By L. A. Adolf
LAAdolf@aol.com
 

Date: Fri, 23 Jul 1999
SPOILERS: Missing scene from first season
ep: The Erlenmeyer Flask
RATING: G
CLASSIFICATION: V
KEYWORD: M/A; S/A
SUMMARY: After the death of Deep Throat,
Scully and Mulder regroup in Scully's
apartment while the ramifications of this
latest case swirl around them.
DISTRIBUTION: Archive it you'd like;
just let me know where, please.
COMMENTS: Dedicated to the best friend a
girl could have: Kestabrook. Without her
friendship and encouragement, I would
truly be lost.
FEEDBACK: I love it if it's helpful or
positive.

RESPITE
L. A. Adolf

There was nothing more she could do for
the dead man.

Rocking back on her heels, Dana Scully
cast a final glance at Mulder's
confidential informant before rising to
turn her attention to the living.

Mulder lay, unmoving, where the assassins
had unceremoniously dumped him; sprawled
face down on the asphalt of the deserted
overpass. She had not had time to do more
than a cursory check of Mulder's vital
signs in her haste to assist her
partner's mentor. She knelt next to him
now, seeing more clearly the binding of
his hands behind his back, and the deep
welts and bruises on his face.
 
"Damn you, Mulder.  Was it worth all of
this?" Scully questioned softly, at the
same time working to free his hands
from the bonds, frowning at the cut and
chafed skin. She quickly chafed his hands
to aid in circulation, then gently,
turned her partner over.

The action elicited a low moan from the
prostrate man. She gathered his head and
shoulders in her arms, quickly checking
pulse and respiration, then peeling back
an eyelid at a time checking for obvious
signs of head trauma.

"Mulder," she said, tapping his cheek
gently but firmly, "Mulder, can you hear
me? Wake up, Mulder. We've got to get out
of here, I need you to help me. I can't
move you by myself."
 
Mulder groaned again, then slowly opened
his eyes. He looked up at her fuzzily,
as if not quite able to focus.

"Scully? How...?" he began, then paused,
as though fighting off a wave of vertigo.

"Not now. We've got to make some hard and
fast decisions here, Mulder. Deep Throat
is dead.  Your abductors shot him in cold
blood. The question is--do we go by the
book and report this? Or do we get
the hell out of here?"

"Dead...?" Mulder struggled into a
sitting position, blanching visibly
as a consequence of the ill-considered
movement. Scully reached out a steadying
hand, as her partner looked across the
lane at the sprawled body of  his
informant.
 
"We've got to...get out of here,"
Mulder announced.

"For once I'm in complete agreement.
My car is over there. If I help you to
the railing, will you be all right until
I can run up there and get the car?"

Mulder nodded, and began his attempt to
rise. Scully supported and steadied him
as he gained his feet and lurched to the
side of the road, grabbing the railing
like a drowning man clutching a life
preserver.
Dana hesitated. Mulder looked close to
collapse, the effort of getting up having
drained his face of what little color it
had had left.
 
"Hang on, I'll be right back." A
nagging fear that the assassins
might return as she left Mulder
vulnerable was causing the hair on the
back of her neck to rise. She set off at
a dead run, groping for her keys on
the way, and throwing herself into the
car. She fired the engine up, goosed the
car into a tightly executed bootlegger's
turn, and accelerated, bringing the car
up even with Mulder. She threw the
transmission into park, then jumped out
and rushed over to her partner who was
unsteadily moving toward the car. She
tucked her shoulder under his, supporting
him the rest of the way, aiding him into
the passenger seat. He collapsed into the
car in a disheveled heap.

Scully regained the driver's seat, and
peeled away from the scene, hoping that
she had left no evidence of their
presence. Once they were a mile away
from the murder scene, she spared a
glance in her partner's direction. He'd
maneuvered himself into a more
comfortable position, head leaned back
against the seat's headrest, the seat
slightly reclined.

"I'm going to take you to the hospital.
We should be there in a few minutes."
She spoke quietly, not sure if he was
even conscious.

"No." The answer was stronger than she
would have expected, and not at all what
she had anticipated.

"Mulder..." She began.

"No...hospitals, Scully. We'd be sitting
ducks."

Dana remembered a dying man's words:
"Trust No One," but her medical training
overrode her instinctive tendency to
agree.

"Mulder, you could have fractures,
internal injuries."

"You're a...doctor," Mulder said firmly.

"I'm not a surgeon and I'm not equipped
to do emergency surgery in my kitchen!"

"It looks worse than it is, Scully...I'll
be fine. No hospitals....Please."

The emphasis placed on the final word,
broke down her resolve. "All right. But
if you're wrong..." Dana warned.

"I'll make an after--an after-death
return...engagement so you can tell
me...'I told you so'."

"That isn't  funny, Mulder..." Dana
spared her partner a quick, but stern
glance. Or so she thought.

When she glanced over again, Mulder was
smiling wryly, "Then why... are you
smiling?" he rejoined weakly.

Choosing to ignore him, she swung the car
around, heading it in the direction of
her apartment. It might be no safer than
any other place in the Capitol at the
moment, but it was where her medical bag
was, and the supplies she kept in case of
emergency.
 
And in her own environment, she'd feel
more in charge of the situation, even if
that was more self-delusion than she
normally allowed herself in a day.
 

"What will they say, Scully?" Mulder was
musing as Dana helped him lower himself
onto her bed.

"What, about you in my bed?" Dana
replied, laying his jacket, somewhat
ruined by the rough treatment he'd
received, to one side, "Nothing more than
they already are, I suspect."

"Shoulda put me on the couch..."
 
"You wouldn't fit for one thing. I can't
do a proper examination with you folded
half over. I'll take the couch. Just lie
there; I'll be right back."

Dana peeled off her own coat and hurried
to the bathroom, removing bandaging
materials and disinfectants, pausing at
the hall closet where her medical bag
stood, largely ignored since her
graduation from medical school and
acceptance into the FBI academy. She'd
spent more time in the last few  years
dealing with dead bodies, rather than
living. breathing patients. As she
reached out to snatch it off its shelf,
she noticed that her hand was shaking
slightly. Adrenalin decompression, she
wondered? Fatigue? Worry? Insecurity
about her live patient being her
enigmatic partner? She'd have to sort
that out later. She'd secured her home as
best she could, and Mulder's condition
was her top priority now. Sorting out the
jumble of events and their consequences,
and her own reactions to them was
something that would have to wait.

Dana re-entered her bedroom, arms full of
medicinal supplies. She sat on the edge
of the bed, reaching to position her
overhead reading lamp more advan-
tageously. Seeing Mulder in strong light
for the first time, her anger at their
mysterious nemesis grew. As did her
amazement that he was even still alive
after what she had witnessed happen to
"Deep Throat." She began her exam, Mulder
quiet under he probing and prodding
until she touched his ribcage. The sharp
intake of breath focused her attention
and she continued, being as gentle as
possible, as she determined the extent of
his injuries, pulling out her steth-
oscope, listening to his breathing. "I
think you have a cracked rib, Mulder.
I'm not detecting any signs of internal
injury but without x-rays...Lots of
contusions and abrasions. And I suspect a
slight concussion. And around your eyes,
those look like burns...what did they do
to you?"

"More like what they did to Dr. Secare,"
Mulder replied tiredly. "He was in
Berube's attic, hiding. I found him; I
promised to protect him. That's when they
came in and shot him. In cold blood, base
of the skull. When they did, there was
this--I don't know--smell, fumes, that
burned my eyes and throat.  Must have
lost consciousness--next thing I know,
I'm bound, and these goons are all over
me, wanting me to talk."

"Deep Throat was right about the blood
chemistry being toxic then." Dana reached
for her stethoscope, listening to
Mulder's breathing, "Your lungs sound
clear--but with a virus of unknown
etiology... you should be in the
hospital, Mulder! We need to do blood
tests, cultures..."

"And put an entire hospital staff in
jeopardy? After what happened to Dr.
Carpenter? No, Dana. No hospital, Scully.
You promised."

Dana sighed, pulling a face at Mulder's
intractability, "I know I did. Are you in
much pain?"

"On a pain scale of ten--eleven and a
half," Mulder replied.
 
"Here, take two of these. I can't give
you anything stronger, not with the
likelihood of concussion. You should get
some sleep. I am going to come in and
check you every couple of hours, make
sure you're still oriented. If you become
the least bit incoherent, promise or not,
you'll be going to the hospital.
Understood?"

Mulder nodded tiredly, too exhausted
and too much in pain to argue. Within
five minutes, Dana had tended his
injuries, and he settled down, trying to
find a position that would cause the
least amount of discomfort. She paused at
the door to the bedroom, opening her
mouth to speak. A glance at her partner
revealed, however, that he was already
asleep. Dana studied him for a minute,
relief vying with worry. Then,
quietly, she turned out the light and
closed the door behind her.

x  x

Dana rubbed her eyes tiredly and stood,
stretching. The caffeine from the strong
cup of coffee she had brewed for herself
was already wearing off. She hadn't had
much sleep in the last three days, be-
tween tracking down leads and docu-
mentation, and Mulder's disappearance.
She knew she was incapable at this point
of anything approaching rational thought
or action, but, she was due to check her
partner's condition. Perhaps after that,
and a quick scan outside to verify that
SWAT teams were not surrounding her
building, she could sleep.

She moved into the bedroom. The
approaching dawn was already providing
faint illumination, so she bypassed the
wall switch and and reading lamp, instead
moving  directly to a small bedside
lamp, a remnant of her childhood,
designed to cast only enough light to
crawl into bed by. Switching it
on, she sat gingerly on the edge of the
bed, and put her hand gently on Mulder's
arm where he lay, propped up against
pillows, semi-reclined, a position that
facilitated breathing as well as comfort.
 
She was unprepared for the instinctive
recoil that greeted the touch, followed
by a low moan and restless movement.

"Mulder?" she said aloud, leaning
closer. "Fox...?"

Dana's use of his given name normally
caused him to frown disapprovingly and to
chide her; this time, neither reaction
manifested. Instead, in a hushed voice
that was somehow strangely young, he
murmured, "Sami?"

His sister...Samantha? Scully had
never heard him refer to her by a pet
name before; he spoke of her rarely, and
obliquely, as though the mere mention of
her name was painful. What information
Dana possessed on Samantha T. Mulder had
come from the X-File that her brother
had opened many years after her
disappearance. Scully drew closer in
concern, reaching up to feel his
forehead, noting that his eyes were still
closed. The skin beneath her hand was
warm--a fact which bothered her to no
end; there had been no sign of fever
earlier, and Mulder had responded as
quickly as she would have expected under
the circumstances.

"Sami...I can't move, I c-can't..."
Mulder spoke again, in the same low tone,
his voice not so much his own, as the
young boy he had been the night his
sister had been--what?--abducted?

"Mulder, it's Dana. Wake up." Dana spoke
firmly, shaking his shoulder. It was
vital that he wake up completely. Given
the abuse he'd received, a flashback to
an earlier trauma would not be completely
unexpected, especially in the vulnerable
world of the sleeping mind. However,
given the fever and his documented
concussion, this could be ominous. She
debated calling 911 immediately, con-
tinuing to urge her partner awake.The
hazel-green eyes opened finally, unfocused
at first; then slowly, they regained the
intelligence and awareness she so
associated with him.
****************
End "Respite" (01 of 02)

Respite (02 of 02)
by L. A. Adolf

"Do you know where you are?" Dana
leaned close, inspecting those eyes more
closely, searching for evidence of more
than a slight concussion.

"Your apartment," he said after a beat.
"Dana? Was I drea--I thought I heard..."
his voice faded. "Never mind. Is it hot
in here?"

Scully shook her head. "No. I think
you've got a slight fever. How do you
feel? Dizzy? Nauseous?"

"No, just warm," Mulder replied. There
was a haunted quality to his voice.

"Do you remember how you got here?"

"The long or the short version? I was
kidnapped; I was released; I argued with
you about a hospital. I won; you brought
me here," he said warily.

"So far, so good. Here, open wide." Dana
slipped a thermometer in his mouth and
reached for his wrist. Finishing the
check of his pulse, she pulled the
thermometer from his mouth and read it.
His temperature read slightly under
normal, which startled her. She reached
up to touch his forehead once more--he
still felt slightly warmer than normal,
but not as warm as a minute ago.

"Am I going to live?" he inquired
quietly, eyes following her, noting her
puzzlement. The haunted aspect was gone
now, well masked beneath a studied
insouciance.

"You tell me--the thermometer says you're
just under 98.6, but you still feel
warm--do you still feel warm?"

"Not so much. I should tell you, Scully,
my normal temperature is more like 94.7.
My blood pressure tends to run low, too."

"So this isn't particularly abnormal?"
Dana looked at him closely, checking for
signs of dissembling; he appeared to be
telling the truth.

"No. I got sent to school a lot of days
when I was sick as a dog because of it."

"For a minute there I was wondering if
you were going to tell me that you're
really a changeling."

"A changeling? Me?" Mulder feigned a mild
outrage.

"You must be feeling better, you're
getting arch again," Dana shook her head,
in turn feigning a mild disgust. She
paused, and when she spoke next, her
voice was utterly serious. "Mulder, what
are we going to do? Deep Throat is dead,
and I'm a witness to his murder. You were
kidnapped! These are class one felonies--
we're legally obligated to report  them;
to do otherwise is to risk suspension,
possibly dismissal."

"Let me ask you something, Dana. From
what little I was able to overhear, in
the van--some kind of exchange was
demanded for my release. Can I ask you
what was exchanged? You do know, don't
you?"

Scully broke gazes with her partner. She
had done her best in the hours
intervening, to forget the contents of
the box she had retrieved and delivered
to the rendezvous site--the source
material for the contents of  the
Erlenmeyer flask she'd breached the
security of a highly classified facility
to remove. She'd hoped, somehow, that
she'd never have to remember, never have
to tell anyone, not even Mulder, what she
had seen.

"Dana? What was it?" Mulder persisted
quietly, and not without concern for her
reaction.

Scully cleared her throat. Still
not looking at him--her hands shaking
again, she spoke, quietly, fighting a
tremble in her voice. She realized, in
that moment, the source of her earlier
attack of nerves.

"Deep Throat told me at first that
he didn't think they'd kill you--that you
were too 'high profile'. He told me about
an experiment on school children several
years ago--how they were injected on the
pretense of an inoculation with some of
this extraterrestrial biological matter.
Then he started talking about an
exchange--you for the source of some of
the same material. I asked him if it was
a rational exchange--one life against the
harm of so many. Then he contradicted
himself, and said to me that the exchange
'could save' your life. Suddenly he
didn't sound so sure that they wouldn't
kill you."
 
Dana paused, drawing in a ragged breath
and glancing at her companion.

It seemed to her that Mulder's eyes were
burning into hers but not in shock, or
disappointment that she would argue his
life against the lives of others. Instead
it was a familiar intensity--the burning
desire to know and be part of the truth.
Dana glanced away, the silence taking on
a presence of its own.

"Go on," Mulder said quietly, as he
reached out and touched her forearm,
squeezing it slightly in a gesture that
somehow communicated support and
reassurance.

"He pulled strings. Because of my medical
background he was able to get me
clearance to a High Containment Facility
at Fort Marlene. Into the cryology unit.
He gave me directions to locate and
withdraw the contents of a certain pod."

"The contents were...?" Mulder urged.

Dana turned eyes to him that brimmed,
inexplicably, with unshed tears, "A
biological entity--at what appeared to be
a fetal stage of development. It gave
every appearance of being extrater-
restrial in origin."

Mulder struggled off his pillows and into
a sitting position. The move was not
without price--he pressed an arm against
the abused ribcage--but he waved off her
gesture of concern. She tried to read his
expression--but it was inscrutable again.

"And you exchanged it at the rendezvous
point...?" he said finally.
 
"I wanted to. But Deep Throat insisted
that he be the one--that they were
expecting him. I fought him--but he
brought up an inarguable point."

"Which was?" Something in Mulder's tone
told her that he considered no point
inarguable.

"That we were doing this to save your
life. To me that was inarguable," Dana
finished, finally breaking the gaze which
had held her eyes. She stared down
intently at her hands.

"And in that argument he may have saved
your life as well." Mulder's tone was
understanding, and his hand reached out
to cover her own---as though to reassure.
 
"I don't know, Mulder. They could just as
easily have killed me--and you. Deep
Throat's contact looked right at me when
he drove by, he knew I was there.He never
hesitated, just shot Deep Throat, and
turned and got into the van." Dana looked
back up, having successfully suppressed
the tears which had nearly betrayed her.

"Killing him served two purposes. As a
cut-off to an information leak, and as a
warning to both of us," Mulder offered.

"So, what do we do now?" Dana reiterated
her earlier question.

"Nothing. Pretend that none of it
happened. If we had stayed on scene until
police had arrived, we'd probably have
found ourselves framed for murder--he was
almost certainly shot with my gun. As it
is, I think if we tried to report
it now, we'd find that Deep Throat's body
and car have mysteriously disappeared,
and that a search of every morgue in
the entire country would turn up no trace
of his body. In all likelihood both he
and the car are at the bottom of the
Atlantic Ocean by now--and whatever
traces there were of his existence have
been eradicated. We'd be discredited--
and that's almost as effective as any
other action."

"So how do we explain what we've been
doing for the last couple of days?
Falsify an X-file? Play to the gallery
and concoct a story of a wild weekend
that carried over to the middle of the
week? How do we explain how you look--
and your injuries?"

"As much as the wild weekend story would
enhance my reputation, I won't ask you to
compromise yours. As for how I look--I
went --I don't know--hiking over the
weekend--and fell. We've spent the last
couple of days doing routine follow up to
our last case."

"And then?"

"We wait for the outfall--and we'll
think of something when it comes. In the
meantime, we just wait and function the
best we can." Mulder offered, looking
closely at Dana, "First thing you need to
do is get some sleep. I'll get out of
your way."

"Don't you want to know what it looked
like?" Dana asked suddenly, watching as
Mulder swung his feet over the opposite
side of the bed.

"Not until you're ready to talk about it,
Dana. And that time isn't now. I've been
close before. And I will be again. As
much as I would have liked to have been
the one to see what you saw, I'm not
going to pressure you. Not any more."

"I didn't want to let them have it. I was
hoping there would be some way to free
you and to keep it, too."

"I know. There's something else you need
to think about. Now would be a good time
to distance yourself from me and the
unit--I won't hold it against you, you
know that. It's a way to preserve your
career, and the way things have gone on
this case--maybe your life. I don't want
to be the cause of the end of either."
Mulder's voice was calm and equable.

A righteous indignation flooded Scully's
being. She stood and walked over to look
him at him directly. He avoided her gaze,
fixing his attention inwardly, it seemed,
as he sat forearms clasped against his
ribcage.

"Do you think after everything I've seen
that my first priority would be the
preservation of my career? I care about
the truth, too, and the enormity of what
is going on here. And as for my life--
I accepted that risk when I applied to
the FBI, and my life is my responsi-
bility, not yours. You don't need to
mother-hen me at this late date--one of
the things I respect about you is that
you never hold my sex against me. And
besides, look at you---you need a partner
with a medical background. If I went away
now and something happened to you--do you
think I could live with myself? No,
Mulder. I'm not going to think about that
at all. You're still the only person I
trust in all of this."

Mulder looked up at her finally, and she
saw gratitude in his eyes. "Thanks, Dana.
For that and for my life. I wouldn't have
held it against you, you know, if you'd
refused to deal for my freedom."

Dana cocked her head to one side, "No,
but I would have. Stay where you are,
Mulder. You're still under my observation
and you're in no shape to go home yet.
We'll both get some more rest and take it
from there. I'll call in for us both--let
them know it was a late night and we'll
be in tomorrow."

"It could start another rumor..." Mulder
offered warningly.

Dana shrugged, then with gentle pressure,
forced him back against the pillows once
more, "Let it. I'll be on the couch No
arguments, I fit better."

"Dana..."

"Yes, Fox ?" Her facial expression was
ingenuous, hiding her anticipation of his
objection to her use of his first name.
He opened his mouth as though to object,
then closed it again, smiling a brief,
ironic smile. His face then grew serious,
and when he opened his mouth to speak,
his tone was as grave as she had ever
heard it. "Deep Throat, you were with him
when he died?"

"Yes. He'd been shot in the heart, he
died in my arms."

Mulder glanced away, pain filling his
eyes, he hadn't had a chance to deal with
the reality of Deep Throat's demise yet,
and knowing her partner as she did, she
knew he'd blame himself for his death.
Just as she blamed herself for the death
of Dr. Carpenter.

"I'm sorry Mulder, if I could have
stopped it--"

"No. He knew the risks. He would have
considered it penitence, for past sins
probably. I don't suppose he was able to
tell you who he was? If he had family
I'd like them to know he didn't just
vanish."

Dana sat on the edge of the bed once
again. "No, I still don't know who he is.
But he did say something, not anything we
didn't already know."

"What was it?" Mulder asked, leaning
forward once more, eyes intense.

"That we should trust no one," Dana
replied.
 
Mulder nodded solemnly, and leaned back
against the pillows, closing his eyes.
"Get some rest, Dana," he said quietly.

"Sleep well, Mulder."

Scully killed the light. Passing a hall
closet she removed a lightweight blanket
and a spare bed pillow and tossed them
at the couch. Then she made her rounds of
her apartment, checking and re-checking
the various locks and security devices.
The curtains and blinds had been closed
tight all night, now she moved to them,
cautiously peering out the window that
faced the street. It was part of her
security ritual, and her movement was
more out of habit than intent.

She was never sure if the sight of the
inconspicuous van she'd seen Mulder
pushed out of the back of hours earlier
would have surprised her had she not been
so bone weary. As it was, she'd halfway
expected it. She threw the curtain back
and stood squarely framed in the window,
zeroing in on the driver. She arranged
her features into what she hoped was a
mask of contempt. The driver merely
looked up to her and smiled. Then he
started the van and moved it slowly down
the street.

Scully stood, watching until the vehicle
moved completely out of sight; then she
secured the window once more. She
completed her security check,moving to
the entrance of the bedroom. Mulder was
sleeping soundly, a fact she confirmed by
entering the room and and checking his
pulse with a light touch. Then she
withdrew once more, made her way to the
couch, and drew the blanket around her.
She gazed at the chair, where months
earlier she had seen her father's form,
half expecting to see the shade of Deep
Throat. When nothing materialized, she
closed her eyes and settled down on the
couch. She was nearly asleep, when a
whispered voice--which she seemed to
sense more than hear repeated three words
in her ear.

"Trust no one..."

Scully sat bolt upright, searching her
surroundings for the source of the sound.
There was no one there.

But then, she hadn't really expected that
there would be.
********************
End "Respite"