by Lisdean Warner
xangst@frii.com (Myth Patrol)
 

Date: Wed, 26 Jun 1996

This one takes place while Mulder and Scully are in CDC decon after Firewalker.

**********
Quarantine
by Dean Warner
xangst@frii.com

Day 3

"...And as for the events that took place on Mount Avalon, mine stands as
the only record."
   Mulder put down his pen, closing the field journal before him.
Twenty-seven more days of quarantine. He'd be ready to dig his way out with
a spoon in three.
   Not that the quarantine establishment was that bad--better than some
he'd been locked up in. The small containment facility he and Scully had
been shut into was made up to look like a normal two bedroom, two bath
apartment, complete with a stocked refrigerator--whether the stuff they'd
stocked it with could be called *food* was another matter
entirely--expanded cable with a big screen television, and a wall-sized
bookshelf sporting everything from Agatha Christie to the lastest medical
journals.
   It was kind of cushy, actually--if you ignored the cameras in every
corner, the large one-way mirror in the living room, and the fact that the
front door led, not to a quiet suburban neighborhood, but a well-stocked
CDC lab. But a cage, no matter how convincingly gilded, was still a cage,
and Mulder was very close to going crazy.
   It wasn't just the confinement that was getting to him--he knew that.
   It was his partner, too.
   In the past four days, Scully hadn't said more than ten words that were
unrelated to the case they'd just finished. She spent most of her time in
the bedroom she'd been assigned, coming out to grab something to eat, or
snatch another of those endless medical journals from the bookshelf. She
was avoiding him, and it was starting to annoy him.
   He so wanted to just sit down with her and talk about what had happened
over the last four or five months--he wanted to know that she was all
right. But she wouldn't talk. She obviously wanted to pretend that the
whole thing had never happened.
   He wished to God it hadn't.
   Standing up and walking around the room, he let his mind just drift,
trying to steer it away from the disturbing images that seemed to plague
him constantly now... Images of Scully, wires and tubes trailing from her,
trussed up in a hospital bed... Dream-visions of what might have been done
to her while she was gone... Most disturbing of all was the memory of
her--just four short days ago--leaning desperately against a door,
handcuffed to one of the Firewalker team. One of the infected members.
   He was worried about her. He'd never been close enough to any of the
team when they'd died to be at much risk, but her... He couldn't forget the
tiny crack in the doorway, that the handcuffs had preserved... the way
she'd been taking in huge gusts of air....
   Large enough to suck a little bit of that deadly fungus into her lungs?
   He shook his head angrily. No. The CDC had drawn blood from each of them
every eight hours since they'd arrived, and they had yet to find any
evidence that either of them was infected.
   But it had taken so long for the Firewalker team members to show any
effects. And their strange behavior could be so easily mistaken for severe
isolation disorder...
   As Scully's could be taken for shock, or fatigue, or the simple
psychological stress of her abduction...
   Mulder sat again, cradling a suddenly tired head in his hands.

Day 4

Scully sat up suddenly, gasping at the vague memory of her nightmare.
They'd been getting better over the past few weeks--she hadn't had one in
nearly five days. Until they'd come to the confinement facility.
   She shook her head tiredly, rubbing at a suddenly raw throat. With a
sigh, she headed for the bathroom, grabbing the glass she'd left on her
nightstand before she went to sleep.
   Her eyes were too dull, she thought critically, as she gazed in the
mirror. Too dull, and too frightened. But that was silly. She had nothing
to be frightened about. She wasn't infected--she'd taken that one,
desperate action to prevent it, and she was sure it had worked.
   So why was she so scared?

It took her a few long moments to pull herself together enough to  brave
"big brother's" worried gaze. He was starting to annoy her now. No... He'd
been annoying her for a while. She had an idea of what he'd been through
while she was gone--she'd heard all the rumours--and it seemed he just
couldn't let himself believe that she was back. That she wasn't going
anywhere.
   His eyes were on her the moment she stepped out of her room. He sat at
the kitchen table--like a guard dog--seemingly waiting for her to emerge.
   She smiled to herself. He probably *was* waiting. Just to make sure she
was still there. With an absent "Hello," she headed for the cupboard,
taking down a mug to brew herself some tea.
   "How're you feeling?" His voice was tentative, as if he was waiting for
her to blow up at him.
   "Well, at least I'm getting my sleep," she quipped gamely. "You wanted
me to take some time off." She spread her hands to encompass the facility.
"You got it."
   Mulder smiled lopsidedly. "I was kind of thinking of Tahiti or Mazatlan,
though."
   "For you, or for *me*?"
   He grinned cheekily. "Whatever."
   "Uh-huh." She stood quietly, watching the kettle boil, trying to ignore
his eyes on her. He wanted to say something, she could tell. But something
kept him quiet, and she managed to get her tea and head back toward her
room without any comment.
   "Scully..."
   <Spoke too soon.> "Yes, Mulder?"
   "Are you sure you're okay?"
   She sighed, turned a gentle smile on her over-protective partner. "Yes,
Mulder."

Day 7

"Scully!" he called sarcastically. "The vampires are here!"
   She sat up from the medical journal she'd been reading, stretching a bit
of the tension from her back before heading out to face the "vampires".
   The nurse's name was Kelly. She couldn't have been more than
twenty-five, but she carried herself like a professional, sitting them
down, drawing blood carefully with her gloved hands, chatting amiably as
she went about her business. The fact that she was sheathed in white
plastic from head to foot, however,  and the guard that stood behind her,
looking more like a mafia hitman, did nothing for Scully's state of mind.
   The blood-letting done, Kelly asked a few routine questions: Had either
of them been feeling dizzy? Were they feeling at all strange? Had they had
any bouts of coughing or nausea? The answers were always no, and they were
always truthful. They couldn't have lied, at any rate--not with the kind of
surveillance they were under.
   Mulder waited for Scully to get up and return to her room once Kelly had
gone. It was what she always did. He was surprised, then, when she sat back
with a long-suffering sigh, and grabbed the television remote.
   "Three hundred channels," she groused a few moments later. "And nothing
to watch."
   "Well, there's the cabinet of movies over there," he suggested warily.
"We could try that."
   She shrugged, pulling herself up from the couch and heading for the
cabinet. It was full--nearly a hundred videos, she figured. She looked them
over carefully, calling out names as she went.
   "Star Wars?"
   "Didn't we just watch that one?" Mulder asked, relaxing despite himself.
"Anyway, I can already recite the whole thing."
   "Tron?"
   "Jeff Bridges in spandex? I don't think so."
   "Oooh." Scully pulled out a video, a devilish glint in her eyes. "The Stand?"
   Mulder laughed. "They really know how to hurt a guy, don't they?" He
shrugged lightly. "Sounds good to me."

They'd finished off the ice cream, and Scully was in the kitchen making
popcorn. She'd never really sat down with Mulder and just watched a movie,
she realised. The only videotapes *they* seemed to see together were more
gruesome than any horror movie could hope to be.
   With a little smile for the strangeness of her life, Scully grabbed the
bowl of popcorn and headed back into the living room. She was completely
unprepared for her reaction to what she saw on the screen.
   Gary Sinise was trapped in a decon room, threatening a tall, evil man in
a level four suit...
   She suddenly remembered that suit--remembered a long, narrow room, all
stainless steel... remembered the pain--
   Mulder jumped out of his seat as the popcorn bowl shattered on the ground.

"Scully?"
   He beat his hand against the door, sweating now. "Scully! Let me in!"
   The sounds of retching coming from the bathroom terrified him. He had to
get in there!
   "Scully, come on! Let me in!"
   He'd just about decided to break down the damn door when a group of
white-suited staff members strode in quickly from the observation cubicle
that fronted the living room. They pushed him back, one of them holding him
firmly as another produced a key that allowed the door to glide open.
   Mulder could barely see his partner through the cadre of CDC workers who
picked her up off of the ground beside the toilet, bustling her quickly
into the living room, and into the hospital beyond. All he could tell was
that her face was twisted in pain, her skin far too white. Only when she
was gone did the large orderly let go of Mulder's shoulders.
   The agent couldn't do more than slide to the ground, holding his head,
trying to wipe away the vision of her death-white skin.

Day 9

Mulder was going out of his mind. They hadn't told him anything about
Scully, beyond the fact that they were "running tests". That report had
been yesterday morning. He'd been alone with his thoughts ever since.
   His mind couldn't deal with the idea that she had somehow contracted the
parasite. It stuck to safer subjects, trying to figure out what was wrong.
   He tried to remember her cycle--and couldn't. It could have been that.
Maybe she'd been allergic to something in the ice cream. Maybe...
   Any more excuses were blown from his mind as the door to the
labs--ostensibly the front door of this comfortable little Hell--was pushed
quietly open, and the object of all his worries stepped through. "Scully!"
   "I'm okay, Mulder," she said wearily, daring him to question the truth
of the statement.
   He felt that her own haunted eyes and sallow skin made a better lie of
her answer than he ever could, but let it pass as she dropped tiredly onto
the couch.
   "What happened?" he asked quietly.
   "Too much ice cream."
   "Scully..."
   She let her counterfeit smile drop away, closing her eyes against his
worried look. "I don't know... There's nothing physically wrong--they ran
every test they knew. No fungal parasite, not even a cold."
   "Nothing physical," he replied, not even bothering to make it a question.
   She just sat there, refusing to answer.
   "Maybe you *did* come back to work too soon," he ventured, walking on
eggshells.
   She brought her head up and glared at him. "Mulder, I'm fine! I *need*
to be back to work." She stood up angrily. "And being cooped up in here
with *you* isn't helping me any!"
   He bit his tongue, holding himself back from saying anything, as she
stormed into her bedroom.

Day 10

She hadn't emerged for dinner that night, though he'd heard her making some
tea around one this morning. He hadn't bothered her. Having a fight at one
in the morning was not his idea of a good time.
   He sat in the living room, listening quietly to the sound of the shower
running in her bathroom. The television was playing some banal old
series--it was on more to keep up appearances than anything else.
   Ten minutes later, she walked quietly out of her room, heading for the
cupboard. He heard the kettle start up. Tea again.
   "There's some soup in the cupboard," he called carefully. "It might
settle your stomach."
   She didn't answer. He didn't expect her to.
   "Hey," he tried again, as normally as he could. "They have Mission
Impossible on in twenty minutes. Wanna watch?"
   This time, he got a response. She stood quietly in the doorway, her hair
pulled back in a ponytail. He realised guiltily that he hadn't noticed how
much her hair had grown in the time she'd been gone--nor how much it had
grown since. It all sat neatly at the back of her head, making his mind
leap back to their first case together, when she had looked like a
far-too-green young agent... When she'd first trusted him with her fear.
   "I'm sorry about yesterday, Mulder," she said simply. "I was tired."
   <And scared,> he added silently. "It's okay." He smiled winningly at
her. "So... Mission Impossible?"
   She grinned back. "Sure."

The show was typical IMF--serious camp, with just a touch of danger. Mulder
held his tongue as they watched, trying not to stare at her, trying to give
her the space she so obviously wanted. As the final credits ran, she turned
to him.
   "I'd better get back to those medical journals," she said, rising with a
kind of tired grace. "At least I can use this time to catch up on all the
findings I missed while I was gone."
   His eyes darkened at the mention of her abduction, and all the things
she wanted to say came spilling out.
   "Mulder, I don't know how many times I'm going to have to say this to
you. Get over it. I'm back. I'm fine. You just have to put it behind you."
   "Like you did a few days ago?" he asked, finally realising what that
terrifying episode had meant.
   She dropped her eyes. "I can deal with it, Mulder."
   He looked up at her for a long moment. "I can't," he replied simply.
   "So what are you going to do?" she asked. "Put me in a china cabinet?
Put a bell around my neck?"
   "I'm going to do what partners are supposed to do, Scully. I'm going to
watch your back."
   She sat down, turning tired eyes toward him. "But you can't protect me,
Mulder," she said simply. "Whatever's going to happen is going to happen."
   He ducked his head miserably, and she laid a tentative hand on his arm.
"You tried to protect me up on the mountain, Mulder. You thought I'd be
safe if I didn't come with you to find Trepkos. But it didn't happen that
way." She squeezed his arm reassuringly. "It's never going to be safe,
Mulder. But I'll be okay."
   He sat in silence for a long time, feeling the touch of her hand on his
arm. He wanted to say so many things to her, but none of them would have
come out right. He wanted her to know what their partnership meant to him,
wanted her to know what *she* meant to him... But he'd never find a way to
tell her. And the only way he could *show* her was by trying to protect
her--the very thing she was coming to resent.
   He sighed loudly, venturing a look in her eyes. She was waiting,
patiently, just being there. Like a partner was supposed to be.
   Mulder smiled finally, feeling a tension release in him, a tension he'd
never even realised was there.
   "Well," he began slyly. "I *was* going to suggest that we watch Lethal
Weapon, but if you want to go back to your stuffy old journals..."
   She smiled broadly, a bit of overdone lust in her eyes--all for his
benefit. "Mel Gibson? ...I *guess* the journals could wait for a while..."

*******

THE END

M&S---EP---Smoker for Scully---------------------------Queen of Angst

XAngst Anonymous                   M: You gonna smoke that, or do you
and Myth Patrol                       want to smoke on this?
Construction Site                 CM: Are you giving me a choice?

xangst@frii.com------------Die-Hard Skinner Chick---------Dean Warner

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