By Macspooky
macspooky@erols.com

I wrote this several years ago and am reposting it
because I have just completed a sequel called
"Returning Home."  I've done a few minor corrections
and updates.

Here is a story that is set at the time of Mulder
and Scully's second case together.   It's just a
short piece dealing with some of what we didn't see.
The characters and the series still belong to Chris
Carter, Fox, Ten Thirteen, etc. and I am just
borrowing them.

Rated PG
 

I can be contacted as macspooky@erols.com

Second Case

by

Macspooky

Motel Room by Ellen's Air Force Base

 Agent Dana Scully, all five feet one inch of
her, glared at her recently assigned partner Fox
Mulder.  She glared up at him, cursing the fates for
having designated her to be the one to deal with a
man who was a total lunatic.  Hell, lunatic, or even
looney tunes wasn't the right word for it.  Looney Toons
were fun, wild and wacky, not to mention
entertaining.  This man was just crazy. This hadn't
been in her job description.  She had her hand on
her hip and her lower lip stuck out.  Her red hair
shown in the light.
 
 "I said take off the goddam shirt, Mulder,
now."  She took a step closer to him.

 Fox Mulder, all six foot plus of him, took a
step backwards.  He didn't like to admit that he
might be just the tiniest bit intimidated by the
little woman they had sent to spy on him.  He had
read her file.  She had brothers; two of them, and
it was obvious that from a very young age, she had
learned not to take any crap from either of them.

 "Last I heard, Agent Scully, I was the Section
Chief of the X-Files Division and the Senior Agent
in charge of the case."  He glared down at her.
Couldn't let her start bossing him around.  It
simply wouldn't do.

 "Oh, yeah! Well last I heard I was the one
with the MD after my name, and you were the one that
received a rather hard punch in the kidney.  The
shirt comes off."

 "You are a forensic pathologist.  All your
patients are dead."

 "And you are a prime example of why I chose
the field I did, so that my patients wouldn't be a
pain in the ass. Unless you want to end up in my
favorite autopsy bay, I'd advise you to take off
your shirt....now....."  She took another step
forward.  Suddenly the motel room they were in
seemed a bit too cramped.  She was awfully close to
having him backed against the wall.  He would have
to remember this next time he had a conversation
with his partner.  He would make certain he stood
near the closest fire exit or other avenue of
escape. The lip came out a little further, and her
tiny frame moved just a little closer.  Fox Mulder
capitulated unconditionally.  The shirt came off.

 His partner's body relaxed visibly.  She had
won.  Ever so gently, Dana Scully began to probe the
area where the other government agent, the man who
was supposed to be on the same side, had punched
Mulder.  Although she knew he was trying not to, she
felt him wince.  If only she could have found out
who that man was, she would have reported him.

 He had hit Mulder not because he had had to,
but because he liked to.  That sort of agent was
dangerous, and in this case they worked for the same
government after all.  Mulder had not been a suspect
trying to flee.   It hadn't made any sense.

 She gave his back a single gentle rub.

 "You are going to have a really nasty bruise
there, Mulder," she said softly.  "I want you to
promise me that you will tell me if you experience
any backache or detect any blood in your urine, and
as soon as we get back to DC, I want you to have a
urinalysis done. Promise?"

 Fox Mulder nodded.  He had been impressed by
the almost delicate way she had touched him, the
caring way. She may have been a spy and a pain in
his butt, but her concern for his physical well-
being was genuine and touching.  The gentle way she
rubbed his back had sent a tingle through him,
touched him deeply. Not many people cared whether
Fox Mulder lived or died.  In fact, sometimes he
felt that more would have preferred him dead.

  Her advice made sense, and so, he just nodded
quietly.  Still, he didn't want to pursue the
subject any further.  After all he had lost the
battle of the removed clothing, so he put his shirt
on and they began to discuss the
case....well...discuss wasn't exactly how it turned
out....more like argue about.  He found himself
getting really ticked off at her, excellent bedside
manner aside.  How could she be so naive as to trust
a government that had acknowledged in the past
experimenting on people?  How could she be foolish
enough to believe that they wouldn't do it again?
Worse yet, how could someone of her considerable
intellect be so totally incurious?  When she shoved
the case notes she had picked up back in her brief
case by way of telling him that the investigation
was at an end and they were going back to Washington
whether he liked it or not, something inside of Fox
Mulder snapped.  Well, if he couldn't win a direct
argument, he would have to try something different.
By this time, he had eased himself over toward the
door.

 "Okay, Scully,  I'll go shower and get packed
and we'll go back to Washington."

   He left a relieved Agent Scully standing there
watching him leave her room for his own, but not for
very long.  He hopped into the car and sped off to
pursue his investigation on his own, catching only
the barest glimpse of a tiny redheaded woman chasing
after him in the parking lot, probably screaming
like a harridan.  He smiled slightly to himself.  He
had successfully ditched her...lost his little
spy...and now he could locate the two teenagers who
liked to sneak into Ellen's Air force Base and get
directions to the place where all the strange and
"cool" things had been seen.

 Cursing under her breath, Scully returned to
her motel room.  <Damn, damn Mulder anyway. How the
hell had she gotten stuck with such a nut case?  Why
the hell couldn't she have been left alone in her
autopsy bay at Quantico?  She had had to rent an
apartment, move to DC, and for what?  To be saddled
with the Bureau's biggest nut?   Now she was going
to have to pick up the phone and call Washington and
tell Blevins there would be a delay in coming back.
How the hell was she supposed to cover for Mulder?
Why the hell should she anyway?  Because he was her
partner, she realized, and because someone driving a
government car and on the same payroll, had destroyed
his film, and for no good reason landed a blow to
his kidney that could have put him in the hospital,
and in fact, still might.
 
 Dana picked up the phone not yet knowing what
she was going to say.  It wasn't working.  She
cursed again.  Well, she'd go to the motel office
and see if she could make her call from there.  She
would think of some plausible story on the way.

 It was Special Agent Scully's second case as a field
agent.  She made a very bad mistake, one that she
would never forget in light of what followed.  She
left her weapon on the nightstand next to her motel
room bed.  It could have cost her her life, but in
retrospect later on, she realized that, even worse,
it could have cost her partner his life.  It was
fortunate for her that the Ellen's Air Force Base
Security Officer that she soon tangled with kept a
spare gun in his glove compartment and that he
grossly underestimated her strength, speed and
spunk.  Her own moments of terror as the man who had
posed as a local reporter came after her aside,
Scully did not think she could have lived with
herself if her carelessness had caused her partner's
demise. She might have thought him crazy, but Fox
Mulder was after all, a human being and, yes,
like it or not, her partner.

________________________________________________
On the Road Leaving Ellen's Air Force Base

 Dana was worried. No, Dr. Scully was worried.
As she drove away from Ellen's Air Force Base just as
quickly as she could, she glanced sidelong at her
partner.  Whatever they had done to him, it had left
him gravely ill.  It had been a mistake to let him
stop at Mrs. Budahas' place.  They should have just
gotten their luggage and gotten out of Dodge as
quickly as possible.  As a result of her giving in
to him, she had been unable to book a flight to
Washington until late the next day, and she sure as
hell wasn't about to hang around where they were.

 Mulder had been so out of it, she had had to
pack for him.  He hadn't been able to do more than
just sit in the chair, and of course, they had had a
fight.

 "Let me take your temperature, Mulder.  I
think you are running a fever."

 "I'm fine, Scully.  Leave me alone."  He
wasn't fine and he knew it.  Something was missing
from his brain and his goddamed partner wanted to
stick a thermometer in his mouth.  Who the hell
cared about a fever when your brain had been rewired
and there was a cover-up going on all around you?
Petty minded, that's what she was, totally petty
minded.

 "Open your mouth now, Mulder, or I swear to
God that I am going to take this thermometer and put
it someplace the sun doesn't shine."  She had been
pretty darn fed up since he had ditched her.  Her
own head was starting to pound as the adrenaline
levels she had been functioning on dropped and her
heart began to regain a normal rhythm.  "I'm not in
the mood for any s**t from you right now."  He
realized that if she swore like that, she must be
pretty pissed.  It wasn't her normal style, or at
least not that he had seen in their brief
acquaintance.

 Well, he'd been in the hospital enough to know
exactly what place she was talking about, and he'd
supposed it was true that he had caused her a hell
of a lot of trouble.  A part of him had wanted to
argue with her, but the trouble was, he hadn't
seemed to have the strength to fight her, or even
negotiate, so he had opened his mouth.  Sure enough
he had been running a fever.

 Mulder caught her looking at him as she drove
and informed her crankily that she should keep her
eyes on the damned road.  He knew she was right
about leaving the town they had been staying in as
quickly as possible, but it felt a little too much
like giving in to authority and he had a problem
with authority.  Besides, all he wanted to do was
sleep.
 
 "Scully, stop the car," he ordered suddenly.

 "What?  I......"

 "Just stop the damned car," he snapped.  It
had barely ceased moving before he jumped out and
started to vomit.  It left him so weak that he fell
to his knees.

 Quietly, gently, Scully took his handkerchief
and wiped his mouth.  She helped him back on his
feet and into the car.  Wordlessly, she did a U
turn.  At the last intersection she had seen a sign
that had said hospital.  She hoped it was small and
that the doctor on staff was near the end of his
shift and tired.  She didn't want anyone asking too
many questions about a pair of FBI Agents from
Washington DC appearing at the emergency room door.
Dana Scully was scared, and she wasn't even certain
of what anymore.

 By the time they reached the ER, he wasn't
protesting too much.  He was sick again in the
parking lot, and was grateful for the gurney that
was wheeled out.
 
 Dana lied.  She told them that since the
possible injury was case related blood and urine
samples had to be sent back to DC.  She would have
it tested for drugs. They took her at her word
although insisted that they run their own as well.
She thought she would wait forever for the results.
Finally, the young tired looking doctor came into
the cubicle where Mulder was laying silently and she
was waiting anxiously.  He had, as she had hoped,
been on duty a long time.  His eyes were heavy and
he needed a shave.  He would be too exhausted to
question her closely.

 Well, Dr. Scully, it would seem that you were
right about the injury to the kidney.  It's badly
bruised and there is blood and bacteria in his
urine.  There is also indication of concussion.  I'd
like to admit him.

 "Um......that is going to be difficult, Dr.
Spencer," she said quietly.  "We are on the road.
In view of the fact that I am a physician, perhaps I
can administer the treatment....."

 Fox Mulder took all this in.  Jeez, no one was
asking him how he felt about any of it.  It was as
though Dana Scully had taken over his life all of a
sudden.  It rankled.  On the other hand, he knew if
he got up to protest, he would probably start to
vomit again and jeez....he didn't want to do that
either.  He'd already made enough of a fool of
himself puking his guts up in front of her the first
two times.  All he really wanted to do was to sleep,
to sleep and not wake up.  And how the hell had he
gotten a concussion? They had probably made it look
that way when they had rewired his brain.  Well, he
had better not say anything.  Scully would just say
that someone had banged him on the head.  She would
have her nice logical explanation, but he knew his
brain had been tampered with. He knew it.

An Anonymous Motel Room Away from the Hospital

 She pulled the covers up over him gently.
They had remained at the hospital long enough for
them to pump him up with an IV full of antibiotics.
Then, Dana had filled several prescriptions.  She
had found a motel off the beaten path and checked
in, not bothering to tell them that Mulder was in
the car.  She had used her mother's maiden name and
paid cash, and had reversed the digits on the
license plate number of the rent-a-car.  She felt
she was getting paranoid.  That was okay. She had
been so, after a fashion when Dr. Spencer had told
her that Mulder had a mild concussion.  At least now
she could deal rationally with his "rewired brain
syndrome."  Still, she couldn't quite manage to get
the hairs on the back of her neck to lay flat. She
decided that if she worked with Mulder long enough,
she would become as nutty as he was.

 When Mulder dozed off, she made a phone call
from a nearby pay phone.  She didn't want to be
traced to the motel.

 Mr. Blevins, Sir, I don't know what is going
on here, but I've just spent the past several hours
in the ER with Agent Mulder where he was put by
another agent. No, Sir, I don't know what agency and
the license plates on their car were bogus. No, Sir,
I'd just as soon not reveal my whereabouts for the
moment, not until we get out of Idaho. We'll be back
in DC as soon as Mulder is fit to travel."

   With that she hung up the phone.  The AD
hadn't been happy with her.  That was obvious, but
she'd have to deal with that later.  She'd think of
something, and it was documented that her partner
had been injured.  She would have the hospital
receipts and pharmacy receipts to prove it and a
diagnosis from a certified physician other than
herself.  Cover your ass, famous government employee
motto.  They couldn't crucify you for being sick.

 Fox woke up in the middle of the night
screaming. "Samantha. Samantha." Suddenly he
realized that he was not alone.  He reached for his
weapon as the light snapped on and then moaned in
pain as he twisted his side.

 "It's alright," she said quietly.  "It's
All right. It was just a bad dream."

 His tiny red headed partner sat at the edge of
his bed.  Her hair was in disarray and her eyes were
puffy from sleep.  She wore a pair of modest blue
satin pajamas.  He fell back and cursed silently.
He didn't want anyone to know about the nightmares.
He hadn't wanted anyone to find out.  It was why he
never spent entire nights with women, why he always
"loved em and left em" just as quickly as he could
afterwards.  He would dream and they would become
frightened, all except one, one woman a long time
ago.  He had dreamed and she had taunted him.  Now
his partner knew. His personal spy had heard him
screaming.  What if she reported it?

  "What the hell are you doing in my room,
Scully?" he demanded gruffly although he knew.  He
had been sicker than he had ever cared to admit.

 "There was only one room available," she said
with a slight smile.  She got a damp cloth and wiped
his sweat soaked face.  Then she got out her
thermometer.

 "I don't need my temperature taken," he
snapped.  He was starting to hate the sight of that
thermometer.

 "Shut down your voice box and open your mouth,
Mulder, or I'll put this thermometer where the sun
doesn't shine."  This time the words were said
without rancor in slightly bemused fashion as though
it was becoming a habit, and he complied without
further fuss.

   "The fever has broken.  I think you'll be
okay partner."  She patted his hand gently.

 He just nodded.  He didn't like to admit that
the touch felt good, that it was what he needed just
then.  For the second time that day, he had become
very aware of her physical presence.

  "I'm sorry the dream woke you from a sound
sleep, Mulder.  It must be terrible dreaming about
your sister.  I know how you miss her."  She looked
at him for a moment with true concern.  Seeing that
he really didn't want to discuss it, she didn't push
it. "Is your stomach still upset?"

 "Kind of," he replied searching her face.
There was nothing there but concern and genuine
sympathy.  She would not taunt him with his
nightmares, nor would they frighten her.

 "Well, the bad dreams will be our secret.  Let
me help you up so you can go to the bathroom, and
I'll get you something for your stomach.  Then, I
for one want to get some more sleep before we head
back to DC later."

 Fox Mulder lay in the dark.  The medication
had settled his stomach and was making him
pleasantly drowsy.  He didn't think he would dream
again that night, or at least he hoped not.  Dana
Scully was a skeptic and a nag.   He still wasn't
certain that he liked her a whole lot.  In fact, he
was reasonably sure that he still didn't.  He really
hadn't liked any but his first partner, but this
time, just this once, he had to admit to himself, he
had been glad he had had her and lucky she had been
along.   For some reason, when she said the dreams
would remain their secret, he believed her, although
he couldn't have explained to anyone why.

 Dana Scully lay awake and listened until her
partner's breathing became deep and regular.  It had
taken him awhile to fall asleep.  Baby sitting a
thirty three year old neurotic male who believed
that alien had landed had certainly never been a
part of her life's plans, none-the-less she felt for
him.  The anguish of his cries as he had awakened
from his nightmare had moved her deeply.  If he was
crazy it was because he was a man driven by
pain...constant pain.   Odds were that his sister
was dead and buried, but Dana in her fashion did
believe in miracles. Just before slipping off to
sleep, she found herself doing something she hadn't
done in a long long time, praying that God would let
them find out what had happened to his sister so
that the poor man could have some peace and some
closure in his life.  The significance of the fact
that she was praying for them to find Samantha and
not him to find her never occurred to her in her
twilight state between sleep and wakefulness.

The End