Renewal-BureauYears2.html

The Mulder Chronicals-Renewal: The Bureau Years - Part II

By LuvMulder
Luvmulder@aol.com

Date sent: Thu, 5 Jun 1997 20:31:30 -0400 (EDT)

RENEWAL by LuvMulder@aol.com
Disclaimer in CHAPTER 1
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CHAPTER 5

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FBI FIELD OFFICE
2500 East TC Jester
Houston, Texas

Karen Michaud had been more than happy to disturb Jim Gilbert at
home. "I've never seen the ass more rude. He treated your partner
unprofessionally." Dana was surprised by the comments. Perhaps
she'd been too harsh. This gal was sharp. The SAC and ASAC shot
down every argument. "We don't have the manpower." "It's too
soon." "There's no reason to suspect foul play." "Mulder probably
just left to investigate a lead." Her requests to institute a search were
categorically denied.

Interesting what power and title can do.

Scully placed a call to Washington. Kimberly, the A.D.'s secretary,
pulled Skinner out of a departmental review. <Kimber, I think our
boy's in trouble.> Skinner listened attentively as Dana detailed the
events of the last few hours, including her fears regarding Mulder's
health. Yes she was sure the bellhop said he'd been sick. It could be
nothing. It could be everything.

A nudge from the A.D. himself and the Houston field office displayed
a new attitude. For now, the potential medical issue was private,
Skinner's eyes only. He ordered full cooperation with Scully in the
lead, no questions asked. If they were lucky the retrovirus would stay
in Reggie's present and Mulder's past.

The logical place to start was back at the crime scene. That's where
the chain had broken. Mulder's whereabouts had been reconstructed
until approximately 6:10 A.M. when Officer Patterson had left the
area.

*****
*****
CRIME SCENE
William B. Travis State Park
35 Miles West of Houston

"Agent Scully?"

"Yes?"

"We may have found something." Dana cursed silently as she
observed the tech breaking out a familiar kit. "What's Agent Mulder's
blood type?"

"AB negative."

"The victim at this scene was A positive, I did the work myself. Give
me a few."

She turned back to Patterson. Dana had no luck in relieving the man
of a bad case of the guilts. "Has anything changed since you were
here last, Officer Patterson?" Scully inquired.

"Something seems different. I'm trying to put my finger on it." He
walked over to the edge of the yellow tape and turned, studying the
area. A frown on his face.

Fifteen minutes later, the tech approached holding a vial. "We've got a
match, Agent Scully. I can't tell you this is your partner's blood
specifically, not without further testing, but the specimen IS AB
negative. And it shouldn't be here."

"Shit! That's it!" Patterson exclaimed.

"What's it?"

"I know what's different. It's so obvious I almost missed it. Look at
the ground." Patterson squatted down for an up close and personal.
"We must have had 30 people through here the last 3 days, taking
samples, pictures, working the scene. Look, it's smooth. There aren't
enough footprints. Somebody wiped it. I'll bet if we look we can even
find what they used. Probably a branch from one of those oaks."

Scully felt her stomach knot. Trouble followed Mulder like May
followed April. "So he may have met with foul play between the time
you left to go home and the arrival of your replacement"

"Seems logical," Patterson replied. "Who would be out here?"

"Lots of possibilities not the least of which might include the killer
returning to the scene."

Scully pulled out her cellular and punched in a call to the Houston field
office. "Karen, put me through to Gilbert. We've got blood." That
did it. Not need to call Skinner this time.

10-99.

OFFICER NEEDS ASSISTANCE.

The universal rallying cry of the brotherhood in blue, regardless of
affiliation. The cavalry mounted and the hunt began. Designated
officers from every local enforcement agency were either assigned or
appeared to volunteer their expertise. Search and rescue units from as
far away as Utah had been mobilized; an expert tracker and his dogs
were due in from Tennessee within hours. Mulder would be found, it
was just a question of whether it would be soon enough. At least
that's what Dana wanted to believe. The probability that he was
already dead at the hands of some asshole was not something she
would allow herself to consider. And then, of course, there was the
question of the retrovirus. <Mulder, you never do anything half way
do you, pard.>

Scully appreciated the enthusiasm, but everyone knew they were
working blind. People disappeared in this country, their bodies never
recovered. Even in the 1990's. And what if he WAS sick? What if it
WAS that damned virus? How long would he have? This wasn't
Alaska. Cold could inhibit replication but temperatures, although cool
at night, were nowhere near freezing. What if the bug had mutated? Could
they treat him if he was found alive? Would the old method work?
What if...what if...what if...? She would drive herself crazy if she
didn't keep busy.

Manpower was adequate. Gilbert authorized the mobile van which
made coordination a breeze. Scully organized the shifts; now the
waiting would begin. How not to go insane in the meantime was the
trick. Radio traffic from the field was sparse.

Mulder hated waiting as much as she did. Kimber said Mulder died a
little every day after her disappearance. During those stressful weeks,
Skinner mandated personal briefings with Mulder, in addition to
alerting Murphy to monitor the agent's moods. Had Mulder appeared
to be in trouble, unable to cope, they'd have been there for him ASAP.
Fox had managed, but Murph had almost made that call. More than
once. Dana had been glad to hear it; Mulder had more friends at the
Bureau than he realized. Skinner and Murph...friends, with a
relationship close enough for the former to request the latter's
assistance. Would wonders never cease?

Dana's thoughts returned to Reggie's journals. There had been an
entry referring to treatment protocols. She'd spend her time getting up
to speed so she could help Mulder when it counted. The box was in
her hotel room.

Karen Michaud had volunteered to use her lunch hour to retrieve and
transport the journals out to Dana. Scully was liking this girl more and
more.

*******
*******
<Dammit.> Dana knew she was tired, but not THAT tired. It wasn't
here. The journal that explained Reggie's treatment protocols
was not among the rest. Dana checked three times before kicking the
box in frustration. It had been months since Dana had worked with
this virus. She'd been lucky that standard regimens had made a
difference. Reggie knew the bug. She said it learned. <Damn.> From
everything Dana read, it was logical to assume the bug had changed.
Would heparin work again? Would the symptoms be the same?

Would this nightmare be over soon?

At shift change there was still no word. No team had a nibble.
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SOMEWHERE IN THE HARRIS COUNTY BOONIES
NEAR HOUSTON

Returning to consciousness was like pulling out of quicksand. Mulder
was torn. The dark brought comfort, the light pain. Maybe he'd stay
in the dark. Somewhere a voice told him to fight. Exhaustion
permeated every cell. This was a fatigue born not only of recent
challenge, but years of physical and emotional stresses that were taking
their toll at last. Darkness was comfortable; he'd been here before. It
felt safe.

MOVE, SON! MOVE!

<Dad?>

Mulder forced his eyes open before struggling, moments later, to a
sitting position. He tasted blood in his mouth; his left wrist was numb.
< People on TV never get hurt when they pass out. Not fair.>
Movement made him nauseous. God, he was thirsty. It was harder
and harder to breathe.

FIGHT BOY!

<Dad?>

SON, DON'T GIVE UP!

<Dad, is that you?>

Silence.

<You're losing it, Mulder, old boy.>

He was sure he'd seen his father, over there, standing a few feet
to the left of the large willow. Bill Mulder's image, a cruel
trick of the eye, passed. Instead, something
orange now caught his attention, the color easily set apart by the
surrounding browns and greens. Standing didn't seem like a brilliant
idea; instead Mulder maneuvered awkwardly on his knees, guarding
the wrist as he moved. <Well, I'll be.> Orange Gatorade, the quarts
he'd purchased on the way to the crime scene; a welcome sight if ever
he'd seen one. The taste was as nondescript as he remembered, but if
Scully had taught him anything, she had convinced him about the need
to maintain body fluids.

Several hungry swallows later, he actually felt a little better. <Get
moving while the body is willing to cooperate.> No progress had been
made in leaving the area. Staying put was out of the question. His
mind was foggy; logic was not flowing with its accustomed ease. The
road was safest bet, it had to lead somewhere. But, dangerous. It
had lead THEM <who were those assholes?> here and could lead
them back. The woods were his best hope but risky. If the good guys
were looking, he'd be harder to find. If the bad guys returned, the same
held true. The woods it would be. It was doubtful anyone had even
noticed he was missing. He hoped Franklin had ignored his orders to
take the day off.

<Please, someone. Notice...please.>

******
******
SOMETIME LATER

Where the hell was he? He'd lost track of time. Had it been hours or
days? How long was he in the car? Was he still in Texas? The
Gatorade was abandoned. It was too heavy and awkward to carry.
The left hand ached; broken or sprained, he couldn't tell. <Shit>
Mulder felt pain in too many places to count and the discomfort was
becoming increasing hard to ignore.

Mulder had no idea how long he'd walked; progress was slow. The
Seiko, the one Scully had given him for his birthday, a model that
glowed barometric pressure and altitude readings, was dead.

His awareness of the world seemed to fade intermittently. Chills had
returned. <So what, keep moving.> Face it, the body wasn't working
like it normally did and was likely going to get worse before it got
better. He'd give anything to be curled up on the couch in his
apartment, pleasantly warm under the afghan Scully's mother had
given him for Christmas.

Tired...so tired.

A new sound attracted Mulder's attention, shifting perspective from
the misery within. Focus returned outward to the surrounding woods.
Swishing...gurgling. There, off to the right. He could see
something glisten a few feet beyond his present position. Mulder
worked his way over to confirm the sight.

Sure enough. A stream with fast moving water. Someone must be
watching over him after all.

Shit, even if it was full of giardia it couldn't make him sicker than he
already was. If it did, at this point, he didn't much care. Die of
dehydration or a water borne bug. Some choice. Mulder knelt down,
nearly losing his balance, and bent to sip the cool liquid.

The taste was wonderful. He took another drink before pivoting
slightly, easing his body the remaining inches to the ground. Staying
upright was requiring too much effort. Carefully, he leaned over and
lay prone on the cool, inviting earth. <I have to rest.> Not long. Just
for a little while.

FOX! GET UP SON. YOU HAVE TO GET UP!

The agent's position remained static.

<Dad? I'm sorry, Dad. I just can't do it anymore.>

Mulder sank into warm darkness, comfortable at last.

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MOTEL 8, GULF FREEWAY
HOUSTON, TEXAS

Dana managed to grab a few hours of rest; she'd be no good to
Mulder if too sleep deprived to function. SAC Gilbert volunteered to
take over the command post. It had taken all her self control to be
civil to the man; the asshole was trying to save face. Still no word on
Mulder. Search parameters had been redrawn in ever widening circles
using the crime scene as ground zero.

Scully checked with Skinner after her shower to discuss contingencies
should Mulder prove to be ill. <We might have a virulent infection on
our hands. We have to be ready.> How to play it at this point was
critical.

Don't alarm unnecessarily, yet don't be caught with your pants down.
Any intern knew the drill.

Ultimately, they decided it prudent to have the Tooele Army Depot
portable biohazard unit flown to Houston. On loan to the Depot and
refitted in 1991, the U.S. Airforce C-141 Starlifter, contained a
fully equipped containment and treatment facility. The pilot was
granted clearance to land on an retired runway at Hobby Airport
with orders to remain on stand by.

Although lacking verification, it was time to go public. At least with
the rescue teams. There was a responsibility to protect these men
from harm. Each team leader was notified by radio: "If Agent Mulder
is found, universal precautions required, minimal physical contact
except to render emergency first aid. Keep him in the open air. Radio
position and await transport."

Dana had never wanted to be more wrong about anything in her life.
For once she hoped Mulder would walk in with mustard on his tie,
flash her that sly half smile and say he'd been at Mickey Dee's,
shooting hoops, or at a library doing research. Anywhere but in
danger. Anything but sick. She'd forgive him first; then kill him
herself.

The call came at twilight. "Agent Scully, we have a lead."

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COLUMBUS REGIONAL MEDICAL CENTER
COLUMBUS, TEXAS

The officer met her at the Emergency entrance. "This way, Ma'am."
Texas State Highway Patrolman Clive Littlefield was having trouble
keeping up with the petite red head. One stride for her every two, yet
he was close to being out of breath. She followed the hallway signs
like she'd been here before.

"The car was found in a ditch two miles west of mile marker 704. We
had no idea it was Mulder's until we checked the registration and the
rental company identified him as the leasee. The plates had been
switched. Two white males, mid to late twenties. The driver, a Larry
Michaels, was dead and the passenger, Henry Black, is the one here in
ICU. He was raving something about a fed."

They turned the corner, passed the nurse's station, stopping at the first
glassed in bay. The room was dark, a typical ICU. It took Dana's
eyes a moment to adjust. There, bed A, just beyond the glass.
Machines and tubes surrounded the man; Scully's attention was
immediately drawn to the eyes. The skin was swollen and blackened in
a circular pattern around both orbits. She'd seen this before.

Speculation was over.

Dana backed away from the glass, pausing only to pull the bay door
shut. She raced to the nurses' station, "Nurse, NO one goes in or out
of that room. Can you set environmental for negative pressure?"

'Yes, but who are..."

"DO IT, DO IT NOW! Look, I'm sorry. I'm a doctor. Bed A, first
bay, may be have contracted a viral agent of unknown etiology.
Okay? Get the infection control specialist down here, STAT. Get
your hospital administrator on the horn. Any and everyone involved in
treating and transporting this patient, get them here. If they've been
home; around families or friends get them here too. MOVE! Don't
panic anyone...it's a precaution. I...we just can't take a chance."

Sixty of the busiest minutes of her life later, Dana had the situation in
hand and authority passed to the local administrator. They would
handle the remaining notifications. Biohazard protocols were in place
and most who had come in contact with the patient had been
summoned to the hospital and quarantined. Some were upset, most
understood. The bonus of a small town and those involved being
medical types.

Although laboratory results weren't in, she was ready to say it: The
retrovirus was back. Worse, it had spread. Mulder was probably the
index case. So how had the two in the car been infected? One was
dead. The other was close to joining him. Mulder's blood had been
spilled. Direct contact? Had there been a cut on the dead man, an
open portal? Had proximity to Mulder been enough? Was it airborne?
Were others at risk or would universal precautions save the day. This
could prove to be a disaster of unimaginable proportion. Without an
epidemiological study there was no way of knowing. That took time.
Something they didn't have.

Priorities. Life is a matter of priorities. Depending on the
circumstance, situations dictate decisions we might otherwise choose
to avoid. Like having to institute protocols to protect innocent
civilians from harm, FIRST, when the best source for finding your
partner, slipped closer to death with each tick of the clock.
************
************

ICU, BAY 1, BED A
COLUMBUS REGIONAL MEDICAL CENTER

Dana keyed the mike in the biohazard suit.

"My name is Dana Scully. Can you hear me? You were saying
something about a federal agent. Can you hear me?"

The man ID'd as 'Henry' never responded. She tried for another
20 minutes but the window of opportunity had slammed shut.
He was too far gone to be of any help. Dana Katherine Scully:
exhausted, frustrated, and angry beyond belief raged at
the mute figure:

"HOW DARE YOU DIE ON ME YOU ASSHOLE. WHERE IS MY
PARTNER!"

Her options were gone. What now? She was so deep in thought it
took a minute to register the frantic tapping from the other side of the
bay window.

The nurse shoved a hand written message against the
glass: "Agent Scully, an Agent Gilbert left a message for you. He
says to tell you they've got him."

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On Board U.S. AIR FORCE---C141 Starlifter
TOOELE DEPOT PORTABLE BIOHAZARD UNIT
35,000 FEET heading East to Dulles

Clear Lake Search and Rescue had found Mulder, unconscious, his
lower extremities submerged in a stream. He'd been in sector 20, the
one near Friendswood. Gilbert told her Mulder would be there still
had it not been for the super sniffers from Tennessee. It was a
testament to the German Shepherds' training and the fact it hadn't
rained. In the final analysis, although systematic methods were
praised, everyone agreed the biggest factor had been luck. Plain old
luck.

Transport had been professional and efficient. Crews had gone in
properly attired. Mulder had been stabilized to the extent possible and
enclosed within an individual containment unit, the one in which he
still lay. Personnel transferred him directly from the ambulance to
plane without disturbing the protective cocoon. Dana had been
waiting aboard the Starlifter for Mulder's arrival.

Patrick Bateman, MD, infectious disease specialist at the CDC in
Atlanta, was due to meet them at Dulles. Dana objected vehemently.
"He may be one of the men involved in the research. Part of the
reason Reggie was murdered!" But Skinner had overruled saying the
man came highly recommended; and, in his opinion, Mulder was safest
in the middle of the fishbowl. That meant Washington. No one would
dare make a move under their very noses. Being public would protect
him. And there was no guarantee those involved would want Mulder
in the first place. She hoped Skinner was right.

They picked Northeast Georgetown. Familiar territory. A case
management team was assembled and waiting: doctors, nurses,
respiratory therapists; those familiar with Mulder's medical history and,
more importantly, Mulder the man. Dana lacked privileges at the
hospital but she was welcomed as a consultant.

She thought she was prepared. Knowing Mulder was alive should
have made everything easier to handle. She'd been wrong.

She couldn't touch him. Not skin to skin. The plastic bubble boasted
latex arms with rubber gloves affixed to their distal ends. The
design allowed medical personnel access to safely treat
infectious clients without risk of infection themselves. Scully
moved her arms into the sleeves and reached for Mulder's right hand.
It was limp. No squeeze responded to her own.

She took the opportunity to familiarize herself with his condition. The
head wound, all in all, seemed minor. Dermis surrounding each orbit
was blackened. She'd expected that. The cardiac monitor displayed a
steady 140; she reached to verify the count. Habit. Too damn fast but
no surprise. Mulder's heart was having to work overtime pumping the
sludge that filled his veins and arteries. If the virus had not changed,
red blood cells had proliferated. Yet, those same life giving cells
would be malformed, unable to transport adequate oxygen, acting only
to plug his system.

Only so much could be done in the field. She noticed his left wrist was
enclosed in an air splint. <Broken? How?> The pulse oximeter, it's
probe affixed to the tip of his index finger, showed 87%.
Supplemental O2 in place yet Mulder was not oxygenating well.
<Dammit to hell.> IV's were plugged into each carotid, one flowing
wide open. <Too dehydrated for antecubital access?> The cooling
blanket was on its highest setting. Mulder's chart listed the field
assessment at 105.2 degrees. Had he not been in the chilly
water...well, thank God for a minor blessing.

< A few more would be nice.>

Scully studied Mulder's boyish features. Unconscious. Vulnerable.
Into the single digits regarding chance of survival. How many times
had she seen him like this? Once had been 'too many.' It broke her
heart. Definitely the downside of partnership. Of being friends. Of
caring. She would trade places given the chance. The very thought
would have enraged him. Face it, neither could bear to see the other
harmed, sick or in danger. It had been that way from the beginning.

Scully rested her cheek against the plastic cocoon. He might hear her.
She'd certainly heard HIS words those nights in the Georgetown ICU.

"Mulder," she said, scooting a lock of hair back from his forehead,
"I'm here. It's Scully. Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

"You aren't alone. I'll be here. I won't go anywhere. You have my
word." She closed her eyes. Two more hours until touchdown in
Washington. Another chance at sleep might be long in coming, she'd
be smart to rest while she could.
***********
***********
Dana thought she was dreaming. Mulder jerked. Then again. Dana
came fully awake flashing a wide grin. She had not dared hope he
would awaken so soon. "Mulder? Hey you, welcome bac..."

<Wait!> OH SHIT!

Simultaneously, alarms began to sound from a variety of machines on
the nearby shelves. Mulder wasn't waking up.

SHIT! GODDAMN SHIT! NO! NOT AGAIN!

His body jerked, wracked by a final convulsion before becoming
still once more.

An infuriatingly familiar whine filled the pressurized cabin.

Asystole.

No rhythm.

Mulder's heart had stopped.

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Continued in Chapter 6

===========================================================================

RENEWAL by LuvMulder@aol.com
Disclaimer in CHAPTER 1
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CHAPTER 6

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On Board U.S. Air Force--C141 Starlifter
TOOELE DEPOT PORTABLE BIOHAZARD UNIT
35,000 FEET heading East to Dulles

They were on him at once. A tall blond took the lead. Dana noticed
MD on her flight suit but attempts to read the name proved futile.

"Dale...take compressions."

"I'm on it."

"Cindy, bag him."

"Got it."

"Les...You in?"

"Yep, airway's a go."

"Charging!" Scully observed the portable defibrillator unit; compact and
small enough for a child to carry. She watched the charges
climb...100...120...150...200 joules.

"Okay. Clear, people."

Emergency portals were visible at intervals along the length of
Mulder's biounit; each allowing equipment and treatment access by
medical personnel. Dana realized they had to have been there all
along; she simply had not noticed. The code leader touched the
paddles to Mulder's chest, keying the power transfer. His body rose
lazily into the air reclaimed by gravity seconds later.

Dana's eyes were glued to the monitor. <SHIT!> No conversion.

"1 mg epi."

"Got it."

Dale and Cindy resumed their roles administering compressions and
breaths.

All waited, hoping initial efforts kicked in. No response.

"Okay, power up. We go again."

200 joules registered a second time.

"Everybody clear."

Scully cringed as the distinctive sound of cracking bone reached her
ears. The individual working Mulder's chest cursed, grunting with the
effort required for effective compressions. <Damn...placement's off.>
Ribs. More to heal but the alternative was worse. Mulder's face was
ashen.

They zapped his body again. Nothing. The shrill whine of the heart
monitor seemed to mock their efforts.

"Another epi, Les."

"Got it, boss."

"Listen dammit," the doctor demanded, betraying emotion for the first
time, "you're young. FIGHT! You hear me. You FIGHT!"

Dale and Cindy switched; he squeezed the ambu bag while she
performed compressions. Dana could hear them counting softly.
Every occupant of the cabin was focused in single minded purpose. If
will alone could make a difference, Fox Mulder would live to see
another sunrise.

"Again...let's go. ".

"Charging." Dana watched the charge climb to 300 joules.

"Okay...clear."

Mulder's body rose into the air a third time. He remained limp, falling
back like a rag doll. Scully never expected to witness this sight again
in her lifetime. <Oh, God...please, please...>

Abruptly, the whine ceased. In its stead arose a welcome chirp,
confirmed visually by the pattern crossing the monitor screen.

"Sinus rhythm."

No one moved; these next few seconds were critical. Finally the
doctor uttered the words everyone hoped to hear, "Looks like he's
holding, guys." The team broke into cheers, high five's, hugging the
nearest person in reach. Overjoyed to have beaten the enemy.

Dana's emotions were raging. Oddly enough, she had never
consciously registered the presence of professionals manning stations
throughout the fuselage. Later, she'd reflect their response had the
grace of a ballet. Well choreographed movements, each person with a
part to play, each knowing immediately what to do. She had moved
aside and let them work. The decision to step away was easy, the
C-141 was foreign territory. Her lack of familiarity might have cost
precious seconds; in this instance, she was here as Mulder's friend.

Only when he was stable, his skin tones closer to normal, did they
come. Tears flowed with an urgency Dana could not control; tears for
Mulder and tears for herself. The doctor, Nell Adams, according to
the now visible name tag, approached, reaching without hesitation to
embrace the young red head. Comfort Dana welcomed. They stood
in silence; united in mutual compassion.

"He's a fighter...he has a chance. Don't give up."

Dana wanted to believe those words but in this instance, against this
opponent, she was not sure even the world heavy weight title could
make a difference.

******
******

Northeast Georgetown Medical Center
Washington, D.C.
Mulder's Room, Biohazard Unit
Six hours later

Scully was in the bowels of the earth.

At least it felt that way. Corridors and tunnels she never knew existed
passed on either side as the minicart driver negotiated the route to
Mulder's room. The infection control specialist had brought her down
that first time, personally.

"Agent Scully, think about it. This is Washington. Seat of power.
It shouldn't surprise you that area hospitals have the capability
to deal with a level 4 biohazard. Such facilities have been
available since cold war days. Luckily, we have little call to
use them."

As promised, Dr. Patrick Bateman, of the CDC, had met the Starlifter at
Dulles. Thus far he didn't seem like a prick. In fact, Dana was drawn
to his polite Southern manner. The man knew his stuff, but didn't feel
the need to strut. Better yet, he knew how to listen. She was not
surprised to learn Dr. Daily volunteered for the case management
team. He became a friend following her appearance in the NEGT
ICU. Although his relationship with Mulder had begun on rocky
ground, they had parted with mutual respect and trust. And Daily
would take risks. Imagination might prove key in developing a
successful treatment. Should treatment be possible.

A preliminary meeting was underway before nurses had Mulder settled
in his room. Dana briefed those present regarding the retrovirus,
outlining the previous therapy while tempering that success with
snippets of information contained in Reggie's journals. Skinner
arranged to have Mulder's Alaskan medical records faxed. The
information contained therein would prove invaluable in helping
predict his physiological responses during this current flare. Changes
were anticipated, but a baseline provided a place to start.

The decision to go with what they knew...heparin and antiviral
agents...had been unanimous. It was the only logical course of action.
All understood the enemy could change, that it specialized in tricks
they might not anticipate. Bateman appropriated two CDC virologists,
both stellar researchers, who agreed to work around the clock to
culture the organism. Should their efforts prove successful, drug
sensitivity tests would follow. If luck held, an effective regimen
would emerge. Time was the critical factor; the one variable Mulder
may lack.

Dana felt guilty, she had promised not to leave yet he'd been alone for
almost an hour. Could he feel her? Every thought, every breath was
centered on his being. Surely Mulder knew, on the level that mattered,
she was always near.

The driver slowed to a halt outside Mulder's room.

"Thanks for the lift, " Dana said, stepping down from the cart.

"No problem, Agent Scully."

Dana peered through the triple paned glass, surprised to see a figure
sitting at the bedside, a gloved hand wrapped around Mulder's. The
biosuit face shield reflected overhead lighting making it impossible for
her to distinguish the person's features. Dana entered the ante room to
done protective gear, taking care to tape the suit sleeves and ankles
before affixing the oxygen supply. Two hermetically sealed doors,
their electronic eyes tripped as she passed, retracted automatically,
shutting after she proceeded through. The figure turned as Scully
entered the room.

"I should have known it would be you." Dana reached over and gave
her mother's free hand a squeeze. "How did you know?"

"Walter called me when he couldn't locate Mrs. Mulder. Neighbors
say she's visiting her sister in Scotland. The two of them are touring
the Highlands and no one has been able to catch up to get a message
through."

Mrs. Scully observed her daughter methodically check IV rates before
shifting to evaluate the multitude of readings displayed by the bank of
monitors on the wall adjacent to Mulder's bed. Dana reached for the
latest set of lab values, displayed on a clipboard adjacent to the ECG.
What a strong, capable woman Dana Kate had become. So
self-assured and confident. All those late night talks, the soul
searching along with spirited arguments. Signing with the Bureau
*had* been the right thing. Yet, for all she'd experienced, Dana was
still her father's daughter; revealing emotions did not come easily.

"Tell me, how are you baby girl?"

Dana turned, stared into her Mother's eyes, then slowly shook her
head in resignation, "Oh Mom...Mom...I...I..." she grew silent.
Twin tears began a lazy slide down her cheeks. Her body language
spoke volumes for a Scully.

"Oh sweetheart, I know...I know."

Margaret was amazed at how boyish and serene Fox appeared. He
reminded her of Jem in those final scenes of TO KILL A
MOCKINGBIRD; where the boy, wounded but victorious after his
fight for life, slumbered peacefully as Atticus and Scout maintained a
bedside vigil, enveloping him in their love. Certainly the similarity was
a stretch; Mulder's battle was far from being won. But the remainder
of the analogy held.

Dana continued assessing Mulder's condition. Medically speaking
actual progress had been made. The majority of readings were
acceptable although she was less than pleased to see the pulse ox still
registering oxygenation below 91%. His left wrist, a simple fracture of
the abductor digiti minimi, was encased in a sky blue fiber glass cast,
elevated on a pillow. A few inches adjacent to his right temple, a 3 by
4 inch patch had been shaved to allow treatment of the head wound.
She counted 9 stitches...no dressing. The sutures looked good. The
ribs had barely visible hairlines.

Scully leaned into the mattress, reaching to caress Mulder's cheek.
The gesture was pointless clinically. A thermometer (ear model),

yielding readings far more accurate than the receptors in her palm, was
within reach at the bedside yet actual touch was the modality she
preferred. <Hot but not frying.> Fortunately, according to the last
recorded temp, the cooling blanket combined with the fluids, had
done their job by lowering his fever to 102.7. A significant reduction
from the field reading. Additional antipyretics had not been ordered.
Higher than normal body temperatures, at reasonable levels,
might...should...kill the buggers as well as or more efficiently than
any drug. At least that was the theory concerning fever and its
relationship with most infectious agents. Of course, too high and the
host dies as well. There was always a balance to be struck. Dana
completed pulse, respiration, and BP checks...verifying the readings
on the machines. Although technically beyond normal ranges for a
man his age, Mulder was relatively stable. For the moment.

Dana had her Mom assist in repositioning him to the right side. Fox
wasn't moving independently...the man was snowed. Nurses were
turning him every two hours to prevent skin breakdown. The team
wanted Mulder sedated and standing orders were keeping him there,
deliberately eliminating all but the most essential metabolic
expenditures. The ribs, the head wound, the wrist, discomfort brought
on by fever, added to the symptoms described in Reggie's
journals would create a world of hurt. If awake, he'd be suffering.
Pain sapped energy and delayed recovery under the best of circumstances. Bateman, Scully and Daily had united to rally consensus for keeping
Mulder out, thus freeing remaining resources to fight infection.
Although cognizant of issues with immobility, not the least of which
were pressure sores, pneumonia, venous stasis; they had won that
round easily. All finally agreed there were more immediate concerns.

Heparin...1000 units per hour...was dripping into his veins; over
11,000 units total since his retrieval from the Texas countryside.
Would it work again? Would it work soon enough? All they knew so
far was that, for now, his heart and lungs were handling the strain.
Dana tried not to think about the damage being done to his organs; to
the tiny capillaries being poorly perfused by proliferated red cells.
Sludge in the veins would be difficult to move through the system,
Limiting adequate oxygenation.

In the end, the cells and organs die.

In the end, the man dies.

********
********

NORTHEAST GEORGETOWN MEDICAL CENTER
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Staff lounge adjacent to Biohazard Unit
*******
DAY 2
*******
"Well?" Dana asked, impatient for a response. Skinner was in with
Mulder for the next hour but she was anxious to return to her partner's
side.

"I don't have a lot to say, Miss Dana." Dr. Bateman replied, taking a
second bite of sandwich. "You can read the lab values as well as I.
Care to share YOUR interpretation?"

Scully sat with her shoulder's slumped as she sculpted designs with the
remains of what passed for tuna salad. "We're treading water. He's
not worse but he's not making progress either. Heparin isn't going to
work is it." How could this man be so infuriatingly calm!

"That's my take on the situation."

"I've been thinking Patrick, what do you think about interferon instead
of acyclovir or vidarbine."

"Interferon isn't antiviral."

"Maybe not but it DOES stimulate noninfected cells to synthesize
protein with antiviral characteristics. It stimulates macrophage
phagocytosis. Why not mount a slightly different attack?"

"It's shooting in the dark, using him as a guinea pig."

"But the drug might help maintain him until your lab jocks can
give us a miracle. Daily agrees."

"Maybe. Mulder has youth on his side. He was in good health when
this started."

"The latter is debatable. He tends to be underweight. He's been
through more physical trauma in the last three years than most people
see in a lifetime. He pushes himself too hard. He doesn't sleep, his
diet..."

"Keep in mind we already have one miracle...the fact that he's alive
at all. That patient described by your friend was dead this many hours
into the acute phase. We'll need to call a meeting..."

"Several of the team are holding office hours now. Patrick, we're here
and we have the senior lead."

"They'll be irritated."

"We can leave voice mails after I call the pharmacy. Okay?"

"Agreed. Interferon is worth a try."

******
DAY 3
******
Mulder's Room, BioHazard Unit

Dana was indulging in much overdue rest. The nurses had arranged
for a lounger to be placed adjacent to Mulder's bedside within hours of
his admittance. All shifts were accustomed to finding it occupied by
the red head doctor who was either catnapping or scribbling on a legal
pad. Typically, she pushed the lounger so tightly against their patient's
bed that the vinyl would, they surmised, bear permanent indentations.
If the doc was gone, others were in her place. Agent Fox Mulder must
be special to a lot of people. Even with the hassle of biosuits, this man
was never left unattended by friends.

Dana roused to the sound of her name. For the moment she could not
remember where she was. <Damn.> She keep hoping she'd wake up
and find this whole bizarre situation had been nothing but a horrible
dream. But no, this was not home.

"Dana! Dana! Ready for some good news?"

Dana peered ahead groggily, numbly regarding an approaching figure.
Something seemed out of kilter, something wasn't right...<oh
SHIT!> Dr. Patrick Bateman was walking toward her WITHOUT
protective gear!

"God almighty PATRICK...have you lost your mind?" she
shouted, instantly alert.

"No listen...good news for a change. Our bug isn't airborne. At least
not by this stage, it's..."

"Are you crazy! How can you be sure; those assholes that had
Mulder in their car are dead and...Reggie said this thing changes. It
learns. She said..."

"Dana, Dana...slow down and hear me out! Did you read every
entry?"

"No, there wasn't time."

"Well, WE did. Mulder is growing a variation of the organisms
described in Reggie's journals. A cousin. One we think we can
kill. It's a sub population that has assumed dominance."

"This helps us, Patrick?"

"Absolutely. Look--Mama bug was probably adapting too quickly;
killing her host too fast to insure her own survival. Ebola does the
same thing; that's one of the reasons outbreaks are short-lived. Why it
comes and goes in a matter of weeks instead of something like TB
where the bacilli allow the hosts to survive for years affording victims
more opportunities to spread infection. For the critter to live. Make
sense?"

"Yes."

"Okay, from what we're seeing cousin bug decided to stabilize so it
could proliferate more slowly. Bug benefits by ending up with a better
shot at life, it no longer zaps its host in hours because that adaptation
insures its extinction. *That's* what will give us our chance. That
mutation. Replication is taking longer so we have an enemy we'll be
able to label....one who isn't shape shifting every few generations. The
lab boys are starting on sensitivity tests within the hour."

"But it's push to survive is the best rationale I know for retaining
airborne infectivity!"

"Air currents are chancy. Exhaled out-of-doors? The nasties have to
wait and hope for a host. Many won't survive that wait because of
sensitivity to direct sunlight. Or the host might inhale so few
molecules that the bugs can easily be overwhelmed by the immune
response. What is more dependable? Think Dana...this is not the
only bug to come to this conclusion..."

She considered the information Bateman had presented. "Of
Course, like HIV. Blood and body fluids."

"Bingo."

"So, we can get out of the monkey suits as long as everyone is strict
with universal precautions. And...".

"And?" Bateman inquired.

"And Mulder might make it..."

"I'd say he has a glimmer, Miss Dana."

Scully beamed.

Hope at last.

Real hope.

******
DAY 4
******

They'd awakened her just past 1:30A.M. After two relatively quiet
days, Mulder's fever was starting to climb and there was a tell tale
rattle in both lungs. <shit> Interferon didn't seem to be stimulating
his immune system as they'd hoped.

Dana paged Bateman; he was in Mulder's room within minutes.
Scully stood by impatiently as he examined her partner; taking care not
to influence his conclusions. Bateman did a cursory head to toe,
checked the monitors and studied the floor, avoiding Scully's eyes.

"We've run out of time haven't we?" she asked, little above a whisper.

"His output is down; only 15 cc's the last three hours. Temp's up. He's
got bilateral rhonchi. Looks like pneumonia is setting in. Prophalactic
antibiotics, interferon, not to mention all the other crap. Dana, this
shouldn't be happening. You know what it means."

She wanted to shout, fight, strike out at someone. The lab was
close...they said a day or two. Just a little more time!

They'd gambled and lost. Mulder's kidneys were shutting down.
Other organs would follow, falling like dominoes. She and Bateman
had seen the phenomenon before. All the machines and drugs in the
world could not prevent physiological shutdown once it began. Even
in a young patient.

Dialysis was an option...a modification of drug regimens. They'd give
it a shot and attempt to buy some hours. But chances were slim.
Thank God Mulder was oblivious to the desperate efforts to save his
life. Dana had never known anyone who hated hospitals more.
Patrick agreed to call in the orders. As he left to set things in motion,
he paused, reaching over to kiss her gently on the forehead, "You
should get some sleep." Bateman had only known her a short time, but
already he understood how special she was; how lucky Mulder was to
have her in his corner.

Dana watched Patrick leave, relieved that he was willing to handle the
arrangements. She turned back to Mulder, seemingly at peace,
positioned on his right side.

<Fox>

Dana felt changed the moment Bateman exited the room....a new feeling,
a hollow emptiness was rising in her chest. A coldness squeezed
her heart. It took her a moment to label the sensation, but she
realized what it was.

Resignation.

She'd given up.

The cavalry would not save the day. This time she would walk away
from Northeast Georgetown Medical Center alone, her world forever changed.

<Dear, dear friend...so now it ends?>

Dana walked over to Mulder's bedside and sat down, stooping to remove
her shoes and panty hose. The blue blazer was next; she laid it
neatly over the straight backed chair, the one her Mother usually
occupied. Gently she pulled back the linens, cooling blanket and all,
and crawled in behind Mulder, snuggling as close as possible to his back. She positioned herself in such a way that it was possible to envelope
the man's hot body in her arms.

Dana held him close.

And wept.

********************************************************
************************************
SECURED LINE SOMEWHERE IN VIRGINIA

"Well?"

"It's what you'd hoped. They feel it's only a question of time."

"The treatments?"

"What you'd expect; not the ones you're worried about."

"Good. See it stays that way."

He replaced the receiver, leaning back to enjoy the icy bite of the
Carona. A lit cigarette, poised on a nearby ash tray, sent ribbons
of smoke into the surrounding air. Patience. He told them patience
would pay off.

What would life be like with Mulder, the younger, out of the picture?
Manipulation and intrigue aside, his conscience was clear. After all, he
had honored that ridiculous agreement with Bill. Declining to share all
you know isn't the same as pulling the trigger. The record would
show Fox William Mulder died of a viral infection. A reactivation of
previously existing condition; like an apparently tamed cancer rising
again to claim its victim.

Cut down in his prime by an illness. Not a bullet. Not an accident.
Just one of those things. Fate. Nothing to breach the delicate treaty
with Skinner's Navajo code talkers. What deliciously unexpected luck.
Luck? He chuckled. Mulder's death within three weeks of last year's
projection was hardly luck.

The Consortium would never be implicated.

********************************************************
************************************
FBI
WASHINGTON, D.C.
BASEMENT
4:45 A.M.

Murphy was running late. It was almost time to hit the shower and he
was only now entering the West wing bound for Mulder's office.

He keyed the lock and pulled the door open. "What the...?" He
spied a familiar face returning his stare.

"Dana? Dana girl, what are you doing here? I thought you were
conferencing."

"You mean the rumor mill broke down?"

Murphy laughed. "Not likely. I've been out the last few days. Tina
had an emergency appendectomy."

Dana was silent. He noticed her eyes filling with tears.

"Dana? What is it?"

"He's dying, Murph." That 'he' could only mean one person.

"This time our luck has run out. I can't help him. I can't..."

"What are you talking about?"

"Remember when Mulder was so sick? It's back, only worse."

"That Alaska thing? How is that possible?"

Dana shook her head in the affirmative. "I can't explain it entirely.
Apparently that bug is like many viral infections....it reactivated, the
same but different. Treatments that worked before...just aren't.
We're making progress but his body...the strain..."

Dana grew silent, a far away look in her eyes. Murphy didn't have to
break a sweat figuring where her attention had wandered. She exhaled
deeply then refocused on the person before her. "Hey, Murph,
We're not onyour schedule. Slumming?"

"Just returning a piece of mail," he said offhandedly. "What hospital?
I want to see him."

"I doubt he'll know you're there, but I know he'd want you to be.
Northeast Georgetown."

Murphy stepped over to Mulder's desk and deposited the envelope
atop the overflowing IN basket. "I'll leave now and tell
Jeannie. We'll be over as soon as we get the youngest off to school."
He hugged her once before departing for home.

Although it was painful to admit, everyone who cared about Mulder
should take the time to see him. It might be their last opportunity.
Dana had intended to go home, just for an hour. Her Mother was
right, a few minutes away...fresh clothes and a shower...would do
her good. Mulder had stabilized a bit since the early morning scare.
Stopping at the office was foolish, pure reflex. But understandable.
This basement hideaway, with its overstuffed filing cabinets and
eclectic decor, WAS home. The place where act one of LIFE WITH
MULDER was typically staged. Within these walls, she felt safe and
warm. Here she felt his presence, here she could catch his scent in the
air. In her mind's eye, Dana visualized Mulder, gnawing on the ear piece
of his wire rimmed glasses, contemplating reports others would
discard. Digging trenches with that damned backhoe.

Scully grabbed her coat, the shadow of a smile crossing her face,
again, as she recalled Mulder and Murph offering their TOP TEN
CURES for VISUALLY CHALLENGED mail room clerks. "F.
Mulder/F. Murphy ain't so tough..." They had 'rapped' in unison, their
performance becoming progressively lewd with each verse. A bottle
of Chianti later and she had joined in. <I can't imagine you missing
from my life...> Something told her it was imperative to get back to
the hospital.

For a reason she would never recall, Scully paused to glance at the
envelope Murphy had placed on Mulder's desk as she headed for the
door.

"What the hell?" she said aloud, momentarily confused. Dana looked
a second time before snatching it hungrily. The small, precisely
formed script spelling out "Mr. F. Mulder, Federal Bureau of
Investigation, Ninth and Pennsylvania Street, NW, Washington, D.C.,
20535" was well known to her eye.

The envelope, postmarked two days before the conference in Vail, had
been addressed by none other than Rea Jean Forbes, Ph.D.

********************************************************
************************************
Continued in Chapter 7

===========================================================================

RENEWAL by LuvMulder@aol.com
********************************************************
************************************

CHAPTER 7

********************************************************
************************************

FBI
WASHINGTON, D.C.
BASEMENT

<Privacy be damned!> Dana tore away the edge of the envelope and
withdrew an 8 1/2 by 11 typewritten sheet.

"Hey handsome,

Yours truly has done it. Just like you used to tease. Zealots pay the
price and collectors are pounding on my door. I'm in trouble Fox.
No, you can't help. I'm making arrangements as I write this. Time will
tell if I've made the right ones. Trust my reasons for not sending this
directly to Dana. Turns out it's lucky you always turned me down. I
don't think they know about you.

I'm sending this to a friend in Alabama who promises to drop it in the
mail. Are you flattered? I'm almost as paranoid as you. Who knows,
I may be chasing windmills. I want to wake up and this be over.

Tell Dana this goes with something my parents may give her one day.
I'm frightened, Fox, but I think I have things well in hand. I'm not sure
who to trust. Not anymore. You remain on what has become a very
short list.

Tell Dana I'm sorry. What a mess I've made of things. If she gets
back from Vail and we've had a great time...keep this safe until the
time is right. You'll know. If all goes well, I'll reclaim it myself.
Don't worry, you owe me dinner and that's one debt I plan to collect.

Regg"

Dana read the note again. <Reggie, if only you'd gone for the right
help in time.> Still, doing so might not have made any difference.
If there was one thing she had learned in her years with the X Files,
it was those with certain avenues of power and authority were unstoppable. Legal system or no legal system.

Reggie had said she wanted to wake up the this be over? What THIS?
The letter said nothing. There must be something more. Dana picked
up the envelope and tapped it against the desk. She HAD opened it too hurriedly. Out fell a slip of paper with a small key,
'Capital Credit Union, Greenbelt Branch, number 543.'

A safety deposit box.

Time to call in a favor and get back to Mulder. She sped through the
rolodex stopping at a local number. Seconds later it was ringing.

"Frohicke? Yes, it's really me. I need you to meet me at the office
right away. Not funny, you live the closest. I have something I
need you to do."

*****
*****

NORTHEAST GEORGETOWN MEDICAL CENTER
6:47 A.M.
ICU, Telemetry Wing, Room 4

Walking shifted to running by the second corridor; fear of what she
would find mounted with every passing doorway. <Why did I let them
talk me into leaving.> Dana was almost in tears by the time Mulder's
room was in sight.

A tall, balding figure emerged from the entrance to room 4, turning in
response to the click, click of heels landing in rapid succession on the
linoleum flooring.

"Agent Scully?" A.D. Skinner inquired.

"Sir, is he...is he?" She stood before him, breathing hard.

"Agent Scully... Dana...it's okay." The woman before him was
a study in anguish. "Agent Mulder is still with us."

"Oh God" she said, covering her eyes with her left hand, "I was
sure...I just..."

Skinner placed a supportive arm around Dana's shoulder and
accompanied her the remaining steps into Mulder's room.

There, the ECG confirmed the reality. The sound was steady,
comforting. Mulder had been moved out of the dungeon like
biohazard unit, upstairs into the telemetry ICU, near the area where
Dana herself had fought for life not all that long ago. Mulder's
general appearance remained unchanged. The cooling blanket,
tubes, monitors, 1990's medical wizardry were plainly evident. His
nurse reported no significant changes. The temp remained along with
bilateral wheezes and low urine output. Nothing new to make her panic,
but nothing to celebrate either.

Dana walked around the bedside so she could see his face. The
blackened eyes always made her cringe. Taking a seat on the edge of
the bed, she reached for Mulder's right hand, running her fingers gently
through his hair.

"Hey, Partner, I'm here. I just left for a few minutes. Murph and
Jeannie are coming. People are having to stand in line to see you.
Stay with us, Mulder. I'm not interested in having to teach anyone
else how to push my buttons."

In her heart she doubted the words would matter, unless...no, hope
Without substance would only bring more pain.

A short time later, a hefty tap on the ICU glass caught Dana's attention.
Skinner and Dana's presence in Mulder's room maxed the two visitor
limit, hence this newest arrival stood reluctantly beyond the doorway.

"You know, I never really wanted his video collection." Frohicke
commented quietly, wincing as he counted the monitors and tubes
visible through the glass. The situation conjured up memories he
preferred to suppress. "I'm spending too much time in this place," he
added with a visible shudder. "Here, it was the only thing in the safety
deposit box," he said, handing Dana a leather bound book.

Dana hypothesized the contents the moment she saw the cover. She
snatched it, flipping open to the first page and read eagerly; seconds
later she was laughing and crying simultaneously.

"YES! YES!" Dana shouted, grabbing the small man and
enveloping his body in an enthusiastic bear hug. Skinner came into the
hall, eyeing Dana as if she'd lost her mind. "Treatment protocols!
Reggie's treatment protocols! Bateman, Bateman where are you
Patrick!" Scully shouted aloud. She hustled to a phone and
Hurriedly punched in his pager number. For once, he'd answer his
page and hear great news.

A few feet away, at the far end of the nurses' station, an observer
forwarded a message to a secure line in Virginia. The call, returned
moments later, was brief. The man at the other end of the line listened
carefully, insisting at the conclusion, he was most grateful. He assured
the caller an appropriate reward would be forthcoming.

******
******
NORTHEAST GEORGETOWN MEDICAL CENTER
OUTSIDE MULDER'S ROOM, ADJACENT TO THE NURSES'
STATION

"Plasma pharesis and methotrexate? Certainly not what I would have
expected," Patrick said, still wiping sleep from his eyes.

"What about the pharesis filter...sounds like Reggie put together a
custom job..."

"Yes, we'll rig something. I never imagined we were being too
conservative. We should have attacked it like a cancer from the
beginning."

"Don't blame yourself....we've all been in this together, doing the best
we knew how. Listen, I don't recall the mechanism of action for the
methotrexate and I haven't had a chance to look it up."

"It's an S phase specific antimetabolite, effective in inhibiting folic
acid conversion thus arresting DNA, RNA and protein synthesis of the
little bugger. Give it IV ---the stuff will peak in a half hour and over
60% will bind to his plasma proteins. Just where we want it."

"What about side effects? Can he handle this? I *do* remember
methotrexate as having significant drug interactions. Patrick, given the
right set of circumstances the stuff can be fatal. His
kidneys...dammit, he's already compromised."

"Do we have other options? He seemed improved after the last
dialysis treatment. Your friend reported clinically significant
results. The organism died."

"No," she conceded, "I can't see any other option."

"You're worried. You're concerned about this being a sub
population rather than the specific ones in her notes aren't you."
Bateman felt he had come to understand Dana Scully in the brief time
he'd known her. "But that's not all is it? You're terrified to let
yourself hope. Just how does Fox Mulder fit into your life? I see
more than a simple partnership here, Dana."

He could feel her anger erupt, full-blown. He'd crossed a line;
intruding into private areas to which he had no rightful access. Scully
shot him a look as powerful as any physical slap. Patrick knew better
than to ask a second time. "Oops..." he countered, quickly
changing the subject, "I'll have the lab boys..."

"No, give it to him," she replied decisively.

"We can be sure with just a few tests."

"We might lose him while we wait. I have legal authority to make
medical decisions in the absence of family...give it now...before I lose
my nerve. Pharesis after the drug has been in his system 6 hours
ought to be an adequate span. Do you concur?"

"Zap the suckers and wash his blood. Timing sounds right. I'm on it."

*******
*******
ICU 4 hours later
OUTSIDE MULDER'S DOOR

"Well?" Scully demanded, feeling she'd had this conversation before.
Skinner stood nearby, listening attentively.

"It's probably too soon to tell. You know that as well as I do. We'll
try some blood work in an hour, before pharesis."

Dana heaved a long slow sigh. "I'm sorry, Patrick. I'll probably owe
you a few dozen apologies by the time this is all said and done. I'm
not usually so short tempered. I might even have to grant you
permission to use the 'B' word."

Bateman flashed her one of his shy, toothy looks. "I'd settle for a
chance to see you smile on a regular basis." A familiar whir filled the
air. Bateman pulled his pager out of his pocket. "Me again. I'm going
to answer this page and grab a few minutes of rest. I'll order the lab
work before I lay down. Wake me in 45 minutes okay?"

Dana nodded in the affirmative as Bateman departed. "It would be
good to *feel* like smiling again," she voiced aloud to no one in
particular. Jeannie and Murph were in the cafeteria having spent the
previous three hours with Mulder. Dana had sweet talked the nurses
into allowing additional visitors. The lack of effort needed to persuade
his nurse was an ominous sign. It meant staff had labeled their charge
a goner.

The 'hope/no hope' roller coaster was pushing Dana to the edge. She
couldn't be sure how much more she could stand. Still so many
unanswered questions. Why were the treatment protocols sent to
Mulder of all people? She had her theories but it would be nice to sit
Reggie down and have definitive answers rather than mere speculation.

"Hi Mom," Dana said, waving as Margaret drew near.

"Walter."

"Good to see you, Margaret," the AD said, shaking her hand, warmly.

"Mom, we start pharesis within the next couple of hours."

"English sweetheart."

"We've given Mulder a cancer drug that we hope will kill the infective
agent. Then, we've put together a very fine series of filters that we'll
run his blood through. These filters are made with biologic membranous receptors that we HOPE will snag metabolites and harmful protein chains circulating in his system. Kill the bugs and wash away what's left.
That's the theory anyway."

"Sounds reasonable."

"It's starting to look like a convention out here," Murph said, nodding
a greeting to the group, as he and his wife approached.

"Mom, I'd like to introduce you to Jeannie and Murph, two of the
most caring people you could ever hope to meet."

*******
*******
ICU 3 HOURS LATER
MULDER'S ROOM

"Progress everyone," Bateman noted as he entered the room,
excitedly waving a computerized readout in the air. The latest culture
shows significant decreases in bugs per grid. A couple of more go
rounds and we may have done it."

"What about everything else? I mean, the pneumonia..." Jeannie
asked.

"His temp is down...not normal...but down. His lungs and kidneys
are holding their own." Dana replied, a real smile on her face. "So,
Patrick, how about we let him wake up?"

"Let's do it." Bateman replied, reaching for Mulder's chart.

******
******
ICU 2 1/2 HOURS LATER
MULDER'S ROOM

The roar had quieted to a murmur, much to the relief of the nurses on
duty. Jeannie and Murph headed home to be available when the
children got home from school. AD Skinner returned to his office
after eliciting assurances that Dana would phone with any news. Mrs.
Scully insisted on driving to her daughter's apartment to pick up a
fresh set of clothing. "You can shower in the staff lounge." Dana had
started to protest but Margaret bestowed one of those penetrating
Mother looks before quietly adding, "Dana, you NEED a shower.
I'll be back in a while."

Scully sat at Mulder's bedside, his hand in hers. Waiting. <Just you
and me, pard...as usual.> There was no way of knowing when
Mulder would awaken; his body had been through an ordeal that
would make sleep a preferred state. There were more treatments and
weeks of healing ahead. Awakening into a peaceful atmosphere was
important; he'd be confused and disoriented. Was it possible they were
really going to beat this thing?

Dana scooted the lounger closer against the mattress, positioning
herself so she could rest yet comfortably grip Mulder's hand. Suddenly
she realized just how tired she really was; the proverbial let down
after the storm. She'd been running on empty since Reggie's
death. How many days had that been? She couldn't even remember
without looking at a calendar. Dana could feel herself
relaxing, letting go of tension that had threatened permanent
residence. At every level as a familiar heaviness stole over her
body. Sleep, it was finally safe to rest.

Mulder was going to make it.

They had won.

******
******
A SHORT TIME LATER

Dana fought rousing from the warm depths of sleep. Bone numbing
weariness was still very real, but something was wrong. It nagged at
her subconscious until she became aware of her surroundings.
Scully yawned loudly, reaching for Mulder's hand, contact
had been lost as she slept. She glanced to her right and bolted up,
alarmed.

He was gone.

The bed, everything. Dana made a dash for the nurse's station. "Judy,
where's Mulder?"

"Dana, easy girl, it's okay. Dr. Bateman ordered another pharesis
treatment. We tried to tell you, but you were zonked. Janet shook
your shoulder once but you never budged. So we let you sleep.
Bateman said he'd stay with him. Mulder's due back here in another
hour or so."

Adrenaline pumping panic was becoming a way of life. How foolish
she must appear. "Thanks guys. I *am* beat. I think I'll sleep a
month when this is over. When my Mom gets back will you tell her
I'm over at the treatment center with Mulder?"

"Sure."

Scully had already made it to the next hallway when Judy
caught up with her.

"Wait Dana, a call came in for you, line 2. The director of the
CDC in Atlanta."

"Thanks."

Moments later she was back at the ICU, pushing the button for line 2.

"Director Satchen? Agent Scully. I appreciate your
returning my call. I had just wanted to personally thank you for your
generosity in allowing Dr. Bateman and the two researchers to ...
Yes, sir. Dr. Patrick Bateman, the epidemiologist. Why? What
do you mean? Are you sure? Sir, would you be willing to fax a
photograph of Bateman? I'll transfer you someone with that number."
Dana handed the phone back to Judy. "Take care of this please.
Janet, call security. Have them meet me in the pharesis lab. STAT."

Dana broke into a dead run; destined for the plasma pharesis lab two
corridors over. Satchen's comments echoed in her ears..."Agent
Scully, Dr. Patrick Bateman has been on assignment in Cape Town
South Africa for the last three months. We've been hit so hard with
budget cuts, I don't have researchers 'to lend' if God Himself made the
request."

*******
*******
PHARESIS LAB

Dana was the first in, her Sig at ready, safety off. Mulder was in his
bed, eyes shut, his blood flowing through multiple lines of tubing into
the pharesis system. A young male lab tech sat on a backless stool
monitoring the controls. Bateman was hunched over an adjacent desk,
hurriedly putting together what appeared to be a replacement filtration
set.

Dana motioned to the tech, "You! Get out of here. I'm an FBI agent,
security is on the way. Out now!" The young man scrambled out of
the room.

Bateman whirled around in his seat. "Dana, have you lost your mind?
What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Shut the hell up and place your hands on your head. Walk away from
Mulder. If you've hurt him in any way..." Dana leered at the man. "I
just talked to Satchen you son of a bitch! Do you even know who he
is,*Patrick!* He sure knows you. Funny, he says you've been in
South Africa for months. You have some explaining to do, you
asshole."

The blow came from behind. *Patrick* rushed forward determined to
break her fall, easing her gently to the floor. A man stood in the
doorway rubbing his right hand. "Damn you, Mark," he said,
admonishing the man assigned as his number one researcher. Nick,
aka Patrick, caressed Dana's face with his hand. She was already
moving, only minimally dazed. <Good...you're that last person I want
harmed.>

"Finish him off and be done with it, Nick. The plane's waiting."

"Have you got all the samples?"

The man nodded in the affirmative. "The coolers are already loaded in
the van. Jeff said he'd drive." Mark was relieved to crawl back into
the shadows. The charade, played more openly than the norm these
last few days, had given his digestion fits. Black market science paid
well but he sometimes wondered if he'd made a huge mistake. Even if
they did assure him the generous paychecks were signed by someone
at the Pentagon.

Security rushed the door, guns drawn. "We had the report of some
trouble here," the taller of the two men noted.

<Think fast.> "Yes officer," Nick replied in his most helpful tone,
"two men assaulted this woman. I heard her scream and ran over from
my office. I'm a doctor, I'll take care of her. They took off just a few
minutes ago to the right."

"Thanks!" the officers, shouted, heading at top speed in the direction
indicated.

"Did you wipe all the prints in the lab?"

"Yes Nick, I'm not some raw recruit."

"Okay. The filter's rigged. Let's get out of here." He cast one last
look at Dana Scully as he exited the lab and her life. <I wish
circumstances could have been different, doll.>

********
********
MULDER'S ICU ROOM
A SHORT TIME LATER

Dana had a headache the size of Manhattan. Skinner handed her an ice
pack to accompany the three Tylenol Janet had brought in a few
minutes earlier. The bed, its occupant oblivious to the recent
excitement, was situated in the accustomed spot.

"Are you sure you're all right, Agent Scully?"

"Yes, I'm just feeling angry and more than a little gullible."

"I'm the one who made arrangements for Bateman to get involved. I
should have requested visual confirmation. I never expected..."

"How DO you do it, sir?"

"What?"

"The implications of this whole thing. Your office lines must be
tapped. The very idea that arrangements this elaborate could be pulled
off. How do you keep your faith? How do you stay in the fight?"

"Men of honor are truth seekers, Agent Scully. Our armor may get
dented on a regular basis, but we are born to the sword."

"Until he finds the holy grail, Mulder must have a guardian angel."
Dana said, referring to a report on her lap. "That filter would have
finished him. It was laced with paralytic agents. Mulder would have
gone into respiratory arrest and that would have been it. Whoever
'Patrick' really was, he knew his medicine. The worst part is, I liked
him. I liked working with him. He helped save Mulder's life. It
doesn't make any sense, I..."

A low groan halted their conversation mid sentence. A hint of
independent movement followed moments later, she was at his
side immediately.

"Mulder, it's Scully."

He was becoming visibly agitated.

"Easy there, you're in a hospital. You've been ill."

Mulder's lids fluttered. Confused hazel pupils darted frantically,
trying to make sense of his surroundings.

"Shhh, shhh...it's okay. You're not alone. Rest...shhh, rest.
I won't leave you," she soothed, stroking his forehead.
"I'm right here."

The briefest of smiles graced his features. A weak but definite
squeeze answered her own. Fox Mulder was coming home, back to
her at last. Dana tapped the call light. Time for Daily and
the rest of the team to hear the news: Mulder was conscious.

And the unbelievable.

Bateman and his cronies had fooled them all.

*******
*******
ICU 48 HOURS LATER

"Come on Mulder, don't be such a wimp...breathe deeper."

He shot her a disgusted look, wincing as he took another
drag on the incentive spirometer.

"You can't fool me," Scully admonished, "I know you love these gizmos."

"Yeah right, about as much as I love foleys."

"Whine, whine, whine," she teased.

Scully couldn't get over the change in her partner. His temperature was
almost normal, output was markedly improved; the dark, swollen skin
surrounding his eyes, although plainly evident, had begun to fade. All
signs of pneumonia were rapidly receding. Oxygenation was up to
94% on room air. None, absolutely none, of the usual side effects
associated with methotrexate had materialized. No one had been able
to offer a logical explanation. Mulder's system was returning to normal
at a remarkably fast pace. Daily proffered the fatalistic approach to
Scully over coffee, "As in your case, my dear, it simply was not his time."

"Scully?" Mulder inquired, his tone turning serious. "I have a lot of
holes in the last few days, I..."

"I know, we've got quite a few ourselves."

"But first, what about Samuelson? In Texas?"

Dana laughed, shaking her head. "Do you EVER stop working?"

"Nope...well?"

"One of Futrall's boys in the DC lab was able to pull a latent off the
wife's right forearm--what there was of it. It matched the driver found
dead in your rental car. I checked with Gilbert last night," she
responded with a grin, "I knew you'd be asking."

Mulder shifted lower into the bed, unsuccessfully attempting to stifle a
yawn. He'd been awake forty five minutes, the longest stretch yet.

"No more questions!" Scully declared. "I'll be damned if I you are going
to relapse after all I've been through."

"Scully, come on, I..." His eyes were starting to flutter in spite of
himself; breathing was slowing, becoming deep and steady. Fox
Mulder was asleep before he could wage a credible argument.

"You weren't any easier to keep down, Dr. Scully." Dr. James Daily
noted, clearly amused, as he entered the room.

"Hi Jim." Mulder's chart was visible in his hands. "So, what do you
think?"

"He's looking good. It's hard to believe he was gravely ill such a short
time ago."

"That's not what I meant." Daily waited, puzzled. "Did we get it all.
Is he clear? Safe? Will this bug show up again someday," Dana
asked, admittedly afraid to hear the answer. "He'll want to know. It's
the question I'm dreading because I don't know what to say."

"Dana, none of us know the answer. The culture grids are
clear. Nothing is growing."

"I can hear the 'but' in your voice."

"Practicing clinician or not, you *are* a medical doctor. What we do
is not an exact science. We have his baselines. Unfortunately the
infective agent is less than predictable."

"And all the acute samples are gone."

"You and I know what we are looking for, we have the printouts that
were in his chart and we have Reggie's journals. I'd say he should
come in for blood work on a regular basis."

"He'll hate that."

"It's the best we can offer until such time as we are able to learn more.
In the meantime, he should live his life."

Dana returned to the lounger after Daily departed, resuming her
position at Mulder's side. She watched him sleep...thin and pale but
alive with a new lease on life. Not that long ago Mulder shared a
belief Skinner had divulged after her disappearance; Mulder indicated
it had given him courage to press on. Skinner had said that every life,
every day was in danger, that's life. Mulder would be able to
handle the uncertainties; the virus would no doubt be considered
another nuance to add to the pile. If anything, he would likely become
that much more determined in his quest.

<Just what I need.>
********
********

ICU
36 HOURS LATER

She heard them before she saw them. Murph and Jeannie were
heading into the unit with all four Murphettes in tow. The older
children were each balancing what appeared to be platters of food in
their hands. The younger two held large bouquets of helium balloons.

"What are you up to!" Dana inquired, wondering why the nurses'
weren't rushing in reminding people this was an intensive care unit.

"Are we the first?"

"Where is he?" Murph inquired.

"Big day, a real shower before they bump him over to a regular floor.
He'll be back in a few."

Before she could form another question, Walter Skinner and her
Mother appeared, each bearing more food. Daily and the case
management team showed up a few minutes later, pushing two
cafeteria carts laden with drinks, paper goods and assorted desserts.
Langly, Byers, and Frohicke were the last to arrive bearing huge sacks
with the Taco Bell logo.

"A party? Here?"

"You got it, love. It was the nursing staff's idea of a proper send off.
Where's the guest of honor?" her mother inquired.

"Shower. I'd better make sure he has a robe," she added with a
twinkle in her eye.
******
******
ONE HOUR LATER

Mulder's room looked anything but ICUish. Helium balloons affixed
with streamers decorated all corners.

"My idea." Matthew Murphy exclaimed proudly.

Paper plates, food, and a buzz of conversation filled the IUC.
Frohicke was entertaining the children with magic tricks.

"Don't let him touch your paper money, guys!" Dana cautioned.
"We pooping you out, Mulder?"

He smiled up at his partner, droopy eyed but more satisfied than she
could remember seeing him in a long time.

"So, have you given any more thought to my offer, Fox?" Margaret
Scully inquired.

"Mrs. Scully, I appreciate it but I really don't want to put you out."

"We offered too Margaret. I think he's terrified of being around the
kids for longer than it takes to eat dinner," Jeannie teased.

"Please Uncle Fox, you can have my room."

"Thanks, Matt. Buzz Lightyear and I get to share the trundle bed?"
Mulder spied Murphy laughing heartily a few feet away. "Watch it
Murph, you'll bust something."

No one had noticed the regal, white headed woman enter the room.

"Thanks everyone, but he's coming home with me."

"Mom!"

"I came as soon as I knew you were ill. How are you, son?" Mrs.
Mulder said, reaching to embrace her boy, her eyes already moist with
tears.

Mulder made a visual sweep of the room, pausing momentarily to
appreciate the smiles and warmth emanating from each person present.

"Fantastic, Mom. I've never been more glad to be alive."
********************************************************
************************************
EPILOGUE

One week later, Fox William Mulder was discharged from Northeast
Georgetown Medical Center. Nurses from each unit where he had
been a patient, even those not on duty, came in a group to wish him
well. A modest stack of prescription medications, discharge teaching
slips and follow up appointments were stuffed in the side pockets of
his jeans.

"I'll see you in a couple of weeks, Scully." he said, after placing his
suitcase in the trunk of his mother's Mercedes. "I...I don't know how
to thank you for everything."

"There were a lot of us that helped you get through this, not only
me."

"But I knew you were there. Just knowing that...you kept me
fighting when I wasn't sure I cared anymore."

Dana reached up and touched his check. "You'll let me know how
things are going?"

Mulder took her hand and drew her close, enveloping Scully in a warm,
if brief, embrace. "Promise, doc. Don't give me that worried look.
I'll be with my mom."

"Maybe so, but you have a talent, Agent Mulder."

"Every other day, right?" he verifed as he situated himself in the car.

"One day late and I'll be after you."

"Me? Late? Nah..." he grinned, slamming the passenger door.
With a wave, they were off.

Dana stood watching until the car was out of view. Mulder and Mrs.
Mulder together for an extended period, the first in years.
Hmmmm. Knowing her partner, orders or no orders to assume a
convalescent role, this should prove an interesting two weeks for
mother and son.
******
******
INSIDE A SEDAN A HUNDRED YARDS DOWN THE ROAD

"They're heading East," the man responded into the cell phone
mouthpiece, "Yes, the lady had white hair, not the red head you'd
mentioned. She was there but he left with an old woman...Yes, I'm
sure...Sir, I know my orders...Understood... You'll
be the first to know."

He clicked the "end" button and tossed the phone onto the passenger
seat. The dashboard mounted tracker beeped twice. He smiled,
pleased to know the new equipment was functioning properly. The
man made sure the street was clear before pulling away from the
curb, heading East.

********************************************************
************************************

THE END!

MULDER CHRONICLES:

THE BUREAU YEARS:

PART 4: RENEWAL

THE BUREAU YEARS:

PART 5: FORTUNE'S LEGACY