(Disclaimer in Part 1)

KICKING THE HABIT II:
ARACHNE'S WEB    (6/6)

by Gerry Hill (GHill52695@aol.com)


SCULLY

When I reached my apartment after leaving the crime scene at Dr.
Ward's property, I called the hospital to check up on Farris' and
Mulder's conditions.  After getting nowhere with various
administrative people and nurses, I reached a harassed-sounding
woman who verified that Farris was holding her own; no better and
no worse.  Mulder, on the other hand, was apparently causing quite
a ruckus.  No longer drowsy and compliant from the morphine, he was
not being cooperative in the least with the hospital staff.

"In what way?" I asked, closing my eyes.

"You name it.  Just now, Sara, barely out of her teens and a really
sweet nurse who is always very calm and caring, came rushing out of
his room after trying to give him a sponge bath.  She was nearly in
tears and said, 'To hell with that bastard.  He can stay sweaty and
stink up the whole damned hospital for all I care.'  Before this,
I've *never* heard her utter one swear word."

"Is Agent Mulder in pain?"

"I would expect so, but the doctor hasn't prescribed anything more
for that."  Her tone clearly stated her disapproval.

"Good," I said.  "Don't do anything and I'll be there in about
forty-five minutes."

When I walked into Mulder's room later, I tried to stand up
straight and not look as weary as I felt.  I immediately heard the
harsh, shallow breaths he was taking as I approached his bed.  The
morphine had worn off some time ago, and his ribs were obviously
paining him.  I noted his monitor readings as I moved to his side. 
Looking down at him, my heartbeat slightly quickened when I saw how
pale and forlorn his perspiration-covered face appeared.

His eyes actually changed color when he saw me.  They had been a
bleak gray, and then suddenly they went dark.  I had seen this
phenomenon only a couple of times, and it always captivated me.

"Scully.  You're safe.  I was worried about you."  His words were
halting as he tried not to breathe too deeply.

I gave him a smile, leaned down and placed a tender kiss on his
mouth.  He responded for a second, then had to turn his head to
gasp in another breath.

Drawing back slightly, I asked, "Is it getting pretty bad?"

He started to say no, then relented, admitting, "Yeah."

"I'll see about a non-narcotic for the pain, OK?"

His dark eyes seemed to engulf me, to tell me of how frightened he
was, of not having the relief of the morphine.  He would be facing
the naked exposure of his soul once more, of dealing with screaming
nerves, muscles which wouldn't obey his commands, intense physical
distress, and a deep despair that even I wouldn't be able to
breach.

I saw all of this in those expressive eyes and felt like weeping. 
He had already been through so much; it wasn't fair.

I managed to whisper, "Don't worry, Mulder.  You can do this, and
I'll be here for you."

He closed his eyes briefly.  When they opened again, they were
glistening with tears.  One broke away and trickled down his cheek.

"Oh, Mulder," I said, and brushed the tear aside with my fingers. 
I felt close to tears myself, but knew that would not be what he
needed to see right now.  "I'll be back in a few minutes.  I'm
going to see about getting something for the pain."

"Scully."

My whispered name held me to his side.

"I can't do this again."  The anguish was unbearable in his face.

My breath caught in my throat and I couldn't bring myself to tell
him once again that everything would be all right.  Instead, I
leaned over and touched my cheek to his, trying to transfer my love
and encouragement through the contact.

When I moved back and looked at him again, his expression had
closed and I couldn't read it any more.  That scared me.

"Mulder?  I love you.  Stay with me?"

The anguish flooded his eyes once more and he whispered, "I'll try. 
I love you, too."

My relief was expressed in the form of a huge smile, which was
answered a little more tentatively by his.

"I'll be right back, Mulder."  As I reached the door, I turned and
called back to him, "And I'm going to have someone give you a
sponge bath.  You *really* need it!"  I ignored the answering moan,
walked out into the hallway out of his sight, then had to lean up
against the wall for support when my wobbly legs nearly gave out. 
My harsh sob was stifled into my hand, then I forced myself to
stand upright and continue down the hall.


MULDER

Lying there in mental and physical pain, I felt so sick of all the
self-pity and despair in which I had been wallowing.  I had to get
a grip on things, if not for my own sake, then for Scully's. 
....if only I really cared anymore....

I had reached the point where giving in to the craving for the
release that drugs could bring had become a very seductive choice. 
Facing the pains of withdrawal, of the ugliness I faced in my daily
existence, my own shortcomings, the guilt for so many things - - I
just couldn't do it anymore.  Scully would have said that my
thinking was being influenced by the drugs and the withdrawal, but
I wasn't so sure.

I was supposed to be intelligent, so why couldn't I rationalize on
the side of the angels?  But it has always been whatever is in that
dark, bottomless pit that drew me, until I wondered if I had always
been insane, the madness lurking just below the surface. 

God!  Fighting against this overwhelming sense of desolation was
almost more than I could take; despair was all I felt now.  Was my
life so hard that I would give it up without more of a struggle? 
I had managed to withstand so much before this...

I bit back a scream as a vicious muscle spasm grabbed my lower back
and traveled down my legs.  It had taken me by surprise - usually
I could sense them coming.  The pain took my breath away and I
resorted to panting rapidly just to get some air into my lungs.

After an eternity the spasm dissipated and I lay limp and
exhausted.  But I should have known better than to enjoy a respite;
life abruptly got a whole lot worse.

Several people entered my room and walked over to my bed.  I had to
consciously focus on the faces, and recognized Garcia quickly
enough.  The big guy with him was familiar...my God, it was Jakes'
flunky!  No way I could forget that he helped beat me unconscious
when they snatched me right off the street and then proceeded to
hold me down while being injected with that crap...And when he had
raped Ginni... Please, let him be under Garcia's custody.  My
stomach tightened in alarm, however, upon registering the sneer on
my nemesis' face and the paleness of the FBI agent's complexion.

The man grinned down at me in an unpleasant way and slapped the
side of my chest with his gun.  Right over the broken ribs.  With
no medication, the pain left me semi-conscious after a bout of
unbelievable agony.  The only reason I didn't scream my voice
hoarse was that I couldn't take a decent breath to do so.

Through the waves of incredible pain I heard him saying something,
but it wasn't coming through clearly.  His large rough hand cupped
my chin and turned my face toward his.

"I *said*, 'Where's your partner?'"

All I could do was stare at him.  He must have thought I was scared
to death since he couldn't have missed the tremors running through
my body, but it was just the good old withdrawal symptoms making
themselves known.

Suddenly I heard someone come into the room and Scully's voice was
saying, "You're in luck, Mulder.  Sara can give you a bath..."  She
stopped dead, a tray of medication and a syringe in her hands, when
she saw the visitors.

I was certain that the gunman would kill all of us now.  But Garcia
had to be carrying a load of guilt about having brought him here
and would be making a move any second, if I knew the man as well as
I thought.  So I grabbed the hand that held the gun with all my
strength, hoping someone could do something before he got free.

With no change in expression, Jakes' hired gun coldly pulled the
trigger on the weapon, nearly breaking my eardrum and sending a
bullet into the wall past Garcia.  But I continued to desperately
hang onto his hand, even though the gun was turning toward my face
and his other fist was ramming into my ribs.  Red streaks of agony
set my chest on fire.

Through the searing pain in my chest and blurred vision I could see
that Scully had apparently dropped the tray she had been carrying
and had tugged Garcia out of the way.  She was tightly gripping her
gun out in front of her body, her black skirt riding up on her
thighs from the crouched stance, her eyes blazing with fire, and
her mouth set with determination.  I was stricken with the sight of
this lethal beauty.

"Get away from him, you son of a bitch!  Drop the weapon!" 
Scully's voice alone would have reduced me to a quivering mass, but
not this guy.  He stupidly yanked the gun out of my grasp and swung
it toward Scully, despite the fact that her gun was pointed right
at him.  I could hear footsteps running this way in the corridor,
but knew this would all be over before help arrived.

Scully's round slammed him back against the monitors on that side
of the bed.  Several connections were ripped off of me when he fell
to the floor, and I could see blood splashed on the wall and
equipment.

But he wasn't dead yet.  He was out of my line of sight, but I
could hear him swearing and moving around.  Then Garcia kicked at
something and the fallen weapon went skittering across the floor
out of the fallen man's reach.

"He works for Jakes," Garcia informed Scully.

I could see her eyes change as that fact took hold.  Scully moved
slowly around the bed and stood with her weapon trained on him.

"Mulder," she said in a strangely flat voice.  "Is this one of the
men who abducted you and fed you drugs?"  I hesitantly nodded.

Then it suddenly dawned on me that she intended to finish the job
and shoot him where he lay.  All the fear of possibly losing me and
the anger at Jakes' for making that a real threat was there to read
in the hatred and determination in her eyes, the set of her jaw,
and in the way she held her body.  But most importantly, I could
see her finger tightening on the trigger.  Oh, God, Scully.  Oh,
God.

"Scully," I whispered.  "Don't."

For a second I thought she hadn't heard me; didn't want to hear me. 
Then after what seemed eons there was an infinitesimal relaxation
of the muscles of her body and the gun sagged slightly.  And I
could breathe again.

The cops from my guard detail took over then, while Scully and
Garcia explained what the hell was going on.  Medical staff and law
enforcement people began filling the room.  Someone eventually
thought to set me up in another location, primarily in deference to
my delicate condition, but also to get rid of the deadwood and
allow more room to work.

Once settled in a room down the hall, I demanded morphine from the
next nurse I saw.  She checked my chart, disappeared for ten
minutes, returned with a syringe, and I was injected with lovely
oblivion.  As easy as that.  I'm sorry, Scully.


SCULLY

It took a while to get clear of all the reports, explanations,
phone calls and mass confusion.  When I finally was able to find
Mulder, he was off in la-la land again, dammit.  I didn't know who
was responsible this time for the opiate, but I suspected that the
culprit was lying right there in that hospital bed.

Garcia had decided to retrieve the antivenom himself from the
airport to make sure nothing would go wrong.  He had left a few
minutes ago, and I decided to stay with Mulder.  We had to talk,
and soon.  He was in a dangerous place in his mind, and it was
scaring me to death.

The thought of my own compulsion to murder an unarmed man earlier
had been shoved back into a dark corner of my mind.  I didn't
really want to go there to examine this major lapse in what I
believed to be right.  But neither did I feel particularly guilty
about wanted to rid ourselves at least one asshole responsible for
so much of Mulder's grief and pain.  I would have been on a role,
then and probably would have gone after the cigarette-smoking man
next.  Rambo Scully, indeed.

With lack of sleep overriding my other concerns I must have finally
dozed off in the chair.  When I opened my eyes, Mulder was staring
into them, as if he had willed them to open.  Maybe he had, as his
gaze was intense enough.

I gave him a smile and decided to begin easy and work up to hard.

"Do you want to know what happened with the spider case?"

"Sure," came floating disinterestedly my way.

"Emily Ward *had* been killing people; she's as crazy as a bedbug. 
She would lock them into that shed after releasing several
varieties of spiders, then take the body somewhere in her car and
dump it.  It was just luck that no one ever caught her at it."

I told him what had occurred when Garcia and I had gone out to Dr.
Ward's house with the D.C. policemen.  I explained that Emily
impersonated her sister Beth both here at the hospital and later at
the house, where she planned to kill her sister, making us believe
that the dead sister was Emily.

"She was counting on just a slap on the wrists after the dust
settled.  With the law no longer breathing down her neck, she could
get organized and disappear.  Then she would begin the murders once
more.  But she didn't figure that one of her own spiders would live
to take their revenge on her."

"So Dr. Ward is dead.  What about Emily; is she still alive?"

"Last I heard, she's doing quite a lot better than the nurse who
had been bitten, which makes me wonder if she hadn't suffered such
bites before, and had built up a small amount of immunity.  I have
no idea whether that would be possible or not.  The antivenom is
due to arrive any minute now, thank God.  I think the stuff should
still be able to help Farris and the nurse get through this."

He was quiet for a moment, then, obviously trying to muster up
interest, asked, "What about the spiders?  How did she deal with
them?"

"They were gathered up each time, then released again when she had
a victim.  She had learned to handle them to avoid being bitten
over the years, although I still think she wasn't able to
completely avoid it.  Australian authorities now believe that she
was responsible for her parents' deaths, too."

I had lost him.  His mind had decided that was enough Scully for
the day and had gone on to another world of its own.  And I knew it
was time to throw everything onto the table in a last attempt to
salvage his life - no, *our* life.  This was going to be terrible
but I didn't know how else to get through to him.

"Mulder."  No response.  I got to my feet and stood next to his
bed, then leaned over and whispered, "Garcia and I are lovers."

And he was back.  His eyes focused on mine in a nano-second,
startled and agitated.

"What!?" he choked out.

Gathering my courage to hurt this man some more, a man I loved more
than life itself, I added, "He...likes to take me from behind."

His hand shot out and clutched my wrist in a crushing grip.

"That wasn't funny," he snarled.

"Do you see me laughing," I replied, devastated that I was doing
this.

Gathering my courage, I said, "We did it in the car earlier, coming
back from the Ward place.  I gave him a blow job that was..."

A strangled sob from his throat finally stopped me, and I lost all
of my resolve.  I had to turn my head away to avoid that stricken
face.

And saw Garcia standing in the hall talking with someone,
apparently just returned from delivering the antivenom.

I went to the door and called to him.  He immediately dropped the
conversation and came over to me.  Without thinking about how I
might hurt Garcia by doing this, I put my arms around his neck,
pressed my body against his, pulled his head down and kissed him on
the lips.  I could feel his body go rigid for a moment, then his
mouth was savaging mine.  One hand was cupping the back of my head
and the other drifted down my side, to slide over my rear end.

There was an enraged roar from behind me, and I shoved against
Garcia's chest, afraid Mulder would hurt himself trying to kill us
both.

I whispered, "I'll explain later.  Please go."

Looking completely bewildered he backed out into the hall again,
and I closed the door to the room.  But not before I saw the
bewilderment change to anger.  I turned to Mulder, who was lying
unmoving on the disheveled bed, staring at the ceiling, his chest
heaving with the short, agonized breaths he was taking.

Had I gone too far?

When I reached his side, I said, "There.  How does it feel to see
someone you love slip away from you when it doesn't have to be that
way?"  Not a twitch.

"We love each other, yet you're willing to die a slow death with
that damned drug, and ditch me.  You're even willing to take a
quick death, aren't you, making the leaving that much faster? 
Well, how does it feel now when *I'm* the one with the potential
for ditching *you*?"

His tear-streaked face turned to me and he said what I hadn't
wanted to hear, "Get the hell out, Scully.  Just...go."

It seemed that the lesson I tried to teach him got lost in the
overriding pain of my apparent betrayal.

A wave of fear washed over me at the thought I might have lost him
forever through my stupid head game.

The words came tumbling out of my mouth in a race against the
closing gates in his mind.  "Mulder, you stupid son of a bitch, I
lied.  I love you and I lied so I wouldn't lose you.  There's
nothing going on with Garcia except his confusion with my actions
just now.  I love you enough that I tried to show you how it would
be if *I* left you, hoping to make you see what you were doing to
me."  My voice rose higher and became more desperate when I didn't
see any change at all in his hateful expression.

"Mulder!  Aren't you listening to me?!  I admit it wasn't one of my
better ideas, but please don't do this!"

He turned his head away, clearly dismissing me.

Time that I got nasty again.

"You're using this as an excuse to distance me, to justify what
you're trying to do to yourself.  Well, that makes you a real shit,
you know that?  Blaming me for your own selfishness and weakness."

As a psychologist, surely he was getting the big picture, here. 
The question, though, is whether or not he *wanted* to get the big
picture, and then whether or not he *wanted* to do anything about
it.

"Please go away."  The emotionless voice chilled me to the bone. 
Should I scream, beat on his body to get a reaction?  No.  He had
made up his mind and nothing I could do would penetrate the
seamless wall that was shutting me out.  Knowing Mulder, he was
probably re-playing that charming little charade between myself and
Garcia from a few minutes ago.

I went to the door and locked it.  I returned to his side and began
talking, falling back into "professional" mode.

"You can't escape withdrawal symptoms under Methadone detox if you
go through the process fairly quickly.  On the other hand, if you
take it slowly you don't have too many withdrawal problems, but it
takes forever."

No sign he was listening, but I knew he was.  My tone of voice
would have alerted him that something serious was coming.

"In order for morphine and other opiates to produce their effect,
they must attach to small areas in the brain and nervous system
called receptor sites.  There is a drug called naltrexone that
blocks the opiates from attaching to these sites.  If you were to
take it now, it would knock the morphine off the receptor sites and
put you into withdrawal instantly.  The narcotic goes into the
circulation system and is expelled with the urine."

Still no response.  "There is another way to do this painlessly. 
Skinner will be here this evening to take us to a place in Virginia
where they won't know your identity.  He says he can guarantee
anonymity so this doesn't get into any records.  They'll put you
under general anesthesia, give you the dose, let withdrawal take
place - usually over four hours or so - while you are under the
anesthetic.  Afterwards, with no withdrawal to worry about, you can
concentrate on the goal of staying clean.  It will cost you $2500
from your own pocket for this procedure; that's for the doctor,
anesthesiologist, operating room, an overnight stay, food and the
naltrexone."

I sat there in silence, hoping for some reaction.

It was quiet for so long that I jumped slightly when he cleared his
throat and said, "I'm pretty much a selfish prick, aren't I?"  He
turned his head to look at me with sorrowful eyes.

My lopsided smile and "Well..." made him wince, and I hastened to
reassure him.  "Only once in awhile, Mulder.  And I'm perfect with
no faults at all, so we balance each other out."

His widened eyes and incredulous expression made me laugh.

He said, "OK, I'll take the treatment.  But then I get to strangle
Garcia just on general principles."

Saying a silent prayer of thanks, I moved over to his side and
caressed his cheek with my hand, silently thanking him for
understanding and giving himself a chance.

I couldn't help wondering, though, where I would be drawing the
line with him in the future.   His emotional insecurity played hell
with our relationship as he constantly tested its boundaries. 
Loving Mulder was like jumping off a cliff every day; you never
knew when there would be a one-foot distance to the next level
down, or a mile-long drop to the rocks below.

Later I found Garcia in Farris' room.  He avoided looking at me,
and I didn't blame him for that at all.  Farris was awake and doing
better, with a prognosis for a full recovery.

I didn't want to tire her and only talked for a few minutes.  At
least, I did the talking; she was still recovering from the
tracheotomy and was using a notepad on which to write from time to
time.

"So, you all saw me in my underwear?"  After I read the scratched-
out note on the paper, I looked at her face.  Her eyes were
twinkling so I knew she wasn't too upset.

"Yeah," Garcia leered.  "Wanna see the polaroids?"

Always so diplomatic.

When I left, I tugged at his arm, and he reluctantly came out into
the hall with me.

"You literally saved Mulder's life back there, and I wanted you to
know that.  He was going to let himself die, but seeing me with you
snapped him out of it just far enough to give me a handle on
things.  He'll be OK now."

Garcia had been looking at the floor, and now glanced up out of the
corners of his eyes at me.  "So Jakes did get him hooked?"

Sighing, I said, "Yeah.  We've managed to keep it off his record up
to this point, but this hospital stay not only got him back on
narcotics, but I've had a hell of a time keeping it secret."

Nodding, I could see that he realized Mulder would be out on his
ass in a second if the Bureau had an inkling of what was going on.

"I'm so sorry I threw myself at you like that, but I needed
something for him to focus on and that did it, only too well."

He smiled at last and asked, "So every time he's being an asshole
-which is about every hour or so - do I get to continue where we
left off?"  He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"If you can get past Mulder, you're welcome to try," I said with a
wink, surprising the hell out of both of us.


EPILOGUE

The nurse eventually recovered with the help of the antivenom.  As
did Emily, who is in the State of Virginia facility for the
criminally insane.  I doubt she will ever get out.  I'll give you
one guess what I found her keeping as a pet when I visited her
after the trial...

Jakes is still at large...

Mulder's treatment got him away from withdrawal as promised, and
all we had to do was deal with the craving that remained.  Which
wasn't so bad, since he had gotten the idea that sex was the cure
for the problem.  I pointed out that sex itself could become an
addiction in its own right.  Somehow, that idea didn't bother him
at all.

THE END