that much harder to come by.

Memorial Medical Center
Alexandria, VA
8:05 am

"What do you think he meant?" Scully asked her partner after she'd
hurriedly detailed the conversation with their boss from the night
before.

"He knows what's going on, but he's afraid to tell you," Mulder
said with a shrug.

Scully huffed at that.  "From what I've heard of Walter Skinner, the
man isn't afraid of _anything_.  But he did seem awfully cryptic.
He never came out and said anything, just hinted at the idea that
things were going to get bad."

"He's right, you know.  You should get out, Scully.  Get out while
the gettin's good," Mulder said lightly, but his one hazel eye was
dark brown and serious.

"What, and leave this glamorous lifestyle?" she joked.  "No way,
Mulder.  You tried scaring me off before and all it got you was an
empty can of orange spray paint," she said with a smirk.  "I'm in
this for the long haul--and so are you."

He leaned back and sighed.  She hadn't mentioned his left eye
because it was a subject he still wasn't comfortable talking about.
Even so, she was still sensitive to his feelings about it.  "Scully,
what if--"

She held up her hand.  "No what if's, Mulder.  Your eye is healing.
You need to be patient."

"What if they shut us down," he continued, his voice now a
whisper.

"What will _you_ do if that happens?" she asked quietly, almost
afraid of his answer.

He was quiet for a moment.  "I've been thinking about that for
most of the night.  I'm pretty sure it was Deep Throat who saved
our butts all the times in the past.  If that's the case, we're on our
own this time."  He wasn't answering her question and he knew she
wasn't going to wait forever.  "I'll fight it, I guess.  I don't have a
lot of options."

"Then I'll fight it, too," she said with a confident look.  "I'm not
leaving, Mulder.  Not without a whole lot of explosives."

He put his finger playfully to her lips.  "Shhhhh!  Don't tempt
them," he teased.  "But if it comes to that, then, yes.  I'll fight that,
too.  I won't let them shut us down or separate us without our
consent.  We're too good at what we do."  He let his hand slide
down her cheek and she smiled at him.  "That's probably what
they're afraid of--together, we're pretty hard to beat."

"Get some sleep," Scully told him, smiling as she got up.  "I have to
go back and do paperwork.  I really have noticed that every time an
expense report is due, you manage to get yourself injured," she said
with mock severity.

He grabbed his chest over his heart.  "Direct hit!  You've found me
out, Scully.  I use hospital stays to avoid paperwork."

"Then I'll go get some of it and bring it back up for you to work on
while you're lying here doing nothing," she warned.

"Sure, why not.  I'll be happy to," he shot back and grinned as she
left.

He was sure going to miss her.  She was the best partner he'd ever
had.  But that was exactly why he knew the 'shadows' didn't want
them together.  Mulder would do everything in his power, but he
wasn't sure it would be enough.  Somehow, he'd find a way to
keep the files open, and keep them together.  Somehow.

the end
Vickie
 

Stand up for what is right,
Even if you stand alone.
     quote from a poster