Rattled

By Athene
athene1121@hotmail.com 
 
15 January 2000
Blessing, Tennessee
3:45 PM
 
A breeze blew through the parking lot behind Blessing
Community Church, troubling an unseen wind chime and
producing a delicate peal. The whitewashed panel siding of
the church, the little black bell in a tall, thin belfry,
the rickety stairs leading to double front doors all lent
themselves to a picturesque harmony.
 
Americana at its most cliché.
 
Inside the little church, Reverend Mackey made his way
around a circle of folding chairs, placing bulletins on the
seats. Mackey was a neatly-dressed middle aged man with a
decidedly receding hairline.  He took the time to make
the papers neat, adding a copy of the New Testament and a
hymnal to each chair. The atmosphere inside was cool and
peaceful; the room was so quiet that, if one strained, he
might hear the ticking of the mantel clock in the pastor's
study.
 
The peace was shattered by a scuffle at the front door of
the sanctuary. Enoch O'Connor burst into the room, shirt
sleeves rolled up at the elbows, collar unbuttoned, glasses
askew. He was panting from his exertion, and sweat poured
down his swollen, scabbed-over face. Heaving breaths added
to his generally unkempt appearance.
 
"You stole what was most precious to me," he accused the
older man, his face racked with pain, his voice hoarse,
almost in tears. O'Connor seized Mackey in a surprisingly
strong choke hold, and pressed him down across a table top,
knife poised at his neck.
 
Mulder burst into the little church almost immediately
after O'Connor entered, rapidly sized up the situation, and
leveled his weapon at the wiry little man.
 
"Drop the knife!"
 
O'Connor made a menacing move with the hand holding the
knife, and Mulder fired, grazing him on the top of his
right shoulder. Mackey stumbled away from O'Connor, shaken
and pale.
 
Mulder called over to Mackey as he hurried over to
O'Connor's side, "You all right?"
 
Mackey nodded, still frightened, and disappeared through a
door into the kitchen.
 
O'Connor had fallen hard onto the wooden floor of the
church. When Mackey re-emerged from the kitchen, his arms
were filled with folded white dishtowels. Mulder grabbed
one of the towels and pressed it firmly against the wound
in O'Connor's shoulder.
 
Mackey backed towards his office, saying, "I'll call for an
ambulance." He disappeared once again, and the room
regained its utter stillness.
 
Mulder returned his attention to the man at his feet,
awkwardly attempting to reassure him, although O'Connor lay
strangely calm. "Relax. Help's on the way."
 
"No, it's not." The man's voice was filled with
exasperation. "I told you, boy. You still don't know which
side you're on. Be smart down here." Mulder stared down at
O'Connor in confusion as the man tapped him on the chest.
 
Gracie in tears, adamant that her father was not capable of
murder. Jared Chirp, devoted to Gracie, but fleeing town in
a panic. Iris Finster, dead after confessing to a late
night phone conversation with Chirp. O'Connor, attacked in
the middle of the night, alone in his cell, lying
unresponsive in the local ICU. Evil supposedly cast out in
a run-down rural church. Undulating bloody tracks. A
congregation unwilling to accuse their minister.
 
Mulder put the bits and pieces of the last day's events
together, his profiler mind sorting and categorizing.
Realization burst over him in a flash, and he met
O'Connor's eyes in shock.
 
"Shit! God damnit! It's been Mackey all this time!"
 
O'Connor somehow managed a comical wince in spite of his
distress. Mulder shook his head apologetically and said,
"It was Mackey all along? Gracie's pregnancy?" At
O'Connor's nod, Mulder glanced quickly around, and headed
for the church office.
 
He found the reverend in his office, phone held to his ear,
speaking in a low tone. Mulder peered at the man with newly
piqued distrust, and noted that Mackey's thumb was on the
disconnect button. The minister's bland expression never
wavered.
 
"Yes, please hurry." Mackey replaced the handset on the
telephone, turned to Mulder, and spoke reassuringly,
"They're on their way."  Mulder brought his right arm into
view, gun in hand, and levelled it at Reverend Mackey. The
older man was visibly confused. "Agent?"
 
"It wasn't O'Connor. It was you. You killed Jared Chirp."
 
"You're joking!"
 
"No, I'm just beginning to see it now. Jared must have come
to understand that he wasn't the father of Gracie's baby...
that you were. Did he confront you earlier that night only
to see you for who you really are?"
 
The air thickened a little in the small office space. "Just
who is it you think I am?"
 
"Is that what happened with Iris Finster? Was she beginning
to catch on? Is that why you killed her? Or was it just to
further frame Enoch O'Connor? Is that what this is really
about? Ruining O'Connor? Seducing his daughter? Destroying
him by any conceivable means?"
 
With every question, Mulder became angrier. Whether it was
anger at the reverend, or anger that he had been
temporarily duped was unclear.
 
Mackey's unusual black eyes narrowed, but his face remained
impassive. He drew himself up with a little smirk and
looked searchingly at Mulder. His voice gained a sibilance
it had lacked before "Are you a righteous man, Agent
Mulder?" he asked mockingly, and took a step forward.
 
 
Mulder widened his stance and cocked his pistol. "Stay
where you are!"
 
"It's just a simple question. Most people believe they're
on the side of angels." He took another small step towards
the agent, and his voice became taunting. "But are they?"
 
The doors to the parking lot, the sanctuary and the kitchen
slammed shut all at once, and Mulder flinched. He heard
rattling from a short distance away, but he kept his
attention on his captive.
 
The taunting voice continued. "If you were put to the
test...how would you do?"
 
Mulder gasped in horror and dropped his weapon as if it
were on fire. Aghast, he watched as a snake wrapped itself
around his hand. His skin crawled and he began to tear at
his jacket. More snakes slithered down out of his pants
legs and wrapped themselves around his ankles. Snakes were
coiling around his chest and neck, and his hands were full
of the slippery, scaly creatures.
 
With his composure was gone, all thoughts of Mackey fled.
He was oblivious to everything but the reptiles now
surrounding him, striking him in his arms, his legs, his
chest. His face. He was unaware of her presence when
Scully charged into the church.
 
When she shouted his name, she heard his scream. The weak
sound came from the other room, and she began kicking at
the locked door.
 
Mulder was down on the floor now, oozing blood from dozens
of bite wounds. He was surrounded by angry reptiles and too
stunned to move. He stared dully at a large rattlesnake
inches from his face. The snake struck his cheek in a
lightning move, and he moaned in pain.
 
At last the door gave way under Scully's kicks. Her partner
lay on his side on the floor of the kitchen; she was the
only other person in the room. Out of the corner of her eye
as she rushed toward Mulder, she saw a rattling tail slide
out into the parking lot. O'Connor staggered in behind her,
the kitchen towel pressed firmly to his shoulder.
 
Frantically, Scully tore Mulder's shirt apart, allowing
buttons to scatter like grains of rice in all directions.
She tried and failed to make eye contact; Mulder was very
nearly unconscious. Scully kept a wary watch on his
breathing pattern.
 
With the help of the knife O'Connor offered, she slit the
sleeves of his once-pristine white dress shirt and exposed
his arms up to the shoulder, then ruthlessly slit his
trousers up to the groin. There were swollen red wheals all
over his legs, smeared with blood.
 
Faint wheezing sounds were coming from Mulder's chest with
each breath, and Scully felt icy panic settle in her
stomach. There were wheals sprouting up on his chest, neck,
and arms, forming even as she watched.  She cradled his
neck and stared into his beautiful leaf-green eyes. His
pulse was racing under her fingertips.
 
His neck veins were already bulging from the effort he was
making just to breathe. He looked for all the world like a
man in the throes of ecstasy, were it not for the grimace
and the bloody marks on his cheek and chin.
 
"Mulder?  Mulder, have you been envenomated before?"
 
His stare was uncomprehending, and she felt her panic go up
a notch. She gave his broad shoulders a little shake.
 
"Mulder, were you treated for snake bite before today?"
 
At his weary nod, she took a deep breath, and looked around
her.  Reverend O'Connor was speaking into the wall phone by
the back door, and he gestured to her reassuringly.  Help
was on the way.
 
"Tell them he's going into anaphylactic shock, and that he
needs an ACLS ambulance.  I think he's going to need an
airway." She turned back to Mulder, and heard O'Connor pass
the pertinent information along. When he hung up, he came
to kneel next to her.
 
Mulder's gaze never left hers, his pale, almost blue lips
moving, but soundless.  His pupils were pinpoint, his eyes
wide, but he kept them fixed on her.  Scully saw with
dismay that his arms and legs were starting to swell.  She
fumbled for a few moments, then successfully unfastened his
watch, and pulled the shoes gently off his feet.  She
rubbed the indentation on his wrist with her fingers, and
her vision blurred with unshed tears.
 
"Your man's in a fix, Miss Scully, but he's young and
strong. Ambulance is on the way; in these parts, even the
EMTs keep antivenin on the rigs." He looked up at her, his
gaze steady and his voice low and calm. He put one hand on
Scully's arm, and touched Mulder's chest with the other.
 
Scully felt his grip tighten. Closing his eyes, he began to
pray, his whispered words indistinct, but his focus and his
intent clear. As he did so, she felt her panic recede
slightly, soothed like a small child at the act of laying
hands on another in supplication to God.
 
Scully blinked hard. She silently willed Mulder to keep
fighting. Her training allowed her to weigh the ominous
signs of his struggle to breathe: shoulders hunched,
nostrils flaring, sternum retracting.
 
His wheezes were quieter, but they were higher pitched. His
face had lost what color had remained. She sagged in relief
when she heard sirens in the distance. His eyes were still
locked on her face, and she spoke again, praying he wasn't
too far gone to comprehend.
 
"The ambulance is here, Mulder.  We're going to get you
stabilized and get you to an emergency room right away."
Even as she spoke, his eyes rolled back. With a moan of
despair, she elbowed O'Connor out of the way, and bent over
to start mouth-to-mouth respirations.
 
Damn you, Mulder, fight this! Oh, God, please don't let him
die.
 
It was becoming almost impossible to give a good breath.
She repositioned his head, and tried again. Oh, God, please
help me. She fought against tears as the crew burst in the
kitchen of the church. Her prayers continued in anguished
silence.
 
O'Connor gently pulled her aside, one paramedic took over
the mouth-to-mouth, and the other started to set up
equipment. The driver came up to Scully and began to
question her about what had happened. She explained as
calmly as she could, her attention on the huddle of bodies
at her feet. When she described the large snake, the woman
nodded knowingly.
 
"Crotalus. Rattlesnake." She sized up the fallen agent with
a practiced eye, and moved to help ready the equipment the
paramedics had unloaded.
 
The paramedic at Mulder's head called to her partner, "I'll
tube him, you put in a line, we'll scoop and run. Call for
an order to start CroFab en route. His airway's already
compromised and I don't wanna trach him." She paused, her
attention fixed abruptly on his neck. "I need a seven-five
tube and a Miller blade."
 
Scully watched from the sidelines, stunned. Snake bites
were so far from her purview that she felt completely
useless. The first paramedic inserted the breathing tube,
her motions practiced, although it was clear there was
trouble passing the tube. She watched Mulder's color
improve slightly with the resulting flow of oxygen. He
didn't pink up, exactly, but the dusky blue color of his
nail beds and lips disappeared. Within seconds, the
paramedics had an IV in the hollow of each elbow, with
fluids running. Mulder's body lay in a state of utter
repose, almost eerie when one considered the frenzy of
noise and movement surrounding him. The horrible
wheezing had stopped. The paramedic at Mulder's head was
delivering breaths by way of a large ambu bag connected to
a portable oxygen tank.
 
"Ma'am, you're the next-of-kin?"
 
"Yes. Dr. Scully.  Where are you taking him?"
 
"If you're a doctor, you know the drill? Obviously, he
needs a major medical center, but we're required to take
him to the closest ER. Clarksville Memorial. The docs there
will arrange for transport to Vanderbilt. In Nashville.
Clarksville ER has some experience with snake bites - give
him that epi pen, Lori - although perhaps not many this
extensive. Can someone drive you?"
 
Scully glanced doubtfully at O'Connor. His right shoulder
continued to bleed from the bullet wound, although he was
holding pressure.  His face remained discolored and swollen
from the remnants of the snake attack he had suffered.
His clothing was dishevelled, and he swayed as he stood by
the wall. His eyes met hers, and she could feel him willing
her support and strength.  Unspeakably grateful, she looked
away before any tears could fall.
 
"I'll get directions."
 
 
 
January 15, 2000
Clarksville Memorial ER
Clarksville, TN
5:05 PM
 
The ER doctor strode briskly out of the trauma bay and
found Scully sitting on the edge of a hard plastic chair in
the ER waiting room. He was a slender-built man in his
middle years, shoulders set at attention, brown eyes alert
in a face that was a little too chiseled to be handsome.
His dark hair was cut in military fashion, short on the
sides and back, nothing on the ears. He regarded her with
curiosity.
 
"The EMTs said you're a physician?" Seeing her nod, he
continued, voice businesslike. "Chris Lewis, ER attending.
You told them he'd been bitten before?"
 
His New England vowels were in sharp contrast to the lazy
slurring of the Tennessee accent she'd become accustomed to
over the last few days. Scully nodded her head again, and
he continued.
 
"Your partner's had at least 40 detectable bites; even if
we assume 10-15 are dry bites, we still have a crisis on
our hands; the sheer number makes his case touch-and-go.
That bite in his past medical history probably represented
a low-level envenomation, and that's why his reaction this
time was so marked."
 
Scully winced as she listened to the doctor describe
Mulder's condition. She made an effort to remain calm,
knowing that the delivery of additional information
depended on her reaction to this initial discussion.
 
Dr. Lewis continued, "His prior exposure to horse serum
makes him more at risk for adverse reactions to the
antivenin, so we wanted to premedicate him for the CroFab.
He had epi on site, Benadryl en route, and we gave him
steroids when he arrived."
 
"I don't have his immunization records with me - " she
began.
 
He interrupted her, holding up his hand apologetically. "We
also gave him a tetanus booster. That's standard in
snakebite cases." He waited to see if she had additional
questions, then continued.
 
"He was intubated at the scene, and that probably saved his
life. I put in a central line. He's shocky, but anaphylaxis
isn't the primary issue right now. Crotalid toxins can have
life-threatening effects on muscle tissue, kidney function,
cardiac rhythm, systemic perfusion, and coagulation, and
he's very likely to have several of these issues dog him
for days until he can be stabilized.
 
"We have definite envenomation on a large scale; there are
signs of systemic toxicity already. In spite of three fluid
boluses, his urine output is nil, and we're starting to see
hemorrhagic blebs on his arms and legs. His coags have gone
to hell, so we're a little concerned about uncontrolled
bleeding. You also told the EMTs he'd had brain surgery a
few months back?"
 
Scully hesitated, trying to decide how best to phrase her
answer. "Mulder was hospitalized and sedated for neurologic
testing; while he was unconscious, he was abducted."
 
Dr. Lewis narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"
 
Scully forged on, ignoring his skeptical reaction.
"Unauthorized testing was performed by his kidnappers,
apparently including dissection of the skull down
to the arachnoid mater. When he was finally rescued, we
discovered he'd suffered a mild subdural hematoma."
 
Dr. Lewis stared at her, and she thought she saw pity in
his gaze. She squared her shoulders, and gave him her best
steely-eyed expression. "When we recovered him, we took him
to Georgetown; the surgeons there evacuated the hematoma
and stabilized him. He needed some postop antibiotics, but
he's been symptom-free since he was discharged. That was in
September of last year. His record is being hand-carried
here by my supervisor."
 
The ER doctor shook his head, amazed. "The concern is that,
with his platelets so low and his clotting factors
impaired, even old wounds can ooze or begin to bleed again.
If he's had vascular trauma to the subdural area, we have
to watch him very closely for signs of a rebleed. Which
brings up another issue.
 
"We've given him a lot of fluid, Dr. Scully, but we're
barely keeping his mean pressure above 60. I think we're
going to need to start pressors."
 
"The last thing he needs right now is vasoconstriction in
his extremities," she protested.
 
He kept speaking, ignoring her. "We've started the CroFab.
He really needs to get to Nashville. I've already contacted
Vanderbilt University Medical Center; their LifeFlight unit
is in the air as we speak."
 
Scully's face flushed at his dismissal. Her eyes narrowed,
and her stance became, if possible, more rigid. Lewis
paused briefly, noting the flash in her eyes. He folded his
arms across his chest, and took a deep breath. "I can
dialyze him if his kidneys take a hit, and I can diurese
him if he's fluid-overloaded, but I can't revive a man
without a blood pressure. You know that, Doctor Scully."
 
The matter-of-fact statement got her attention, and Scully
nodded her head in reluctant agreement. She knew that,
would have considered it had she not been so distraught.
 
"Pressors aren't an option anymore, Doctor. They're
necessary." He gentled his voice, a little compassion
coming through the brusque exterior. "It's gonna take a
good hour or so by car, so I thought you might want to get
started. Unless you have other questions for me?"
 
Scully listened, her face impassive, although her mind
struggled to comprehend the barrage of information in the
face of her concern for Mulder. "You've done marvellous
work getting him stabilized this far, Dr. Lewis." Scully
cut her eyes to his briefly, and then looked back down at
her feet, suddenly awkward. "I need to see him before I
go."
 
"Doctor-" The man stopped, and reconsidered what he planned
to say. He noted her glazed eyes and her trembling hands.
Time to stop the collegial discourse and start handling her
like a frantic spouse. He forced his impatience away, and
regarded her with sympathy. "Of course, Agent Scully." His
voice had become almost soothing. He gestured her to go
ahead, and walked alongside her into the patient's room.
 
Entering the trauma bay, Scully stopped short when she saw
her partner.  This patient bore no resemblance to the
vigorously healthy man that she had known and worked
alongside for over 7 years. He was naked from the waist up;
a limp green sheet carelessly thrown across his belly to
cover his pelvis and thighs. His skin was mottled and pale,
and she could see his muscles rippling with the
characteristic fasciculation. His face, his arms, and his
legs were swollen; no one seeing him now would recognize
him as Fox Mulder. A clear tube emerged from under the
green sheet and emptied into a bag on the side of the
gurney.  The scant amount of fluid in the bag looked more
like iced tea than urine.
 
"As I said, we're watching him closely for tubular
compromise due to shock, venom, or rhabdomyolysis," the
doctor continued, eyeing her with concern.
 
 Scully stared down at her partner, and cradled his swollen
cheek in the palm of her hand. She leaned close to his ear.
"Mulder, we're gonna take care of this just like we always
do. You're headed by helicopter to Nashville, and I'm
following in a car. The SAC out of Knoxville, Paul Royal,
already notified Skinner, and he's on his way."
 
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the sagging, drab form
of Reverend O'Connor leaning against the frame of the
trauma bay. She stayed where she was for a few more
seconds, gently kissed his tousled brown hair, and left
the room quietly.  O'Connor stood in front of her,
tattered, bruised, and bloody.  She gestured toward a
chair as she saw him sway.
 
"You should be in a bed right now, Reverend.  You've lost a
lot of blood."
 
He ignored her words as he spoke. "Agent Scully, I need to
see Mr. Mulder. I have something I need to say to him. I
need to pray for him before he leaves for the big
hospital."
 
"Mulder doesn't believe in God, Reverend; as much as I
might appreciate them, I'm afraid he wouldn't find your
prayers terribly meaningful."
 
"Oh, but they are, Miss Scully." He eyed her golden
necklace, and then raised compassionate eyes to hers.
"Regardless of what he believes, God exists. As does
Evil. Your man's had a brush with Evil, and this is not the
first time." His eyes grew vacant. "It knows him."
 
Abruptly he stood and marched into the trauma room, heading
straight for Mulder's side. Scully hurried in behind him,
keeping a close eye on the reverend, and moving within
hearing range. O'Connor bent down next to Mulder's
head and muttered into his ear.
 
"In the name of our Holy and most fearsome God..." His
voice remained low, but it quavered and shook with fervor.
"Resist the devil and he will flee. Resist him! Jesus, put
your hands on this one. You can heal him. Oh, yes, God
is... Yes. Jesus, deliver this man. Jesus..." There was a
long silence before his shoulders relaxed, and his eyes
slowly reopened. He gazed almost fondly down at the agent.
 
"You faced off against Evil again, boy. You take a lot of
convincing. But God is more stubborn than you. Ain't any
plainer that the Hand of God is on you. Your body now is a
battlefield in a fight between Satan and God. You'd best
learn who's responsible for your care. And I'll keep
praying that you recognize the truth, that you make the
right choices, and that you and this woman continue to
fight against Evil.  If God has mercy on you, through your
victory you'll both get that wisdom I told you about,
wisdom down here," and he poked at Mulder's chest.
 
"Revenge is for the Lord, and I am for the Lord. I will
bring an end to this.  I'm better learned for this fight
than either of you. Your fight is inside, mine is with that
evil imposter."
 
Mulder shifted restlessly on the gurney. One of the
hovering nurses steadily injected the contents of a syringe
in her hand, and he soon calmed. The trauma room was silent
but for the hiss of the ventilator, and the rapid beep of
the cardiac monitor.
 
Scully felt the calm, felt her control reassert itself. She
took a deep breath, and cast a newly-perceptive eye over
the room and its inhabitant.  Eighty over sixty. He's
holding his pressure so far, Scully mused, and leaned over
to check the catheter bag. Only a scant amount of urine.
 
"We called ahead to make sure VUMC has enough CroFab to
treat him," Dr. Lewis said from behind Scully and O'Connor.
"Severe cases like this can require more than 30 vials.
They've sent couriers to Knoxville and Bowling Green for
additional vials.
 
"Dr. Timmer is the ER director at VUMC, and she's been in
phone contact with Dr. Sean Bush, the snakebite expert at
Loma Linda. We're getting all the pieces in place so we
don't waste any time. Your partner is a strong young man.
We have every reason to be optimistic." The doctor took a
quick glance at the agent lying helplessly on the gurney,
and walked over to touch base with the tech managing
the ventilator.
 
 
January 15, 2000
Clarksville Memorial ER
6:15 PM
 
There was a commotion in the ambulance bay, and Scully saw
three individuals in blue jumpsuits hurry down the hallway
with a lightweight gurney in tow.
 
"LifeFlight has arrived," pronounced the doctor, and turned
to grab the chart.
 
He's so pale, Scully thought as she moved back to Mulder,
putting a hand on his silky brown hair and ruffling it
absently. Her thoughts turned to O'Connor, who again stood
propped against a wall, gaunt-faced in the murky shadows,
expressionless. She caught his eye, and raised her eyebrow
in silent query.
 
"Take the truck," he said quietly. "I'll follow you."
 
She dismissed his offer without a second thought. "My
supervisor is meeting me there, Reverend, so there's no
need for you to follow me. Besides," she gestured to his
shoulder, "you can't go anywhere with a bullet graze in
your arm. It's going to take a while to clean and dress
that wound, even if there's no bone damage."
 
"Don't be so naive, child. You have no concept of who
you're contending with. Your gun and your laws and your
badge ain't gonna save you or your partner."
 
His voice cajoled her, an adult persuading a stubborn
child. "That's gotta come from God. You and I alone are
just feet of clay." He stared hard into her eyes. "You
drive careful on those roads. I'll see you before too
long." He turned and made his halting way out of the room,
and out of her sight.
 
 
6:55 PM
 
Scully inexplicably felt vulnerable after O'Connor
disappeared. She hadn't felt alone while he hovered over
her and Mulder. She looked down at her partner, his strong-
boned face as beautiful and as cool as a marble sculpture,
in spite of the swelling and the wounds. Sensing the
impatience of the flight crew, she gave in to her impulse
and kissed him briefly at the corner of his mouth. His skin
and lips were papery dry, but his familiar scent persisted
even over the acrid odor of the hospital. She whispered a
few heartfelt words into his ear, swept his pale, swollen
cheek with her fingertips, and it was time to go.
 
As he was wheeled out to the landing pad, Scully searched
for and found the keys that O'Connor had thrust into her
hand.  She stood outside the borrowed car until the
helicopter was a distant lighted speck in the sky, her
hands white knuckled fists, her jaw stoic.
 
She crawled gingerly into the cab of the truck, her nose
wrinkling at the smell. Corn chips and sweat. The dashboard
was coated with the sort of dust one finds in a car that is
infrequently cleaned. A bright glimmer caught her eye;
there was a little silver chain dangling from the rear view
mirror. It was a delicate little thing, a braid of tiny
silver links with an equally tiny silver cross
depending from it. It seemed oddly placed in such a run-
down vehicle.
 
There was a tattered Hudson Bay blanket covering the
battered seat covers, and the carpet lining the driver's
floor was coated with dried red clay. The car boasted only
a simple radio. No CD player, no tape player.
 
Scully consulted the tattered map she found on the
passenger seat of the truck, smoothing its folds out
carefully.  From what she could see, the route leading
to Nashville was a straightforward southeasterly trek along
a paved but deserted highway. There were only a few towns
noted on the map, and she glanced down at the fuel level
before she headed onto the interstate.
 
The lever which controlled the seat position was so stiffly
seated that she could not adjust it, and she was glad that
O'Connor had a small frame. There was no cruise control,
she noted almost sourly. The steering wheel was one of the
old fashioned glossy ones, and her sweaty palms gripped it
with some difficulty.
 
The engine, to her surprise, turned over smoothly, and the
accelerator was responsive. She turned left out of the
hospital lot and headed for the I-24 ramp.
 
Hang on, partner.  I'm coming.
 
 
January 15, 2000
VUMC AIR-Vac 1 helicopter
northwest of Nashville, TN
7:01 PM
 
Sarah Vaughn plugged her headset into the wall plug and
tapped the microphone experimentally. "You got this, Jim?"
 
From the front of the cramped helicopter, she saw the pilot
nod his helmeted head. "Gotcha, Sarah. All strapped in nice
and tight?"
 
"Confirmed. We're ready whenever you are." Sarah glanced
over at the other member of the crew as the helicopter
slowly rose into the air and began to drift toward their
flight path. Bill Stakley was a balding man who'd switched
careers in midlife, leaving the military as a corpsman, and
going to night school to become a paramedic. He was
shadowing her this month. A born teacher, Sarah enjoyed
having students with her.
 
"Bill, can you check the dial on the vent and make sure the
oxygen is at 100%? His sats are a little low."
 
"It's at 100, Boss. Want me to suction him again?"
 
"Not right now. We don't want to do it until it's
necessary. He's a bleeding risk, so we don't want to do
anything that raises his pressure too high. We're walking a
fine line between enough blood pressure to perfuse the
kidneys, and not so much that he starts to bleed. That's
why we're keeping such a close eye on his meds."
 
"Did the ER team remember to inflate his tube cuff with
water and not air, Boss?"
 
"Doctor Lewis said he'd taken care of that already, Bill,
so I think we're all right."
 
"Are we altering our cruising altitude at all because of
that?"
 
"Hey, Sarah," Jim interrupted, "just push that boy out when
we get to 1000 feet. He's hopeless."
 
"Bill, did you listen at all in paramedic school?" Sarah
asked, amused. "We're gonna fly as low as we safely can to
avoid any sort of gas expansion. He's too unstable right
now." She looked down at the brown hair of the patient. His
head was secured with a brace. Thick white tape secured his
breathing tube, spread tightly across his jaw and mouth,
distorting his features. His eyes were shut, covered with
salve and paper tape. He hardly looked human, swollen and
bruised.
 
"He's a fed, Bill, did you know that?" Jim said from up
front.
 
"Yeah," Bill responded, "he's some FBI hotshot who got a
little too close to a snake."
 
"How can you get a little too close to a snake in the
kitchen of a little church in the wilds of Tennessee?" Jim
wanted to know.
 
"There're still a lot of congregations in these parts that
practice snake handling," Sarah piped up. "It's a way to
test a person's righteousness. Bill, you can't use your
stethoscope in here. Remember? It's too loud. You have to
do that by manual palpation."
 
"So this was a religious snake, Sarah?" Jim joked. "Maybe
the patient works for the IRS and not the FBI. Goes a long
way to explaining how he got bit so many times."
 
Sarah rolled her eyes, and turned her attention back to her
patient. "Poor man, his partner looked like she wanted to
die, too. He was bitten over 30 times, they said."
 
Jim was on the other channel now, exchanging details with
the aircraft controllers at the airport in Nashville.
Medical flights got clearance for direct passage in
emergencies, so the crew had to keep everyone posted about
their position. "Sarah?"
 
"Yeah, Jim?"
 
"ETA 14 minutes. You okay back there?"
 
"He's pretty shocky, Jim, and he's not making any urine.
Oh-two sats are piss-poor.  Can you step on it?"
 
"Sure thing."
 
Sarah watched the patient's chest rise and fall a few
times, then keyed a separate microphone. "VUMC, AIR-Vac 1.
Over."
 
A short pause. "This is VUMC. Go ahead. Over."
 
"I have a 38 year old male patient, approximately 72 inches
tall, weighing 80 kilos. Multiple snake bites, antivenin's
infusing, he's tubed, oxygenating poorly. We have central
access. He's oliguric, pressor-dependent. History of a
brain injury about 6 months ago that resulted in a subdural
bleed. Coags are high. ETA approximately 10 minutes. We're
gonna need a doc on the landing pad. He's looking like a
train wreck to me. Over."
 
"Will do, AIR-Vac 1. Dr. Timmer'll meet you on the pad.
Out."
 
"AIR-Vac 1 out."
 
 
January 15, 2000
Reverend O'Connor's truck
Heading SE on Highway 24
Vicinity of Claylick Creek, TN
7:30 PM
 
By this time, the watery winter sun had set, and the sky
was rose to the west and a deep, matte black above her.
Stars were already visible in abundance, flickering even in
a cloudless sky. The night appeared clear and calm.
 
She switched on the radio, and heard the harsh static
sounds of a blue grass quartet. She moved the dial around,
half-heartedly, then shut it off. Reception was poor in the
hilly areas of these parts. She was agitated enough that
her own thoughts would keep her alert during the lonely
drive.
 
The engine, however, was cycling smoothly under her feet.
The speed limit was an excruciating 55 mph, and she felt
like she was crawling as she merged onto the deserted
highway from an equally deserted on-ramp.
 
LifeFlight would have landed by now, she figured, with a
quick glance at her wristwatch. No point in speeding - she
would not only never beat Mulder to the emergency room, she
would in all likelihood be asked to do paperwork and wait
in the lobby until the trauma team had assembled and done
their standard flurry of tests and examinations. She
offered up a prayer for his safety during the flight, and
for the doctors and nurses who would be caring for him
before she made it to Nashville.
 
Although she was grateful that Mulder was being sent to a
larger facility, she had a momentary longing for the
personal attention from the staff at the Clarksville
hospital. Well, most of the staff, she thought.
 
 
The pavement was damp. She should have taken a look at the
tread on these tires, but what she could do about it at
that moment? She glanced at the cell phone poking out from
the corner of her briefcase.
 
No signal. Great.
 
Her left foot tapped restlessly on the floorboard. Her mind
drifted as she drove, her anxiety for Mulder's well-being
causing her stomach to knot up. She spent a few minutes
doing some deep-breathing, and then made an effort to
distract herself from the worry.
 
Reverend O'Connor.
 
She had been immediately put off by his passionate and
intrusive proselytizing; she felt more in tune with the
gentle, encouraging words of Reverend Mackey. She'd been
startled to realize that Mulder, her unapologetic
agnostic, had in the end taken the side of the scrawny
snake handler against the kindly minister, seemingly on
mere faith.
 
"Sometimes a little intolerance can be a welcome thing,
Scully. Clear-cut right and wrong. Black and white. No
shades of gray. In a society where hard and fast rules are
harder and harder to come by, I think some people would
appreciate that...Somebody offering you all the answers
could be a very powerful thing." Mulder's voice echoed in
her thoughts.
 
She could imagine the tug that extreme fundamentalism must
have had on a downtrodden collection of minimally educated
folk smack dab in the middle of the Bible belt. It tugged
at her, too.
 
She almost understood the desire to be led.
 
Almost.
 
O'Connor's congregation chose to be led by a man on a
reckless mission to speak the truth and damn his
detractors. Definitely not the same as Mackey, telling
you what you thought you wanted to hear. No tension, no
uncomfortable truth, no conviction.
 
Scully remembered the look of anger in Gracie's eyes when
she'd hinted that the girl had left her father's church to
think for herself. Had she, Scully, not been campaigning
for the cause of Reverend Mackey from the beginning? She'd
been looking down on O'Connor and his followers as na<ve
hicks who lacked independent thought.
 
For all the betrayal he suffered in his youth, for all the
ruthless suppression he'd endured in the years he'd
investigated the X-Files, Mulder had recognized that his
past colored his first impressions. He'd worked through his
flawed upbringing, and drew an accurate profile of both
ministers. Even if he didn't act on his suspicions until it
was almost too late, he'd been able to determine that the
real evil in Blessing was not black-and-white, but
instead shades-of-gray.
 
When had being sure of what was right and wrong become
politically incorrect?
 
She'd willingly misjudged a man because of some rigid
desire to be... well... open-minded.
 
She smiled when she thought how Mulder would enjoy the
irony. He'd bite his generous lower lip and swivel that
rickety desk chair around so he didn't have to meet her
eyes and spoil the joke, and then he'd cook up some
smartass comment that would leave her struggling to keep a
straight face for the rest of the day.
 
 
A loud bang from outside the truck forced her attention
back to the road. The steering wheel jerked violently,
tearing away from her grasp. The vehicle lurched toward the
median, and Scully desperately sought to regain control.
There was a loud rhythmic thumping coming from the front
tire on the driver's side, and she swore in frustration,
even as she felt relief that she hadn't wrecked the truck.
 
Why now?
 
She gingerly braked the truck and shifted into park. She
had no idea when she'd be able to get back on the road. She
flipped on the hazard lights, grabbed the mini flashlight
from her briefcase, and opened the door of the cab.
 
When she hopped out onto the graded surface of the highway,
the temperature change was profound. The sensation was
almost like walking into a brick wall, the air rippled,
unseasonably warm. She felt heat radiating upward from the
asphalt. Her breath came faster as she saw the left front
tire, now very dramatically flat.
 
Damn it! She could feel the anxiety reasserting itself.
 
She leaned back into the cab and grabbed her cell phone.
No signal.
 
Damn it! She suppressed the childlike impulse to throw the
phone down and stomp on it.
 
She walked around to the back of the truck and peered into
the uncovered flatbed. A tangle of wooden boxes lay atop
some loose pipes, a container of plumber's putty, and a
filthy red rag. She shined her flashlight over the jumbled
items, searching for a jack, a spare, a lug wrench, a flare
- anything.
 
Nothing. Unbelievable. Mulder, I'll be there as soon as I
can, she promised silently. She kicked the back tire of the
truck in an empty gesture of defiance, and took a deep
breath.
 
A change in air pressure took her mind off her frustration
and stiffened her spine. A fog was sweeping in, hugging the
ground. It moved incredibly quickly, like an insidious arm
that nipped at her heels and billowed upward to hide the
road and the surrounding trees.
 
It was then that Scully heard a low rattle coming from a
short distance away; whatever was making that sound was
close by, almost certainly in the median. She took two long
steps to get out of the ankle-deep grass, and stood on the
pavement, hand on the grip of her Sig, ear cocked, trying
to localize the noise.
 
The fog had grown thicker already. She could barely see the
truck. Scully crossed around the front of the truck,
clambered back into the driver's seat, shut the door and
sighed, slightly ashamed of her nervousness. She shone her
flashlight once again at the map, looking for a rest stop
or a service station.
 
It appeared she was on a stretch of highway on which there
were no exits. The sidewall, damn it, in what had to be the
most deserted location on the highway to Nashville. And she
was in a hurry. Not one car had passed her since she'd
pulled off the road.
 
Okay, she told herself, no spare and no jack. She was going
to have to walk. It should only be a few hundred feet until
she could get a signal, she told herself.  She opened the
door and prepared to jump down.
 
The air outside was blistering hot. She heard more
rattling. Definitely more than one source, coming from
directly below her. Scully drew her gun, her fingers
curling with familiar ease around the rubber grip.
 
She gasped, swung her legs quickly back into the well of
the driver's side, and slammed the door shut. As her eyes
readjusted to the darkened cab, she saw a face staring at
her through the front windshield.
 
Mackey.
 
The good reverend was atop the hood, his hands set wide
apart on the windshield, and his face close to the glass.
Her heart stopped for one ghastly moment. His mouth was
open, and he was hissing.
 
Her stomach lurched, and she stared back at him in
disbelief.
 
His eyes were reptilian, mere black slits, his breath
steaming the glass with each exhalation. His face moved
closer to the glass, his tongue, now impossibly long,
slipping out of his mouth and tasting the air. Outside, the
rattling sounds reached a cacophonic level. The truck
rocked under Mackey's weight as he shifted position on
the hood.
 
The little chain on the rear view mirror swung from side to
side, the tiny silver cross shimmering under the changing
light.
 
Mackey glared balefully at her, his face utterly
expressionless. He slipped sideways off the hood, and moved
around to her door, never once losing eye contact. The fog
outside was now so thick that she saw nothing but a solid
wall of white, and Mackey.
 
He was at the driver's window.
 
Her heart was thumping like a jackhammer. She raised her
Sig and levelled it at him. She had to shout to hear
herself. "I'm armed, Reverend Mackey. Put your hands up
where I can see them, and step away from the window."
 
Mackey stared at her, although he did not come closer.
 
She felt the handle of the passenger door press into her
back; she'd slid instinctively across the front seat to
distance herself. How had he found her? What did he want?
 
She wasn't sure what the rattles were.
 
But she was sure.
 
She knew exactly what awaited her outside the truck cab.
God help her if the snakes came into the cab as they had
when they attacked Jared Chirp. The driver's window began
to wobble in its track, and the lock began to loosen.
 
The little silver cross twirled jauntily on its chain.
 
Scully racked the slide of her gun, her hands steady in
spite of her fear. Her finger tightened on the trigger.
 
The evil, the menace, was palpable. Oh, please, don't let
it be true. I have to get to Mulder! Make him go away. Oh,
God, please help me, don't let him get in here.
 
Mackey was still glaring at her from outside.
 
And Enoch O'Connor was inside.
 
He was there, suddenly, in the back seat of the truck. His
eyes were fixed on Mackey's face, his lips slowly moving,
his voice inaudible. His gentle hand clenched her arm with
a reassuring grip. The hair on the back of Scully's neck
was standing up, and she shivered.  
 
Only the grip of her Sig and the calm presence beside her
anchored her as she stared at the man outside the truck.
O'Connor continued his inaudible drone, never taking his
eyes off Mackey. She heard nothing but the rapid tapping of
her heart.
 
Gradually, the rattling from outside died away. There was a
swirling motion now in the still white fog, and Mackey's
figure became less distinct. She blinked once or twice to
clear her vision, and by then he had completely
disappeared.
 
The silence was deafening.
 
She swung her gaze toward O'Connor. His eyes were still
closed. Drops of sweat beaded his forehead; his lips moving
soundlessly.
 
The cross spun merrily on the mirror.
 
"Reverend O'Connor?" she whispered.
 
"Do you see which side you're on, child?" His voice was
wavering, and the words had a sing-song quality to them.
 
Scully's eyes fell to the wound on his shoulder. The right
side of his shirt was stiff with blood. A great deal of
blood; she could smell the metallic bloom.
 
"How did you get here? They let you leave the hospital like
that?"
 
He turned his head so that his eyes bored directly into
hers. "He hasn't left the hospital. You called out for me."
 
"But how...?" The words died in her throat as his words
registered. The slight form of the reverend seemed to
shimmer and then become translucent. He released her arm,
and she reached out a hand to detain him.
 
O'Connor pulled back gently, gracefully. "You called out
for me. Your man called out for me. You needed to see." He
smiled gently at her. "Now you have seen. Do you know which
side you serve, child?"
 
She felt the lightest, whispery touch across her cheek,
almost a caress. "I know which side you serve. Don't lose
heart. He will recover. And I will not permit this evil to
trouble you again."
 
"Is Mackey dead?" she whispered.
 
"It will no longer trouble you." The voice began to sound
more distant to her.  "Know whom you serve, child."
 
The inside of the truck was rapidly and silently filling
with a delicate vapor, misty, coolly refreshing. Nothing
like the awful fog outside. She felt her eyes close, and
the world drifted away on a lingering scent of vanilla.
 
 
 
January 15, 2000
VUMC Emergency Room
Nashville, TN
7:50 PM
 
"Damn, Becky. Didn't anyone teach this guy not to play with
snakes?"
 
"Finish mixing that CroFab, Steve. I was told he was in
pursuit of a murderer, and was attacked by a snake in a
church. He's some sort of FBI investigator."
 
"A little less chatter, both of you." Suzanne Timmer swept
into the room.
 
Steve rolled his eyes at the trauma nurse, and made himself
invisible.
 
"He's getting the last of the first six vials of antivenin,
Dr. Timmer. We've weaned him down to 4 mics of Dopamine,
and the Levophed is off. He's got a mean pressure of 62,
but he's still only put out about 20 ccs of urine."
 
"Send another chem panel, Becky." Dr. Timmer turned to the
respiratory tech and said, "Haven't you gotten that A-line
in yet?"
 
"Sorry, doc," the tech replied, trying to remain polite.
"He was on a lot of Levophed, and he's still really clamped
down. I'm having trouble even getting flashback, much less
passing the catheter."
 
"I'll do it. Get me a new kit and a pair of sterile gloves,
size 6."
 
The tech left the room, shaking his head. Dr. Timmer was
not his favorite person, but she was the doc he'd want if
someone in his family were sick. Hopefully she wouldn't be
murdered in her sleep before he needed her.
 
 
January 15, 2000
Reverend O'Connor's truck
Highway 24, Claylick Creek, TN
8:01 PM
 
As Scully woke up, the memory of her dream swirled around
and dissipated, becoming less distinct each moment.
 
She shook her head to clear it, and smoothed back her hair.
She needed to get to Mulder. The dashboard clock indicated
that less than 20 minutes had passed since her flat tire.
She straightened her jacket, grabbed her map and the
briefcase, and opened the passenger door. As she did so,
headlights appeared over the ridge of highway behind her,
and she squinted into the night, trying to see what was
coming her way.
 
She felt immense relief when she spotted the bubble top of
a patrol car. The car slowed down, and the window opened
silently in the stillness of the night.
 
"Need any help, ma'am?"
 
 
VUMC Emergency Room
Nashville, TN
8:45 PM
 
Scully half-ran into the entrance of the ER at Vanderbilt,
bypassing the rows of seats. The outer room was half-filled
with a pitiful collection of the sick and injured, but she
headed straight for the triage nurse. "I'm Agent Scully,
Agent Mulder's next-of-kin."
 
The woman behind the Plexiglas window pushed a buzzer and
gestured her toward the door to the left of the entry way.
Pushing it open, Scully found herself in the staging area
of the large ER.
 
"Clarksville called ahead and alerted us that you were on
the way, but we expected you over an hour ago." The nurse
managed to look stern.
 
"My tire blew out. Highway Patrol picked me up. Where is
he?"
 
"Dr. Timmer is with him now; follow me."
 
The trauma room that Mulder occupied was large and
surrounded on three sides by more Plexiglas. He lay
motionless in the middle of the room, gowned and covered
in a sheet. He was still intubated, still sedated. The
swelling that had been so startling in Clarksville was more
pronounced now. There were several ER staff members working
in various parts of the room, and it was difficult to know
who was in charge of the controlled chaos.
 
A small blonde woman walked over to Scully. "You're Dana
Scully? Suzanne Timmer. Dr. Lewis spoke with me; he says
you're Mr. Mulder's next-of-kin?"
 
Scully proffered a sheaf of papers, her hands still
trembling from the journey from Clarksville. "He's an FBI
agent; I'm also his partner. He was bitten while
attempting to apprehend a suspect."
 
"You're a coroner, aren't you?" the doctor inquired, not
bothering to acknowledge the documents. A nurse came around
from her side and took possession of the papers, giving
Scully a wink and a small grin.
 
Scully was well-acquainted with this form of intimidation,
having encountered it on occasion during medical school.
Surprisingly, it occurred more often with other women than
with male colleagues. She'd nipped it in the bud when she
was a resident, and she wasn't going to be a party to it
tonight.
 
"No, I'm not a coroner." She waited patiently until Timmer
turned and regarded her, their eyes meeting. She spoke in a
calm, low voice, softly enough that no one but the ER
doctor would be able to overhear.
 
"I'm a physician with a specialty in clinical forensic
pathology, and an active field agent with the FBI." She
gestured toward Mulder. "This is my partner, and he's also
my friend. Dr. Lewis told me you were the best person to
deal with Mulder's injuries, so I'd appreciate it if we
could get past any professional muscle-flexing and start
making him better."
 
"How much experience have you had with snake bites?" Dr
Timmer asked, a slight flush in her cheeks.
 
"None whatsoever, so I'm glad for your expertise. On the
other hand, I'm a specialist when it comes to Mulder."
 
Dr Timmer nodded her head, reluctantly amused. "Okay, then,
Dr. Scully, let's get him stabilized."
 
Scully lost track of time, watching the ER team work,
answering their questions, giving them what she knew of
Mulder's patchwork medical history.
 
 
 
 
January 15, 2000
VUMC Emergency Room
Nashville, TN
9:35 PM
 
She was startled to hear Skinner's voice behind her, deep
and calm, coming from the hallway. She turned and gestured
him inside. He entered wrapped in a billowing black
overcoat, and stood tall and remote as he gazed at his
wayward agent. His eyes moved across the scene in front of
him. "Tell me what's happening, Scully."
 
"Mulder sustained somewhere between 35 and 50 rattlesnake
bites, Sir. I only saw one snake, however, and it was
nearly outside the building before I broke down the door."
 
Dr. Timmer did a double take, and regarded Scully with
disbelief. Scully ignored the ER doctor, intent on her
report.
 
"Mulder was at the church attempting to apprehend a murder
suspect when he was bitten. He believed the suspect to be a
man named Enoch O'Connor, but although O'Connor assaulted
Reverend Mackey, the murderer was Mackey himself. By the
time I was able to break into the kitchen and secure the
room, Mulder was having an allergic reaction to the snake
bites."
 
Skinner eyed Mulder with concern. "How many bites does it
take to be fatal, Agent Scully?"
 
"Only one," answered Dr. Timmer dryly.
 
Skinner reddened with irritation, and Scully had to admire
Timmer for being even more prickly and obnoxious than
Mulder. She apparently rubbed just about everyone the wrong
way.
 
 
 
Timmer paid no further attention to Skinner, but showed
Scully the results of Mulder's initial labs. "He's holding
steady on the dopamine; Dr. Lewis and the LifeFlight team
got his blood pressure stabilized, and the MAP is 65, which
is very, very encouraging. His clotting times are still
prolonged, and his platelet count is down from 130,000 in
Clarksville to less than 60,000 now. I don't see any
evidence that we're going into true DIC, but I'm waiting on
some other labs.
 
"He's making some urine, but there's blood in it, and his
renal function values are climbing. That said, we're
nowhere near considering dialysis yet." She walked away,
and Scully cursed quietly under her breath.
 
"Scully?  I need a translation here," Skinner whispered.
 
He watched her gather her composure, although she did not
meet his eyes. "Because of the toxins in rattlesnake venom,
Mulder's blood isn't clotting fast enough. He doesn't have
enough platelets to protect him if he starts to bleed.
There's a risk that an uncontrolled cycle of bleeding and
clotting might develop. That's called DIC, and it's usually
fatal. Antivenin will mitigate this, given time, but right
now he's at risk. Destroyed blood cells are clogging
his kidneys, and this is making it harder for him to make
urine and filter out toxins. They may need to filter the
blood for him if it gets much worse."
 
"Is there anyone we should call for him? For you?" Skinner
asked, disturbed both by the report Scully gave him, and by
her demeanor, which was shaky and weak.
 
"No. His mother's not been well. I think we should see how
things go before we alarm her."
 
"Your mother?"
 
A flicker of pain crossed her features. "Not now. She and I
are...having some disagreements, and I'm not sure I can
handle the distraction right now." She stared at him. "Can
you stay?"
 
"I'm not going anywhere while he's this ill, especially as
he was injured on duty. I'll call DC, have AD Jordan get a
team started on locating Mackey, and then I'll find us a
couple of hotel rooms nearby. You can get a shower and a
little sleep."
 
"I'm not leaving him."
 
"We'll take turns. Scully, the cafeteria is down that
hallway. You look like you need something to eat."
 
"I'm not leaving him alone."
 
"I'm not leaving either, Dr. Scully."
 
Both Skinner and Scully turned around at this to find Dr.
Timmer had come up behind them again. "And you'd have good
reason to complain if I skipped meals while I was treating
your partner. I wouldn't be at my best." She raised one
eyebrow in challenge. "I'll call you if anything changes.
After all, you can't keep an eye on me if you're half dead
with exhaustion."
 
Prickly, obnoxious, and frustratingly logical. Scully
stared resentfully at the woman, but allowed Skinner to
guide her from the room.
 
 
 
8:15 PM January 16, 2000
Vanderbilt University Medical Center
Nashville, Tennessee
Medical ICU
 
Scully rubbed her eyes again in an effort to get rid of the
blurriness and grit, but it was a losing battle. She sighed
and pulled her glasses from the outer pocket of her
briefcase. She grasped Mulder's limp hand once again, and
continued reading.
 
 
Some time later, she shut the book slowly and stretched her
tired shoulders. The blip of Mulder's monitor continued its
steady pace, the waveforms reassuringly normal for a man
Mulder's age. He was off the dopamine now, and his renal
function was very slowly improving. He still wasn't free of
the threat of dialysis, but the muscle necrosis had ceased
as the venom was neutralized, and his urine was lighter and
much more clear than it had been the evening before.
Already, his bleeding times were beginning to normalize,
and his platelets were no lower than they had been on
admission.
 
He was still on a ventilator, although the doctors were
planning to extubate him in the morning. He had been doing
most of his own work of breathing for six hours now, and
his heart rate and blood pressure showed no undue physical
stress. He was definitely ready to have that tube out. And
then, Scully thought to herself, he can finally talk to me.
 
He was on minimal sedation, and he'd been twitching a
little over the last hour or so. Scully read to him as much
as she could, making sure she touched him frequently to
help ground him as he healed. Now, she sat in her chair
next to his head, holding his hand, wishing he would wake
up, even if only briefly, so she could be sure he was still
himself.
 
She stood slowly, stretching her back, lifting her arms
over her head and yawning. Skinner was coming in about an
hour to relieve her for the night; she'd been there all
day. She leaned over the side rail and spoke directly into
his ear.
 
"Mulder?  Mulder, are you awake?  If you can hear me, try
to open your eyes for just a second. I'm going back to the
hotel soon to get some sleep. If you don't wake up soon,
when you do it will be Skinner sitting here, and I doubt
he's going to be holding your hand."
 
She stood over his bed for a few more seconds, then
reluctantly straightened. As she did so, she saw his
eyelids flutter.
 
"Mulder?" She was excited all at once. "Mulder? Can you
open your eyes for me?"
 
His eyelids fluttered again, and then she saw his right eye
open carefully, followed a second later by his left eye. He
turned his head slightly so that he could see her face.
 
Scully felt tears spill over and run down her cheeks. She
fumbled for his hand, and was rewarded when he squeezed
hers firmly. "Mulder, do you know where you are? Do you
remember what happened?"
 
He gave a small shrug to her, and his eyebrows lifted in
query.
 
"You tangled with a rattlesnake in the church in Blessing,
Tennessee yesterday, just after lunch. You were bitten
several times, and had a reaction to the venom. You've been
in the hospital in Nashville since then, while the
doctors treated you for snakebite. Oh, Mulder, I'm so glad
you're awake. I need to go get your nurse."
 
He squeezed her hand tighter, and tugged it toward him. She
smiled indulgently, and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"If the nurses see me sitting on your bed, they'll ban me
from the ICU, Mulder. This is a huge no-no."
 
He winked at her, and the last remnants of her fear
vanished. She bent down and kissed his cheek. "That's as
close as I get, Mulder, until that tube is out and
we brush your teeth. But I'll make it up to you later."
 
He squeezed her hand, again, seemingly appreciative of her
bargain. As Scully watched him fondly, his eyes slowly
shut, and he drifted back into unconsciousness.
 
 
7:45 PM 23 January 2000
Vanderbilt University Medical Center
Nashville, Tennessee
Medical Step-Down Unit
 
 
Scully peeked around the half-closed door of Mulder's room,
eyeing him searchingly. He was already awake, so she pushed
the door open and came inside. She smiled as she approached
the bed, and he wiggled to a more upright position,
gathering the sagging gown and redistributing its generous
folds. He returned her smile with his own, obviously tired
but happy. She gently sat down on the edge of his bed.
There was a comfortable silence for a few seconds while
their eyes met. She gifted him with her nicest smile, and
he settled back a little, content.
 
Mulder sought out and claimed her hand, wrapping it in his,
and eyed her with curiosity. "Mackey?"
 
"Still no trace... even though every law enforcement agency
in Tennessee's out looking for him." She fingered the seam
of his gown with her right hand.
 
He blinked his eyes slowly, and grinned. "They won't find
him, Scully. People think the devil has horns and a tail.
They're not used to looking for some kindly man who tells
you what you want to hear."
 
"He's not a demon, Mulder, just a man. Just like O'Connor."
Her voice was defiant.
 
Mulder shook his head. "Not like O'Connor. If this was some
kind of test, looks like I failed." He eyed her, the
corners of his eyes crinkling with humor.
 
Scully regarded him affectionately. "I'd say if it were a
test, you passed with flying colors. You're alive, aren't
you?"
 
Mulder cast her a mischievous grin, a teasing tone coloring
his voice. "Proud and fancy-free."
 
There was a pause, and then Scully squeezed his hand,
meeting his gaze with her steady regard. "Thank God."
 
He grinned engagingly at her, his eyes still alight with
mischief. "Scully, you just might be right. For once." He
playfully dodged her half-hearted poke, and tugged her into
his arms.
 
She went willingly, grateful that he was awake and strong
enough to tease her. She curled up beside him, tugging
stray wires and tubes out of harm's way. She carefully
arranged her legs next to his. They lay still for several
minutes, just enjoying the time alone.
 
She sat up sheepishly when an alarm on the cardiac monitor
went off. "I must have pulled one of your leads off,
Mulder," she said, peeling herself from his arms and
reconnecting the lead.
 
He sat up a little higher in bed, and reached for her
again. "You're an angel," he whispered in that silky-rough
tone that she loved, pulling her back down. He pressed his
mouth lightly on the skin at her neck, and followed a
leisurely, meandering pathway under her collar, all the way
to her breast. She shivered at the warm brush of his lips
on her skin, and snuggled into his embrace.
 
"If I'm an angel, Mulder, I'm one of many. Some of the
situations you find yourself in, you'd need an entire
legion of the Host of Heaven."  She had her head on his
chest, revelling in the steady beat of his heart and the
familiar scent of his skin. She nuzzled him and gave a sigh
of pleasure.
 
"How's Gracie doing?" he asked, after a brief silence.
 
"She's out of the hospital. Visits her dad every day. He's
still in the ICU, still in a coma. The doctors give him a
fair chance of surviving, but he lost a lot of blood before
that gunshot was treated, and the wound was dirty. The
after-effects of the snake bites are complicating his
recovery."
 
Another pause. "Scully?"
 
She looked up at him, and she already knew what he wanted
to ask her. It was taking less effort lately to get inside
his head.
 
I suppose that should scare me, she thought.
 
"It was a dream, Mulder. O'Connor collapsed shortly after
your helicopter took off. He's been in Clarksville's ICU
ever since. He couldn't have been on the roadside with me.
O'Connor is just a man, albeit a better man than I gave him
credit for."
 
She laid her head back down on his chest and closed her
eyes. "I don't believe that snake was Mackey, Mulder. And I
don't believe he was Satan unleashed in mortal form, though
I have no doubt he was evil. And that he targeted you, and
that both you and Enoch O'Connor are lucky to be alive."
 
"Luck, Scully?" He was blatantly teasing her now, his eyes
laughing, "'Now faith is the substance of things hoped for,
the evidence of things not seen.'" He struggled with
little success to keep the wide grin off his face.
 
"Yes, Mulder, I know what faith is." Her eyes smiled back
at his.  "I read Hebrews. I confess to being surprised that
you have, though."
 
"It's widely regarded as great literature, Scully."
 
"That it is." She regarded him affectionately, and he
acknowledged her with a light caress on her head.
 
He got an impish grin on his face. "A person might even
call it an affirmation of my work."
 
She stared at him from her sideways vantage point, both
eyebrows on the rise. "The Bible is an affirmation of the
X-Files? Good grief, Mulder! Do you know what year it is?
Who's the vice president?"
 
"Ha, ha, Scully. Truth. I'm all about the Truth. You know
that."  He stroked her cheek. "They sent you to ruin me,
but you keep earning me credibility." He grinned at her.
"Maybe I'm on the right side after all. Although, Scully,
I'm disturbed that Evil figured it out before I did. Hell
of an enemy."
 
She tried not to laugh.
 
"Scully?"
 
She arched an eyebrow at him, and drawled, "Yes, Mulder?"
 
"I'm glad you think I'm worth keeping alive a little
longer."
 
She slid her hands slowly up his chest in a loving caress.
She gently cupped her hands around his beautiful, stubbled
face, leaned over and kissed him, a heartfelt, passionate
meeting of lips that curled her toes and made him wish for
a lock on the door.
 
She tucked her head down again, working into a comfortable
spot. Mulder tightened his arms around her and stroked the
bright hair away from her cheek. Her eyes were closed, and
her breathing easy and unlabored. Mulder felt the last
knots of tension ease from his body, and allowed his eyes
to close. And when the nurse came in to shoo out the
visitor, she tiptoed out as silently as she entered, and
pulled the door shut behind her.
 
 
End.